E: Alice, I think we might want to remove this passage claiming that Bianca has been planning to kill your kids since before she met Ioan. Not only is it actionable, but it makes you sound a bit ... well, irrational.
Silence. Alice straightens her spine and, in slow motion, rises to her feet and takes a deep, shaky breath.
A: What did you just say to me?
E: I meant no offence, I ...
A: Let me tell you something, Mister I-became-an-editor-because-I-failed-as-a-writer. This book is about ME! About MY TRUTH! I was gagged, you hear me, GAGGED for three years, and now the world will finally hear MY TRUTH, because it’s THE truth! Are you listening, fucko?
The editor swallows. Sweat starts trickling down his spine.
E: Y-yes.
A: So WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION ME? Do you know who I am? I’m a woman who had a stellar acting career when I chose – CHOSE! – to give it all up for my cheating pussy of a husband and my kids, who love me more than life itself! I’m bedbound 80% of the time, and I still raised 2 kids, looked after the house, cared for my terminally ill brother and my terminally ill nanny, homeschooled my children and managed my husband’s career! Where would he be without me, that fucking loser? And YOU LITTLE SHIT have the nerve to question me?
E: I just thought ...
Alice breaks into angry tears and wipes her face with her scarf, smudging her vermilion lipstick in the process. Mimicking the editor’s tone, she slams her fist on the table.
A: You just thought, you just thought! Well, think again, you ... you typist! You’re supposed to–
She stops dead mid-sentence. Her eyes narrow as she stares down at the editor, whose lips are now visibly trembling. The room temperature seems to drop by several degrees when Alice places her hands on the table and lowers her voice to a hollow whisper.
A: She sent you, didn’t she?
The editor looks up in confusion.
E: Who? What are you talking about?
A sudden shriek pierces the fraught silence. The editor stares on in horror as Alice begins to scream in a high-pitched voice that reminds him of fingernails on a chalkboard.
A: She sent you! BIANCA SENT YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH! You’re here to take my beautiful BABEEEEZ from me, to bring them to her! And Ioan is in on it, isn’t he? HE WANTS THEM DEAD TOO! And then THEY’LL COME FOR ME! That’s the plan! BABEEEEZ! MY BABEEEEZ! Come and stand up for Mummy! HELP ME!
E: Alice, please calm down! You’re making no sense! I’ll call 911, and we’ll get you all the help you need, okay?
Alice knocks the phone from his hand and clutches her scarf as she storms to the door, her golden ankle boots gleaming in the pale overhead lights like rays of sunshine.
A: GRUFFUUUUUUDD! GRUFFUUUUUUDD!
The echo of her howls grows ever fainter until nothing remains but the reverberation of a tortured sob the editor thinks sounds a bit like the word “Lupine”. With shaking hands, he gathers his notes and makes his way to his boss’s office.
Which is when he remembers that he has promised his daughter to watch 102 Dalmatians with her tonight.
And he starts screaming.