The Liberation of Alice Love

by Abby McDonald

“This is Ahmed in fraud prevention. Can I help you? Hello?”

  Alice struggled to find words. On the screen in front of her was a litany of spending that had drained her current account beyond empty before the month was even halfway through. A hundred and twenty-two pounds in Liberty’s? Over two hundred pounds in the Apple Store! The last time Alice had visited Selfridges, it was to spend twelve pounds on a hypoallergenic Clinique mascara, but according to her statement, somebody had charged sixty-odd pounds for lingerie there only two days ago. Suddenly, that luxurious vibrator began to make a lot more sense.

  “Hello?”

  Alice finally broke out of her shock and, taking a deep breath, began to speak. “Hi.” She swallowed, still fixated on that tiny negative sign next to her balance. “I think we’ve got a problem…”

  ***

  “Shred everything!” Ella declared that evening, the minute Alice explained what had happened. “They have gangs out there now fishing through the trash for all your old statements and stuff—it’s awful.” She plucked two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and steered them through the throngs milling around in the cinema lobby. Outside, Alice could hear faint cries from the fans lining the red carpet, waving their banners with glee, but inside, there was a different kind of chaos as the industry insiders made their rounds, whipping through the crowd and calling out to old acquaintances across the room.

  Ella located a free sofa in the corner and gracefully sprawled onto the overstuffed cushions. “I’m serious. Get one of those machines from an office-supply place and just destroy everything.”

  “I will.” Alice sunk down beside her. “At least they only got access to that one account”—she tried to look on the bright side. “I checked my savings and credit card—they’re all fine.”

  “Thank goodness.” Ella’s hair was falling out of a neat French braid, light brown tendrils catching in her gold filigree earrings. She reached up absently to tug them free. “Well, here’s to catching the bastards.”

  “Amen.” They clinked glasses.

  Alice tried to relax, soaking up the bustle of excitement as the room began to fill. Premieres and launch parties were a perk of the job—when the other agents didn’t snatch up the invites, that is—but Alice didn’t just love them for the star spotting. A-listers tended to lose their impact after prolonged exposure; watching a screen god pick his teeth or that doyenne of British cinema forget to wash her hands in the bathroom tended to drain their mystery. No, Alice liked to watch everyone else: the people who were clearly reveling in the achievement of all their dreams. The writers, the directors, the debut performers still breathless from their big break—there was something wonderful about playing her part in that, however small.

  “Any sign of the man himself yet?” Ella scanned the room, excited.

  “Chris Carmel?” Alice looked for the broad shoulders and blond, chiseled looks of the latest Hollywood god. “I thought he was gay now.”

  “No! Really? God, soon there won’t be anyone left to fantasize about during mediocre sex.”

  Alice laughed for what felt like the first time all day. “Never mind. There’s always George. Or Brad. Or Jake. Or Clive…”

  Ella grinned. “Ah, the trusty backups. Ooh, what’s this?” She reached for the glossy estate agent’s folder spilling out of Alice’s bag. “Looking at flats? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to take the plunge and buy.”

  “I think so.” Alice nodded. “I can’t be like Julian and put things off forever. Besides, I’ve got the deposit lined up, and my landlord is being a pain again. He sent me a note, warning me about noise after you came over for dinner last week. Apparently, the sound of our heels on the floor kept him up past ten.”

  “What!” Ella exclaimed. “We were watching Empire Records, not doing the bloody flamenco!”

  Alice shrugged. “I suppose he’s got superhuman hearing. I’m on probation now.”

  “Bastard.” Ella flipped through the brochure. “So let me guess, you’re dreaming of your perfect little bijou flat, with bay windows and a balcony?”

  “Not quite.” The estate agent had pointed her toward a new development in a gated area set back from Stoke Newington High Street.

  Ella frowned at the photos. “This? It’s kind of soulless. I suppose I pictured you somewhere with, I don’t know, character.”

  “Character costs,” Alice told her, a little wistful. The red-brick and white, boxy rooms may not look impressive, but on a single income, she was lucky to find anything reasonable at all. “This place is a solid investment.”

