Promises

by Susan Rodgers

  Matt fit well in Charles’ employ. He had enough challenges day to day to make life interesting, and he enjoyed the prestige of working with one of the more successful husband and wife teams in the entertainment biz in Canada (and in the world, for that matter). He had come to adore Jessie and her music about as much as any of the rest of her fans, more-so even, because he knew her and admired all but her tendency to disregard the protocols that he felt would ensure her safety. She was not a princess, she shared her wealth with the less fortunate, and she was always pleasant, albeit shy and quiet. An observer, Matt had enjoyed watching Jessie blossom with Josh at her side. She was clearly madly in love with him. It irked Matt to watch how Dee pushed her away by not accepting Josh. He had always thought of Charlie as the playboy he finally proved to be, and had always thought Jessie was sad and lonely in that doomed relationship. Josh opened up a bright spot of sunshine in the girl’s heart, and it radiated to those around her, including Matt.

  As a security professional, Matt’s ability to spot trouble was expected. There were those in the field, however, who settled into a sort of laissez-faire routine of hanging out with their celebrities and sharing in the joys of wealth and fame. Matt was the opposite, he removed himself enough from his employer so as to remain utterly professional and assured in the services he and his team were providing. This way, he could be supremely confident that all was well in the Keating camp at all times. He sometimes felt close to Jessie because he could see that she, too, kept a certain distance between herself and others. Maybe it made him even more protective of her. At any rate, he’d seen enough pain in his career as an RCMP officer to want to avoid that in this, what he considered his second career. And as much as his and his wife’s families teased him about his “cushy” job, he took it seriously and ached to protect Jessie and the Keatings to the best of his ability.

  When Charles asked Matt to attend this meeting with him and Charlie, Matt’s intuition kicked in. Something was up, something out of the ordinary. He’d chauffeured Jessie a few times over the past few weeks and, like the others close to her, noticed a startling change in her behavior and personality. After the tire incident last Saturday Matt had watched, disturbed, as Jessie tore off in her Mustang, belligerent and obviously terrified. So today’s meeting wasn’t necessarily a surprise. However, it did seem odd that Charlie was to be involved.

  It was one of those soft, misty, early June Vancouver days. Matt pulled the black Audi up to the butter yellow house in North Van and flipped off the windshield wipers, noting that Charlie had already arrived, as evidenced by the mud-splattered 911 in the driveway ahead of him. He hopped out and inserted his own key, kept for instant access if need be, into La Casa’s lock. Charles had told Matt to come right in. Dee was now in New York, and Carlotta would be out grocery shopping.

  At the entrance to Charles’ study, Matt knocked twice and then pushed open the door. The two Charleses (or Charles squared, as Jessie used to tease) looked up at once and nodded their greetings, and it wasn’t lost on Matt that they seemed very much like father and son, as each had hoped and planned for not all that long ago. Charlie accepted Matt’s outstretched hand and shook firmly. Judging by the grim look on the younger man’s face, and Matt’s inclusion in this meeting, the security professional knew they weren’t there to discuss how to “off” Josh so Charlie could have Jessie back, as he joked with himself on the drive from his home in nearby Burnaby. Matt fortified himself for whatever was to come, pulled out a chair at Charles’ boardroom table, and settled in.

  As Charles established himself at one end, Charlie jumped in before Matt had even poured himself a glass of water from the decanter in the center of the rectangular dark glass table.

  “Something’s going on with Jessie.”

  Matt took a sip of his water and eyed the playboy. He would have rather held this meeting with Josh, who seemed to him to be more responsible and less flighty than Charlie. He shrugged. “I agree. She’s not herself. Have you been talking to her lately?” It was a dig, but Matt chanced it anyway. Charlie didn’t even flinch.

  Charlie’s voice was urgent. “Josh and his buds from the television show called me over to Josh’s place on Sunday. They see her every day. They’re worried sick. She’s been skipping show rehearsals too.”

