Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As our fantastic Christmas draws even closer, the term normal when it comes to Heath Mason jangles like baubles in the festive air.
Me and Josh can claim to be happy with see where the road takes us all we like, and we do, frequently, we say it all the time, but that jangle is still there.
Niggling. The need for knowing is growing inside me faster than Carly’s baby bump is growing inside her.
Heath’s ‘proposals’ are booked in our calendars for the coming months, and a token one just after Christmas when our schedules allow. It’s great to see them mapped out that way, I just wish they were more… informal.
More natural.
More normal.
I want to know where the road ahead leads. I need to feel the security of Heath in our future, because being without him…
It doesn’t bear thinking about.
It won’t be that way, and that’s for sure. But I’m always looking ahead and pondering the future. I’m not a live-in-the-moment kind of person. Not at all. I never have been, no matter how many of Josh’s life of Zen books I try to read.
I’ve brought up so many what if scenarios with my super patient boyfriend now that he must be getting sick of them, but he doesn’t vent any frustration. Just keeps assuring me that things will be ok.
Just so long as things stay safe and steady with The Agency and the spotlight isn’t thrown in Heath’s direction from the off, somehow, things will be just fine.
I understand his stance on The Agency, and how we need to keep our heads straight as our new normal finds its feet.
No crazy actions. No forgetting that Heath is ultimately still listed as a client and that’s cool.
That’s ok. No big deal on paper. Without breaking any rules, there can’t really be any consequences, and we’re not breaking any.
The confines of Agency regulations can feel claustrophobic, but that’s my heart speaking, not my head.
The last thing we want is for any of us to end up in hot water or risk our careers. Proposal boxes and calendar invites are serving us well for now. They will be fine until we know where the path leads.
Despite all of that though, freedom is calling me. It’s the greatest Christmas gift I could ever want.
Heath Mason, free to be free with us.
“You’re doing the lip thing again,” Josh laughs, between a round of sit-ups in front of the frost covered landscape outside our Belgravia windows.
I pull my legs tighter on his yoga cushion. I’m hardly succeeding at meditation. I suck at it - literally.
“I’m always doing the lip thing lately,” I say. “I’m surprised you aren’t doing it, too. At least some of the time.”
His smirk is such a steady delight.
“Just because I don’t have a lost in headspace look about me doesn’t mean I’m not thinking. Believe me, baby. My mind is churning just as much as yours is.”
“Where do you think the road leads?” I ask him again, for the bazillionth time.
He stops with the sit-ups, grabbing a towel from his side to wipe his sweaty brow. Damn, he looks gorgeous during a workout.
“I know the road leads somewhere good. That’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“A three-way road coming together, somehow. That works for the entire trio. We all have our own considerations.” He puts down the towel. “And our own reputations. Growing status. Potential.”
I nod at that. Yep. He’s right. Hardly a shocker, since he usually is.
Heath is a mega well-known celebrity, and not so long ago, the very thought of that kind of status blew me away. But since my new rounds of proposals have been coming in, and I’m realising the A-listers are just as much people as anyone else, the wide-eyed craziness around the idea is settling.
And so is the idea of being known in my own right.
Ella the Entertainer – those words keep on looping through my head all day long.
“Give it a rest,” Josh says as he presents himself to me for inspection, all suited and booted, complete with the holly cufflinks I bought him. “You’ll blow a fuse in that pretty head of yours if you’re not careful.”
He’s right, I will blow a fuse – or chew my lip off.
“You look gorgeous,” I tell him.
Josh’s proposal tonight is a Christmas party for a gaggle of cheering office girls, a treat paid for by their generous boss. And boy are those girls in for a treat.
“Thanks, baby. What are your plans?”
I’m on my own tonight – no proposal for me.
“I might order in a pizza and binge some Whispers.” Shame Tiff’s out on a proposal – we do love our pizza nights.
“With a side of chicken wings?”
I grin. “Of course.”
“Tell you what, order an extra pizza. I think I’ll be ravenous when I get home. Sixteen office girls to service.”
“Sure will.” Bri at the pizza house on the corner always gives us extra freebies anyway. She says we’re her best customers. Best tippers, more like.
I kiss my gorgeous boyfriend goodbye, and give his gorgeous ass a smack before he walks out the door.
I change into my red satin PJs and I’ve just sent my pizza order through, sitting cross legged on the sofa when I get a ping through on The Agency app from Orla.