  “If you say…” Ella put the brochure aside. “I’m sure it’s great in person.” She looked around. “Come on, let’s make a dash for the loos before this thing starts. I heard it goes on for hours.”

  ***

  They took turns maneuvering in the tiny bathroom, freshening their lipstick while the other stall remained locked and suspiciously silent—save the odd shuffle and sniffing noise.

  “Lily Larton,” Ella said, the moment they left the room. She tapped her nose meaningfully. “I heard they dragged her out of rehab to do the promo circuit for this.”

  “How do you even know this stuff?” Alice asked, laughing.

  “Never underestimate the PR people. We have eyes everywhere!” Ella gave a mysterious look. They took up position on the edge of the room. “So how was the party? Did Flora smother you with cupcakes and bonbons?”

  Alice felt herself blush.

  “Aha!” Ella exclaimed. “You have gossip!”

  “It’s nothing,” Alice protested, self-conscious. “I just…There was a man,” she admitted. “And he sort of…propositioned me.”

  “Alice! Was he hot?”

  Alice exhaled, remembering Nathan and their curious conversation. “Yes. Kind of…rugged? And charming too. But what was I supposed to do?” she protested. “Leave with a complete stranger? I’d probably have wound up dead in an alleyway somewhere.”

  “Or enjoying a hot, sweaty marathon of mind-blowing sex.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “Right. Because that happens. Anyway, there’s no point—he hasn’t called.”

  “Uh, you could have given him a chance—”

  “Ella! You know, that’s just not me.”

  “Well, maybe it should be.”

  Alice was just about to launch a defense of staying safe and well, without her limbs hacked off, when they were interrupted by a high-pitched voice, cutting through the noise of the crowd.

  “Alice! Sweetie!”

  Heads turned to watch the angular woman sashay toward them, dropping air kisses on both of Alice’s cheeks. “Look at you!” The woman cried, eyes bright beneath a black, blunt-cut fringe. “It’s been forever!”

  “Since last month, you mean.” Alice laughed. She turned to Ella. “I forget, have you met Cassie?”

  “I’m Alice’s oldest friend.” Cassie thrust a hand at Ella to shake. Wide-legged pinstripe trousers hung off her narrow frame, a simple white vest highlighting her perfect collarbone. “We jumped rope together in the playground, would you believe?”

  “Great to meet you.” Ella barely had time to reply before Cassie turned back. “He’s here, isn’t he?” “He” would be the all-consuming ex.

  Alice paused. “I’m not sure—”

  “God, I knew I shouldn’t have come.” Cassie shook her head, unleashing a torrent of chatter while Alice could only sit, a captive audience. “But Tony said, I need to do the red carpet. You know I’ve got a callback next week for the new Andrew Davies thing? Corsets and crinoline, down in the depths of Dorset for a month.” She shifted, radiating nervous energy. “God, I’m dying for a smoke. I don’t suppose…? But no, you never touched the things. Smart girl.” Cassie glanced around the room, eyes widening as she spotted someone: “Shit, Devorah!”

  Grabbing Alice’s arm, Cassie ducked behind her. Seeing as she was at least three inches taller and twice as noticeable, Alice doubted it would be an effective evasive maneuver. />
  “What’s going on?” Ella looked over with clear amusement.

  Cassie sighed, peeking out from behind Alice’s neat plait. “She hasn’t forgiven me for spilling gin on her Givenchy loaner at the BAFTAs.”

  “Drama.” Ella grinned at Alice.

  She shifted, uncomfortable. “Can I move yet?”

  “No!” Cassie yelped. “She’s looking right at us.”

  “No,” Alice corrected gently, peeling Cassie off her. “She’s stalking Chris Carmel, like every other single woman here tonight.”

  “And half the taken ones too,” Ella piped up. “And every gay man between here and Brighton—”

  “Ooh, she’s looking away. See you soon? Call me!” With another flutter of kisses, Cassie disappeared into the crowd.

