by Gina LaManna
“You like taking care of yourself, I understand,” Anthony said. “But at what cost? I’d give up all my money, live in a shack with that yoga man Ira Bliss – hell, I’d offer to be Meg’s personal servant – if it meant I could keep you safe.”
I buried my head in the pillow, a small wet spot blossoming where my cheek hit the fabric.
“Lacey, are you there?” Anthony asked.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” Anthony chuckled, a kind sound, his voice familiar and cozy. “Okay, what?”
“Okay about everything,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”
“In a good way?”
The uncertainty in Anthony’s voice made me pause. “Yes, of course. I care about you so much. I want to be with you, too. I don’t want to be apart anymore, but right now I’m all the way over here, and you’re all the way over there.”
“I’m going to catch an earlier flight tomorrow,” Anthony said. “What I have going on here can wait. I’ll see you in the morning, okay babe?”
“Really?”
“Really, really,” Anthony said. “You just owe me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d really like to make that gingerbread house with you. I don’t think it’ll transport all that well back to the Twin Cities.”
I grinned into the bagillion thread count sheets. “I’d like that.”
“Good. Now, I’m not going to make you cry anymore while I’m too far away to wipe your tears…”
“How do you know I’m crying?” I sniffed.
“Babe.”
I laughed. “Fine. But just for the record, I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
“Sure thing, sugar,” Anthony said. “If I promise not to react poorly, will you tell me everything that’s happened out there in LA?”
I nodded. When I remembered he couldn’t see my bobbing head, I started talking. And I didn’t stop until I’d filled him in on everything, from the car chase with Mack the first night, his job as a stunt driver, to the threats against Poopsie and the two lady suspects we’d checked out today. I finished by describing the bomb, and the plans for tomorrow.
“Anthony, you still there?” I asked after a moment of silence.
“I’m composing my thoughts,” he said. Then, in a very carefully guarded voice, he spoke. “I’m proud of you. Really. If you were anyone else, I’d say you’re handling the situation quite well, you’re covering all your bases, and you’re utilizing your resources in an intelligent manner.”
“But because it’s me?”
“Because it’s you, that makes me upset. Because I’d rather you gave up the job and ran home to me without a backwards glance. But—” Anthony halted my protests before I could even start talking. “I know that’s not your personality. You’re handling it well, especially for being all on your own, and I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That really does mean a lot to me.”
“Tomorrow, when I show up, will you let me help?” Anthony asked, a slight hesitation to his tone. “I know it’s your assignment, and I won’t step on your toes—”
“Of course,” I interrupted, a smile on my face. “I’m new at this, not stupid. Just because I pretend to be a tough cookie doesn’t mean I’m not all trembly on the insides.”
“There’s my girl,” Anthony said. “Now if I were there with you, I can think of a few ways to cheer you up…”
By the time Anthony and I hung up ten minutes later, my face burned red and I was all hot and bothered for a whole new set of reasons. To say morning couldn’t come soon enough was an understatement. The second Anthony stepped foot in this room, I’d break the dang intercom system with my bare hands.
A knock on the door drew me away from my scandalous thoughts. I threw the covers back, shouted “Coming,” and stopped in front of the mirror. How I managed to have sexy-time hair after a simple phone call beat me, so I threw my locks into a ponytail and flung open the door.
“Hi, Lizabeth—” I started, stopping suddenly as I eyed the surprise guest. “Wait a second, who are you?”
CHAPTER 21
“Glamorous.” The man before me spoke with a heavy lisp. He wore his bright blue hair spiked into a Mohawk so pointy it rivaled Sonic the Hedgehog, and I was still debating whether that was makeup around his eyes, or if he’d come straight from a bar fight. “We’re gonna go with glamorous on her; there’s just no other option.”
“I agree.” Lizabeth nodded, biting her lip as she eyed me up and down. “Glamorous it is. Oh, and Lacey…this is Bartholomew. My stylist.”
