My chest tightens again, I feel sick.
I suddenly don’t care who Bridgette is. I want my old life back, but I also want Tony. I need Tony. It’s a horrible feeling.
Looking out the window, I tell myself to calm down. I don’t think I need to map out any kind of future other than what Tony’s already told me.
He loves me, that much I know and that’s all that matters. I’ll deal with the rest as it-
The chirping ring of my phone cuts through the near silence, and I dash to answer it out of reflex.
Tony’s humming and tinkering in the kitchen tells me he’s busy enough.
Without even looking though, I know who it is, making me pause before answering.
Do I really need this right now?
It’s Stacy… my mom.
I want to answer it, but I chicken out, letting it go to voicemail, then wait again for the chime to let me know she left a message.
Jeez, she’s left a message alright.
It’s a full minute of me standing in the bedroom before I get the message notification, suggesting she’s used every second available to leave her message.
I feel my stomach drop a little further.
The finality of everything, me leaving home, no job, no money… and although I know it’s stupid, Tony signing photos for ‘Bridgette’ and all those like her in the world?
I feel double sick.
Triple sick.
“Ash? Ashlee?” I hear Tony calling me from outside the bedroom.
Walking out, I can see he’s made a tray of fresh percolated coffee and even toasted some croissants.
He sheepishly explains he’s hungry, and that we can order up anything I want.
“Ashlee? What is it, what’s wrong?” he asks, setting the tray down and reaching me in three strides of his step, holding me by my elbows.
“Who’s Bridgette?” I hear myself spit out, then feel my lower lip trembling, thinking about my mother, my whole life and bursting into tears like a little girl.
Feeling like a spoiled, stupid little girl.
His face is a puzzle for a moment, then it registers, and he glances from his desk back to my eyes.
Not a hint of guilt in his eyes, only concern.
“Oooh, darling, Bridgette is the receptionist at the agency. I called them yesterday to get your number. I was so sick not knowing how to contact you. Max, my attorney, he’s been nagging me to send her an autograph like she asked for ever since,” he says, all in one perfect stream of truth.
No word of a lie.
“I’ll tear it up right now if it makes you feel better,” he offers, but I shake my head, feeling more foolish than anything.
“I… I’m, sorry, Tony… I just, it’s just… My mother called me just now, and after seeing that picture,” I stammer, hurling myself into his chest, covering my eyes with my hands.
His firm grip is on me, followed closely by his lips on mine.
Not something out of a movie, this is real life. Real passion, and the man has plenty of it and all for me.
“Now you listen here, Ashlee,” he says in his commanding tone. “I said I love you and I mean it, dammit! And when Tony Fontana says he loves a woman it’s forever, nobody else comes into it… not even close… understand!”
He loosens his grip a little but it’s his words that hold me firm. I feel stupid for doubting him so many times in one day, but at the same time I just can’t fathom what the man sees in me.
“Now, I was gonna send that photo along as thanks for her help. That’s all. I’ve only spoken to her on the phone for less than a minute, compare that to what we have… what I want for-”
But he stops himself before continuing.
“What I really want for you, for both of us… It’s just a silly autograph, but also a sincere note of thanks, for bringing you here… to me,” he adds, holding his ground, defending his actions and making me feel like a flower losing all its petals in the wind.
“Oh, Tony,” I sigh, clutching him tighter, feeling relief when he shushes me, and runs his hands down my back.
“What did your mother have to say?” he asks softly, after I’ve calmed down some.
“She left a message but I haven’t checked it,” I tell him.
“Then don’t,” he advises. “I’m through with fighting, worrying and playing second fiddle to someone else’s tune. Let’s just get outta here, Ashlee… just you and me, huh?”
I love the idea, I know he does too, but his eyes and my own mind quickly tell us both a different story.
We both have things we still have to deal with.
He has his career and I have my foster mom.
“Where would we go?” I ask halfheartedly, wishing I knew the answer.
His phone ringing, like the photo, reminds me of the whole world and not just me who wants a slice of Tony Fontana.
He holds me for a second, kissing my forehead before he takes his call.
“I’ll fix this,” he promises me, and I feel something shift inside me again, believing that if anyone can fix this, it’s Tony Fontana.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tony
Like any good professional on top of their game, the producer of my latest movie, Marcel is as much in my face as my attorney when it comes to reminding me of my legal obligations.
My contractual responsibilities as a contracted actor.
I want to groan out loud, to tell him to fuck off, but looking over at Ashlee, seeing her worrying over her own problems, I remind myself I’ve vowed to protect her.
That means financially too. I mean to look after Ashlee, for better or for worse. Even though I haven’t said so in as many words, not yet.
Marcel wants me on the next flight, in three hours, straight to Paris and an hour after I land he’ll have a camera rolling, so he wants me ready.
Staring at Ashlee, seeing the way the morning light catching her hair, her smooth
