partygirl43
Refugee
FICTION ALERT!!!!! FICTION!!!! Totally made up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Chapter 16
The next day, Tom arrived. He greeted his boss with a firm handshake, looking visibly relieved that Bono survived Chicago without him. They were getting ready to meet with Oprah.
“Marco is downstairs.” Tom announced as we all stood in the kitchen.
“Well, that didn’t take too long.” Bono said leaning against the counter arms crossed. “Anyone else?’ he inquired.
“I think Reuters sent someone to cover the Oprah appearance. You’ll probably have more of their attention now.” Tom answered, and looked at me “They know your name now, Ansleigh.”
I nodded, acknowledging my anonymity slipping away.
“You need to be careful.” Tom said his tone serious. “Don’t try to evade or run, it just gets them more worked up. If you get scared, or they get aggressive call the police and then call me.”
My stomach went sour for a second, I took a deep breath.
“What are your plans today, Ansleigh?” Bono asked.
I sighed, “I need to go to the office and I have to shop for Thanksgiving.”
Bono put his hands on my shoulders, “You’ll be fine, just call if you need me.” His eyes were reassuring.
“OK.” I smiled weakly and kissed his cheek, “I’ll see you later.”
Tom and Bono left, and I stood in the kitchen frozen momentarily, unsure of what to do next. “The office, go to the office.” My brain ordered me.
I put on a black cashmere sweater, dark boot cut jeans and a black and white tweed Chanel jacket. I gathered my purse, laptop bag and even though it wasn’t sunny at all, I put on my sunglasses. My car was waiting for me as I went outside. Looking across the street I spotted a man with a long lens SLR, just like Marco had in Dublin. He lifted the camera as soon as he spotted me. He took a few shots as I got into my car. Luckily, he did not follow me to the office; maybe I wasn’t so interesting after all.
As soon as I arrived at the Foundation, I was trailed by a parade of people, all of whom followed me to my office, as I tried to hustle through. I looked up, “You can’t be serious.” I said to no one in particular as many pairs of eyes blinked at me.
“OK, Laura stays, everyone else go.” I ordered, putting my bags down at my desk. They all scattered, not used to my harsh tone.
Laura sat down across from me. “So it’s true?” She asked. “You’re with Bono?” she wore a look of concern and excitement. I nodded, “Yes, yes it’s true.” I leaned back into my chair.
Laura pushed a paper with neat typing on it towards me, “Your Uncle had the Foundation issue a statement. We’ve been getting many phone calls.” I quickly glanced at the statement, “We do not comment on the Fisher family or our employee’s personal lives.” I shook my head “Don’t people have anything better to do?” Laura shifted in her seat “Ansleigh it is an interesting story. I mean we had no idea…”
“That was kind of the point.” I cut her off rudely and then shook my head, “Laura, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m a little overwhelmed. I just need your help getting some things in order here, or I’m going to lose my marbles.” I put my head on the desk. Laura stood up and patted my back sympathetically.
“It’s OK, Ansleigh. I’ll do whatever you need.” She said.
“Thanks Laura, I appreciate it.” I looked up at her; she was looking at me like my dog just died.
Laura and I worked together to tame the mountain of snail mail, e-mail and phone messages. It felt good to be back to work and there were moments where I forgot that when I got home, Bono would be there too. It was a jarring feeling. I sent my last e-mail, changed my messages and straightened my desk. It was time to shop for the Fisher Family Thanksgiving.
My Uncle, for all of his staid WASPy-ness had a great affinity for taking in people who would otherwise be alone on Thanksgiving and this year was no different. Our eclectic guest list included a Japanese poet laureate, several of my Uncles business associates, my eccentric Aunt Bebe from Taos and her husband Bounty, a famous cowboy sculptor; and Bono, Irish Rock star. I was cooking with some assistance from our former housekeeper Rose. Former, because after all of the years taking care of us, my Uncle had fallen in love with her. This year was shaping up to be the weirdest ever, but I loved it anyway; most of my friends dreaded spending Thanksgiving with their families, I looked forward to the interesting mix of people my Uncle managed to get together. It was never the same twice.
I exited the building, relieved that I had not been followed by photographers. I made my way to the Whole Foods store, armed with my long list. Inside, I lingered in the aisles, delighting in my anonymity. Normally I hated the bustle of Thanksgiving shopping, but I savored every moment of this trip. For the moment I was alone and nameless, just a girl shopping for the holiday. I arrived back at the penthouse early in the evening. I unpacked the groceries and poured myself some wine. Bono left a message that he was still with Oprah. I sat at the dining room table and opened my Mac. I realized it had been weeks since I journeled and I hadn’t had a chance to see most of the photos I took from the Burkina Faso trip. I drank more wine and looked through the pictures I had taken. The sun dipped lower in the sky, leaving the apartment dark. The only light came from the computer screen. Just than Bono came in, throwing his coat over a chair. “Hey.” He said standing behind me; I could feel the chill from the outside on him. He put his cold hand on the back of my neck. “It’s getting cold!” He said as he massaged my neck.