Together, the two of them barged into my room without an invitation. Well, technically Lizabeth didn’t need an invitation since it was her home, but still, I wasn’t ready for a stylist; I wore my shorts and t-shirt from after the shower, and not a whole lot else. And my hair looked much more like a bush in desperate need of some weed whacking than something that could ever be called normal, let alone glamorous.
“I’m not exactly the glamorous type,” I said. “Or really any type, except the un-fancy kind.”
Bartholomew studied my shorts in disapproval. “I’d never have guessed.”
I studied his skinny jeans in return, though the look on my face was much closer to amazement. Those bad boys were so tight, I couldn’t fathom squeezing even one of my legs inside. Them suckers just added to the overall goth look: black pants, spiky dark boots, a dangerous looking collar around his neck, and…yep, I’m pretty certain that was eyeliner and not the results of someone’s fist on his face.
“You have a boyfriend?” Bartholomew asked the question with the slightest bit of hesitation, as if afraid of the answer.
“Yes,” I said, crossing my arms. “A handsome one, too. He should be arriving sometime tomorrow.”
“Very handsome, indeed.” Lizabeth reached into a pocket hidden in the folds of her quaint yellow dress, her light Southern drawl and perfect white hair rounding out the very put-together woman, at least forty years my senior. Far more put together than myself. She pulled out a phone, and extended it towards her stylist. “This is the lucky guy.”
Bartholomew peeked at the photo on Lizabeth’s phone. “Oh, my,” he said. “My, my, my. This just seals the deal – glamorous it is. We have got to spruce you up for his arrival.”
“You know, Anthony likes me just the way I am.” I nodded down at my clothes.
“Yes, but darling, he’ll like you so much better the way I make you.” Bartholomew nearly drooled. “Can you imagine him in a gorgeous suit? We can’t have you next to him in…” He wrinkled his nose. “That.”
“These are perfectly acceptable shorts,” I said.
“No they’re not, but no matter,” Bartholomew said. “We can do away with those rags, though I’ll admit your body is acceptable. I can work with it.” He nodded at Lizabeth. “I accept your proposed price.”
“Price?” I shook my head. “No way. Lizabeth, don’t spend your money on me.”
“Who am I gonna spend my money on?” She raised her eyebrows. “Honey, I’ve got a handful of good years left on this earth, and a lot of money to spend. I like you. You’re feisty. You’re kind and fun, and I want you to have some of what I’ve worked hard to achieve.”
I looked down.
“I like buying people gifts they wouldn’t buy for themselves. Now something tells me you don’t spend a whole lot on pampering yourself, so this is my treat.” Lizabeth smiled. “Also, I enjoy having you and your friends here. They’re lively, and this house needs some life in it.”
“I don’t know what to say, it’s too generous of you.”
“Let me treat you. It’s what us old ladies like to do. You’ll get there too, someday.” Her eyes crinkled happily. “And if you’re walking the red carpet, we want you to look pretty for all those pictures. And should Anthony arrive in time for the event, well, his socks are gonna be knocked the heck off.”
“You think?�
�� I glanced at Bartholomew, then back to Lizabeth.
They nodded in sync.
Bartholomew waved a hand up and down the length of my body. “I can work with this. This is doable.”
“Doable?” I exhaled. “Good to hear.”
“Yes, and I’m gay, so that’s saying something.” Bartholomew chuckled. “I’m gonna have fun with you, honey. If I don’t watch out, you’re gonna be the center of attention, and all those A-listers tomorrow will be annoyed at you for stealing the spotlight.”
My eyes widened. “I don’t want that.”
Lizabeth winked. “You’re safe with me; I own some of the largest production companies out here. If anyone wants to work in this town, they’ve gotta make good with ol’ Lizabeth.”
“I want to be you when I grow up,” I said. “That is so cool.”
“Don’t worry, honey. You’re already making quite a name for yourself.” She leaned in, kissed me on both cheeks, and then turned to her stylist. “Bart, I’m going to leave her in your capable hands. You know what to do, I assume?”
