Page 6 of Euphoria
Francine looked anything but calm as she animatedly told the person on the other end of the call something that, from this distance, looked like it might get violent. Those hand gesticulations told a story all of their own.
Laurel: Hey, nothing, I was just checking in, haven’t spoken to you in a while. You okay?
Alex: There’s a reason for that, Laurel.
Heading back in, Francine looked murderous and, for some reason, Alex felt like a naughty kid being caught doing something she shouldn’t be. She squeezed her phone into her pocket and felt it vibrate against her hip.
“Cecil had better get his act together,” Francine yelled. In England, it was a yell. In New York, Alex wasn’t sure it was much more than a whisper, but to her delicate eardrum, it was loud. She dropped her hands to her sides and grimaced. “They want a tour bus.”
Just the words “tour” and “bus” were enough to send Alex into a spin of hyperventilation.
“I told him, Cecil, you’re a prick, there ain’t no way.”
Alex felt her throat tighten and the panic that rose through her must have looked bad because it startled Francine and she instantly moved into action.
”Okay, honey, just breathe. What’s happening?”
“Don’t…know…” Alex gasped, her fist pressing against the pain in her chest. She’d never had chest pain with a panic attack before. “Hurts.”
“Okay, no need to panic, we’re going to…” She checked around for her bag, one hand grabbing Alexandra’s elbow as she dragged her towards the door. “Come on, let’s get you checked out.”
“No, I’ll be…”
Francine gave her that look again, the one that said she was one word away from sitting on the naughty step. “Come on, we need you fit as a fiddle for this tour.”
Chapter Four
The urgent treatment centre, thankfully, wasn’t too far away. Though with Francine’s driving, Alex was sure she was lucky to only be having a heart attack. It was funny how being in a car didn’t have the same effect as a bus, any bus. She couldn’t use public transport or take a trip if it meant getting into a coach. And no amount of therapy made any difference.
“You alright?” Francine asked, glancing towards her as they neared a hairpin bend. Her face was white as a sheet, and Francine was beginning to panic herself.
“If you’d concentrate, I’d be—shit, Francine!” Alex gasped for breath, clutching her chest again. Why today? When Mike was off.
The car jerked around the bend, skidding its back wheels out. Why hadn’t they called Mike? He’d have come in if he could.
“Sorry, I’m just…you look like you’re having a heart attack.” Francine’s face was also white as a sheet, which didn’t help quell the panic already bursting from Alex’s chest.
“I’m sure it’s just a…panic…” Alex grabbed at her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. “Please slow…down.”
“It might be a heart attack.”
“Not…help-ing.”
By the time they finally got there and parked the car, the pain in Alex’s chest had subsided, but her heart felt like it would beat a prestissimo right out of her chest. The car doorwrenched open, and Francine leaned in, unclipped her seatbelt and all but dragged her from the car and into the small accident and emergency department. A baseball cap was pulled from one of the numerous places they were stashed and shoved onto her head, and not for the first time, Alex was grateful to have a Francine. Alex wasn’t incapable. She didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do. She could put someone in their place if she needed to, but letting Francine take that responsibility on day-to-day things and emergencies was a blessing.
They marched up to the desk where a young woman smiled warmly at them; Alex tried to remain as anonymous as she could, which on the whole was usually okay. People didn’t expect to see musicians at their local hospital.
Completely unaware that a celebrity was standing at the desk, the woman said bluntly, “Hold on a minute, I’ll be right with—"
“She’s having a heart attack,” Francine whispered, cutting her off. “But we need a little privacy, you know? Otherwise, word gets out and you’ll have all manner of the paparazzi here.”
“Not a…heart attack,” Alex managed, but it was no good; the wheels were in motion the moment she looked at the woman.
The woman’s eyes searched Francine’s face before moving across to look at Alex, eyes widening as she finally recognised the face in front of her hidden under the brim of a New York Jets hat.
“Uh, give me…I just need to…hold on.” She stood and rushed through a door behind her and out of sight.
“Give me strength,” Francine said to the polystyrene tiles above her head.