Chapter 15 #2
‘For Christ’s sake,’ I say, so irritated I could throw something. Wishing I had a little office stationery to hand. ‘What are you going to ask?’
Betsy clears her throat. ‘Have you been auditioning young women after hours? Recording them and promising them record deals in return for…’ she hesitates, ‘…favours.’
‘Sex!’ Fitz shouts angrily. ‘What Betsy means is sex.’
‘No!’ I can’t believe this is happening.
‘So our missing songbird, how do you explain that?’ Betsy says. Shifting her weight slightly in her court shoes, getting ready for the kill. There’s no way she’s backing down.
‘I have no idea.’ I drag both hands across my face. Confused, defensive, hurt.
‘Nobody remembers the mystery woman, Marco,’ Fitz says sadly. Her whole body looks crushed. ‘Terry and Jeff, Clara. I even rang Amy and played her the tape. Nothing.’ She shoots me a pained look. There are tears in her eyes.
I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I end up crushing everything I’ve ever loved, just like my father.
‘You can see the problem,’ Betsy says, her voice sounding terse.
I’m not sure I can. What I can see is that Clara has large tears forming in those beautiful blue eyes.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to take a leave of absence. We can’t have you in the office,’ Betsy says, shaking her head in what might, if you didn’t know her well, be considered as a sad attitude.
Clara staggers to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.’ She’s crying. ‘Please believe me, though.’ She looks down at her feet. ‘Mr Delagado didn’t take advantage of me.’ Her voice cracks. ‘I’d like that on record.’
Betsy nods. ‘I’ll see you to the lift.’
Clara smiles a thin, sad smile.
‘I don’t believe any of this,’ I say, starting to pace. Wanting to run after Clara, but no doubt, if I did, Betsy would have me for harassment. What a mess if I take even one step after her.
‘Oh, Marco.’ Fitz sighs.
‘Fitz, I swear there was nothing…’
‘Hey.’ She raises both hands to stop me. ‘It doesn’t matter. Have you ever wondered why we’re not having sex anymore?’
I stop pacing. ‘Sorry?’
‘Our relationship. It’s not physical. You must have noticed.’
‘Well.’ I shrug. ‘Yeah, I mean, I think it’s more friendship.’
‘Brotherly,’ Fitz says, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’m in love with Terry.’
‘What?’ My jaw practically hits the floor. ‘Keyboard Terry? The musician?’
‘His last name is Mitchel, but yeah. And he normally plays a piano, but yeah, that’s the one.’
‘Sorry?’ Confused, I slump in my chair.
‘Yes. I’m totally and utterly in love and obsessed with the guy. He feels the same way, only…’ She shrugs. ‘You know what my dad’s like.’
I know exactly what her dad’s like. Terry would never be good enough.
‘So.’ She smiles sadly. ‘You were convenient.’
‘And… you bought into the company? Why do that?’
‘Because you’ve run it into the ground. If Terry’s out of a job, it’ll mean he gets embarrassed.
The difference between what I have, which is a…
’ She waves her arms in a wide circle. ‘It’s a lot.
And what he has – musician’s union rates.
Well, there’s a sizeable gap. I can’t give him money.
He’s too proud, but I can make sure his job’s secure.
That’s all I’m doing. But you…’ She stands, reaches for her bag and straightens her short tan mini-skirt.
‘You, Marco, need to get your shit together.’
* * *
CLARA
I don’t want to be here. I’m not sure why Betsy’s taken over Marco’s office, or why Fitz and Betsy keep giving me sympathetic looks, but none of it’s making me comfortable.
‘I feel, it’s more…’ I hesitate. ‘Stressful on the seventeenth floor than it is in reception,’ I say. They haven’t asked me, but this has to be about my letter of resignation.
‘And.’ Betsy fixes me with her hard eyes. ‘Is there anyone in particular who has made the experience stressful for you?’
I want to say, yes, you. But I’m not sure that would go down well. Besides, I’m absolutely and utterly convinced that is not what she’s fishing for.
‘To be honest, I think I’m happier on the reception desk,’ I say. ‘Besides, it’s–’ I hear the lift open. When I look up, I see Marco striding towards the office, looking as confused as I feel. I reach for my bag. ‘I think maybe I should–’
‘Sit,’ Betsy says firmly, and I don’t dare to disobey.
What follows is possibly the worst fifteen minutes of my life.
Betsy starts grilling Marco. I mean, seriously grilling him.
At first, I can’t work out what the agenda is.
It sounds like complaints of sexual harassment.
I feel my chest tighten. Am I just the latest in a score of women he’s been having sex with alfresco?
Is that his thing? In the office, out at the Beaumont.
I am so na?ve. But Marco insists it’s not true.
He was having a break from Fitz. He’d met a few women, just a few.
They were all consenting. He even offered to give Betsy their numbers so she could check it out.
Only then does Betsy drop her bombshell.
She accuses him of offering ‘private’ auditions.
The kind where he brings girls up to the studio and records their voices in return for sexual favours.
The only evidence Betsy has, the only evidence for all of that, is the missing songbird.
I manage to get to my feet. My head is swimming, and I feel sure any minute I’m going to crash to the floor or scream.
I need to get out, but before I go, I need to do the decent thing.
I wasn’t drunk last night. He didn’t coerce me into anything.
I wanted him, genuinely wanted him. Even now, here, with all the walls of normality crashing down on him, I still want him. Maybe he used me, but I used him too.
‘I’m sorry.’ Tears sting my eyes. ‘I don’t feel well…’ I can’t look into his eyes. Can’t look at the man any longer. I have to leave. ‘Mr Delagado didn’t take advantage of me.’ My voice cracks. ‘I’d like that on record, please.’
Betsy nods, although I can’t help thinking she looks disappointed.
‘I’ll see you to the lift.’ Her words sound curt and businesslike. Ever the professional.
And that’s it. The end of a love story. The end, before it even had a chance to fly.