“Oprah is so excited about the show.” He said as he put his chin on my shoulder. I nodded slowly, still looking through the photos, than put my head against his.
“So have you figured it out yet?” He questioned as he looked at the photos on the screen.
“I think I have.” I said his face still close to mine. I could feel his warm breath, his body pressed close to me. He reached down to the mouse and scrolled through some of the photos.
“Oh, that’s a good shot, Ans.” He said, looking at a photo of a small child holding a kid in his arms, the baby goat was nearly as large as the boy.
We looked through more photos together, “Maybe someday you could visit the school where I volunteer at.” I said. “We could have a day of music and art!” I was excited at this thought. I looked at him and smiled. He kissed my cheek, “That would be wonderful.” He said.
“We could make the musical instruments…” I said with a grin.
“……and then make music.” Bono finished. I looked at him with wonder and excitement. He flashed his crooked smile, “You’re so wonderful, where did you come from?” he asked.
I shrugged and he continued, “I mean, why aren’t you an awful, spoiled rich girl, with her own line of perfumes, dancing on bar tops with no knickers on?”
I giggled, “I can do that if you want.”
He looked around, “Where’s the bar? No, seriously” he said. “Why?” He sat down in the chair next to mine; I looked into his blue eyes, and thought for a moment.
“I guess because God let me live, because God gave me Uncle Paul. I’m saying my thank yous. And besides, I did awful for a moment, and it did nothing to fill that hole inside, in fact it just made it worse.” I turned to face him and put my hands on his legs. “When I was 18, I remember vividly being at a club, my friends and I were partying in the VIP room, bottle service, the whole nine yards. People around me were doing lots of drugs, and I remember sitting there, just being sad, wishing I could get out of that place. It was a horribly empty place. I knew there had to be something more”. I said.
He was quite for a moment and blinked, “Wow, that’s quite an epiphany.” I got off the chair and hugged him. It was one of those wonderful, long, warm hugs. I just wanted to melt into him. I put my head on his shoulder, breathing him in, and suddenly my mind flashed though everything in my life. My not so normal life; and it made sense. Luke was right, it all made perfect sense. This is what normal feels like. I felt my eyes blurring with tears of happiness. I sniffed a little and he held me out.
“Ansleigh, what’s wrong?” He asked.
I brushed the tear off, “Nothing, I’m just happy.” I think he blushed, “Awww, come on.” He said and hugged me again, “You can’t cry and get puffy, we’ve got Oprah tomorrow!” He said lightening the mood. I laughed, my face buried in his chest.
Chapter 16
The next day, Tom arrived. He greeted his boss with a firm handshake, looking visibly relieved that Bono survived Chicago without him. They were getting ready to meet with Oprah.
“Marco is downstairs.” Tom announced as we all stood in the kitchen.
“Well, that didn’t take too long.” Bono said leaning against the counter arms crossed. “Anyone else?’ he inquired.
“I think Reuters sent someone to cover the Oprah appearance. You’ll probably have more of their attention now.” Tom answered, and looked at me “They know your name now, Ansleigh.”
I nodded, acknowledging my anonymity slipping away.
“You need to be careful.” Tom said his tone serious. “Don’t try to evade or run, it just gets them more worked up. If you get scared, or they get aggressive call the police and then call me.”
My stomach went sour for a second, I took a deep breath.
“What are your plans today, Ansleigh?” Bono asked.
I sighed, “I need to go to the office and I have to shop for Thanksgiving.”
Bono put his hands on my shoulders, “You’ll be fine, just call if you need me.” His eyes were reassuring.
“OK.” I smiled weakly and kissed his cheek, “I’ll see you later.”
Tom and Bono left, and I stood in the kitchen frozen momentarily, unsure of what to do next. “The office, go to the office.” My brain ordered me.
I put on a black cashmere sweater, dark boot cut jeans and a black and white tweed Chanel jacket. I gathered my purse, laptop bag and even though it wasn’t sunny at all, I put on my sunglasses. My car was waiting for me as I went outside. Looking across the street I spotted a man with a long lens SLR, just like Marco had in Dublin. He lifted the camera as soon as he spotted me. He took a few shots as I got into my car. Luckily, he did not follow me to the office; maybe I wasn’t so interesting after all.
As soon as I arrived at the Foundation, I was trailed by a parade of people, all of whom followed me to my office, as I tried to hustle through. I looked up, “You can’t be serious.” I said to no one in particular as many pairs of eyes blinked at me.
“OK, Laura stays, everyone else go.” I ordered, putting my bags down at my desk. They all scattered, not used to my harsh tone.
Laura sat down across from me. “So it’s true?” She asked. “You’re with Bono?” she wore a look of concern and excitement. I nodded, “Yes, yes it’s true.” I leaned back into my chair.
