Authors: Mandy Baggot
‘I won’t let you go,’ he repeated and he kissed her again.
George clung to him, feeling his strength, wanting to close her eyes and forget everything else but the moment. It had been a brief liaison, but she knew this was the end. She wouldn’t see him again. He was leaving tomorrow; he was going back to America soon. It had been a fantastic few nights and she would never forget him.
‘Goodbye Quinn,’ George spoke, kissing his cheek and swallowing a knot of emotion in her throat.
He looked at her and then he took hold of her hand and placed it tight to his chest. His skin was warm beneath her fingers and she could feel his heart beating double time. She took hold of his hand and mirrored his actions, placing it on her chest so he could feel the rhythm her heart was beating out.
‘This isn’t goodbye,’ Quinn told her, squeezing her hand in his.
Unable to speak, she hurriedly fumbled with the lock on the door and let herself out into the corridor.
There was no time for contemplation; the scene that greeted her outside the door took her breath away in a not so good way.
Marisa was pressed up against Belch, one hand in his crotch, the other in his abundant hair. It looked like they were performing a tonsillectomy on each other.
‘MARISA! We’re leaving! Now!’ George yelled at the top of her voice.
Marisa broke away from the guitarist, lipstick all over her face and cheeks as red as a cherry.
‘Is this your idea of looking after her? She’s seventeen!’ George exclaimed angrily at Belch.
‘Whatever,’ Belch responded with a burp.
‘Bye,’ Marisa said miserable that her passionate encounter had come to an abrupt end.
George grabbed hold of Marisa’s arm and marched her up the corridor.
‘What the Hell did you think you were doing? He’s old enough to be your father,’ George said angrily.
‘Oh he is not; he’s like thirty or something. We weren’t doing anything wrong, we just
...
’ Marisa began.
‘I saw what you were doing?! You had your tongue stuck so far down his throat you could have licked his stomach lining. Haven’t you learned anything from your encounter with Butcher Boy?’ George continued, pushing open the door and leading the way upstairs to the conference rooms.
‘It isn’t like I had anything to drink and I am seventeen, not like ten! I mean I could get married if I wanted!’
‘You’d need permission unless you went to Scotland actually! Right then, let’s go and tell your mum you’ve been getting intimate with a bushy
-
haired bassist shall we?’
‘Oh please don’t tell Mum she’ll freak!’ Marisa said suddenly scared about the prospect.
‘How many years do you think she will ground you for? Especially if I go on to tell her about the Blue WKD incident!’ George enquired, staring at the teenager.
‘About a hundred at least. Please don’t,’ Marisa begged.
‘Look, believe it or not Marisa, I remember what it’s like to be seventeen and have everyone telling you what to do. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful and that you’ll never do anything like that again when I’m supposed to be looking after you. I don’t care what you do when you’re not with me, but you don’t go snogging the face off guitarists on my watch. Got it?’ George told her seriously.
‘Understood,’ Marisa responded.
As it was the final night at
the Hexagon
, the after-show party was buzzing more than ever. George was introduced to several potential clients by Michael, who couldn’t seem to sing her praises highly enough. Marisa kept looking lustfully at Belch, who was constantly surrounded by a bevy of women and everyone had been complimentary about the food.
George had managed to avoid being at close quarters with Quinn so far, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching him. Taylor was at his side, holding his hand one minute, slipping her arm around his waist the next, laughing at things he said, smiling at his guests, looking comfortable amongst the other celebrities. She was the perfect hostess and George couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy at how she looked, how she was able to work a room and how she could hold Quinn without worrying who might see.
‘Darling, why the long face? I think the beef and cucumber sauce is your best work yet. Everyone’s said so,’ Michael spoke, standing in front of George.
‘Thanks Michael and as it’s the last night, I want to thank you for the job here. It’s been really - good,’ George said, trying to find the right words and failing miserably.
‘No my dear, thank you. You’ve done a marvellous spread every night and you took on the job at such short notice. I would have loved you to continue the work in Manchester but it’s not to be.
C’est la vie
,’ Michael said.
He’d had to listen to her bleat on and on about some stupid designer handbag she was on the waiting list for and now she was parading him around the party like he was auditioning for
America’s Next Top Model
. It would be worth it though, when she let him out for the night to ‘play poker’. It would be risky, but another night with George was more than worth the risk. It might be the last time. No, it couldn’t be the last time, not yet.
George suddenly stiffened and tightened her grip on her tray as Taylor Ferraro arrived at Michael’s side and took hold of his arm.
She was even more stunning up close. She was wearing a beautiful peacock blue dress which emphasised her slight frame. She had clipped her hair up into a chignon, which showed off a large diamond stud in each ear. Everything about her was immaculate, from her pedicured toes to her perfectly threaded eyebrows.
‘Hello darling. How are you enjoying the party?’ Michael asked, turning to look at the actress.
‘I’m so jet lagged Mikey. I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,’ Taylor spoke in a voice like Minnie Mouse.
George hadn’t been expecting that. But it was comforting to know there was a rogue cell amongst all that perfection.
‘Oh you poor dear. Here, have a canapé, they’re truly delicious,’ Michael said, indicating George’s tray.
‘Oh I couldn’t. I ate on the plane and I’m still bloated from that. It was all starch and carbohydrates,’ Taylor spoke.
‘Only the finest ingredients here, local produce too. Isn’t that right George? This is George by the way, MD of Finger Food. George, this is Taylor Ferraro, esteemed actress and Quinn’s fiancée,’ Michael introduced.
