She wore blue scrubs. She lifted the top portion of her shirt, where a name was embroidered on the left lapel, her name. She glanced at her feet and pointed and flexed them as she stared at the no-nonsense black shoes with cushion padding. She was whole and nothing seemed to be broken. However, she was beginning to believe she'd lost her ever-loving mind. Could she have actually time traveled? "What year is it?" she asked the bewildered woman.
"1997, I believe. Wait a minute, maybe it's 1940. You know I don't recall."
Evie came to her feet in a hurry as excitement bubbled inside of her. "That's all right, Mrs. Thompson." She remembered the old woman's name. This was the nursing home she worked for in 1997. She hurried out of the room and glanced at the big round clock that hung on the wall by the desk. "10:30 AM." If she truly traveled back in time to August 3, 1997, Bryce would call her in five minutes. She strode over to the front desk. She ignored the beeping sounds of monitors, the coughing, and murmurs of conversations as she stared at the phone and willed it to ring. Her hand went to the necklace around her neck and was startled when she felt a thin round pendant and not the bony angular shape of the hippocampus. She glanced at it in confusion. She wore a medal of the archangel Michael with his sword held high as he fought to send the demon back to hell. Her grandmother had given it to her as a gift when she graduated from nursing school. "This is the patron saint for doctors, Nana," she'd told her. "You know I'm a nurse." Her grandmother just smiled and patted her arm.
Turned out when something proved difficult in her life, like boyfriend problems or just having the courage to reach for her dreams, she thought of the archangel. When defeating personal demons, it was good to have an archangel on your side. The boyfriend was gone, but her dreams had to be put on hold since the jerk stole the money she'd been saving to go back to school to become a doctor. Big picture: her life was less complicated without the boyfriend and she was happier now, that in itself proved priceless.
She wondered where the medal was back home in 2007. She hadn't seen it in a while, actually had forgotten about it until now. She frowned as she considered what happened to the hippocampus necklace. In her jewelry box, she assumed. That's where it would have been in 1997.
The phone rang, startling her. She lunged for the phone and fumbled with it before she put it to her ear. "Hello?" Shoot, she should answer with the name of the facility. She wasn't answering a home phone.
"Evie?" her brother asked.
"Hi, Bryce," she said and gripped the phone as she waited for him to ask the question that could possibly change history.
"I have a proposition, and before you say no, hear me out."
"Yes," she said and then realized he hadn't asked her anything yet.
He chuckled. "Make sure you keep that answer in mind. You know I'm touring with the Civilized Heathens."
"You got the gig," she said and remembered how excited he'd been to go on tour. It had been a breakthrough moment for him. He'd been taking photos off and on for them for five years. The band loved his videos and photos he'd captured when they were on the road. Clark had some influence she was sure too, but it was all Bryce's talent that had finally won over the producers. He had the eye to make a photo memorable, and his videos captured decisive moments.
"I did," he said and she could hear the pride in his voice. "But the reason I called is that the band wants to hire a private assistant for Bellamy Lovel," he told her.
"Okay, I'll do it." She didn't hesitate. "I have some time off available here. It shouldn't be a problem. You know I could use the extra cash." Bryce knew about her boyfriend and him depleting her bank account.
"Okay?" her brother said with surprise. "Well, perfect. I'll let the band know. They'll want you to start on August 10th. I'll call you later tonight with all the details. And Evie, this has to be kept quiet. Bellamy is… He's been in rehab, left early to do this tour and the band's worried about him."
They should be, she thought, but didn't voice her opinion. "They're hiring me to watch him, aren't they?"
"Yes. Just keep him on track. Make sure he shows up to the interviews and such. They don't want him wandering off and forgetting where he's supposed to be."
"You can count on me."
Chapter Two
Body Language
August 10, 1997
Evie heard people say how certain events in their lives felt surreal. She never really grasped what they meant until now. She took a cab and met Bryce at the Princess May Hotel in Los Angeles where the band and crew were staying. They had a heavy schedule, and with all the band members in one location it would make it easier to transport them to the interviews, photo shoots, and other events on the calendar.
She couldn't help but notice the fashion trend, including what she still owned in 1997. She had some of her more flashy 80s style clothing stuffed in the back of her closet and she cringed to think she once wore those in public. Florescent colored tops, acid-wash jeans, leggings, and jackets with shoulder pads were all there, and she had yet to pack them up and give them away. However, she really liked some of the late 90s styles she wore in 1997. The casual chic look was in, like T-shirts, jeans, hoodies and tennis shoes. The 2000s still encouraged the chic look.
However, in the mid to late 90s, chic wasn't the only style. There'd been other fashion trends recycled from the previous decades. She spotted a few in the lobby today. A group of girls, heading for the elevators, wore blouses tucked into full skirts, matching belts and shoes. Their hair had been pulled back in ponytails and they reminded her of Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, while the guys they were with wore jeans, white T-shirts, and leather jackets as if they raided James Dean's closet for their look-a-like attire he wore in Rebel Without a Cause. She also noticed some others who brought back the 60s and 70s styles with fringed jackets and bell bottom pants. The Goth look had been popular too, with all black attire, dark eyeliner, and black lipstick.
