by Anne Eliot
I only nod and bite my lip, wondering if what she’s referring to has something to do with Cara’s death.
She leans toward me and whispers, “I’ve thought long and hard about what I would have done if it had been me. One of my siblings. My own mother in danger like that. Many felt Angel should have been locked up, too. Self-defense or not, that boy did kill a man.” She shrugs like she thinks I know what she’s talking about, and my chest grows tight because her words scare me. I can’t ask her a thing, because I’m supposed to already know this. Because Angel and the Perinos are supposed to be my close family friends.
I cross my arms, trying to replay all that she said.
Did she say murderer? Did she say…Angel killed a man?
Mrs. Hildebrandt keeps babbling. “I was with the majority. I agreed that our city was better off without that rat bastard criminal alive. You know?”
I nod, throat closing with more unease.
“Though it’s strictly off record, the judge who tried his case and his attorney think the same thing, that Angel is a hero. That he got a bad rap thanks to too much public exposure, you know?”
She blinks, waiting for me to give some sort of response, but all I can do is nod again as my stomach only drops more.
Judge? Court case? Was Angel in prison or something? Is that why he’s got all the scary tattoos and muscles?
It’s all I can do to hold my calm expression while I wonder if I brought my brother to a house where a convicted killer was sleeping in the basement all night long. The only thing that keeps me calm is that Angel will not be near Sage all day. That he’s here working this hotel’s parking garage right now, and that Mrs. Hildebrandt had said self-defense. She also just called him a hero. Angel and I are supposed to get off work and return to the house at about the same time.
At which time I will be trying to figure this story out. Or, I’ll just ask him to his face.
Mrs. Hildebrandt misinterprets my silence and adds, “Well, you’re right not to talk about it. Too sad to bring it all up again, isn’t it? The press loves re-hashing the whole story. Those ‘true-crime’ TV shows replay it all the time. You can’t stop the press from reporting what’s on public record.” She sighs, and fiddles with my lanyard one more time. “Were you part of those huge protests surrounding his court case?”
I can hardly keep the shaking from my voice. “I—we—uh, no. We didn’t live here.”
“Yes. Of course.” She pats my shoulder. “He’s coming out of it well, though it’s been ten years. I’m happy he has a friend like you.” She blinks at me like she’s all choked up. “Maybe you’re just what that poor boy needs. Are you his girlfriend? Is that why he was so protective of you?” She winks at me.
“Oh. No-no. No!” I feel my face heat.
“Not even a crush?”
“What? No,” I almost shout, flinging my arms wide. “Angel is—he’s not my type, or my anything. I told you, we’re friends… of the family. I have no boyfriend.”
She smiles at my outburst. “Well, I wish you’d answered differently, because now I’m going to be worried. You are young and beautiful in that rosy-cheeked, wholesome way. I don’t think you’ll be the kind of girl the band would ever wish to date, but let me officially inform you that we can’t tolerate any untoward behaviors happening from you. Don’t set your sights on any of the band members. Do you know what I mean? Are we understood?”
“What?” I ask again, shocked by the direction of her thoughts. “Believe me when I tell you I’m here on survival mode. Yes, the band members are all very good looking, I’m not blind or immune to a few blushes or heart flutters, but I’m not here to do anything but work. I want to save money and start a new life for myself here in Orlando. I don’t have stupid Cinderella ideas about rock stars falling in love with the hired help, that’s for sure.” I blush. “I’m not even looking, hoping, or wishing for anything from Guarderobe but to get paid on time. I’ll do a good job and I’ll make you and the hotel proud. That’s all. Officially.”
She laughs. “Mrs. Perino also assured me that you are, in fact, an honest and good girl. I’m happy to note your answers match what she told me you’d probably say. Forgive me, but I had to bring up this unsavory topic. It was like, a test.”
“That’s the same thing Royce told me in the limo yesterday. What’s with that?”
“Working for people like this is not easy. Nor is it easy to be them. Every day it’s a new plan, a new story or a new crisis in play. You will need to learn how to smile and fake that you can keep up with whatever comes at you. They are operating on a different plane of reality. As they most probably won’t trust you, you can’t believe in any of them either. Nor can you believe anything you are told. All they do is make up stories and run from the press, then make up another story, and then keep running. If you’re in the inner circle you must become good at navigating on unstable ground.”
I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around the paranoia levels of these people, but at the same time, I can relate to what she’s just told me more than Mrs. Hildebrandt will ever know. Maybe I have more in common with the band than I thought.
“Anyhow.” Mrs. Hildebrandt shrugs like she didn’t just go too far with her interview questions. “If it helps, I like what I’ve seen and heard so far, outfit aside. Keep up the good work and we shall see about that waitress job.”
Even though she’s said exactly what I wished for, I’m so nervous that I don’t agree or disagree, only make what I hope looks like a real smile and nod a bit more while she pushes the elevator button. The double elevator doors slide open with weighted silence. Mrs. Hildebrandt motions me to go inside, but makes no move to accompany me. “Up you go, dear.”
She hands me a card with a magnetic strip on the back. “This will bring you all the way to the top floor suite, past the receiving floor where Guarderobe’s entourage and extra band members are staying. Tuck it in the lanyard case when you’re done using it. Please…don’t lose this either, or mess up.”
“I won’t. Believe me, I won’t.” My chest feels like it’s got a clamp on it.
The doors close without sound, and I feel the elevator burst up so quickly it drops my stomach to my knees. It zooms even faster, then slows to a stop, opening the doors in to what has to be the top floor, because there’s a view all the way to the sea. Afraid the elevator might send me back down, I quickly step out and find myself in some other world.
Chapter 17
It’s echo-loud in the giant, marble-floored penthouse living room. No one but a large bouncer-type security guard has noticed that I’ve entered. The guard glances at my lanyard and nods once, as though he’s been notified I’m coming.
Acting like I’m totally cool with this, I nod back and take one tentative step forward into a room larger than any I’ve ever seen—not counting the hotel lobby below and whole shopping malls, that is. It’s a perfect open floor plan, like the kind I’ve seen watching ‘Real Housewives’ or those mansion tours of the stars they sometimes have on TV. Only this room is massive and brighter because it’s not a home, it’s the top floor of the fanciest hotel I’ve ever seen, made over to look like it’s a home.
There’s a full wall of two-story windows with a view of the amusement parks in the distance, as well as this huge open kitchen that’s gleaming with so much granite and stainless steel it almost makes me need sunglasses. There’s a glass dining table big enough to seat twenty, and a cool bar area off to one side with some tall tables scattered around, all in an area that’s big enough to be its own restaurant.
On the other side of the room, facing the view, there’s a sectional couch made up of easily fifteen square shaped sections side by side that fronts a monster floating television. And I mean a TV that’s the size of a camper floating somehow near the glass windows. It’s blaring some news show loudly, as if someone’s turned it up to drown out the baby, who I can hear crying down one of the four long marble hallways that go off in each direction.
I make out two or three people huddled under blankets on the massive couch. From what I can see, it might be the suit wearing people that were around yesterday. They’re unmoving, possibly sleeping. I decide it will be too awkward to wake anyone I don’t know, so I head in the direction of the crying baby, because I’ve met her before, and because she’s why I’m here. I also hope Mrs. