Henry and Gracie

by Marilyn Jeulin

  Tom only sits after I do, and then his full attention is on me. Not a cell phone in his hand or a tablet, the whole thing is quite refreshing. “Well, you’ve worked in the business for ten years. You do have a ton of experience,” he reminds me with a kind smile as I nod.

  “Yes, but … Leticia…”

  “She’s busy with the theater actors and musicians she represents. Though, I thought after you handled last year’s Dissonant Anonymous’ campaign and the aftermath of their Ibiza crazed party week, well, I thought you could handle me. I’m considerably less problematic than Dakota McKenna, really.”

  If anyone would have said that a year ago that I’d be laughing about my rock group having been total assholes to both the fans and the promoters, I would have probably punched them. “I guess, then, I can.” I lean against the chair. “So, what are you looking for in a new agent?”

  “I guess trustworthiness, and also someone who will continue to protect me. Hollywood is a scary place to be. A lack of privacy isn’t something I’m willing to live with. Also, I want to be based here. And work there,” he states, clasping his hands together and looks right into my eyes. “I’m not dropping my American agents, but I want someone who gets me. Someone who’ll understand that my priorities are not making blockbuster movies, but enjoying what I do.”

  “I can help with that, but… let’s do a trial run. Shall we?” I ask, hoping he’ll be fine with that.

  “Three months?” he asks as I shake my head.

  “Let’s do six weeks. If this doesn’t work out, then we can count our losses and you can totally ask Leticia to be your agent,” I explain as I look at the computer screen. “I can have a provisional contract drawn up for six weeks by… Friday,” I tell him while clicking on the day, ready to reserve it.

  “Great, so shall we go celebrate?” Tom asks as I glance at the clock on the computer.

  “Sure,” I say before I type in his name on the computer and then save the date on the calendar. “Wanna go now? There’s a pub right next door. I don’t think anyone will bother you there. Mostly seniors at this time of the day. They have war stories and are excellent dart players.” I stand up.

  “Excellent.” Tom reaches for my coat before I can get it. “Here, allow me.” I turn around to let him help me and then thank him, reminding myself that this will be one celebratory drink and then I’ll be off on my merry way.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As predicted, the pub is packed with seniors. Most of them are huddled up around tables talking loudly; a few are playing darts while others are hogging the snooker tables. After sitting at my usual table, I watch Tom walk over to the jukebox before choosing an old ‘80s Ska song. I glance around, hoping no one has called the photographers and killed his good mood. It wouldn’t really be a great way to start our relationship.

  It’s easy to see why women love him. He’s sweet, well-mannered, and incredibly intelligent. The more he talks and shares anecdotes with me over a pint of beer, the more enthralled by his presence I feel.

  “I’ve been talking a lot, haven’t I?” Tom asks, looking visibly uncomfortable by that statement.

  “Not a lot more than I do,” I reply before finishing my beer. “So, sunny California wasn’t to your standards?”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful out there. I just missed home, my family, friends, English women.” He smiles politely before pushing the packet of salt and vinegar chips my way.

  I take one and thank him before nodding, “I understand that. I feel at home in London, which is funny, because, well, I wasn’t born here.”

  “But you’ve lived here for a long time,” he interjects as I nod. “So that makes you a Londoner.”

  “Somehow… I guess,” I agree. My phone vibrates and I excuse myself before glancing at the screen. “I lived in the states until I was twenty. Pretty soon, I’d have spent more time outside of New York than living there.”

  “Would you ever go back?” he asks, picking up a chip and then popping it in his mouth.

  “I don’t know, maybe, if Leticia needs me to leave England.” I nod, though I really hate the idea of leaving.

  “Well, I won’t ask her to send you to California with me, unless, of course, you prove to be indispensable. Then how in the world can I go without you?” Tom asks.

  “Oh, teasing me already?”

  “We’re going to work together. You need to get used to my humor. I heard you love to prank people,” he says with a mix of admiration and wariness that is endearing.

  “I only prank the people that I know well, so you’re safe for at least a few years,” I add as an afterthought as he finishes his beer. “Anyway, I’ll be right back,” I say, walking off to the bathroom to wash the salt and vinegar smell of the chips off my hands.

  By the time I come back to the table, I see Tom in the middle of all the old veterans who seem to have adopted him. “These chaps seem to know you very well.” He states as they nod.

  “We talk a lot,” I say, taking a seat that Mr. Orson has vacated for me. He moves to grab another chair.

  “We didn’t tell him about the red dress, though,” Mr. Smith teases me as he and his twin brother, Mr. Smith Square, nod.

  “Red dress?” Tom arches an eyebrow, looking at me. I wave my hands around as my cheeks flush and warm.

  “Oh, you have to see that dress. My son wanted to take her dancing, but she was waiting on her fella,” Mr. Smith Square explains, and I have no option but hide behind my hands.

  “I don’t think the red dress would be appropriate for me to see.” Tom begins trying to get the conversation to move away from the dress. “She’s going to be working for me.”

  “Ah, you’re going to be her boss?” Mr. Orson asks, placing a shot of vodka in front of me.

