something blindingly obvious. This might be scary, but it’s a huge opportunity. He’s giving me the keys to the kingdom.What am I doing, second-guessing and dragging my heels like this? I should be flattered that they’re even asking me. I need to stop wimping-out, right now, and step up.
‘No,’ I say as firmly as I can. ‘That’s all very clear. I’ll handle it.’
Alasdair smiles and stands up to shake my hand.
‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Keep in touch and let me know if you need anything.’
I’m halfway to the door whenhe calls me back.
‘Alice,’ he says, ‘your current title is assistant editor, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I say, turning round. Is he going to rethink because I’m too junior? Don’t change your mind , I think frantically. I want to go! I can do it!
‘Well, we’ll have to see about changing that when you come back with the book in your bag,’ he says. ‘Editor, or senior editor, even.’
I force myself not tolet out a shriek of joy. ‘That sounds – good,’ I say in a measured tone. ‘Thanks.’
I head out the door in a total daze. I forget to say goodbye to Daphne, and I walk straight into a big pot plant on the way to the lift. My cheeks are flushed and I feel sick and elated at the same time. My big break . That thought keeps repeating itself in my mind, but at the same time there’s another one, that’seven more insistent: I’m going to meet Luther Carson.
THREE
‘Did he really say: I want you to sit on him until he writes his book?’ asks Ruth, almost crying with laughter.
‘Yes, he did,’ I say happily. We’re sitting at a tiny table outside The Cow on Westbourne Park Road, near where Ruth lives. It’s not especially handy for me, but much as I love her, Ruth is one of those friends whom you travel to see, not the other way around. Beautiful peopleare swarming all around us, but Ruth cleverly arrived early and bagged us a table outside. This was meant to be a commiseration-about-Simon drink but it’s turned into a celebration. It’s a lovely July evening, the summer is finally here. Life is good. Actually, life is great.
‘Well, I can’t get over it,’ says Ruth, which I’m not sure is flattering. ‘Not that you don’t deserve it,’ she adds quickly.‘It’s just so surreal. My best friend from school is going on holiday with Luther Carson. What next? Is Mike going to start playing basketball with Leonardo DiCaprio?’
Mike is Ruth’s current boyfriend, an Irish banker she met through work. Before Mike there was Jonny, and before Jonny – was it James or Chris? I can’t remember. Ruth is one of those people who just skips effortlessly from one manto the next. There is never a gap of longer than a few weeks, and sometimes there’s an overlap. I don’t know howshe does it. Of course, she’s very pretty, with big brown eyes and a sort of tomboy look, and she also works in financial PR which seems to be a better source of men than publishing. In contrast, before Simon, I was single for about nine months – total tumbleweed except for a coupleof awkward dates. But who cares about Simon when I have Luther Carson?
‘I’m not going on holiday with him,’ I remind her. ‘I’m going to work and I’m terrified. I’ve never handled an author as big as him before. Stop laughing!’
Eventually Ruth calms down. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she says, wiping her eyes. ‘You’ll get over there, worm all his dark secrets out of him, and he’ll cry on your shoulder andfall madly in love with you.’
‘You think?’ I’m laughing, because it’s so ridiculous, but secretly I quite like that idea – strictly as a fantasy, of course.
‘Totally! He’ll find your down-to-earth English charm so refreshing after all the Hollywood bullshit. He’ll say, “Alice, I’m tired of these Botoxed bimbos. All they want is to be photographed on my arm. I need you.”’
‘Hah.’ I wish I hadRuth’s confidence. ‘That’s a nice idea. But it’s not going
Michelle Pace, Andrea Randall