Phoebe
LENA: Dropped off your mail with the security guy. He’s one hell of a silver fox.
PHOEBE: I’ll tell Olivier you said so. Thank you! I’m sorry to make you do such a minor task, I feel like I’m under house arrest here.
LENA: I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come over more. I’ve been up to my eyes. I do have some good news! I’ve had the new alarms installed in your studio, along with extra cameras that I can see from my phone. I can send you the link so you can keep an eye on it, but no one is getting in, so it’s one less thing for you to worry about. How’s the painting coming along?
PHOEBE: Don’t worry about it, you’ve done more than enough already. It’s different, simple sketching is taking a lot longer. Hopefully with time, it’ll become easier.
LENA: Take all the time you need to heal. My phone has been ringing off the hook with people looking for commissions. Whoever said bad press is still press was right. There is no pressure, I’ve got a waiting list for you a mile long.
P hoebe wanted to be excited, but anxiety crept up her spine. What if I can’t fulfil the commissions? What if I can’t paint like I used to? The thought pestered her. Maybe she could, but certainly not at the same speed.
She tried to twirl a paintbrush around her fingers the way she used to, only to drop it. Its clatter against the tiles reminded her to consider carpeting the pool house turned art studio. At least she didn’t have to worry about the studio being broken into again. One less thing to focus on.
PHOEBE: And they are okay to wait? I can’t even give them an ETA.
LENA: Are you kidding? The longer the wait the greater the anticipation. Your health comes first, and I’ve got everything handled on my end, so please don’t worry about a thing. I’ve already informed the two galleries for the next showings that the collections will be smaller and more exclusive. We’ll work around what you have, and if you can add one or two more, then great. If not, it’s no big deal. Your healing is most important.
PHOEBE: Thank you for understanding! I don’t know what I’d do without you in my corner! The guys were kind enough to set up a studio for me, so hopefully having a safe space will be inspiring, and my physio has given me the all clear to start painting. It’s just about managing the pain and making sure I don’t overdo it. I never knew there were so many types of pain. Some days it’s like a gnawing, others it’s numb like pins and needles, or my personal favourite, lightning sparks from my thumb to elbow when I grip a paintbrush too hard. I just need to find the balance between rest and work, that’s the sweet spot.
LENA: I wish I could click my fingers and take it all away, but all I can do is make sure that you’re looked after. It’s my job to handle your battles and keep the stress off your back. I’m your frontline, and if you want to cancel the next two shows, we can.
wanted to cry. Even having the option to cancel helped her anxiety subside. But with all that had changed recently, she didn’t want to sacrifice any more. She wanted to celebrate her work and be surrounded by people who appreciated her work for what it was and not for who she was or her connections.
PHOEBE: Thanks for being so kind. I don’t want to cancel after working so hard to get those slots in the first place. We can work with what we have, and I can work on a commission or two in the meantime.
LENA: Whatever you want! I’m here. X
took off her headphones when Bart jumped down from the couch and welcomed Olivier, the head of security, with sniffs. His black trousers were covered in dog hair in seconds, but he didn’t seem to mind and welcomed the cuddles.
“Your mail,” Olivier said, walking into the pool house. “Lena sent some over from the studio.”
She thought about Lena’s silver fox comment. Olivier was barely over forty, but his dark hair was threaded with silver and grey. Probably the stress of his job.
“You didn’t have to bring it. Lena texted me, I would’ve come to get it.” She took the few letters and a small brown package while he rubbed Bart’s ears.
“No trouble at all. Gives me time to stretch my legs. Lena left it at the front this morning, so I wanted to wait until you were up,” Olivier said. “Your friend is interesting.”
Over the years, had never seen him look nervous. Lena must have been her usual flirtatious self. Olivier was all about quiet, order and routine— tried to suppress her smile as she imagined him trying to figure out Lena, an extrovert to her core who wasn’t shy of saying what she thought.
“I’ll tell her you said so,” she said, wondering if there had been a spark between them. There was about eight years between them, but nothing could stop Lena when she set her eyes on someone.
“I don’t mean it in a negative way—she is unique.” He stumbled over his words. This guy was in the military for over ten years, and Lena made him nervous. Seeing him sweat made ’s day.
“Sir, are you blushing?” she teased, and he clenched his jaw.
“Goodbye, ,” he said, and left with Bart following close behind.
Olivier’s interruption was welcome; it was good to take a break. When she was creating uninterrupted because the others were busy producing their album, she barely thought about the pain in her hand.
In front of her easel, there were no other thoughts to bother her. Nothing about the person who might’ve hired Sheen to break into her studio and then leaked it to the press, or the fact that she couldn’t sleep without Axel Adler’s arms wrapped around her. Somehow one night had turned into every night. Even if he drove her crazy, there was a calmness about him that eased her grief.
Picking up her mail, she distracted herself from thoughts of Axel and his bed. She eyed a brown box marked ‘fragile’ and ripped open the tape. There was string confetti sitting on top, and she felt a welcome rush of excitement. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d received a gift from a fan of her work, but all she’d received recently was hate. She moved the confetti aside.
“Fuck me!” hissed, snatching her hand away. The box fell from her lap, and razor blades popped out from beneath the confetti.
“What is wrong with people?” she hissed, pressing her finger to her lips. She tasted the tang of blood. It was only a couple of small nicks, but they hurt like hell.
Crouching down, she picked up the blades and sealed them back in the box. She didn’t want to leave them in case Bart came back and hurt his paws. She checked the postage label, and there was no return address or name.
If it wasn’t shipped, then someone must’ve left it at the studio personally , she realised. There’s no way Gunther Sheen would go so far to get back at me for damaging his car. He wouldn’t be stupid enough, given the evidence I have against him, but if it wasn’t him…
She had no idea. She couldn’t even check the nanny cams like she had the first time—Lena had removed them when she packed up the studio.
Bart’s barking interrupted her thoughts as he returned to find her kneeling on the ground. She wondered if he sensed something was wrong.
“Quiet,” she whispered, trying to soothe the distressed dog circling her. “I’m okay, let’s go look for some plasters.”
Letting out a long exhale, she took some reassurance in the fact that the sender didn’t know she had moved. With the blades safely in the box, she noticed ‘You’ve Never Deserved Him’ handwritten inside the lid. The message sent a chill down her spine, and she wanted to get rid of it asap.
I should take the studio address off the website and use a PO box instead, she thought, walking into the kitchen. It’s not like I’m going to go back to that studio anyhow. She found the plasters in the spice cabinet, which was the last place she looked. Bart didn’t leave her side as she cleaned and wrapped her fingers. She was about to chuck the “fan mail” in the bin when the TV caught her eye. There was a video of her outside the concert, the news banner reading: ‘Breakout artist’s collection triples in value after near fatal accident with boyfriend Cillian Hunt.’
Was this why she’d got the package? Because a news headline had triggered a fan? Her lilac hair shone out of the screen, and given the rise in hostility, she decided it was time for a change . If they weren’t going to stop talking about her or taking her picture, she’d make herself harder to spot. She took out her phone and texted Lena to see if she could bring her some box dye when she got a chance. She didn’t think Olivier would know what to look for, and she didn’t want to interrupt the guys in the studio. Given the headlines, Anita certainly wasn’t going to do her any favours, so she only had Lena.
She rubbed Bart’s ears and waited for Lena’s reply. She had never thought it would escalate to the point where she was afraid to go outside.