  Straightening, Matt suddenly took Charlie a little more seriously. He glanced over at the pale and worried Charles, suddenly noticing that the lines in his employer’s face were a little darker and more pronounced than normal. If Josh and Charlie were meeting to discuss Jessie and, truly out of character she was missing rehearsals, then the shit was really hitting the fan.

  “Where should we start, Matt?” It was Charles, interjecting from his end of the table, his usual authoritative timbre rasping like a cello being played with a handsaw, uneven, low and tired.

  Matt looked over at Charlie. As much as he wanted to dislike him, there was an earnestness in Charlie’s eyes. Jessie had that kind of power over men, the power to undo them.

  “Charlie,” he started, leaning back in his chair. It creaked with his movement. “Do you think she’s just having second thoughts about Josh? People get sick when it comes to affairs of the heart. Then add in all this bullshit with people slicing Josh’s tires and spitting on him, for God’s sake…”

  He was testing Charlie. But Charlie Deacon was too worried about Jessie to go for it. And he’d been witness to the affection Jessie and Josh had for each other, as much as he hated to admit it. It took him a few seconds, during which he didn’t break Matt’s steady hazel gaze, and then he picked a spot on the hardwood to focus on, and shook his head.

  “No,” he said fervently. “Personally, I don’t. It kills me to say so, but she loves the heck out of that guy. But she’s pulling away from him, and he’s scared shitless. He doesn’t know how to help her. None of us do, and she’s not talking.”

  Charlie glanced over at Charles. The older man was staring at his fingertips, despondent.

  With a hard look back to Matt, Charlie spoke earnestly. “Matt. Josh and Steve think Jessie recognized the knife that was left by Josh’s car.”

  “Hmm.” Matt leaned an elbow on the glass table and rested his chin in his knuckles, then brushed his cheek with his thumb as if feeling for the whiskers he’d fastidiously shaved away that morning. “That would explain why she got sick.” Steve had told them she’d been puking before she spun off in her car, tires squealing on the pavement.

  “And why she removed herself from the rest of us for the remainder of the day,” Charles added. “In classic Jessie style, she needed to process this crap on her own.”

  “But enough is enough,” Charlie said. “Matt, if she recognized the knife, then she knows who slashed Josh’s tires, and she’s running scared.”

  “And we need to find out who was sending her a message,” Charles said, his stomach doing somersaults of its own as he pictured the damage that insidious dagger had the power to inflict.

  Matt added the inevitable thought on everyone’s minds. “And what that message was.” He pulled his cell phone out from a chest pocket on his blazer and scrolled to a picture he’d taken of the knife. With his thumb and forefinger, he touched the screen and widened the image so that he could more clearly see the blade and handle. He stared at the embossed image just below the handle on the blade but, wide like this, it was too pixilated to make out. He would have to pay a visit to the local authorities and question the young officer who catalogued the knife. Maybe the kid had already identified ownership.

  He stayed and discussed Jessie and the knife incident with Charles and Charlie for another half hour. They talked about the increased security presence around Josh’s place and at the Drifters set, and Matt promised to check in regularly with the team he’d posted at both locales. They’d be looking for any strange vehicles or suspicious walkers. This time of year that would be difficult, as the weather was generally so inviting and warm in Van these days that many folks were out and about.
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br />   Matt left the two Charleses with words of hope and optimism. “Look, Jessie’s not the first celebrity who has been stalked, if that’s what’s happening here. Or Josh, if he’s the target. The wisest thing we can do for Jessie at this point is keep a close eye on her, try to encourage her to follow the rules for her own protection, and to open up to us.” He regarded Charles and then gazed pointedly at Charlie. Matt felt a surge of anger that this man who had been supposed to marry Jessie hadn’t gotten to know her well enough that she’d feel comfortable telling him what the hell kind of chaos was going on in her life, a chaos that was making her obviously ill from worry.

  Charlie felt the death ray glare. He shrugged his shoulders. “Look. I know I fucked up, man, but I still love her. We’re friends, on some weird level, at least. Maybe she’ll talk to me.”

