Henry and Gracie

by Marilyn Jeulin

  “Not at all,” I reply, thinking that it makes me feel slightly self-conscious as we’re the only ones around. The server brings our menus, then walks away before I look at Dimas. “Andrew said you work in finance?”

  “Yes, I do. I own my own finance consultation firm.”

  “That must be interesting; do you get to travel a lot?” I glance at the menu, thinking I’ll definitely want to try the braised chicken with ginseng.

  “I do, mostly to London.”

  “That’s very interesting.” So far, so good, and unless he turns into a frog at the end of the date, I would not say no to a follow-up date.

  “What about you? I mean what’s your… day job?” he asks and I debate on whether or not to correct him. I only have the one job, unless Andrew described my job in a way that makes it seem like I have more than one.

  “I have only the one job.”

  He nods before winking my way with a knowing grin, which makes me wonder if I’m missing something. “Of course.”

  “I’m an agent,” I explain further. “I manage actors, singers, models.”

  “That must be exhausting.”

  After placing our order, Dimas leans closer and then smiles. “I hope it’s not too forward to say that you’re very pretty.” I feel the heat spreading through my cheeks.

  “Thank you.”

  “I love your fiery red hair.”

  “Guess there are no stories about witches with flaming red hair killing people in Russia?” I ask.

  “If they looked like you, I wouldn’t care.”

  “Good.” I bite my bottom lip as the food arrives. Yes, I definitely will love to see him again.

  After dinner, Dimas offers me his jacket, even though I told him I wasn’t that cold. However, after taking my hand in his, and noticing how cold my hand was, he insisted. Once we arrive at the London Eye, we’re promptly ushered into one of the capsules after Dimas waves the passes around. I notice that the passes have the cupid image on them and wonder as we step into the capsule what that is about.

  It’s clear then that the cupid on the ticket means a private capsule. One of the London Eye employees walks in, handing us a bottle of champagne and a large box of chocolates before Dimas nods and hands the girl a tip. She then walks out, leaving us alone. I lean against the wall, watching him as he picks up the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket.

  “Champagne?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, reminding myself to only have the one glass. After all, I still have to get up early tomorrow and go to work. Plus, I’m convinced champagne makes me slutty.

  “Such a great view,” he says after filling our glasses nearly to the top. After taking his, he clinks it with mine. I notice his eyes are on me and can’t help but grin. Maybe I’ll have to start being super-duper nice to Andrew.

  “It is, indeed,” I agree before looking toward Waterloo Bridge.

  Dimas stands right beside me; I can feel the heat emanating from his body as I have some more of the champagne, forcing my eyes to remain on the London skyline.

  “I don’t want to sound crass,” he begins as something in my stomach knots and I silently pray he’s not going to turn into a frog now hours before midnight. “Usually, I do these bookings through the agency,” he adds when I turn sharply around and fix my eyes on him. “Do I pay you now or after the whole girlfriend experience is over?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After the worst humiliation of my life, I have to march in the office as if nothing had happened. That has been my mantra since I woke up. However, the moment Andrew sees me, he chuckles and I lose total control over my mind and my actions.

  It’s almost as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. My body lunges toward him as his jaw drops and the smile from his eyes vanishes completely. Before anything registers in my mind, my fist is connecting with his jaw. Andrew’s body flies backwards as Joan and Leticia rush over. I notice because I’m trying to control my maniac laughter — the only sound surrounding me.

  “What are you doing?” Leticia asks as I try hard to stop laughing, but I can’t.

  Andrew lies on the ground behind his desk, too stunned for words. He slowly rises as his eyes narrow on me.

  “Next time you set me up with someone and tell them that I’m a whore, I’m going to cut you into little pieces and drop you in the Thames,” I say in a threatening tone as Leticia and Joan both gasp.

  “Andrew, you didn’t.” Leticia’s voice is aghast as she moves closer to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine… but he’s been warned,” I say, walking to my office and slamming the door behind me. So much for not making a scene.

