The jacket she was wearing over a classic black skirt was tailored and had arrived via courier that morning. No one had the suit yet, except her. And, if she didn’t like it, it would never make it to market. That was the power she held. Everyone was eager for her opinion when it could give them something, but when she needed someone, when she wanted to take the pop star mantle off for a while… well, there was no one, and she couldn’t have a real conversation with a fashion designer who was only interested in her for influencing purposes, could she? One loose-lipped comment and she’d be headline news for all the wrong reasons.
‘Autumn, you can’t keep doing this. We agreed I need to know where you are at all times That’s how this works,’ Janey said.
‘It’s just my mother. You know she’ll annoy me within five minutes, then I’ll leave and I can get to this meeting with the record company guy. But I can’t not turn up to meet her. It’s drinks now. If I don’t show, it will be dinner and the ballet, and I can’t do that again,’ Autumn said.
Janey stopped tapping her spoon against the coffee cup and shrugged her shoulders.
‘Ask Juan to meet me tonight.’ Autumn slipped on her gloves. ‘Tell him to bring his demo and I’ll listen to it,’ she offered.
‘Really? I think he’s hoping you might speak to someone…’ Janey started.
‘But I couldn’t speak to anyone at the record company about it, and he shouldn’t be getting you to speak to me about it. I don’t want anyone to do me or my boyfriend any favors. If his record is good, it will make it, regardless. I’ll see you later. Call me if there’s any update to the diary,’ Autumn said, signaling to her driver outside the café.
*
‘Autumn, tell us about you and Lady Gaga? Are the rumors true?’
‘Autumn, we’ve heard you’re about to embark on a US tour—can you confirm?’ came another shout from a reporter.
She held her head high as she emerged from the car to the constant barrage of questions and the flashing of cameras. There were only half a dozen reporters here, but how they knew she was coming was a mystery. She knew Janey sometimes tipped them off if she thought Autumn could use the publicity to her advantage, but this time, Janey didn’t know she was going to be at the Richmond Hotel to meet with her mother.
Lips structured, a hint of a smile, don’t show any emotion. Tonight, once she’d listened to Juan’s latest urban anthems, she was going to go straight to bed with a hot chocolate, and maybe not the diet version for once. She needed comfort and some normality in her life.
The doorman showed her into the revolving doors, and once she was behind the glass screen, waiting to disembark for the foyer, she let out a breath. It was all getting too much. No, she mustn’t say that, mustn’t admit that, even to herself. It was just a phase, a passing notion, because she had a lot on her plate at the moment. She loved this life. She had chosen this life and this was what she was born to do. Yes, another art gallery opening sucked, but despite the hideous paintings of things that resembled a cow’s ass—or even worse, an actual cow’s ass resembling a chair or a standard lamp—there was free wine and very small food. Small food was always good and with waiters offering her plates at a rapid pace, no one had time to count how many canapés she had consumed—or not.
She stepped into the bar area and straight away she heard her mother’s voice.
‘This water is tepid.’
‘I apologize, madam, unreservedly. I will fetch you some more.’ The waiter attempted to back away.
A step farther into the room and Autumn located her mother to the right of the grand piano.
Alison Raine’s lips were pursed so tightly together, you would have thought she had just swilled hydrochloric acid around her mouth. She dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin then narrowed her eyes at the flustered waiter.
‘You will fetch me iced water with lime slices and a complimentary martini,’ she ordered him.
‘Of course, madam, right away,’ the waiter said, picking up the offensive jug of water and handling it like it contained nuclear fuel.
‘And a martini for my daughter,’ Alison said, her gaze moving to the hotel door.
Ugh! Martini!
Autumn removed her large sunglasses and glided across the floor, letting the amazed gasps of the other hotel patrons seep into her. She held her head aloft elegantly, almost regally, and ran her gloved fingers down a sleek section of her red hair. Sometimes she wished they could just meet at her mother’s apartment or her office. Why did every single second of her life have to be public?
‘Darling!’ Alison greeted. She rose from her chair and put each cheek, in turn, to the side of her daughter’s head. There was no actual contact, but that was the norm.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. Another protest outside the Embassy,’ Autumn lied. She sat down opposite Alison and arranged her legs appropriately.
‘Illegals again, I expect. Bloody shits,’ Alison remarked with a tut.
‘I’m not sure the Foreign Secretary is allowed to make comments like that.’
‘Not officially, but who’s going to tell? I’ve ordered you a martini,’ Alison said.
‘Mother, I don’t actually like martinis,’ Autumn objected.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Autumn, everyone likes martinis.’
Autumn let out a sigh and got out her mirrored compact from her black patent leather purse. She looked at her reflection and smoothed down a strand of hair.
‘So, how are things going with the preparations?’ Alison inquired as she the mirror away and placed it on the glass table between them.
‘Preparations?’
‘For the IMAs! The biggest music event of the year,’ Alison reminded.
She should have known. No one wanted to talk about anything else. She could slip