  Shoving his phone back in his inside blazer pocket, Matt replaced his determined glare with a grudging dismissal. As he left the room he instructed Charlie to let him know what he found out, if anything.

  Charles stayed seated glumly at the head of the table. Eight and a half years with Jessie and he and Dee seemed no closer to sharing confidences with her. In fact, with Josh now in the picture, their girl seemed to be drifting further away.

  He and Charlie sat there together, unspeaking, for fifteen minutes before Charlie grabbed his cell and texted Jessie.

  Coffee soon?

  He didn’t expect an answer right away, for Jessie was shooting today and it wasn’t likely she had her cell with her on set.

  As Matt pulled away from La Casa he couldn’t help but wonder if Jessie would ever open up to him. Sometimes scared people just needed a third party to talk to, someone a little removed from their closer circles, someone who wouldn’t judge them or rock the proverbial boat in some unforeseen manner. He pondered that as he headed towards the downtown police headquarters. The visit would likely be futile, as the police were always understaffed and swamped; a mere celebrity tire slashing incident didn’t likely rate high on the Richter scale of the busy Vancouver Metro Police. But at the very least maybe he could talk the young officer into giving him a better copy of the knife photographs. Matt could do his own research. For sure that insignia on the dagger blade would turn up in a database somewhere.

  At the same time as Matt crossed the Lions Gate Bridge, Jessie was sitting with her back against her favorite Drifters cottonwood tree being gently caressed by tufts of lovely white snowy fluffs. She had her dad’s old Gibson propped by her side and Josh’s head resting on his left arm in her lap. His other arm was loosely laid across her knees. He was watching steady rivulets of water trickle over the smooth rocks in the creek as she tenderly ran long fingers again and again through his tousled hair. Jessie bent down and murmured in his ear.

  “Josh Sawyer.”

  He could hear a tremor in her soft voice.

  “You remember what I said that night after Agassiz, right?”

  He tensed. This was more than she’d given him in a long time, in terms of verbal communications. “Yeah.” It was a hopeful whisper. He waited for more. He could feel, in that moment, the pounding of his heart as somewhere the universe spoke to him and commanded that he pay close attention, that this was one of those key moments that really, truly mattered.

  He was rewarded for his attention.

  “What did I tell you, Josh?”

  Pause.

  Then, in a low gravelly voice - hesitant, unsure - he said, “You told me that no matter what happened, you would always love me. Always and forever.”

  The fingers stopped moving in his hair and, behind him, he could hear Jessie’s breathing quicken. He turned himself around so that he faced her, just in time for his thumb to trace a tear on her cheek. His heart ached for what she wouldn’t say to him.

  “Jess,” he implored, a last futile attempt. “Please.”

  She shook her head. He sat up a little, leaned his head in towards her, closed his eyes and felt her eyelashes tickle his cheek as he rested his forehead against hers.

  “Wait for me, okay?” she begged him, her voice suffused with emotion. Then she lifted his whiskery chin and delicately brushed her lips against his. “Josh, please.” She let the tip of her tongue run itself over his lips. She needed to taste him.

  He quivered as his body responded to her faint overture, then held her, ran a hand through her curls and begged her again to talk. She was silent.

  Finally, he lost it. He leaned back and firmly placed a hand underneath her chin. “Jessie, enough is enough. You need to tell me what the hell is going on.” He was sitting straight up now, facing her, and he could see that his rising blood pressure was having the desired effect on his fiancée. Her face flushed, and she looked away, but he’d seen something flicker there, a yearning to talk, maybe? He would push her a little further…

  “Jessie, everyone’s freaked out by this secret you’re keeping from us. We’re your friends, we deserve more. Dee deserves more. She’s out there running from city to city trying to help others, but I’m hearing she can’t stay focused because she’s so worried about you. Hell Jess, I deserve more. When are we going to set our wedding date? Please, just tell me what’s going on! Talk to me.”

  She was lost on the fact that Josh apparently had some insight into Charles and Dee these days, which was more than she’d had with either of the Keatings in the last few weeks.