In 1997, her professional attire was conservative, still was in 2007 and she packed her dark slacks and blouses for the job, but she also packed her jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers for when she wasn't working.
Today, she wore a dark blue blouse with pretty pearl buttons and black pants, and pumps with a sensible heel. She pulled her hair back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. She wore very little make-up, just a little blush, lip-gloss, and mascara.
Her brother introduced her to the guys in the band, who had gathered in the ballroom that had been sectioned off with security so they could have a place for rehearsal practices. Bellamy had yet to make an appearance and she wondered where he was hiding.
The band consisted of Leon Green, five-foot-eight, stockier built than his brother, Maury Green, who stood a few inches taller. Both were blondes and both had big, light-brown eyes, though Maury had a dimple on his right cheek that winked when he smiled. Maury was the drummer and vocals. Leon was vocals, played the keyboards, percussions, and co-wrote most of the songs along with Bellamy Lovel.
T.C. Worth had red hair that he dyed black, baby blue eyes and freckles that no amount of stage make-up would ever cover. He was the bass player and backup vocals.
Clark Barrymore, the tallest of the band, stood five-eleven with naturally dark-brown hair and even darker eyes. He played the rhythm guitar, saxophone, and was also backup vocals. She knew it was too much to hope Clark would keep it quiet that he knew her. His rich voice recited the annoying Chia Pet jingle, then he added, "Chia, my how you've grown." He stood back and gave her a once over and she really wanted to smack the grin off his face.
"Behave, Clark," Bryce warned. "That is my sister you're eyeing like a delicious treat."
Clark lifted his hands. "Just being friendly."
"A little less friendly would be good. Don't want to have to deck you," Bryce teased.
"I give you permission to deck him," Leon said.
"Hey," Clark answered, but laughed good-heartedly.
Leon glanced toward the door for the fifth time. "Typical Bel
lamy," he murmured. "Always late."
She was glad the band, especially Clark, hadn't recognized her as the teen, which nearly had their beloved singer trampled to death back in 1987. Silly, she knew. They probably didn't even see her. Only Bellamy had been up close and personal. Of course, that unfounded reasoning of being found out had been why she'd refused the job the first go around. Her brother had argued how stupid she'd been to think the band even gave her a second thought after that night. He was right of course, but at twenty-four she'd still been naïve and a little insecure. It took a few more years to gain her confidence.
It was a little weird. She had the knowledge and experience of a thirty-four-year-old woman, but no one was the wiser, not even her brother who knew her the best.
Bryce always oozed with self-assurance. He'd been the captain of the water polo team in high school, was the editor of the yearbook and responsible for all the photo shots and the layout, and he still found time to have an active love life. Nothing changed after he went to college. No matter what he set his mind to, he went after it and accomplished his goals. He stood just under six-foot, though he would claim he was six-foot-one. His hair was the same color as hers but didn't have the frizzy component. His locks had a smooth wave that framed his rugged face. His eyes were dark green but almost appeared brown until you were up close and got a good look. His smile instantly put people at ease and it was obvious all the band members trusted and respected his judgment. So when he suggested she be hired as Bellamy's personal assistant, no one balked at the idea.
"Let's have you meet Bellamy," Leon Green finally said as he picked up her bags that Bryce had placed off to the side, but then handed them over to the security guard standing at the door. "Vaughn, please see that these make it to Miss Reid's room."
"Of course, sir," the guard said. He was a tall man, looked like a bouncer at a nightclub with his wide shoulders, muscled chest, and forearms that filled out the dark T-shirt nicely. The word security had been printed in bold white letters across the front. His long hair was pulled back neatly into a ponytail. His almond-shaped dark eyes seemed to assess everything and his gaze pinned her down with a once over. She resisted the urge to bite her lower lip, a nervous twitch she had to fight hard to stop doing.
"Shall we?" Leon asked as he glanced her way. She nodded and they headed for the elevators. "I have a hunch I know where he is," he offered.
She strode beside Leon and he filled her in on Bellamy's condition. He'd arrived last night after his forty-eight-hour stint in the New York rehab, which he'd checked himself into and was able to check himself right out again to board a plane to LA.
Reaching the elevators, they didn't have to wait long for one of the doors to open. Leon allowed her to step inside first and he followed behind. He reached over to the panel on the wall next to the elevator doors and pushed a button to close the doors, but didn't hit a button for a designated floor. He turned to look at her as he rubbed a hand over his head and then massaged the back of his neck. "I know you're Bryce's sister and all... You came highly recommended when we checked with your work, too. It's just– Oh shit. What I'm trying to say is Bellamy is complicated. You've heard things I'm sure from the press. Some not so glamorous, but you can't believe all they say. Can Bellamy be a pain in the ass? You betcha, but he's also a good guy, you know?"
