Its offices rose in glimmering glass above the asphalt. When Helga had first signed with the company, Rosie had run it out of her home office. Rosie was successful because Helga was successful. Of course, Rosie now had more clients and more agents working with her, but Helga had always been her bread and butter. Betrayal stabbed Helga in the chest again. That someone whom Helga trusted could do this to her and her career hurt. She shoved the ache away and embraced the anger.
She stalked up the steps, hitting the lock button on her key ring before entering the building. The muted cheep letting her know her silver Audi R8 would be safe until she returned.
The glass doors whooshed out of her way when she approached the entrance. She stormed past the cream reception desk and the security post next to it. Bruce the security guard smiled and waved at her. She nodded and threw him a smile that probably looked more like a grimace, and kept going. Poor man, he was really nice and it wasn’t his fault his boss was an idiot, but she didn’t trust herself to make pleasant conversation at this particular moment.
She scowled at herself in the mirror covering the short hallway to the elevators. She managed – just – to refrain from picking up on of those God-awful snake plants Rosie favored from the long black table along the wall and hurling it into the gilded mirror. She would love to see thousands of shards of glass explode into the pristine environment. It would suit her mood exactly.
But she didn’t want to give the cleaners extra work. If Rosie had to clean it up…well, she probably wouldn’t have been able to help herself.
She pressed the UP button when she reached the elevators. She didn’t have to wait long. The doors slid open with a soft ping then the lavish interior filled with Bruno Mars’ latest song and, despite herself, Helga felt herself relaxing.
It smelled like lavender and in a flash she remembered a conversation she’d had with her agent when Rosie was setting up this office.
“I read in a magazine that soft music and certain smells can relax clients,” Rosie had said while she lounged on the couch in her home. “In my business, my clients aren’t always stress-free, in actual fact, as you well know, Helga, this is a stressful business. I need all the help I can get.” Rosie had smiled then and sat up, fishing around in her satchel. “I have samples. Will you help me pick a smell?”
Emotion stabbed Helga in the chest and she was grateful when the elevator doors slid open on the top floor and she could escape the memory. She didn’t wish to recall how well she and Rosie used to get along. Life had been great while they were at the top, now it felt as though Rosie was leaving her behind.
Once upon a time, Helga would have counted Rosie as one of her best friends. Not anymore.
She walked towards Rosie’s office. She held her head high and refused to show it wasn’t just anger she was feeling. Striding past Rosie’s receptionist she didn’t even pause long enough to see her pick up the phone. But the intercom hadn’t even managed to ring when Helga threw the door open. It hit the wall and bounced back but just before it hit her in the nose, she managed to stop it with her hand. Anger surged again when she saw laughter lighting Rosie’s face.
***
Rosie Haul pushed the files around on her desk and checked her watch for the fifth time: fifteen more minutes then she’d have to go home. Her fuzzy slippers called her name. They were the only thing worth going home for. Anger and resentment greeted her every night at the door. Mark wanted to go out to dinner tonight but after the week she’d had she couldn’t get excited about playing dress-up with him and smiling as he schmoozed producers.
Rosie looked at her desk. Clients were starting to get demanding and their files were piling up. File folders and papers littered the surface. Her fingers itched to look over the new contract for Julia Roberts that had come in today but Rosie knew from experience she’d be lost in her own world for hours and hours: Mark wouldn’t be able to forgive her. He never did. Instead, she tidied up the papers and put them into a neat pile on her desk.
She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but it was becoming increasingly clear that her marriage to Mark just wasn’t working out.
God, why was her life such a fuck up? She’d tried everything to make this marriage work. She’d even cut her work hours back ridiculously. She used to be lucky to get out of the office by eight o’clock and now she made sure she left at five on the dot. She’d done it to please Mark but it hadn’t worked. Nothing seemed to please him anymore.
In the midst of her failing marriage, her clients were suffering from neglect. She was going to have to hire another agent to cover for her, but margins were tight and it seemed a waste to pay someone to do her job.
She looked at her watch and sighed: eight more minutes.
One client in particular played on her mind. Helga Hansen was the very first client she’d ever signed. They used to be the best of friends but as Helga grew more famous they’d both became too busy to discuss more than contracts and scripts.
Helga’s last two films flopped. Rosie blamed herself. She should have been able to see those parts just weren’t right for her. Hindsight was twenty-twenty of course; it was easy to see that now. What Helga needed now was a blockbuster. Luckily a script had come in the other day which would suit her perfectly. It was a romantic comedy – something Helga played well – but it also had hard-hitting drama in it. It would showcase her acting in the best light. It’d allow her audience to see her in a grittier role and yet at the same time play the part they were used to seeing her in. And then – and only then – did she want Helga to start pursuing deeper roles.
Such as the one Brian Hargrave wanted Helga to play.
He’d called today. Again. She’d already told him in no uncertain terms that she would not allow Helga to take on that role at this time. It would be suicide. The critics would chew her to pieces. The last two films were bad enough. But one more flop and that would be it, Helga’s career would be over, down the toilet. Or at least she would never get another big role in a so-called blockbuster…not for a long time…if ever. But that man was persistent.
Four more minutes.
She straightened her pens then, against her better judgment, she opened the envelope sitting on the top of her inbox. A bright orange URGENT was splashed across the front. She peaked inside. He hadn’t. Not another one. Could that man not take no for an answer?
Two and a half minutes.
She needed to pee. She grabbed her purse and got up from her desk but before she could make it around her potted snake plant, her door banged open.
Helga Hansen stood in her doorway, her face like thunder, waving a piece of paper in the air.
Oh Shit.
“Ah, Helga, I was just heading out the door.” Rosie adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
Helga didn’t bother with social niceties. “Brian Hargrave called me this afternoon just after I got home from LA.” The color drained from Rosie’s face at the mention of Brian’s name. “It was an enlightening conversation, to say the least. What’s going on, Rosie? He said he sent you over a script.’
Helga watched as Rosie swallowed a few times, buying for time; she could see the cogs turning behind Rosie’s eyes.
“Yes, he did. That part wasn’t for you. Not at all your forte.” Rosie moved back around her desk and
