Chapter 51
ESSENCE DEPARTMENT STORE, MANHATTAN
‘What’s your name?’ Gabriella asked the next person arriving at her signing table where she was putting her name on the title page of books and the cardboard boxes of perfume in equal measure.
There was a queue of people controlled by a security guard, circling around a large Christmas tree in a roped-off section so near the front of the store that it literally felt like it was part of the window display.
Phoebe was sitting next to two large angel decorations reading a GCSE History book.
‘It’s Winona,’ the woman replied. ‘But can you sign the book to Sally? It’s for my daughter. I’m hoping that it will inspire her to make something of herself. Finally.’
Gabriella swallowed as she scratched out a ‘To Sally’ and an ‘All the wishes, Gabriella Felix’. ‘Is she having a hard time right now?’
‘Yeah, you know, one hand in my purse, the other in the cookie jar, says she’s depressed but that’s just another word for lazy in my opinion.’
Gabriella could feel her hackles rising.
Depression was not laziness. It was ugly and debilitating.
And no one truly understood unless they had had it themselves or supported someone who was going through it.
‘Maybe what Sally needs isn’t my book,’ Gabriella began through gritted teeth.
‘But some understanding and support from her family. Maybe, she—’
‘Winona,’ Cheyenne broke in, picking up the book and pressing it to the customer. ‘Thank you so much for coming today and I really hope your daughter takes on board some of the routines and mantras in Zero Fucks Given.’
‘Thank you,’ Winona replied. ‘If it works I will put a five-star review on .’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Gabriella muttered under her breath as the woman departed.
Cheyenne held a hand up to the store employee who had been tasked with sending each new reader forward in turn, calling a temporary halt.
‘What’s wrong with you today, Gabriella?’
‘Nothing is wrong with me, but some of the people in this line need a reality check about life.’
‘Yes,’ Cheyenne replied. ‘I agree. And that’s what they are paying good money for. To read your book and adopt a new lifestyle because of it.’
She squirmed on her seat. She had chosen the burgundy long-sleeved dress from the garment bag Luca had left.
But when she had put it on before showtime all she could think about was how she wished Luca could have been here with her.
Somehow his presence calmed her, soothed her, helped her focus.
Now all she felt was adrift amid a plethora of people who were looking for a literal life raft that was based on methods that hadn’t been able to help Lulu.
This was supposed to be doing good but what if it was actually doing harm…
‘So you want me to just smile and say nice things, no matter what?’ Gabriella guessed.
‘Yes! Finally, you get it.’
‘And you don’t get it,’ Gabriella stated. ‘How can I sign my name on this book knowing people like Winona are going to use it as a stick to beat their daughter with?’
‘That’s one person,’ Cheyenne said. ‘Out of millions of people who have bought the book.’
‘And one person doesn’t matter?’ Gabriella asked, gnawing beginning in her stomach. ‘Is that what you’re saying to me?’ One person had mattered to her. She looked towards the two angel decorations. One person had mattered to Phoebe. And then… where was Phoebe?
‘Gabriella, you have to think with your business head on. Our job is to sell the book. And give the people what they want.’
Gabriella got to her feet, eyes searching the crowd, scanning the festive décor for her niece. Where was she? She had told her not to move.
‘I’m calling the next person over and they have two books and two perfumes,’ Cheyenne informed her.
‘I don’t care if they have Kanye under their arm, I can’t see Phoebe.
’ She took a step away from the table, trying hard not to let panic build.
Phoebe was sensible and streetwise. Yes, she was anxious but she had also taken the self-defence course Gabriella had insisted they did together.
She could get someone in a headlock quicker than Gabriella herself.
‘Sit down, Gabriella,’ Cheyenne ordered.
‘No,’ Gabriella retorted. ‘Not until I know where Phoebe is.’ She set off, pulling at the rope cordon and breaking free to the sound of Mariah Carey singing over the sound system. And then she heard it.
Phoebe’s voice. Russian.
Russian meant this was an emergency and she raced forward, picking out her niece’s tawny hair and red coat up ahead, standing very close to a large, tall man.
‘Oi! Get away from her!’ Gabriella screamed, side-stepping shoppers and barrelling through the throngs towards her niece.
This was not happening. Not in a million years. Not on her watch. She grabbed a bottle from the counter and charged.