God why had he done that? She’d never known someone introduce her to so many people before. Usually it would have been a good thing, excellent for business, but she didn’t want to be introduced to Quinn’s fiancée. She wanted to be a faceless name to her, or a nameless face, she didn’t mind which.
‘Nice to meet you,’ George spoke, holding out her hand and hoping it wasn’t shaking too much.
‘Likewise,’ Taylor said her tiny little hand meeting George’s and performing a weak, wet fish shake.
‘Oh gosh! I’ve just had the most amazing idea. Have you settled on a caterer for the wedding yet?’ Michael enquired.
George’s heart leapt into her throat. She knew what he was about to say. This was really a step too far.
‘I’m choosing between two at the moment, both very different. It’s going to be really hard to decide.’
‘Well, do not look any further. I think George could be your woman,’ Michael exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together like a toy monkey with a pair of cymbals.
He’d said it.
‘Do you do weddings?’ Taylor wanted to know, focussing all her attention on George.
‘I -
er - yes, of course, but not usually in America,’ George spoke quickly.
Ha! That would put a spanner in the works. It would be impossible for her to cater a wedding that far away. It was impractical and she’d never done it before. Result!
‘Oh they aren’t getting hitched in America, kitten,’ Michael said.
‘We’re getting married in Spain. We have a villa there,’ Taylor informed her.
Still abroad and George had no experience in catering outside of the UK. Taylor needed someone experienced in that department, therefore not her. A lack of experience would surely hit her right between the eyes.
‘Oh well, I can’t say I’ve done any weddings in Spain either. In fact, I’ve done nothing abroad,’ George replied awkwardly.
‘But there’s a first time for everything. You need to tone up your self-promotion techniques darling! George is a genius in the kitchen. We’ve had so much top
-
class food here, I don’t know how I’m going to cope when we get to Manchester. I’ll probably never be able to eat again,’ Michael spoke his hair bouncing around.
‘Well, I’ll bear you in mind,’ Taylor said, looking at the tray of canapés and then again at George.
She smiled politely. Thank God she seemed completely disinterested! That was one catering job
George
would definitely not want to take on. It would be almost incestuous.
She looked over at Quinn. He was chatting to a group of people in the centre of the room. He had changed from his show clothes and was now wearing an olive green t-shirt and combat trousers. He looked up and caught her eye. He smiled at her and she smiled back. She was going to miss him. She was grateful for the time they’d had. He’d
taught her how to
feel
again. Perhaps he was the kick-s
tart she’d needed to leave the past behind and move on.
‘I’m like completely knackered,’ Marisa remarked as she helped George, Helen and Curly Shirley finish loading up the Finger Food van.
‘I’ll second that,’ George replied, shoving in another box.
‘Me too,’ Helen agreed with a yawn.
‘Oh hark at you! You sound like you’re halfway to the old folks’ home. I’m wired after that party, ready for dancing,’ Shirley announced, throwing her arms in the air and jogging on the spot.
‘I have no idea where you get your energy from Shirl’. Are you drinking that new pomegranate juice?’ Helen asked as Shirley continued to bust some moves.
‘We did well tonight and we got a bonus. An extra grand which I shall be divvying up tomorrow,’ George told them.
‘Oh wow! I’ve almost got enough for a car!’ Marisa said excitedly.
‘Oh God! Have you?’ Helen exclaimed concerned.
‘And I’m going to have enough for a new van,’ George said happily as a taxi pulled up alongside them.
‘That must be ours.’
‘Thanks for your help Shirley. I’ll see you two in the morning, no more late nights for a while
,
just a funeral tea and a teddy bear’s picnic tomorrow,’ George spoke as the three women approached the taxi.
‘Goodbye glamorous parties and shoulder rubbing with celebs. It was freaking sick while it lasted,’ Marisa remarked with a sigh.
‘Sick? What do you mean sick?’ Helen queried.
‘It’s a good thing nowadays apparently. But I think you’ve had enough excitement for quite some time don’t you Marisa?’ George said, giving Marisa a knowing look.
‘Well maybe for this week,’ Marisa admitted with a coy grin.
The taxi pulled away and George turned to put the final box inside her van. She went to close the door when suddenly she was forcefully pushed and bundled into the rear of the van. She screamed out loud and turned to put up a fight, but someone had jumped in after her and slammed the doors closed.
‘You touch me and I’ll kill you. I have mace!’ George shrieked hysterically, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden blackness.
‘Cool, but I have beers and fries,’ Quinn replied, switching on the internal light and revealing himself.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, taking a breath of relief and trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
‘I’m doing what I want to do for once, not doing what I think I should be doing,’ he told her.
‘What about Taylor?’ George questioned.
‘What about her?’ Quinn asked, moving towards her.
Fifteen
George woke up feeling freezing cold. Her head ached, one arm was stuck underneath her and she had pins and needles in her leg. She attempted to turn onto her side, but she couldn’t move. She was naked, covered by nothing but a silver tablecloth and she was surrounded by boxes. In fact, her foot was actually inside a box containing paper plates. Not a great look. She pulled it out and deposited a few plates onto the floor of the van as she did.
It was light outside. She could see the Union Jack waving from the roof of
the Hexagon
, against a cloud ridden sky. She looked at her watch and saw it was almost 8.00am. She gently shook Quinn’s arm and he opened his eyes, smiling when he saw her.