Regrets? I've Had a Few.

Elanor sat on the couch, trying her best to focus on the television screen in front of her. Anne had gone out to work and Sid was practicing with the guys, leaving Elanor all by her lonesome in the house. She had straightened up, made all the beds, dusted all of the snow globes and even did the dishes; She was hopelessly and utterly bored.

The sound of a cash register emitted from the television, "Ground floor: Perfumery, stationary, and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food. Going up..."

Elanor sighed, "I'm not in the mood to watch you, right now, Are You Being Served?." Having already seen this episode, she causally began flipping through the channels. Settling on Twilight Zone, she threw the remote toward the opposite end of the couch.

Just as she got comfortable, someone knocked on the door. She wasn't sure if she should answer it or not, since this wasn't her home, but thought it rude if she didn't. She pushed herself off of the couch and made her way to the door.

"Um, hi." Elanor smiled. "Can I help you?"

A man dressed in a light brown suit stood on the stoop. "Hello, my name is Malcolm McLaren. Are you Elanor?"

"Yes." She pushed her hair over her shoulder, nodding. "I am. What business do you have with me? Am I in trouble or something?" Elanor could hear the small voice in her head shouting at her, "The drugs! He's busting you! He knows!" but quickly ignored it. He didn't look like a cop. No, he was too laid back for that sort of thing.

He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes becoming more visible. "No, dear. You're not in trouble. But, I do wonder if we could have a chat? Just you and me?"

"Sure, come in." She ushered him inside and led him to the kitchen table. Taking a seat, she gestured for him to do the same. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Well," Malcolm sighed. "It's sort of a sensitive topic, I imagine."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, not for me. For you."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, well," He folded his hand on the tabletop, "As I said, my name is Malcolm McLaren. I do many things, dear. I design clothes. I own a small boutique. I used to perform a bit, back in my better days. But, lately I've started managing other performers."

Elanor knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. "Okay," It sounded more like a question than a statement. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Well, to be blunt about it, everything."

"I don't understand."

"You see, my dear," Malcolm pulled a set of thick papers from his inner coat pocket. "This is a contract. I contract I have with a local band. I'm going to make them huge. They're already well known here, but not in the US. I'm planning on taking them on tour there, to expose them, you could say."

"Um, I--"

"Please, dear," Malcolm held his hand up, silencing her. "Let me finish. The band I'm managing is the Sex Pistols. I know you and their bassist have become quite, what's the word I'm looking for? Ah, yes. Cozy."

"Sid?" Elanor mashed her lips together. She didn't like this man. "Does this have something to do with Sid and I?"

He nodded, tucking the papers back into his pocket. "Essentially. I think it would be best, for now, if you two took a break."

"A break?"

"Yes. He's barely practicing anymore. He hardly shows up to recording. He's more dazed now than ever. And, I can't help but feel that it's partly your fault."

"My fault?" Elanor scoffed. "You want me to end things with Sid so you can make money?"

"Dear, this has nothing to do with money."

"Oh, please. You--"

"I'll say it again," Malcolm's tone became harsh, his demeanor darkening. He stood from the table, walking over to stand behind Elanor. He leaned down to place his mouth by her ear. "Break it off with him now, or I will take matters into my own hands. I can make existing very miserable for you."

Elanor sat frozen. Did he just threaten her? He couldn't do that.

He couldn't.

Could he?

She turned her head just in time to see him walk out the door, slamming the door behind him. She couldn't believe what just happened. Her heart raced and her palms began sweating. Would she tell Sid? Or, would she let him leave? She was so confused.