  “Josh, it’s just a lot these days. Okay? Balancing everything. Maybe I just need some free time. Some time to breathe.”

  He contemplated that, because in truth she hardly ever seemed to have free time, but Jessie could see his mouth twitching. He wasn’t buying it.

  “Bullshit. Something happened after Agassiz, and you’re not talking. What was it, a text or something? What set you off?”

  Staring at him and biting into her bottom lip, Jessie ached to talk. But the sight of Sandy - the bloodied knife - holding him while his gentle flecked hazel eyes begged her to help him as his soul flickered away…no. She could not involve Josh in this. She was totally, utterly, alone.

  “I was wrong, Josh.” It was a squeak, and he could see her fighting to stay in control of her emotions. But it was something, a rare glimpse. He took it.

  “About what, Jessie? Tell me. Please.”

  But he wasn’t rewarded with the answer he hoped for.

  “About us. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. It’s too soon - after Charlie.”

  Silence. Then, “No. I’m not buying that. You just told me you would always love me.”

  Quickly, she interjected, cutting him off. “And I asked you to wait for me. Things need to settle down a bit. But I guess that’s your choice.”

  This time when he peered into her soul Josh could sense that what she said wasn’t entirely an untruth. But it still didn’t sit right.

  “I won’t let you go, Jessie,” he said, devastated but determined. “Not like this. There’s more to this that you’re not telling. I know it.”

  “All you fucking know, Josh, is that something’s messed up right now. But maybe what you need to accept is that it’s plainly and simply us.”

  Then a mask washed over her face and she brusquely pushed him aside, grabbed the guitar, and headed back to her trailer without a backwards glance.

  He sat immobile under the cottonwood and watched Jessie light up a smoke as she stormed away, shoulders hunched over, a lacy white 1860’s petticoat swaying just over the ankles of her dusty brown leather lace up boots, the tip of the cigarette testament to the last flickering vestige of light their relationship seemed to have left.

  “Jesus, Jess,” he whispered. She was sending him a message, as clearly as that knife must have been relaying one to her. It seemed all he would have to do is never give up. Wait, and never give up.

  But for how long? And was that just her way of letting him down easy?

  The futility of the situation was killing him. But he would be there for her, no matter what.

  He was Josh, and s
he was Jessie, and their romance had just begun.

  ***

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jessie didn’t meet Charlie for coffee, and she refused to attend the Drifters wrap party the next Friday. Then, to everyone’s dismay, she refused to sign for a third season. The way she saw it, they would likely take her back if she decided to sign later on anyway, although she hated doing that to Jonathon two seasons in a row. But there were some perks to being Jessie Wheeler. At this point, instead she figured she’d take on one of the many feature film projects Dee had lined up. Something that would take her far away from Josh, that would ensure his safety. Maybe, if she were lucky, Deuce would back off. Or, she would be rid of McCall by then, one way or the other.

  The night of the wrap party, Jessie dressed in a hot red skimpy Leeza style dress and over-the-knee high black boots, into the right of which she stuffed a pack of cigarettes. Then totally out of character she texted Matt for a ride. She’d wrapped earlier than Josh from their last day at Drifters, gone straight to her condo, and immediately started drinking Jim Beam. She sent a second text, this one to Josh-something came up catch up with you tomorrow. By the time he wrapped and got the text she’d be passed out drunk and mercifully not feel the pain of leaving him, which had to happen this weekend.

  Hell, Arnie had generously given her a solid start on handling the Guardian pistol. The remote shooting range where she found herself firing ruthlessly at tin cans - shuddering at the image of an actual human being in her sights - was also a source of inspiration and empowerment. Hope. Maybe she would have the nerve to destroy Deuce sometime in the next two days. Or, if she just had something to bargain with him…maybe he could be convinced to leave her and Josh alone.

  Jessie shook her head in frustration, and angrily punched the button for the elevator. Matt would be waiting downstairs to give her a ride.