Fancy a chat? she asks, and I reply with a smiling emoji and an anytime.
Holy shit, she takes me up on it.
I take a deep breath as the blank video call window with the O in the centre starts up. It was bound to happen sooner or later. My proposals must have gained some kind of attention by now.
“Ella! How are you doing?” she asks, and I greet her with a massive smile.
“Very well,” I laugh. “I guess you’ve seen my proposal list.”
As I speak the words, I get a stab of terror, because what if it’s not ok? What if it’s freaking out everyone at The Agency now I’m hitting such big bucks?
“Is that acceptable?” I ask her. “I mean, the clients. I’m accepting the proposals and getting the reviews in just fine, it’s just whether things are weird. For you. Am I allowed to take them?”
She laughs.
“Relax, sweetheart. Every proposal you get in your inbox has already gone through our system. Our clients have been checked out and vetted and the policies put in place before they reach you. You have nothing to be worried about.”
“Phew,” I say.
“How are you finding it, honestly?” she asks me. “There is climbing the ranks and there is climbing the ranks. You’ve shot to the top of the league in quite a dramatic fashion, and that’s an understatement.”
I take another breath at her words.
Climbing the ranks. What a phrase.
I remember when I first saw The Agency’s naughty list and I registered the group of hardcore entertainers at the top, with all the boxes ticked. I was fascinated by the big bucks there for the taking, and the ratings there to be strived for.
I wanted to be the best I could be. And here I am. My second Christmas now approaching since I joined The Agency, and I made it. I really made it.
Late at night sometimes, when my incredible boyfriend is already asleep beside me, I still get a flash of what the fuck that blows my mind.
“It’s been a crazy year,” I reply to Orla. “Understatement of the whole entire century.”
“No shit.” I can hear from her voice that she’s smiling. “This is supposed to be an informal yearly review, but your stats speak for themselves. I don’t think you need any coaching somehow.”
“People can always still learn,” I reply. “Any tips and tricks are always welcome. Throw them my way.”
“My tip is to keep doing what you’re doing. You’re onto a winner, Ella. Ride the wave, and well done. Congratulations. Have a very, very happy Christmas!”
I know I should let her fade away with a happy Christmas, thank you but I can’t play it that cool. Josh would be wiping his brow with a phew, easy peasy, but he’s not here to keep my urges under control. I stop Orla with a one sec before she ends the call.
“I know my working name is Holly at the moment,” I say. “But it’s no real shocker that these new clients know full well who I am, is it? Not really.”
“No. It’s not,” Orla says. “A lot of them come to us very specifically, to track you down. We make sure the confidentiality practices are in place, of course, but yes. It’s very clear who they are looking for.
Your reputation as one of the highest-class entertainers in London is bringing the high-rollers in.
Your ex did you some good on that front. Every cloud and all that.”
“How about I embrace it?” I ask her. “How about I change my profile name from Holly and put a simple Ella instead? Would that be ok? Would it make any difference to how I’m ranked, or how you consider my account or anything?”
I wait for her answer with bated breath, strangely overcome at the thought of Holly disappearing into the ether.
Except I’m not Holly anymore. I’m Ella.
I’m Ella at home, and Ella with my friends and family, and Ella at almost all of the proposals I’m going to be attending. I was even Ella to Santa at the mall.
“You can do that,” Orla tells me. “Your entertainer name is yours. Update it however you want.”
My heart thumps, and I get weird flutters.
Ella.
My name on the system could be Ella.
The ticks on the Naughty List would be mine to own as me…
That would make it seem like the Naughtiest List of all.
“Just one thing,” Orla says. “Whatever name you choose to go by, and whichever client proposals you choose to take on are entirely your business, so long as it goes through us. But our Agency identity needs to remain respected with the utmost confidentiality. Tell people what you do for a living, and go by Ella however you choose, but under no circumstances ever reveal the network you work for, or how those services work. Our clients need that respect and privacy as much as we do. And so do your fellow entertainers.”
I nod.
“Of course. I would never give the details of The Agency to anyone, Orla. No way. Not a chance in hell. That’s a promise.”
“Fantastic. Then good luck with your endeavours, sweetheart, and have a fantastic Christmas with your fantastic proposals. The Agency commends you highly on everything you’ve achieved this year.”