  “Wow.” Ella said faintly, watching her go. “Was she always like this?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Alice agreed. Technically, the “oldest friend” routine was a somewhat rose-tinted view of the past. They’d been in primary school together, yes, but while Cassie ruled the year-five cliques from her prized seat under the apple tree, Alice had been staying in at lunch, reading in the book corner. It wasn’t until later, when Alice started at Grayson Wells, that their paths had crossed again.

  “See, this is what I’m talking about.” Ella turned back to Alice: “You need some more excitement in your life. I mean, you have Vivienne, and Flora, and Cassie there buzzing around with all their drama, but what about you?”

  Alice made a noise of protest. “I have plenty of excitement. Hello, banking fraud!”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Spending hours on the phone to some call-center drone is not excitement. I’m serious, Alice, you spend all your time making their lives run smoothly, and what do you get?”

  “So you’re saying I’m a doormat?” Alice folded her arms. She knew Ella meant well, but she couldn’t help feel a touch defensive.

  “No, that’s not it.” Ella must have realized Alice was offended, because her tone became soothing. “It would be different if you were, if you just lay back and let them trample all over you. But you’re brilliant, and capable—you swoop in and set their whole lives straight.”

  Alice shrugged. “So?”

  “So…Oh, I don’t know.” Ella sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I just never see you be selfish, that’s all.”

  “I thought that was a good thing,” Alice replied. At least, it was to her. Selfish women wreaked havoc; they caused pain. They left.

  “Alice.” Ella was undeterred.

  “What?” She shrugged again. “I just don’t see what good it would do me to burst into tears the whole time and throw tantrums the way Flora does.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Ella noted with a wry expression. “Men love high-maintenance women.”

  “Where did you read that?” Alice snorted, “Cosmo?”

  “Glamour, actually.” Ella laughed. “And I’m right. It makes them feel like they’re in some kind of noir film. You know, caught up in a femme fatale’s plot.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Ella exhaled. “You’re probably right. But not about the drama. You need to go crazy sometimes.”

  “Sure.” Alice felt a smile tug the edge of her lips. “I’ll walk around my flat with heels on past nine p.m. Rebellious enough for you?”

  “It’s a start.”

  Chapter Four

  Alice tried not to think about what Ella had said, but as she spent the next week on hold with her bank, fielding overwrought emails from Cassie about the precise meaning of “good to see you” in a note from the ex and avoiding Flora’s increasingly insistent demands for lunch—“or drinks, or dinner, or maybe even shopping?”—she couldn’t help but remember the instructions to be more of a drama queen. Dramatic, Alice would never be, but perhaps there was something to be said for putting herself first and using her brisk efficiency to further her own career for now, instead of treading water, organizing everyone else.

  Delivering a stack of contracts to Vivienne one afternoon, Alice decided to take the plunge. Again.

  “Do you have a moment?” she asked, as Vivienne carelessly scrawled her signature over every page, not even glancing at the dense print. The drawing room was dim, with lace drapes shrouding the windows, and Vivienne hunched behind her desk like a gothic Miss Havisham.

  She looked up, dark eyes lined with a swipe of black liner behind the tiny quizzing glasses she donned for all her contract signing. “Of course, darling, what do you need?”

  “Well, I was hoping we could talk again about me agenting.” Alice took a seat in one of the faux Louis XV chairs, strangely nervous. She was out of her comfort zone here, asking for something she couldn’t back up with charts and figures. She’d negotiated pay raises every year and expanded her benefits package, but this was new, uncertain territory.

  Balancing her organizer on her knees, Alice flipped to the page she’d prepared with bulleted talking points. “I know I brought it up earlier in the year,” she began with a purposeful tone. “But I’ve been thinking more about it, and I think now would be a good time to start transitioning away from the strictly legal side of things.”

  Even though Alice had picked her words carefully to avoid any mention of “change,” “leaving,” or “difference,” Vivienne laid down her fountain pen and sat back, assessing Alice with one of those swift gazes. “What’s brought this on? I thought things were running so smoothly.” Her tone held a note of surprise. “You’ve been doing such great work here. I swear, we’d be lost without you keeping track of those things. You’re my most valuable asset.”

