Helene arrived at Massoli’s Pizzeria about a minute before the reporter. The smell of marinara and parmesan cheese wafted over yells from dozens of patrons engrossed in televisions showing Jet football, Italian soccer, and Mets baseball.
Breann Lucos waved to Helene as she strode to the wrought iron-gated entrance. She matched Helene’s ponytail with a long brown one of her own. Breann was in her late thirties with dark brown eyes, stood 5’8” and had tanned skin. Through glances, movements, and style while ordering their pizza and drinks, Helene realized Breann was gay. She was incensed at the reason for the connection to Ramona. Determined to keep the upper hand with a reporter from the New York Post sent by Ramona, Helene wasted no time when Breann turned on her phone’s recorder.
“Breann, can I ask you something hypothetical?”
Breann nibbled a piece of pepperoni and shook her head “yes”.
“If you wrote a book or did something to become famous and your friend’s ex-girlfriend showed up out of the blue to interview you. You’d be pissed, right?”
Breann choked. She grabbed her diet coke to control her gasping. Helene felt bad. She hoped Ramona suffering in a similar way. Breann composed herself and turned off her phone.
“Helene, I missed your show last night because I wasn’t feeling well. But I’ve watched you kill at three venues in the city. I’m a fan. To be honest with you, I told Ramona to shove her this meeting with you up her ass. She convinced me by telling me about your recent record company dealings. I think you should try to control your own destiny during the three weeks before you come under Trojan Horse’s umbrella. And to answer your question, I’d be pissed as hell. I’m glad you are, too. It shows character.”
Helene sipped her root beer. She bit into her cheese, spinach, and mushroom slice savoring the warm around her mouth. After chewing several times, she asked another question.
“Before you turn your phone on, I want to know how worried I should be about Ramona?”
Breann sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled with a laugh.
“She’s a musician, Helene. No offense, but there’s a reason why you all date each other and usually stay away from rank and file people like me. I like Ramona. But it took me five years of being away from her to feel that way. Look out for yourself. You’ll be fine, if you do that.”
Helene nodded her head. Breann turned the phone back on. The New York Post got the first interview with Helene Troy.
I’m preoccupied with the novel I’m REWRITING, The Ballad of Helene Troy. This is a heavily edited excerpt toward the end adapted for Write on Edge’s “face to face meeting prompt”.
Here’s a great Fleetwood Mac song that fits the story, Second Hand News.