‘Fine,’ Autumn answered with a huff of discontent.
She was up for two awards. Best International Female Artist and Album of the Year. At the moment, she was the UK’s darling. Her first album had gone double platinum, and she had broken almost effortlessly into the US market. She wrote the songs, while her producer Blu-Daddy remixed and styled the tracks into something worthy of a nightclub dance floor. She had almost no doubt that at least one of the awards would be hers. Almost.
Something Juan had said last night had given her that familiar niggling cramp in her gut. He’d heaped praise on American singer Sasha, who was gaining worldwide attention thanks to her past life as a call girl. Juan had suggested Autumn pimp herself out to every available promotional opportunity so people didn’t forget her. He said it in such a desperate way that Autumn suddenly felt her winning wasn’t assured. Did he think the other nominees were better than her? Did he think Sasha was a more accomplished performer? Was Sasha, the ex-prostitute, more attractive? She had pushed her food around her plate for the hundredth and final time then asked for the bill. She had waited until she got home to throw up.
‘I hope the record company has lined up some suitable personal appearances here in the UK and the US before the awards,’ Alison continued, her enthusiasm evident.
Autumn shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
That was exactly what Ben from the record company was going to tell her if she ever made it there for the meeting. Joy!
‘Why so nonchalant?’ Alison sat forward in her seat. ‘I thought this was what you wanted? International fame and music industry recognition for your achievements.’
‘It is. I just… I don’t know. I’m just…’ Autumn paused.
It didn’t help that she was so tired. She wasn’t sleeping. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. She was constantly on display, always on show, someone always wanting a piece of her. If she was honest, the celebrity lifestyle and her life as a pop icon were starting to wear her down. She wasn’t sure it was what she wanted any more. She loved music, it was her life, but what it entailed was nothing short of exhausting.
‘You need a little pick-me-up,’ Alison said, ‘that’s all. Drink your martini, and if that doesn’t make you feel better, I can let you have a couple of my magic pills.’ She smiled as the waiter came over with the drinks.
Pills were her mother’s answer to everything, and she had a little tablet-sized remedy for every occasion. The pink ones helped when Juan decided to go AWOL, the small, round, white ones had taken the edge off a migraine that had descended just minutes before she was due on stage, and the bright yellow, oval ones made her hallucinate in a really good way. The last time she had taken some of those, she had almost believed she was being stripped naked by Jason Statham. She’d met him a few weeks after that episode, and she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye.
‘So, America,’ Alison said, taking a long slow mouthful of her drink.
Autumn poured herself a glass of water and waited for her mother to continue. She was building up to something Autumn was going to hate. Her voice was authoritative yet calm. That was the tone she used when addressing other members of the Cabinet to get their attention. It usually came right before the switch to a much more venomous tone if her suggestions weren’t met with the appropriate level of agreement.
‘I don’t want you going to the US without proper security,’ Alison stated.
‘I have security.’ Autumn ran her finger around the rim of her martini glass.
She hated security. Burly, overweight baldies in tight black jeans and bomber jackets. One of hers was called Ken. He was okay. He could string a sentence together. He claimed to have bought her CD for his daughter, and he got her KFC when she demanded it be brought to her instantly. The rest of them just buffeted her through crowds at personal appearances with more than a little enjoyment.
‘You have a team of six, most of whom used to be nightclub doormen,’ Alison answered, the viper’s tongue on the very verge of making an appearance.
‘There’s never been a problem,’ Autumn responded, coolness in her tone.
‘It’s a calamity waiting to happen.’
‘What did you have in mind? Locking me in a cage?’ Autumn raised her eyebrow at her mother. ‘If that’s your plan, nothing less than Faberge will do.’
Part of her wanted the acidic mouth unleashed. At least she knew where she stood when that happened. Despite her money and her fame, she was under no illusion where her mother was concerned. She was just a pawn in her mother’s game of life. Someone else she could manage.
‘Autumn! I’m serious.’
‘So am I. I can barely breathe as it is. I don’t need another pack of people stifling me. And that’s what they do, they stifle me. They smother the creativity right out of me. Is that what you want?’ Autumn snapped, waiting for the poisonous reaction.
Alison’s eyes narrowed, her expression stony. ‘Better to be stifled than in danger.’
‘You think?’
‘I’ve spoken to MI5,’ Alison informed matter-of-factly.
‘What!’
‘You’re in the limelight, and I’m an important figure in government, Autumn. That makes you all the more interesting to people who might like to harm me through you.’
‘Oh, I see. Here I was thinking you were actually concerned about my safety.’ Autumn removed her gloves and took hold of her martini glass.
‘I am concerned for your safety,’ Alison stated.
‘Because it might affect your career?’
‘You’re being absurd. That isn’t what I meant at all.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t be like this.’ Alison put down her glass and folded her hands together on her lap.
Autumn knew she didn’t like it when