  That was what was so seductive about Vivienne’s flattery: it was undoubtedly sincere—just deployed at moments to suit her best.

  “We’d find someone to replace me—there’s no problem there.” Alice tried to sidestep her argument. “And it’s not as if I’d be leaving. I just think…” She tried to think of the best way to put it without sounding ungrateful. After all, Vivienne had only hired her in the beginning as a favor to her father, who had been a client of hers when he wrote a biography (on “the Byron of botanicals,” as Vivienne billed it). Without that first break, Alice would still have been buried in one of those chrome and glass towers in the city. Or, more likely, unemployed from the last round of banking redundancies.

  But that favor couldn’t last her forever. Taking a short breath, Alice said firmly, “I’d like more of a challenge, and I think my skills would work for the clients.”

  Vivienne gave her an indulgent look. “I hear you, Alice, I do, but we have been through this before. Agenting requires…a certain flair. Some cutthroat instinct.” Rising from her seat, she circled the desk and settled into the next chair, smiling at Alice fondly. “You’ve no idea what kind of stress and pressure we’re under. I’ve got to be out, doing deals, sniffing out the best roles all the time, never a moment to relax!”

  Now was probably not the time to remind Vivienne about the two-hour block on calls she’d had that morning because she simply had to take a nap for her poor headache.

  “You’re a wonderful lawyer,” Vivienne continued, patting her hand. “But really, don’t you think you’re suited best…behind the scenes?”

  The words sat between them, undoubtedly true.

  “Anthony isn’t particularly cutthroat,” Alice tried. “And his clients are happy.”

  “Yes, but he’s got a reputation to fall back on.” Vivienne waved her objection away with a flutter of her hand. “Nowadays, it’s about people like Tyrell, who can really close the deal. Did you know he’s signed three clients away from their old agencies this month?”

  “No,” Alice admitted quietly. “I didn’t.” Poaching was another thing she couldn’t abide by: tempting successful stars to abandon their old agents, dangling promises of better parts, bigger deals. Loyalty should count for something.

  “You see?” Vivienne seized on her obvious reluctance. “You just don’t have what it takes—an
d there’s nothing wrong with that. Your contract work here is stellar—stellar!”

  Alice steeled herself, making one last attempt. “But I really think I could bring a fresh perspective on some problems.” She glanced down at her notes. “Take Rupert, for example. He’s not booked a job for months now, and I think the issue is he’s not suited to the leading-man roles we keep sending him for. If we just tried something new, maybe for a supporting part, the best friend, or the—”

  Vivienne cut her off. “Darling, you don’t need to worry. Rupert got a callback for the lead in the new BBC costume drama just the other day. You see,” she added with a knowing look, “that’s another thing you need for agenting: the ability to hold the course even through tough times. Sometimes our clients can toil for years, unnoticed, before getting that big break. It wouldn’t do to just sell them short because you lose faith now, would it?”

  Alice exhaled, her earlier resolve fading. “I suppose not…”

  She should have picked her moment better: when Vivienne was full of post-spa languor or celebrating a particularly large commission check. Instead, she’d found her in a lucid moment, when nothing slipped past without a fight. Defeat was inevitable.

  Alice closed her organizer. “Well, thanks for talking with me.” She managed a smile, but her disappointment must have shown because Vivienne flew into sympathetic mode. “Oh, sweetie, don’t feel bad. You know I’m only looking out for your best interests—you’ve been with me so long. Now, how about we take the afternoon and do tea at the Wolseley? It’s been ages since we caught up, just the two of us.”

  “I can’t,” Alice began. “I have a pile of work and—”

  “Never mind that!” Vivienne was already up, checking her lipstick in one of the gilt-edged mirrors and reaching for her pashmina. “Work will wait. We need some time to unwind!” She left the room in her usual swirl of expensive fabrics and perfume, and Alice, resigned to at least another six months of checking termination clauses, had no choice but to follow. At least rejection by Vivienne came catered with petits fours and champagne.