my breast through my clothes. Not pushing firmly, though, because I’m too scared to find what I know is lurking there beneath all the tissue. The same cancerous parasites that took my mom’s breasts and stole my sister’s life.
That I know deep down will shorten mine as well.
I shake my head and blow out a breath and pound my fist against the desk. I know I need to find out the truth, getthe test results, but at the same time,
I watched Lex die
. I watched the cancer take every single part of her, day by day, piece by piece until there was nothing left of her but pain and promises. Tears and denials. Then finally resignation and devastation.
I know the road, know the pain, know it’s no use. … Even if they find it in time, it might not matter. She wasn’t responsive to any treatments. We’re cut from the same cloth, so neither would I be. I try to tell myself I’d rather live without the fear, knowing that what helps define me as a woman also may have death knocking at my door.
Anger fires within me—at Lex, at myself, at everything—because I’m scared to death. To know the truth. Not to know the truth. I realize I’m being ridiculous. I know the right thing to do is to find out, take the blood test and catch it early if I have it, to give myself a fighting chance … but, man, Lex thought the same thing and look what happened to her.
Six months and she was gone
.
“Fuck.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair before I pick up the phone and dial the number I now know by heart. I make the appointment and promise not to cancel this time. I’ve just finished writing the details on my calendar—a slight weight lifted from my shoulders so another one can fill its place—when my cell rings.
I groan when I see Cal’s name, my contact at Scandalous. The event went very well this past weekend, good turnout, lots of chatter in the press about his new club, a few more celebrities confirmed for the next event this weekend, but … it’s Cal. He’s never happy. I put on my fuck-you smile when I answer the phone as my own personal tribute to his douchery.
“Cal! How are—”
“I need Saturday to be bigger than last weekend.” His voice comes through loud and clear, words clipped, impatience emanating through the line.
And hello to you too, douche bag.
I bite my tongue, wanting to tell the wanna-be-rico-suave where to go, but I can’t. This is a huge account if I can land it. Their constant events can equate to a continual revenue stream and the possibility of more clients. I force the sweetness I’d rather choke on to lace my voice. “Okay.” I draw the word out pleasantly. “What exactly wasn’t to your liking, Cal? What other suggestions might you have?”
“Honey, I’m paying you, right? The suggestions should be yours.”
I roll my shoulders, not in the mood, but know that if I get the gig, I will no longer have to deal with him. Since he only deals in
new talent
, as he calls me, I’d move onto a retainer with a different company representative and away from him. The thought makes toning down the quip on my tongue that much more palatable.
“Point made.” I let the silence stay on the line for a moment so I can check my notes and give myself a second to try to figure out what to say to make him happy and not put him on the defensive. “With last weekend’s event, I brought in three additional sponsors and an additional four VIP celebrity attendees. The attendance was thirty percent higher than what you had anticipated, and the club was all over social media sites. So, in other words, I’m not sure how much more overachieving you expect out of HaLex … but I think we surpassed the mark you set handily. And while, yes, you are paying me, Cal, if I don’t know what extra something you’re looking for, I won’t be able to provide it.” I take in a deep breath and realize what I’ve just said. The door I’ve opened for him to step through with his chauvinistic bullshit.
He
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