Bartholomew grinned. “Do I ever! Come back in two hours, Miss Lizabeth, and prepare to be amazed.”
After she left the room, I turned to Bartholomew, my arms crossed. “Listen, Bart, I don’t know what you think you need two hours for, but I’m happy with how I look right now, so let’s keep this short. We’re working on Lizabeth’s dime, so just give me the cheapest dress you have, and we’ll call it a day.”
“Honey, you are so mistaken,” he said, reaching a hand out and gripping my shoulder with talon-like fingers. “Sit. And don’t speak. Let me work my magic.”
“Magic?” My voice came out strangely contorted.
“If you think I’m a mere artiste, you are sorely mistaken.” Bart sat me on a seat in front of the dresser, where I could see my reflection in a large mirror. He stared me in the eyes, his gaze bold and unapologetic. “Darlin’, I am a magician.”
CHAPTER 22
Lizabeth nodded with approval. “Yes.”
“So much yes,” Bart said, his eyes shining as he scanned my body up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Relax,” I said, turning in a circle, the gown hugging my body. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Lizabeth shook her head, slowly at first, as if she didn’t realize her actions. Then faster. If I wasn’t mistaken, she had a misty sheen in her eyes. “You look beautiful.”
“She’s going to stun those photographers,” Bart said. “Steal the show.”
“I’m supposed to be security,” I said. “Not the front and center attraction. In fact, it’s better if I blend in. How can I provide the best security for Poopsie if people are focused on me?”
“I’d argue that the more you blend into the red carpet scene, the less they’d suspect you don’t belong.” Lizabeth cast a quick, albeit pointed, glance towards my discarded shorts on the bed. “And dear, they’re not going to let a woman in yoga pants – no offense – go traipsing around a movie premier simply because you’re my friend. My influence gets me only so far in this town.”
I must not have looked convinced, because Lizabeth made a shooing gesture towards the stylist. “Bart, can you leave us alone for a moment? Help yourself to a cappuccino in the kitchen.”
With one last surprised glance, Bart pulled himself away from the room, the sound of his disappearance peppered with light footsteps pattering down the hallway.
Lizabeth walked over towards the door and closed it tightly. Then she walked over to the intercom system. With utter calmness, she casually picked up a decorative paperweight from the dresser, tested its weight in her palm, and then smiled with satisfaction.
I watched with fascination, as she looked up at me and winked.
“These stupid things always break,” she said, a conspiratorial smile quirking her lips upward. “They’re more of a nuisance than a help, but someone keeps fixing them all, and I don’t know why!”
“I noticed they’re a bit temperamental…” I trailed off, my eyes fixed on Lizabeth as she raised the hand with the paperweight, and then brought it down full force on the intercom.
She pounded so hard that the plastic exterior cracked right in two, though it didn’t break. “Hunh. Either I’m getting weaker, or these things are getting stronger.”
I reached out, meaning to stop her from ruining the house, but Lizabeth was a girl on a mission.
She bit her lip, raised her hand again, and gave another wham. And then again, and again, until the whole thing fell right off the wall. “There.” She turned towards me, took a breath so deep her entire shoulders rose and fell about an inch, and then smiled. “That’s better.”
I surveyed the white-haired lady. “Wow. You have a really good arm. Did you play softball?”
Lizabeth gave the smallest flex of her bicep. “It’s not what it used to be, but I still got some.” She winked. “Now, come sit down.”
I followed her to the bed, adjusting the fancy gown so I crushed as little of the beautiful fabric beneath my butt as possible. She sat next to me, reaching out and patting my thigh as she looked up.
“Do you know why I hired you?” she asked.
I bit my lip. “No, I don’t completely understand, and I’ll be completely honest. I’ve sorta been wondering that very same thing, lately.”
She laughed. “You should have just asked, dear.”
“Before you continue,” I cut in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to tell you a few things. When I’m done, if you want to fire me, or go with a different security firm, I will refund you all of the money, no hard feelings. I guarantee it.”
