She was silent for a long moment. I thought I heard a door open then close. She blurted out, “I am so sorry, Annie. I am so sorry I was such a…well, such a cunt.”
I half choked, half laughed as my eyes flew open; I reached for the table behind me for balance. “Uh—I—um…I—” What does one say to a woman who’s just called herself a cunt with complete sincerity? Eventually, I managed, “Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then, please, just listen.” She took an audible breath before continuing, “First, I am sorry. What I said to you, it wasn’t right. I had no right. My son…he is just like his father in so many ways, but he is also very different. I didn’t have the easiest time with his dad. I never quite belonged, and I think he knew it; but I loved him very much.”
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you don’t need to tell me this. I don’t want you to feel like—”
“But I do. I do need to tell you—because you love Ronan, and he loves you. Most of the shite printed by the media is just that, shite. But pictures don’t lie. The way you two look at each other, I can see it. It’s obvious to everyone that you care about him deeply.”
I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips; this was not a conversation I was ready to have. “I can’t—”
She interrupted me again. “He told me about your past, about how you grew up.”
I had no response for that, though I sat down and released a quiet sigh. Unaccountably, my chin began to wobble.
“I know something about feeling unworthy, Annie. And I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
I shook my head. “You were right. He deserves better. He deserves better than me.”
“No, he really doesn’t.” She laughed lightly. “The way you’ve taken care of him, helped him, put yourself out there in the public eye. I’m not sure there is better than you. And, anyway, he wants you. He loves you, Annie.”
“I know,” I half sobbed.
“Then let’s start over. Let’s be friends.”
I was crying now but silently, and I hiccuped ungracefully as I said, “Friends?”
“Yes. Friends. I’m a shitty mother—poor Luce will tell you that—but I think I can be a good friend.”
I sniffled, “Oh, Mrs. Fitzpatrick—”
“Please, call me Jackie.”
“Jackie, if you knew what I—”
“None of that. Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”
“But—”
“Please, promise me. Please. For Ronan’s sake?”
I took a calming breath and forced my voice to be firm. “Yes. For Ronan’s sake, I would do anything. But also…I want to start over, too.”
“Good! It’s settled. Luce will be so happy; she…well, she’s a good girl. We’ll be back in the States next week, and I know Ronan is on his way now. We’ll all get together.” Her tone shifted, and I felt certain she was anxious to end the conversation—likely not wanting to push her luck.
“Wait, Jackie, you should know that…I don’t know how to tell you this, but—”
“Tell me on Thursday. Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll ring you when we arrive. Talk soon!”
“Wait—”
It was too late; she hung up, leaving me feeling like I’d just been tossed about by a hurricane. I shook my head and pressed the “off” button. A great, giant swelling of remorse filled every inch of my chest and radiated outward, numbing my fingertips and buzzing behind my ears.
Then the phone rang once more. This time I checked the caller I.D. The display told me the call originated from Davidson & Croft. I figured it was Gerta, so I answered.
“Hello?”
“Annie. You’re back.”
It was Joan.
“Uh, hi, Joan, I know I wasn’t supposed to be back until—”
“Well, we have lots to discuss! I’m taking you off the Fitzpatrick account.”
I didn’t say anything for a few seconds because my mind couldn’t quite comprehend the words Joan had just spoken.
“Annie…?”
“Uh, yes. Sorry, I’m here.”
“Did you hear me?”
“No—I mean, yes. At least, I think I heard you, but I don’t understand what you mean.”
“We’re assigning Beth as the primary liaison for Mr. Fitzpatrick. You’ll take back The Starlet. Also, feel free to keep the clothes, but please do dress as you like. Obviously, I don’t really care one way or the other….”
I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips again, feeling acutely frazzled, and tried to make sense of what Joan was saying. She was prattling on about my pink cardigan and how it was a shame that I should choose to wear navy blue and brown when red and jewel tones suited me so much better.
The gist of her one-sided conversation was as follows: I was being taken off Ronan’s campaign. It didn’t matter what I looked like or how I dressed; she valued my brain. However, it was important that I understood non-summery colors suited my complexion best. Yellow was a complete disaster.
…I am being taken off Ronan’s campaign.
My brain hurt.
“Wait! Wait a minute, just—just stop talking,” I shouted at the phone and the inside of my apartment. I was greeted by Joan’s sudden silence as I closed my eyes and rubbed the center of my chest with my fingertips, trying to find the right way to ask my next question.
I decided there was no right way to ask the question, so I demanded, “Why am I being taken off the Fitzpatrick account?”
I heard Joan clear her throat, could see her in my mind’s eye straighten her spine and purse her lips. She didn’t like it when people were demanding.
At length, no longer able to handle the suspense of her cool silence, I added in a much calmer tone, “I’m sorry, Joan. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…shouted. I apologize. I’m just very surprised that I’ve been removed from Ronan’s team. I’ve worked very hard on this account, and I would like to know why I’m being excluded.”
Her softened, measured tenor surprised me as she explained, “Mr. Fitzpatrick called this morning. He asked that you be removed from his team. Furthermore, he requested that the relationship we’ve doctored for the media end immediately.”
“He…he did what?” Now my brain and my heart hurt.
“Obviously, I told him that he is making a mistake. You are the best in this business, I told him. Your ideal image sketch has become a reality much faster than we could have foreseen, largely due to your timing strategy, the social media campaign, and your involvement as his faux love interest. Public perception is just as you’ve designed. I further explained that we couldn’t just end things between the two of you. We’ll have to phase you out of the public eye and phase someone else in who is equally relatable and likable. Otherwise, we risk making him look flighty and unfeeling. Side note here, I’d like your input as to appropriate candidates.”
“Phase me out?” I choked. “Candidates?”
“He eventually ceded that point. You’re off the account, Annie. But you’re still on girlfriend duty for the next four to six weeks—but don’t worry, it’s just a few public appearances. Becky has been sketching out the schedule since I got off the phone with Mr. Fitzpatrick. She’ll send you the draft this evening.”
“The schedule?”
“Of obligatory public appearances.”
I was mostly quiet for several long moments, but I abruptly became aware that I was breathing heavily and clutching my forehead with stiff fingers.
Ronan wanted me gone.
He wanted me gone.
He didn’t want me.
He didn’t even want to see me.
I’d left last night, and I’d ruined everything; and I had no idea how to make things right. Maybe there was no way to make things right. Maybe I’d left one too many times.