  “Take the rest of the day off,” Leticia says after opening the door and looking my way.

  “I don’t have to…”

  “Listen… he won’t press charges,” she begins. “And I want to make it clear that this isn’t something that should happen again. I don’t care what motivated it. You and Andrew are receiving a written warning.”

  “I’m…” I shake my head and then nod. “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Gracie… I truly am, but I can’t have the rest of the people coming in and decking someone that they don’t like.”

  “Leticia, I understand.”

  “It was a good punch, though.” She walks away and before the door closes Joan slides in.

  “Well if you need someone to slash the tires of his moped… All I’m saying is that I can make it happen.” Joan nods before walking out of my office.

  As I leave work, I decide that this one date will die with me; unless, of course, by some miracle Henry finds out about it.

  Back home, I stand in the middle of my room, staring at the clothes which now decorate my bed and a chair. Still undecided between the red dress and the black one, I move in front of the full-length mirror and hold each dress in front of me. Dinner at Lord Huntingdon’s is never a quiet affair, and Henry told me at least five times to make sure that I dressed as if I was going to a party.

  The knock on the door makes me jump as I settle on the black dress. I pull it over my head, making sure that the off-the-shoulder number is not showing anything more than it should before I hear Henry opening the front door with his own key.

  “Desperate much?” I call from the bedroom before meeting him in the middle of the short hallway. He frowns as he looks at me and regret fills my mind as I think the red dress was probably bettter. “What? Not dressy enough?” I ask, confused as he moves closer, before I turn around for him to zip me up.

  “Too long,” he says, moving his hands down my side to my thighs and then past my knees where the dress falls.

  “You said it’s a formal dinner,” I protest as I look at him.

  “Too many clothes,” he says, zipping me up.

  “Well, will it help if I tell you…” I say as I put my high heels on, “that I’m not wearing anything under this?”

  “Oh, come on, you evil woman,” he says, trying to pull me to the bedroom.

  “No, come on,” I say, pulling him with me in the direction of the door.

  ***

  Lord Huntingdon’s house is right on the outskirts of Hertfordshire. It sits prettily in the middle of a vast valley, and it’s his pride and joy. The house is a new addition to the family. The last time I was invited to dinner, Lord Huntingdon and Henry’s new stepmother were living in Winchester in a beautiful English baroque palatial house that has belonged to the family for a few centuries. Before that, Lord Huntingdon used to spend all his time in his native Aberdeen.

  Their new house is equally impressive, though a different style. After the extensive renovations started in the white Georgian Manor, Henry joked most of the family money was probably going to be flushed down the manor’s toilets. His stepmother, who is actually turning thirty-two in a few months’ time, fell in love with the building and insisted they should oversee all the renovations to make sure that the builders didn’t destroy the place.

  “Are
you okay?” Henry asks, killing the car’s engine. “I’m parking here, in case we want to leave early.” He waggles his eyebrows, prompting me to hit his shoulder playfully.

  “You’re terrible.” I shake my head and wait for him to walk around the car and open the door for me. “There,” he says, pointing to the line of cars. “Didn’t I say it wouldn’t be just us?”

  “Still, I do hope Helen is not going to be upset about my dress,” I say, mainly because Henry’s stepmother complains about everything. I’m still convinced that she has the hots for him.

  ***

  When we walk through the impressive double doors, we find most of the guests in the lounge talking. Henry and I zig-zag around them until he finds his father in the middle of the room talking nonstop about the latest book deal. Which, according to him, is Henry’s crowning glory; he snatched the deal from under the American’s feet. As the group laughs, I try not to take it too personally that they’re only celebrating because they like to one up the yanks, as Lord Huntingdon says.