Lizabeth didn’t look concerned, merely amused. “What’s on your mind, honey?”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. In fact, it’s the opposite; I appreciate your business. I appreciate you taking a chance on me.” I took a long pause. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not the right person to get this job done.” I sighed. “I’m not saying that because I don’t want to be here…I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you or Poopsie tomorrow night.”
Lizabeth cocked her head, listening carefully. So instead of shutting up and waiting for her response like a normal person, I continued to speak. I poured my heart out – all of my worries, fears, and concerns. I told her everything, from the fact that I didn’t own a gun, to the news that someone had tried to corner me in the restroom this afternoon at the theater.
“That’s why I don’t think I should be there tomorrow,” I said, wrapping up a too-long-winded explanation. “If it’s not too late, you’re better off going with a seasoned security firm. These people after you, they know who I am already. The man said he was trying to get rid of me in order to make his job easier at the premier. That means you, Lizabeth. They’re after you.”
Lizabeth took her time to respond again, but this time I managed to remain quiet while she sat in thought. A smile curved her lips upward just before she spoke, her eyes bright. “Well, then you are exactly the person for the job.” Lizabeth reached over and squeezed my knee. “Because I don’t want to make their jobs easier tomorrow. That’s why I hired you – to make things difficult.”
“But look at this,” I gestured down to the beautiful, gorgeous gown that didn’t belong anywhere near my body. “You’ve spent so much money on me, a girl who’s not quite sure what she’s doing. What if I don’t belong here, running my own business?” My heart rate accelerated, and I knew I shouldn’t be unloading a huge pile of worries to my client, but I just couldn’t help myself. We weren’t playing games, this was a real, serious threat, and I wanted the best person on the job for Lizabeth, whether that was me or someone else. “Lizabeth, I’m scared I’ll let you down.”
“I still haven’t told you why I hired you.” Lizabeth pursed her lips. “I’m going to do that now. No interruptions, no matter how much you agree or disagree, understood?”
I nodded, afraid to mutter yes. For someone who was
around when bubble gum was invented, she sure could command a room.
“I didn’t hire you because you’re the smartest,” Lizabeth said, leaning towards me with a wink. “In fact, I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re not the smartest. No offense intended, that’s just a fact.”
I blinked. It wasn’t exactly news to me, but I didn’t expect to be called out, either.
“I also didn’t hire you because you know how to work a gun, or set up surveillance, or blend with a crowd.” Lizabeth smiled. “As a matter of fact, I’m not sure you know how to do any of those things. You don’t own a gun, I know that. And you certainly don’t blend in with a crowd. For one reason or another, you turn heads wherever you go.”
Another blink confirmed I was still listening, since I was too scared to say anything.
“I also didn’t hire you because you speak three languages, or have big muscles, or have access to an extensive network of operatives,” Lizabeth said. “So we’re back to the beginning: Why did I hire you?”
I gave two blinks this time. If this conversation didn’t turn around pretty quick, I’d be ready to slink out of this room and sneak onto a plane home in the next few minutes, burying my face in shame.
Thankfully, Lizabeth picked up on a more positive note. “I hired you because none of those things matter.” She crossed her arms, leaning back to survey me in her intelligent gaze. “All of those things can be taught, or bought with money. I can buy someone to guard me who knows how to work a gun. I can buy a ticket to the most exclusive places. I can buy a whole squad of security staff. But it’s difficult to find someone who is honest. Who is loyal. Who does a good job, whether or not there’s money involved. Someone who will go the extra step, someone who cares.”
I shifted, almost wishing she’d go back to the things I was incompetent at. Compliments were harder to accept than criticism, apparently.
“I can’t buy loyalty past a certain extent, and you have it in spades. You’re not only loyal to me, but you have friends loyal to you.” Lizabeth smiled. “Do you see the way Meg, Clay, and Anthony bend over backwards to help you, to keep you safe? Hell, you’ve already got Mack wrapped around your finger, and Mack’s as much of a loner as they come. That loyalty to you is worth more than money can buy.”