  “Sort of. She’s going to be managing all my appointments here in London,” Tom replies.

  “He’s an actor,” I say before I take the shot.

  “Oh, yes, your face is very familiar,” Mr. Orson says with a vague recollection that I ran into him at the cinema and he was watching Tom’s latest movie, Romance and the City.

  “Thank you, I think,” Tom replies clearly embarrassed.

  “Best to keep your hemlines down then, pet,” Mr. Smith says, waving his hand. “Rocco, bring us another round of shots.”

  “No, thank you,” I say quickly. “I still have to go back to the office.”

  I glance at the screen as this time my phone rings. Henry’s picture appears on it before I swipe my finger across the screen to send a text that I’ll call him back as soon as I can.

  “It was such an honor to meet you all,” Tom says, shaking each of their hands. The sincerity in his voice moves me, because I love these men like they were my own family.

  “Come back and see us soon,” Mr. Orson callss to him. “Gracie,” he says as I fix my scarf, “I like this fella better than that silly Huntingdon pillock.” He winks.

  “Goodnight,” I say, following Tom.

  “They are nice,” Tom says. I nod and check my phone again when it rings, “Work?” He glances at the phone on our way to the door.

  “No, one of my friends. He can wait.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I mean, that work comes before friends. I run a tight ship.” There’s a pause between us before he adds. “I’m teasing you. I’m not expecting you to jump when I say jump and ask how high. I really want a partnership. That’s why when Mabel told me…”

  “M-Mabel?” I repeat, staring at him. Mabel Lancashire is not only my favorite actress, but she was also my first client — an old English theater legend who absolutely hates everyone. It took me five years to earn her trust. However, when she retired from acting three years ago, she thanked me personally in her speech after receiving a lifetime achievement award at the Olivier awards, and the Tony’s back in New York. After that, she pretty much became a recluse.

  “She said you would be perfect for the job,” he enthuses.

  “Great.” I no
d, not sure what else to say. “I’m stunned.”

  “Why? It was clear to me that she adores you,” Tom says in a reassuring way.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but thank you.” I think maybe I should try to visit her once more.

  “So, I have a few offers for work here. I would like to discuss them with you.” He runs a hand through his hair before we cross the road. “What about dinner tonight?”

  “Sure.” I nod. “What time?” I ask, grabbing my phone and looking at the calendar.

  “Seven?”

  “Sure, I’ll make reservations at … actually, where do you want to go?”

  “How about I pick you up at the office?” Tom says nonchalantly.

  “Fine, I’ll wait there, then.”

  “I know a small restaurant that just opened I’ve been meaning to try it out,” Tom adds.

  “Cool. You can email me all the stuff tonight or tomorrow morning,” I say, handing him my card. “I’ll go over the offers and then we can see what works better with your current schedule, which would be nice for me to have as well,” I say before looking at him.

  “I’ll do that first thing in the morning.” His eyes move to my bag as my phone rings again and I shake my head.

  “Sorry,” I say, ignoring it. I’m sure it’s Henry.

  “You should probably answer that,” he says with a faint smile as I feel my cheeks burning.

  “I will. He probably thinks I’ve fallen in front of the tube or something,”

  “I’ll see you in a few hours, then,” he says before he walks away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I cross the road and once I’m inside the lobby of the building, the phone rings once more and I answer. On the other end an irritated Henry sighs, exasperated.

  “Where have you been?” Henry asks once I answer.

  “Working; what’s happened?”

  “I wanted to see you tonight, but my father has called me to meet him back at the house,” Henry says.

  “At what time?” I ask and he hesitates. “What is it, Henry?”

  “You know how it is. He’s probably throwing another party, so maybe late dinner,” Henry’s voice is edgy and full of irritation. “Would you like to come with me?”

  “He probably wants to talk about the book,” I tell him as he sighs, exasperated.

  “Please, I promise day ten of thirty will be great.”

  “I’m not sure when I’m going to be done. I still have some contracts to go over and reschedule some interviews for one of my clients, also I have a client-slash-agent dinner tonight,” I say as he groans. “You’re such a baby… I’ll call you once I’m done.”

  “That’s a good girl. Just don’t eat a lot, you don’t want them to pick on your skinniness again.” Henry’s voice is full of amusement as I walk to the elevator and push the button.

  “I’m a pushover.”

  “Of course not; see you tonight,” Henry says before I swipe my finger to end the conversation.

  ***

  Tom’s probably one of the most punctual people I’ve ever met. Once my assistant brings me the last of the papers for me to sign, I move to grab my coat and purse.

  “Hi again,” I say as he stands up and nods.

  “So, the place I want to go to is closed tonight, but I found another charming little Greek restaurant. I hope that’s okay,” he explains, leading the way to the lift.

  “Of course; I love Greek food,” I tell him once inside the elevator, before pressing the button.

  “Good. It’s a favorite of mine and this place is meant to have a moussaka to die for,” he enthuses when the doors open.

  We walk across the lobby before standing outside the building in the crisp London night. Tom hails down a cab before opening the door and waiting for me to climb in.