  Henry’s dad, like him, is a tall man; he has a larger-than-life personality and the voice to go with it. He stands a few inches shorter than Henry, but the family resemblance goes well beyond their height. His hair is ginger except for a few persistent white hairs peppering it. Their eyes are the same shade of mischievous blue, and though Henry always says he has his mother’s cheekbones, he’s got his father’s nose and mouth.

  Lord Huntingdon turns around and shakes Henry’s hand quickly, then looks at me as a few of the guests clap their hands.

  “Ah, the girl who is a friend but not the girlfriend,” he enunciates loud enough for his words to carry over the clapping.

  “Hello, Lord Huntingdon.”

  “Charles, how many times do I have to tell you? Please, call me, Charles, you’re practically family,” he says while a few people say hello to Henry. “You might be the only girl that Henry keeps in touch with in his old age.” He sighs as Henry rolls his eyes.

  “Don’t even start. So, where’s Helen?” Henry asks under a guise of concern, but his father is not fooled.

  “She’s talking to a few of the ladies. They’re in the study. We finally found the matching sofas,” he says before turning around to continue his conversation, signaling the end of his interaction with his son. Henry pulls me away with him, holding onto my hand a bit too hard.

  “You should ask him if he’s read some of the book.”

  “He’ll not answer questions. Usually, he doesn’t give any feedback to any of his authors until he’s done reading the books. So it doesn’t matter if I ask or not.” He shrugs as we reach the back of the house and walk through the French double doors that open into the garden.

  “Wow, it’s so beautiful,” I say, looking at the plants and the trees in the distance. Henry leans against the wall and lights up a clove cigarette.

  “It’ll all be dead soon,” he says, teasing me.

  “The fall is not about death.” I lean next to him and look at the house. The scent of cloves hits my nostrils, and I move to the right of him and away from the breeze.

  “I don’t know why you like it so much. Now spring, that’s a beautiful season.”

  “The fall has lovely colors, too.”

  “Which denote nothing more than …”

  “Henry.” Helen opens her arms and walks regally toward us. She holds him tight, a bit too long, before letting go and looking at me. “And Mikaela?” She wrinkles her nose as if she’s stepped on poop.

  “Graciela. Her name is Graciela. If you can’t pronounce it, call her Grace,” he says irritated, then takes another drag from the cigarette.

  “Have you seen the house?” she asks. I offer a polite nod, which is totally destroyed by Henry’s roll of the eyes. Before she can say something else, a man calls to her from the double doors. She offers us a brilliant smile before rushing back to the guests.

  “Have you seen the house?” he repeats, imitating her voice perfectly as I laugh.

  “Don’t start.”

  “It’s right here, in front of us, and we came through it to the garden,” he says, blowing the air out of his lungs.

  “She probably meant…”

  “No, don’t screw this up for me. She’s an idiot,” he spits before I lean my head against his shoulder.

  “Fine, I won’t,” I say, a smile pulling at my lips when he kisses the top of my head. Henry puts out the cigarette in the nearest box of flowers.

  “That’s my girl.” He pulls me by the hand back into the house.

  After dinner, when most of the guests have gone, Henry and I are called to his father’s study. He’s sitting behind his glass desk, looking at the computer screen when Henry holds the door open for me. Of course, he’s letting me walk in first. Maybe later, he’ll also use me as a human shield.

  “So, did you get a chance to read Henry’s book?” I ask, though I know he’s probably not been able to read more than a few pages. Henry glares at me when our eyes meet since he’d already stated his father wouldn’t provide feedback until he was done with the book.

  “A Shot Through the Heart.” He reads Henry’s book title out loud from a post-it on the desk. I can see Henry straightening uncomfortably, so I poke him on the side. “Actually, I started last night, but I’ve not been able to read a lot.” Charles offers. Henry pulls the chair out for me to sit and then keeps his hand on the back of it. “Have you read it?”

  I nod enthusiastically and though he smiles, I can see something guarded in his eyes.

  “And I guess you’ve sent this to other editors? I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Charles tells Henry as he nods.

