how can I say no?”
Rupert was grateful she left the room, not because he was hungry but because he had the sudden dawning realization that he might be in love with Susie. Might be falling for her. Why had he cut every woman out of his life at Susan-Marie Thompson's suggestion? He'd fallen for her once. Could he want to rekindle the romance with the brassy, fat girl with a heart of gold from fifteen years ago? Was she still the same girl? Was he still the same boy? Love was one complication too many. He loved his family. That caused enough heartache and pain. To include someone else in his heart was too trying. Doing good was better executed in his professional life than his personal. His personal life was in ruins. If he wanted to do Susie a favor, she'd have to go down the same road as Liz, Jacqui, Jasmine and Mikaylah.
CHAPTER 13
Sitting in the chair opposite her dressing room mirror, with the obligatory lights around it, Susan knew the room was nowhere near as glamorous as people imagined it to be. Even the person assigned to the room was unglamorous. Sweaty, her hair falling from the pony-tail set high on her scalp. She thought of the term “Croydon-facelift” which was the British slang used to describe the hair style because it was commonly adopted by those of a lower social-economic bracket from the South London area and did indeed, tighten the skin to iron out every wrinkle as a facelift did. Her t-shirt was drenched and her leggings were sticky from the non-stop dancing. Susan was desperate to work on the songs where she could have a break from the constant physical exertions of dance.
The mirror with the light bulbs around the perimeter was the feature of her private space. Her seat was standard, made of metal with thin, red vinyl over foam. She did have the added bonus of a small coffee table, with a miniature bar fridge and two small comfortable cushioned chairs with arm rests. The paint was cream and peeling. What made it home were the photos she put up of close friends and the odd soft toy and gift she’d received. Imogen's flowers were now dying in the vase. Withering, Susan would soon have to part with them.
I can't believe I'm scared to call him, thought Susan. I'm supposed to be the one in control. I'm the mastermind. If that is true, why won't I punch in the number.
Bravely plugging the numbers in, she dropped her phone when Dylan walked into her dressing room. It scattered in pieces. Bending down to pick them up, she felt a strange wave of fear in Dylan's presence. Dylan was fond of her. He was safe. An old friend.
“ How'd it go?”
“ Rupert wasn't well. He had to go home early.”
“ Didn't go as planned?”
“ You could say that.”
“ Did you arrange a second date?”
“No. He was ill. It wouldn’t have been appropriate there and then.”
“ Clock's ticking Susan-Marie.”
“ I know Dylan. Don't go on about it.”
He looked hurt by her tone of voice. “I wasn't trying to badger you.”
“ I'm sorry, I know you weren't. He wasn't well. It's never nice to see anyone in that state.”
“ No, it's not,” replied Dylan meaningfully.
Susan knew he was referring to the opening night of Hairspray when he'd bravely entered the female dormitories at Brighton College to find Susan with a bottle of vodka and packet of paracetamols in her hand. Had she really thought that was her only way out, or was it a cry for attention? Dylan got there to stop her. Under other circumstances he'd have readily shared the vodka. But he was a senior at eighteen, Susie was a junior and was a month off her sixteenth birthday. Responsibly, he'd disposed of the alcohol and drugs and hidden the contents, in case the dorm mistress was to search her room.
“ However much you loathed me Dylan, if you found me in that state I don't believe you'd want to hurt me.”
“ But I don't loathe you Susan-Marie.
Rupert was grateful she left the room, not because he was hungry but because he had the sudden dawning realization that he might be in love with Susie. Might be falling for her. Why had he cut every woman out of his life at Susan-Marie Thompson's suggestion? He'd fallen for her once. Could he want to rekindle the romance with the brassy, fat girl with a heart of gold from fifteen years ago? Was she still the same girl? Was he still the same boy? Love was one complication too many. He loved his family. That caused enough heartache and pain. To include someone else in his heart was too trying. Doing good was better executed in his professional life than his personal. His personal life was in ruins. If he wanted to do Susie a favor, she'd have to go down the same road as Liz, Jacqui, Jasmine and Mikaylah.
CHAPTER 13
Sitting in the chair opposite her dressing room mirror, with the obligatory lights around it, Susan knew the room was nowhere near as glamorous as people imagined it to be. Even the person assigned to the room was unglamorous. Sweaty, her hair falling from the pony-tail set high on her scalp. She thought of the term “Croydon-facelift” which was the British slang used to describe the hair style because it was commonly adopted by those of a lower social-economic bracket from the South London area and did indeed, tighten the skin to iron out every wrinkle as a facelift did. Her t-shirt was drenched and her leggings were sticky from the non-stop dancing. Susan was desperate to work on the songs where she could have a break from the constant physical exertions of dance.
The mirror with the light bulbs around the perimeter was the feature of her private space. Her seat was standard, made of metal with thin, red vinyl over foam. She did have the added bonus of a small coffee table, with a miniature bar fridge and two small comfortable cushioned chairs with arm rests. The paint was cream and peeling. What made it home were the photos she put up of close friends and the odd soft toy and gift she’d received. Imogen's flowers were now dying in the vase. Withering, Susan would soon have to part with them.
I can't believe I'm scared to call him, thought Susan. I'm supposed to be the one in control. I'm the mastermind. If that is true, why won't I punch in the number.
Bravely plugging the numbers in, she dropped her phone when Dylan walked into her dressing room. It scattered in pieces. Bending down to pick them up, she felt a strange wave of fear in Dylan's presence. Dylan was fond of her. He was safe. An old friend.
“ How'd it go?”
“ Rupert wasn't well. He had to go home early.”
“ Didn't go as planned?”
“ You could say that.”
“ Did you arrange a second date?”
“No. He was ill. It wouldn’t have been appropriate there and then.”
“ Clock's ticking Susan-Marie.”
“ I know Dylan. Don't go on about it.”
He looked hurt by her tone of voice. “I wasn't trying to badger you.”
“ I'm sorry, I know you weren't. He wasn't well. It's never nice to see anyone in that state.”
“ No, it's not,” replied Dylan meaningfully.
Susan knew he was referring to the opening night of Hairspray when he'd bravely entered the female dormitories at Brighton College to find Susan with a bottle of vodka and packet of paracetamols in her hand. Had she really thought that was her only way out, or was it a cry for attention? Dylan got there to stop her. Under other circumstances he'd have readily shared the vodka. But he was a senior at eighteen, Susie was a junior and was a month off her sixteenth birthday. Responsibly, he'd disposed of the alcohol and drugs and hidden the contents, in case the dorm mistress was to search her room.
“ However much you loathed me Dylan, if you found me in that state I don't believe you'd want to hurt me.”
“ But I don't loathe you Susan-Marie.
Similar Books