  The restaurant isn’t that far from work, but it’s in one of the little streets off Tower Bridge and around Borough Market. It would be easily overlooked by anyone who isn’t a local.

  After being shown to our table, Tom pulls out the chair, and then waits for me to sit down. The server hands us the menus before walking away. He seems at ease whilst he peruses the menu, which gives me hope. Maybe this partnership will work out.

  “Do you have any projects that you would like to be working on over the next six to eight months?” I ask after the waitress has taken our order.

  “Oh, well. I’m going to be doing a play, then a film,” he says, leaning his head against the head rest. His blonde curls fall back and he runs a hand through them, messing them up.

  “Which play?”

  “The Dragon and the Phoenix,” he replies as he sits up straighter.

  “I love Robert Dixon’s darkness,” I say, nodding when the waitress brings our drinks.

  “It’s going to be at the National Theater,” he adds as I remember seeing something the last time Leticia and I took in a show. “Is it true you played Six?” he asks as I clear my throat. “Leticia mentioned it.”

  “Community Theater in New York,” I admit. “They said they cast me because of my fiery locks, which resembled Six’s hair. I mean she’s the Queen of the Phoenix, she must have red hair.”

  “That’s good. You’ll be able to help me with lines,” he says, offering me the most radiant of smiles.

  “Maybe,” I say before the waitress brings out our food.

  “Come on, I bet you still remember all of your Six dialogue,” he says with a wicked smile.

  “No, I don’t,” I squeak.

  “I saw that look: almost like you stared right at the sky and saw the first falling star,” he teases me.

  “I don’t, really.” I sigh, letting my hand cover my mouth for a moment before I close my eyes. “But I’ll be more than happy to help you with your lines.”

  “Of course, how long ago did you do the play?” he asks as I bite my lip.

  “About a thousand years ago,” I tell him before having some of the moussaka.

  “You’re around my age, so I doubt it was a thousand years ago.” He grins. “How come you didn’t pursue acting as a career?”

  “I don’t know, probably because my parents were so worried about me not being able to have a steady job.” I frown. “I studied business and took almost all of my electives in theater.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Sometimes, but I guess I live vicariously through the people that I represent.” I push my food around the plate with my fork.

  “I really wanted to thank you,” he starts after a pause.

  “Thank me?” I arch an eyebrow as he nods before he has more of the food.

  “Leticia said you weren’t taking in any new clients.” I’m glad that I’m used to Leticia saying crap like that to get clients. She’s always creating some sort of white lie to gain new clients and then distribute them among us equally.

  “I’m glad that we can work together.” I nod as he offers me another dazzling smile.

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter Thirty

  After dinner, Tom and I take a cab back to West Hampstead after he insisted in escorting me back home and refusing to let me go on the tube on my own. Once the cab stops in front of the house, Tom gets out first and holds the door open for me before looking around the road and paying the cab driver. When I grab my keys, he follows me to the front door and then leans against the wall.

  “Thanks for dinner.” I watch him as he pulls away from the wall.

  Tom hesitates for a moment, as if he was waiting for me to invite him in. He clears his throat before glancing toward the road. “So, the tube station is…”

  “Left, then up the road, then make a right,” I tell him as he looks in the direction that I’m pointing and then nods.

  “Thanks for the company. Goodnight,” he says.

  Once he walks away, I turn to place the key in the door knob. Panicking, as I hear footsteps behind me, I reach for my cell phone until the scent of sandalwood and clove cigarettes hits my nose.

 
“Henry,” I say, before swearing under my breath without turning around as I finish opening the front door.

  “New flavor? That wasn’t Jared,” he says in a flat tone as I turn sharply to look at him.

  “No, he’s a new client,” I reply cuttingly, and before I can add anything else, my body is being pinned by his to the wall inside the hall. His hands pull at my hips as his lips crush against mine. My mind tries to process what just happened and clearly plays catch up with the rest of my body, which already feels as if lava is coursing under my skin.

  The kiss knocks the air out of my lungs, and his teasing tongue replaces the few coherent thoughts that I have left with nothing but animalistic want.

  My hands move to his neck, and then to his coat, grabbing the corners of the neck and pulling him closer to me. He sets my body on fire in a way no one else can do. It’s clear that this is a moment for self-control, but the word means nothing when I’m around Henry.

  Henry presses harder against me, his lips leaving mine behind before he trails kisses across my skin. The panting grows louder before he pulls away. He stares at me for a moment before he reaches for my keys and takes my hand in his before leading me to the stairs.

  “So, how long do I have before we have to leave for your parents’?”

  “Change of plan,” he says, his forehead crinkling deep in thought before he throws me over his shoulder as I squeal.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, thinking I’ll have to probably apologize to my neighbors in the morning for the racket.

  “Taking you upstairs,” Henry replies, climbing the steps.

  “What are you playing at?” I ask once he sets me on the ground next to my door. He shrugs, ignoring my confusion. “What about dinner with your father?”

  “He cancelled at the last minute,” Henry tells me. “And I want to make this birthday special for you. It’s your thirtieth,” he says matter-of-fact as he turns the key in the door and then pushes it open.