Chapter 7 Your my sweet little slu...

My mom was only eighteen at the time, my dad twenty three, with their whole future in front of them.

Dad went back to San Francisco and they had a choice to make a choice.

They said getting rid of me was never an option for either of them, so one of them had to give something up.

It was either my dad’s music or my mum’s university degree.

Mum gave her degree up.

She told my dad that being a mother was now the only important thing to her, as she’d lost her own mama when she was very young.

She broke the news to her dad, and he went ballistic. He gave her an ultimatum. It was either me and my dad, or her family back home.

She chose us.

He disowned her. Her whole family cut her off.

So she left her home and her dream behind and went on tour with my dad and the band to follow his.

They tried to make it work on the road, but a baby on tour is just not possible, so eventually my dad made the decision to leave the band. They moved back to England, to Manchester where my dad is from and got married.

For the first two years of my life we all lived with my Gran and Granddad at their house, until mum and dad could afford their own house.

And that was when I moved next door to Natte.

Sometimes I feel like I ruined my dad’s chances of hitting the big time, and took away my mum’s chance of a career. Neither of them have ever made me feel that way, not once, and I know they would be angry if I even think it. But mostly I feel that way about my dad. I just know how much he loves music and how hard it must have been for him to give it up.

I sweep some mascara over my lashes, dust on my gold eyeshadow, it goes best with my brown eyes, and put some pale pink gloss onto my lips. Then I decide on my black maxi dress. I slip my feet into my silver kitten heels, and pick up my chainmail handbag, putting my money and lip gloss in it.

I give myself one last look in the mirror. Not bad, Shiv. Not perfect, but not bad.

I meet Terry out in the hall.

“You look gorgeous,” I say. She’s wearing a short, light blue puffball dress.

She wiggles her hips. “Right back at ya, sexy.”

“And you call me a dork.” I shake my head, laughing at her. “You got your keys?”

She dangles them in the air.

“Right, let’s go then.”

Terry locks up and we walk out into the night air, heading for our local haunt, and most awesome cocktail bar.

It’s surprisingly packed for a Thursday night. We get a pitcher of margaritas and grab a free table.

I pour drinks into both our glasses.

Lifting mine, I say, “To my gorgeous and very smart friend, may you run the company one day.”

Giggling, she clinks my glass.

I take a sip of my margarita. The alcohol runs down my throat, just the soother I needed.

“So how are things at the resort?” Terry asks.

I snort out a laugh.

Okay, here goes.

“I’m um… interviewing Natte Johnson tomorrow.”

Her mouth opens in surprise, forming an O.

“Yep. Exactly.” I nod.

Then she screams, attracting us quite a few stares.

“Sorry,” she says, embarrassed.

I’m already laughing at her.

“Okay,” she says, calming down, fanning her face, “Any particular reason you’re only just telling me this now?”

“Your promotion. We’re celebrating that tonight. I didn’t want talk of Natte overrunning it.”

“Um…” She gives me a stupid look. “I’d rather be overrun by Natte Johnson than my promotion any day.” She flashes her eyes at me.

I roll mine.

“So how did the interview come about? I’m guessing you didn’t set it up.”

“Vicky did.”

“How in the hell did she manage to land an interview with Natte? Did she use your name to get it?”

Her words flitter through my mind.

I shake my head. “She wouldn’t tell me how, but no, I don’t think so. Using my name wouldn’t have gotten her an interview with Natte anyway.”

Terry pulls the face she always pulls whenever the subject of Natte comes up and I imply he has no care for me nowadays.

Not that I talk about him regularly or anything.

“I bet he’s gonna be so made up to see you. Does he know it’ll be you doing the interview?”

Does he?

“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “His people will have my name, but I highly doubt he’ll be bothered about who’s interviewing him… and he won’t be made up, Terry, we haven’t seen each other for twelve years. He’ll have forgotten all about me.”

“Yeah, sure he will,” she says, taking another drink of her cocktail. “Because you always forget your first love.”

“I wasn’t his first love!” I exclaim.

“You were the beautiful girl next door,” she shrugs. “Of course you were his first love.”

I shake my head, despairing at her.

“Come on,” she says, smiling, topping my drink up, then her own. “Looks like we’re celebrating two things tonight after all.”

Oh God. What was I thinking getting drunk last night? Not my smartest plan. Not that I generally have many.

I only remember Will picking Terry up from the bar and I getting into a cab. Was it even a cab that was a fucking hot, sexy car and immediately I was in all it took me was his colgene and I was all over him, dry humping him.

I was just so nervous at the thought of seeing Natte today. And the more I talked with Terry about it, the more I needed to drink.

When she pointed out that Natte probably won’t be expecting me if his secretaries aren’t informed of who is interviewing him, and then when I walk in there it will be really uncomfortable and awkward… well, I kept on drinking more and more to dull the panic.

We practically drank Mandarin’s dry. Sang Journey (Don’t Stop Believing) on karaoke like we were auditioning for a part in Glee and then rolled home at 2am.

I’ve had six hours sleep, I’m seriously hungover and am currently travelling in on a train, feeling like I’m going to puke any second now.

One part hangover… two part nerves.

When I finally get off the train corner, I grab a latte from Starbucks and guzzle it down, praying for it to clear my fuzzy head, as I make my way on foot to where Natte is staying.

The closer I get to the hotel, the more my nerves increase in intensity. My stomach keeps clenching in panic.

No, stop it, Shiv. You are a serious influencer and it’s just an interview. You’ve done loads of them. It doesn’t matter who he is, or that you used to love him.

Still I do.