Page 2 of Broken Beyond Repair
Alison’s laugh spilt out through the phone. “And he’s still breathing?”
“Only thanks to the fact I’m on my back with the largest strap-on you can imagine attached to my leg.”
“And sadly with no pleasure to be derived from it.”
“Exactly,” Beatrice replied, sniffing out a laugh.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Though she’d spent the last two months on set, she hadn’t bonded with any of the other cast members and kept largely to her trailer. Her exacting standards and high expectations in her working environment never made her popular, that much she knew. To everyone else, she was international star Beatrice Russell, aloof and challenging, but in reality, she was a lonely woman navigating her way around the wrong side of fifty.
She’d grown used to the solitude or so she told herself. In truth, most other people bored her; she was never one for small talk. She craved intelligent, dynamic conversation with individuals on her wavelength and refused to settle for anything less, even to quell her feeling of loneliness.
Alison, on the other hand, always made her feel at ease. Not only was she Beatrice’s agent, but she was also her oldest — and only true — friend. Beatrice’s position on the world’s stage barely allowed friendships to form, let alone trusting relationships, yet Alison had been there from the beginning — well, what Beatrice had defined as her new beginning at age eighteen. With only her acting ability and reputation behind her, she’d been taken under Alison’s wing, where she transitioned from child star to top-billed superstar.
“I think I might go home to Highwood to recuperate,” she told Alison over the phone. “I can’t be trapped in my hotel suite for the next however many weeks. I’ll go crazy.”
“That’d be good. You’d be able to see Xander… and me.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.”
A pang of guilt taunted her as she realised her son hadn’t entered her thoughts for at least a week. If Alison was heading to bed in the UK, then it was possible Xander was already asleep. She would message him when she went to bed; he’d be up by then, being eight hours ahead.
“I think I’ll go crazy anyway,” Beatrice continued, fidgeting. “You know I can’t be inactive.”
“You could always—”
“No!” Beatrice put in before Alison could say the word.
“Come on, Bea. Now’s a perfect time. Your body can’t be active, so let’s occupy your mind.”
“Really?” Beatrice sighed, feeling the fight over this long-running argument draining from her. “You think it will sell?”
“I can guarantee it will sell millions, and we’ll have publishers fighting for it.”
Alison had been pushing her to publish her autobiography since she hit forty. Unbeknownst to her, Beatrice had attempted to document her past some years back. That was, until she decided her forties was not the age for any self-respecting woman to write an autobiography. She wasn’t convinced publishing one in her fifties was either.
“I’ll have to check with Xander. That’s all I’m promising.”
“I’ll take that. And Peter?”
“He can go fu—”
The door to her room opened again, and a woman in uniform entered pushing a metal trolley.
“Sorry, Ali, I’ve got to go. It’s a bit crazy here.”
“No problem. I’ll call the production company now and let you know the outcome. I’ll get the feelers out on the autobiography too.”
“Call me anytime. I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.”
“Me neither,” Alison added before she hung up.
The nurse proceeded to extract her leg from the brace. Pain shot through Beatrice like a lightning bolt.
“Please,” she begged, “be more careful!”
Fleur, her latest assistant, tottered in on high stilettos, trying to balance like a newborn giraffe. With the help of both, Beatrice was repositioned more comfortably.
Beatrice turned to Fleur as the nurse busied herself casting her leg. “I’ve decided I’m going home to Highwood for the summer. You’ll need to find me a new PA in the UK instead of LA.”
