TRICKY DICKY: CHAPTER TWO

Sophie Montana rolled over and looked at the clock.  She sat up too quickly and just as quickly plopped back down, stretched full out and burrowed deep under her custom-made Vera Wang comforter. “I’m not rushing today,” she thought.  “No more rushing. I have all the time in the world,” she chanted to herself. She had made a commitment to Estelle, her therapist, to use the affirmations they wrote out together just yesterday; at this point she would have stood on her head while reciting Deepak Chopra if that’s what it took to simplify her life.
She looked out at the courtyard off her bedroom and relaxed a little. She would get up in a minute and take her espresso out there in the sun. Mornings like this used to be her favorite part of the day, when she could leisurely ease into the day.  At Estelle’s urging, she had hired Oprah’s landscaper to create the sanctuary she had always dreamed of.  She loved the sound of the wind as it rustled through the banana trees and bamboo; the water as it bubbled over smooth stones into the pond dotted with lilies and lotus. Bright peonies and camellias popped up unexpectedly among drooping willows, jasmine and pine.  When she inhaled the scent of the magnolias and sweet olive her body automatically unclenched. It had been months since she had spent any time out there. Well, that was all about to change, starting today, regardless of what Richard said.
It was time to put her foot down and start managing her own career; that was one of the perks of her level of success, that she was finally in a position to call the shots. Not that she wasn’t grateful for all Richard had done and, yeah, she still needed him to manage the details. But as far as what she was going to do and when she was going to do it, well, it was high time to start steering her own limo.
She flipped back the covers and climbed out of bed, stretched up to the ceiling and then slowly folded her body down, one vertebrae at a time, until her fingers swept the floor. This was some sort of yoga “hang” that she was supposed to practice several times a day. No time like the present and wow, it really did feel good. It felt like there was a steel band wrapped around her midsection. Time to schedule an appointment with Sergio to try to unknot this mess. Her body and psyche were screaming for attention. This last tour has really kicked my ass, she thought. But who could’ve ever imagined that she, little Sophie Montana from Bumfuck, Egypt, would be playing to packed houses and sold-out shows everywhere? It still seemed like a dream and she was determined to revel in it, to slow down enough to really savor the ride. Plus, she needed to rest, to recharge her batteries in order to write some new songs. She hardly had time to think these past 9 months, let alone write anything. She had a few bits and pieces on scraps of paper here and there, but nothing substantial. What she needed was some time alone, completely alone, to let her creativity unfurl. The problem was, she didn’t know how to be alone, especially now after being bombarded by people 24/7 for so long. Well, I’ll figure it out, she thought. Right now what I need is some good, strong coffee.
Marcella was in the kitchen and had already cleaned up most of the mess from last night’s welcome home soiree. She turned, a big smile on her face, with arms outstretched, soapy hands and all. “Good morning sweetheart! Oh, it’s so good to have you home!” She wrapped her arms around Sophie, about swallowing her up. Marcella had been with Sophie since the beginning and was truly like family. She was so kind and loving but also thought it her job to protect Sophie from anyone she considered less than sincere. In fact, last night she had sent Mr. Jimmy packing for making a series of snide remarks about Sophie’s latest single, Take Me Away. “Not in this house,” Marcella told him while leading him to the door. She had no problem making those sorts of judgement calls and Sophie allowed it; in fact, she had come to depend on it. One less thing for her to have to worry about.
“It’s great to be home,” Sophie said. “I can’t tell you how good it felt to sleep in my own bed; I woke up in the night and really thought I was in the middle of a dream.”
Marcella handed Sophie her espresso. “Here you go, love,” she said,  “you go on outside and I’ll bring you out a pitcher of water. You need to drink lots of water. Today you relax.”
Sophie took the saucer and gave Marcella another hug. “Thanks, really, for everything.” She was almost out the door when she stopped. “Hey, did Berkely ever call? I left her three messages yesterday, but I can’t find my phone. Did Richard say anything?”
“I have your phone right here,” said Marcella, holding up the embellished iPhone. “Hopefully Berkely is one of your 102 messages...”
“Oh, shit,” said Sophie, reaching for the phone. “I can’t believe I missed her! Where the hell is she? Where the hell is Richard?”
“Not so fast,” said Marcella, holding the phone in the air. “First, you go out and enjoy your coffee. Then, I’ll bring you the phone. There’s nothing that can’t wait a few minutes.”
“You’re right,” said Sophie, remembering her plan to ease into the day. “I’ll be outside. But come and get me if she calls.”
I’m sure she’s on her way, Sophie thought.