"I'm sure he is," she said and wished she could tell him what she knew about Bellamy. How he donated money to help the less fortunate. How he started drama schools in four different states to help underprivileged teens and donated money every month to keep those facilities going. How he volunteered his own time to see a dying child because it had been her wish to meet him. There were other things too, many unselfish acts, but no one knew any of this until after he died. In life, the media wanted to make him out as the bad boy rocker gone wrong, but in death, they tried to paint a halo over his head. She was sure the real Bellamy, the real man, was somewhere in between the two.
"The latest news," Leon continued, "the press filmed him punching a reporter, but they didn't show the reason for him losing his cool. The bastard he'd punched deserved worse. He'd endangered a group of teens at a high school rally. Bellamy was outside the gym signing autographs. The reporter drove his van through the roped off area, leaning out the window and driving at the same time, mind you. He lost control and if Bellamy hadn't thrown himself in front of one of the girls, and shoved her out of the way, the bastard would have run her over. Bellamy lost it. He went after the reporter who was still filming the incident. Bellamy yanked him out of the van and hauled off and punched the guy."
"I've never put much credit behind the tabloids," she reassured him. "What I'm wondering though, is what exactly did you hire me to do for Mr. Lovel? Just so we're clear. Bryce hinted I was to keep him on schedule. Is there anything else I should know?"
"I'm worried about him. He can be wild and fun, but he's also vulnerable. He's had a few bad relationships and he hasn't been the same since he lost his father. I've known Bellamy for a long time and his smile doesn't reach his eyes if you know what I mean."
She did know what he meant, more so than Leon realized. "I'll be a friend if he wants one."
"Hmm... He may not be warm and cuddly about having you around. Just a warning. I'm hoping you'll be able to keep him on schedule. He's notorious for forgetting where he's supposed to be on a good day, and now..." He let out a tired sigh.
"Understood." She nodded.
Leon looked like he wanted to say more, but then turned and pushed the button on the panel and the elevator jerked into motion.
"By the way, none of us are checked in under our real names," he told her. "But don't be surprised," he added, "if reporters get wind that we're staying here. They'll especially be on the lookout for Bellamy. I swear the reporters can sniff him out like they're part bloodhound. Even so, I know once we begin rehearsals, the reporters will be drawn to us like flies on a half-eaten carcass." He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be so graphic."
"Don't worry about it." She noticed they'd taken the elevator to the top floor.
Leon held the elevator doors open as she stepped out into the hall. He then proceeded to a door that had 'roof access' written in bold black letters. Leon hesitated before pushing the door open and glanced at her. "He's been extra moody since he's arrived. Have I scared you off yet?"
"Nope." She took off her glasses and cleaned them on the edge of her shirt before placing them back on the bridge of her nose. "And moody doesn't bother me." She glanced at Leon with his blonde hair and kind eyes. He was worried about Bellamy. Out of all the band members, Leon had been the closest to him. Is the closest, she reminded herself. Right now, Bellamy was very much alive. "Don't worry. I don't scare easily. Nothing you said bothered me in the least and I'm glad you told me. I'm a great listener too. If Mr. Lovel wishes to talk, I'll be there for him."
"You don't know how much I appreciate you saying that."
Her gaze landed once more on the letters printed on the door, stating roof access and the implications of Bellamy being up here registered as a warning bell in her mind. Dear Lord, why had they allowed such a thing in his unstable condition? Then she realized the band didn't suspect he was suicidal. They believed he had a drug and alcohol problem he was trying to kick.
Leon opened the door and they took a flight of stairs to another door and opened it. The bright sunlight blinded her at first until her vision adjusted. She spotted Bellamy standing on the ledge a few feet in front of her. Fear rose up inside of her like a tangible force that urged her to go to his rescue. Her legs carried her swiftly and her hands grabbed his dress shirt with some kind of wild print on it, and she yanked him toward her.
Bellamy's hands flew out in front of him as if to grab onto something to steady his fall. "What the–" Her cry of alarm muffled Bellamy's curse when she realized he was going to land on top of her, but at the last millisecond, Bellamy twisted, grabbing hold of her as he fell onto his back with her sprawl
ed on top of him in an unseemly manner. Her hair had come loose from the knot at the back of her neck. Her glasses were askew on her nose and she tried to adjust them as she pulled on her blouse, which had risen above her waist. Bellamy's hot hands were on her flesh and for a moment she'd forgotten to breathe. She met his startled gaze and his lips pursed into a fine line.
"What is wrong with you, lady?" he said and shoved her away, not exactly rough but with a purpose to be as far away as possible from her.
She sat in a heap next to him, feeling a bit deflated that he didn't appreciate her attempt to help. "I was saving you," she said and lifted her chin.
"Saving me? Lady, you almost sent me tumbling over the edge."
"I most certainly did not," she sputtered. "And what were you doing up there, anyway? Who stands on a ledge and not think: Hey, I might fall to my death." She rolled her eyes and that seemed to set him off.
His nostrils flared and he looked like he wanted to say more on the matter, but then he turned toward Leon, who stood there with his arms folded against his chest and his lips appeared to be twitching as if he were holding back a full out smile.
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