The Velvet Dolls

Chapter Six

                                                                                                 Six

"Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?" Maxwell Bennett's assistant, Carmen, asked, raising her eyebrow, the thick, cake of purple eye shadow cracking. Easily in the early forties, the woman bleached her hair blond, wore skirts that were too short, too tight, and showed more boob than was needed. Callie almost felt sorry for the woman, who clearly was attempting to hang onto her fading youth.

"No," she replied, taking a seat at the same conference table she'd sat just a week ago. Only this time, Hank Murphy was with her. Tall, broad in the shoulders, he was the kind of man she normally would shy away from. He spent forty years working the docks. When she was little, she always knew when he was around because the house would smell like fish. She used to hate it, but now it was a smell, she'd grown accustom to.

Carmen gave them another fake smile before she left the room, closing the door behind her. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she attempted to stifle her yawn. Sleep had been an allusive friend as of late. Instead, she'd spent her nights lost in her thoughts. Or one thought, anyway.

Caleb.

Always Caleb.

She had been obsessively following his current tour, trolling the band's forums and message boards, enraged when a little slut claimed that he let her suck his cock, or fucked her back stage. There was no way Caleb would have touched any of these whores like that . . . would he?

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Startled by Hank's voice, Callie dropped her hand to her chest and looked at him. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" he scoffed, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs at the knee while placing one elbow on the table. "That nothing wouldn't currently be making his way from South Carolina up to Ohio, would he?"

"I don't know," she lied and opened his file. "When Mr. Bennett comes in, don't speak to him. Let me do all the talking."

"Kiddo, you know I adore you, right?"

Callie nodded, only half-listening.

"Then you know that this hurts me more than it hurts you, but you're fired."

"Yeah, okay," she mumbled, but paused and looked over at him. "Wait, what?"

"You're fired."

"You can't fire me," she began to argue, but he put his hand up. "Hank!"

"No, now, you listen to me," he snarled, the anger in his words shocking her more than what he said. "I done you wrong when you was a wee girl, and for that, I can never say how sorry I am. I should have been there to stop your daddy, and made your momma stay afterward, but I didn't. I've watched you for the last fifteen years and, kiddo, you haven't been liven, and it's about time you started."

"So what am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Run off and leave everything behind? It's not that easy, and you know it."

"No, it's not, but what's keeping you here?"

"You," she pointed out. "And Sadie."

"Sadie?" he scoffed. "Since when has that girl needed you to keep her in line?"

When Callie opened her mouth to defend herself, he slammed his hand on the table.

"No. Sadie's a big girl; smart enough to know what she'd doing."