  “I thought you would give me an honest opinion,” Henry says without emotion.

  “Well, it was a surprise; of course. I can’t say much more about that,” he says, looking at Henry. “I promise to read it and email you back if I have comments, suggestions, or anything else to say.” Charles leans back against the chair, watching Henry.

  “That sounds good,” Henry says, and though he’s smiling, I can see certain disappointment in his eyes.

  “Of course, I have a lot of work with real authors… but I will get to it.” He shrugs before he leans to the left and opens a drawer. “I wanted to give you this. Your sister sent it from Australia,” Charles says, pushing an envelope toward Henry.

  “Thank you,” Henry says, taking the envelope and then standing up. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, and I stand up, following him out the door. When I glance behind us, I see that Charles’ eyes are back on the computer screen.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The knock on the door makes me jump as I nearly drop my phone. I’ve been staring at the selfie Henry and I took on our way to dinner. His mood was good until we met with his father. Charles had crushed Henry with a few words, and though Henry didn’t say much, it was plain to see in his eyes.

  I look at my phone again and turn the phone off when Leticia walks in the office, closing the door behind her.

  “What? What’s happened?” I ask, noticing the huge grin on her face.

  “Guess who’s seeking representation?”

  “The Queen?” I ask, amused, leaning back against my chair.

  “No, silly,” Leticia waves her hands around as if she could erase my answer from the world. “Thomas Murphy.” She grins, barely able to control herself.

  “Tom Murphy? The Tom Murphy?” I ask, leaning forward.

  “And he wants you…” She grins. “He’ll be here in two hours to talk about changing managers and all that fun stuff that I pay you to do,” she adds, standing up and then glances at my desk. “You may want to clean up a bit.”

  “Leticia.” I hesitate while she opens the door. “Are you sure he wants me to represent him? I mean, what about you?”

  “Oh, no, darling, he asked for you.” She enthuses. “I’m too old for him.” She pouts. “He prefers agents closer to his age bracket; I’m not one of those.”

  *
**

  I begin to clear the files from my desk while wondering what exactly I’m going to do with Tom Murphy. My acts are all local theater actors, TV actors, even some British movie stars, but not one of them have the level of fame that Tom Murphy has. Why in the world would he have asked for me to represent him instead of someone as seasoned as Leticia? I’m not buying that he doesn’t want an older agent. My thoughts are definitely siding with him being a pain in the ass.

  If he were a theater actor, we would be better suited to work together. After all, I did work in theater since I was fourteen years old until I came to England when I was twenty. I loved working in the Theater. However, when it came to college, I took up business to mitigate my parents’ fears about me not being able to make a living. Though, I must admit that even with that knowledge, my real work experience has come from managing the artists that I do here in the UK and watching Leticia.

  After the last file is safely in the drawer, I hear a knock on the door. When it opens, Leticia walks in with a huge grin. Right behind her is Tom Murphy. For a second, I wonder where Franky went, though he’s been in and out of the office for the last week or so. He’d probably die if he were standing on the other side of the glass. After all, Tom Murphy is in his pass list, which Marc graciously allowed him to put together and laminate.

  “This is Graciela Marquez. Tom Murphy,” she introduces us before walking back to the door. “Have fun.”

  Once Leticia leaves, I clear my throat and notice that Tom is much taller than I thought, and skinnier. His skin is fair, and as my eyes move from his turquoise eyes to the rest of his body. I notice that his arms are well-defined, so he’s definitely working out.

  He runs a hand through his blonde curls before looking around the office. Even if he does look confident, it seems that he’s not at ease in new situations.

  “She’s great,” Tom says in a soft voice, pulling my thoughts to the present. When our eyes meet, he points to the door and I nod. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand toward me and I shake it once before letting it go.

  “Likewise, though, I must admit that I was a bit… surprised that you didn’t want to go with experience.” I motion for him to take a seat. “I mean, Leticia is a great agent.”