I snort in an unladylike manner. He’s embarrassed. It’s then I realise this rough tough biker isn’t as intimidating as he seems. He doesn’t want to get teased. I was right to believe I had nothing to worry from him.
“I thought I’d come speak to you first.” His eyes plead with me to let the matter drop.
“Why don’t we just call him?” Alicia’s eyebrows draw down. “That’s easiest, isn’t it? Ask him for the money?”
“I think it’s worth a try.” I know Grumbler doesn’t, but the man can either refuse or say yes. I don’t know how quickly photographers are supposed to pay up, and it’s possible he’s got cash flow problems or some such other excuse. It could be the payment is delayed and will be coming soon.
Grumbler takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out with a deep resigned sigh. “Okay.” He had put his phone away, but now he takes it out again.
“No,” I say quickly. “Let me do it.” I’m wary Grumbler could easily put the photographer’s back up. If he refuses to pay, he might threaten him.
Grumbler stares at me, then he nods, and says with a small chuckle, “You think I might threaten his pretty white teeth?”
I grin back. Apparently, I’m transparent.
“Here, use my phone. I added his number in my contacts,” Alicia suggests. “Put it on speaker.”
I glance at Grumbler who mimes zipping his mouth and waves his hand. I interpret he doesn’t want Devon to know that he’s here.
Taking my daughter’s phone, I call up his name, then press the green key. Alicia leans over, clicking the speaker as if I didn’t know how a phone works. I put it down on the couch between us.
“Devon Starr.”
“Hi, it’s Mary Styles here. My daughter, Alicia, modelled for you a couple of times.”
There’s a pause, then a cautious, “Oh yes. Of course. Now what can I do for you? Does she want more work?”
“She’s here with me now, actually. You’re on speaker.”
“Hi, Alicia. You alright?”
“I’m good, Devon.” She’s using a respectful tone, as though she’s slightly in awe of the photographer, the man who, in her eyes, maybe holds the key to a modelling career.
“Devon, we’ve just found out that one of the photos of Alicia was sold. One from the shoot with the motorcycle and your model, Owen.”
“Was it?” Another pause. “I’m afraid I don’t know offhand. I’ll have to check. Sometimes my assistant deals with that.”
I’ve never seen an assistant. I see Grumbler raising his eyebrows.
“It was sold about…” Grumbler holds up five fingers, “about five weeks back. The book is already published.”
Devon doesn’t speak for a few seconds. “What book?”
Alicia shows me the photo. “Death Ride, by Fara Weir.”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. Well, I’ll be able to pay your modelling fee once I’ve had the final payment from the author. She asked to pay in instalments. Often authors do.”
“How long was the instalment plan?”
“Six months. It’s standard practice.”
I see Grumbler shaking his head violently. His face has gone red, and his hands have formed fists. He mouths she paid in full. Oh yes, he had told me.
I’m not sure whether I should call Devon out or just leave it. I decide, for now, to do the latter. “So Alicia can expect her money in five months’ time?” I remember one has already gone past.
“Of course,” Devon replies chirpily. “I’ll be in contact if I have any more work for Alicia.”
Biting my tongue to stop myself telling him to forget it, I say goodbye and end the call.
“He’s a fuckin’ liar,” Grumbler, well, grumbles.
“Why?” Alicia seems brighter. She’s still expecting her money.
“Because,” Grumbler gentles his voice, “the author told me she paid in full. All this crap about instalment plans is rubbish.”
Alicia picks up her phone again and stares at the picture. She seems torn between the pleasure of having her photo on an actual book cover and worrying about getting her due payment. But then, she doesn’t have the money worries she will when she’s an adult. If she needs anything, the Bank of Mom pays for it.
When she next speaks, it seems the pleasure at her new fame wins out. “Can we buy the paperback, Mom?”
I sigh. “Of course we can.”
She grins and pulls herself to the edge of the couch seat. “I’m going to go tell everyone.”
“Alicia. Before you do that, I’ve some questions for you,” Grumbler barks.
Alicia had been about to stand. She now flops back down, her expression sulky that her plans have been disrupted. “What?”
“Have you got Owen’s number?” At her nod, Grumbler continues, “Can you give it to me, please?”
Having Grumbler’s from texting herself the image, she taps at a few keys. Grumbler nods his thanks. He must have felt his phone vibrate.
“Can I go now?”
“Just one more minute. Have you any idea where Devon lives? He ever mention that to you?”
Alicia’s head moves slowly side to side. “I have no idea. Is that all?”
She’s bouncing with excitement to share her news with her friends. I cast a glance at Grumbler who seems to realise she has no more information to give. “Yes, you can go.”
As she disappears into her room to do exactly that, I lower my head into my hands. “She’s never going to get her money,” I mumble.
“She will,” a gruff voice confirms. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter Nine
Grumbler
She will. I’ll make sure of it.
As I drive away from the neat little suburban house, I wonder how I’m going to make good on the rash promise I’d just made. Though there’s probably less doubt that I will than how I’ll go about it. That will need a bit of thought.
I’ll need Token’s help, that’s for sure, and though I got away with it last time, if I ask him to find someone else, then he’s bound to start asking questions. I suppose it’s because his business is digging for information, it’s obvious he’s got to be a nosy