Laura pushed a paper with neat typing on it towards me, “Your Uncle had the Foundation issue a statement. We’ve been getting many phone calls.” I quickly glanced at the statement, “We do not comment on the Fisher family or our employee’s personal lives.” I shook my head “Don’t people have anything better to do?” Laura shifted in her seat “Ansleigh it is an interesting story. I mean we had no idea…”
“That was kind of the point.” I cut her off rudely and then shook my head, “Laura, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m a little overwhelmed. I just need your help getting some things in order here, or I’m going to lose my marbles.” I put my head on the desk. Laura stood up and patted my back sympathetically.
“It’s OK, Ansleigh. I’ll do whatever you need.” She said.
“Thanks Laura, I appreciate it.” I looked up at her; she was looking at me like my dog just died.
Laura and I worked together to tame the mountain of snail mail, e-mail and phone messages. It felt good to be back to work and there were moments where I forgot that when I got home, Bono would be there too. It was a jarring feeling. I sent my last e-mail, changed my messages and straightened my desk. It was time to shop for the Fisher Family Thanksgiving.
My Uncle, for all of his staid WASPy-ness had a great affinity for taking in people who would otherwise be alone on Thanksgiving and this year was no different. Our eclectic guest list included a Japanese poet laureate, several of my Uncles business associates, my eccentric Aunt Bebe from Taos and her husband Bounty, a famous cowboy sculptor; and Bono, Irish Rock star. I was cooking with some assistance from our former housekeeper Rose. Former, because after all of the years taking care of us, my Uncle had fallen in love with her. This year was shaping up to be the weirdest ever, but I loved it anyway; most of my friends dreaded spending Thanksgiving with their families, I looked forward to the interesting mix of people my Uncle managed to get together. It was never the same twice.
I exited the building, relieved that I had not been followed by photographers. I made my way to the Whole Foods store, armed with my long list. Inside, I lingered in the aisles, delighting in my anonymity. Normally I hated the bustle of Thanksgiving shopping, but I savored every moment of this trip. For the moment I was alone and nameless, just a girl shopping for the holiday. I arrived back at the penthouse early in the evening. I unpacked the groceries and poured myself some wine. Bono left a message that he was still with Oprah. I sat at the dining room table and opened my Mac. I realized it had been weeks since I journeled and I hadn’t had a chance to see most of the photos I took from the Burkina Faso trip. I drank more wine and looked through the pictures I had taken. The sun dipped lower in the sky, leaving the apartment dark. The only light came from the computer screen. Just than Bono came in, throwing his coat over a chair. “Hey.” He said standing behind me; I could feel the chill from the outside on him. He put his cold hand on the back of my neck. “It’s getting cold!” He said as he massaged my neck.
“Oprah is so excited about the show.” He said as he put his chin on my shoulder. I nodded slowly, still looking through the photos, than put my head against his.
“So have you figured it out yet?” He questioned as he looked at the photos on the screen.
“I think I have.” I said his face still close to mine. I could feel his warm breath, his body pressed close to me. He reached down to the mouse and scrolled through some of the photos.
“Oh, that’s a good shot, Ans.” He said, looking at a photo of a small child holding a kid in his arms, the baby goat was nearly as large as the boy.
We looked through more photos together, “Maybe someday you could visit the school where I volunteer at.” I said. “We could have a day of music and art!” I was excited at this thought. I looked at him and smiled. He kissed my cheek, “That would be wonderful.” He said.
“We could make the musical instruments…” I said with a grin.
“……and then make music.” Bono finished. I looked at him with wonder and excitement. He flashed his crooked smile, “You’re so wonderful, where did you come from?” he asked.
I shrugged and he continued, “I mean, why aren’t you an awful, spoiled rich girl, with her own line of perfumes, dancing on bar tops with no knickers on?”
I giggled, “I can do that if you want.”
He looked around, “Where’s the bar? No, seriously” he said. “Why?” He sat down in the chair next to mine; I looked into his blue eyes, and thought for a moment.
“I guess because God let me live, because God gave me Uncle Paul. I’m saying my thank yous. And besides, I did awful for a moment, and it did nothing to fill that hole inside, in fact it just made it worse.” I turned to face him and put my hands on his legs. “When I was 18, I remember vividly being at a club, my friends and I were partying in the VIP room, bottle service, the whole nine yards. People around me were doing lots of drugs, and I remember sitting there, just being sad, wishing I could get out of that place. It was a horribly empty place. I knew there had to be something more”. I said.
He was quite for a moment and blinked, “Wow, that’s quite an epiphany.” I got off the chair and hugged him. It was one of those wonderful, long, warm hugs. I just wanted to melt into him. I put my head on his shoulder, breathing him in, and suddenly my mind flashed though everything in my life. My not so normal life; and it made sense. Luke was right, it all made perfect sense. This is what normal feels like. I felt my eyes blurring with tears of happiness. I sniffed a little and he held me out.
“Ansleigh, what’s wrong?” He asked.
I brushed the tear off, “Nothing, I’m just happy.” I think he blushed, “Awww, come on.” He said and hugged me again, “You can’t cry and get puffy, we’ve got Oprah tomorrow!” He said lightening the mood. I laughed, my face buried in his chest.
sweet!
