form the words or catch the breath that seems to have been stolen from me. That was close. Too close. Sometimes I just don’t know what is wrong with me; I seem to have spent my whole life looking the wrong way.
I walk the final couple of streets to my agent’s office, then take the lift to the fifth floor. The lift is empty, so I check my reflection in the mirror and spray myself with Chanel No. 5, not because I want to smell nice, but because this particular perfume has always made me feel calm when I’m most scared, I’m not sure why. Seeing myself reminds me of the CCTV of the bank Detective Croft showed me earlier. It wasn’t, but it really did look like me. I didn’t close our account and then forget about it. I’m not crazy. I’m more convinced than ever that Ben is working with someone else to try to destroy my career, but I have to lock these thoughts about him and her—whoever she is—away for now. Bury them both.
I stare at the fancy sign behind reception that says TALENT AGENCY and, as usual, wonder what I am doing here. I’m not talented and I don’t fit. I always thought it was just a mistake when Tony signed me, so I suppose it was only a matter of time until he figured that out too. I wait, trying not to fidget, while someone goes to tell him that I’m here.
It’s a big place. A tightly packed warren of glass-fronted offices, like a zoo of agents feeding on a healthy mix of talent and ambition. Dream makers one day, heartbreakers the next. The woman on the front desk smiles at me when we make eye contact. She’s been staring at me since I walked through the door. She’s new. I haven’t seen her before, and I wonder if she knows why I’m here. I wonder if they all know.
Agents dump their clients all the time.
I thought about checking Tony’s client list online on the way here, but I couldn’t make myself, just in case my name and photo had already been removed from the page. The eye in the needle of my confidence has shrunk so small that I can no longer see a way through it, and even the tiniest threads of hope can’t find their way inside. Alicia was right: I didn’t fit with his other clients in the first place and I still don’t. A couple of movie roles was never going to be enough to change that.
My nerves get the better of me and I think I’m going to throw up. Just as I stand to go to the bathroom, Tony’s latest assistant appears to take me to his office, so I make myself smile and follow her instead. I’m convinced that everyone is looking at me as we walk down the maze of corridors, every step forwards requiring the most enormous mental, as well as physical, effort. As though I were fighting gravity itself.
Tony is middle-aged, middle-class, and always in the middle of something. He wears a permanent tan accompanied by an expensive suit, and his frown is a fixed feature, unless someone is looking his way, then he switches it off and lights his face with a mischievous grin instead. His hair has turned prematurely white recently, and I’m hoping that representing me didn’t cause it. He looks busy through the glass wall, hunched over his desk, glaring at his screen. His assistant asks if I want a drink and I say no, even though I’m thirsty. I’ve never got used to other people doing things for me, it feels wrong. Tony sees me and it takes a second longer than it used to for his frown to convert into a smile. I try not to take it personally.
“So, how are you?” he says, closing the door behind me as I take a seat.
I’m fucking fucked and you know it.
“I’m great, how are you?”
I bet he says busy.
“I’m busy, real busy. The film is finished, right? I didn’t want to have this conversation until it was all wrapped up.”
Fuck. I knew it. I’m toast. Bastard, why couldn’t he have just told me by email? I can get another agent, maybe, but it won’t be the same. I’m sure I only got the parts I did because he represents me. I trust Tony, or at least, I did. I don’t trust anyone else. I’m fucking fucked.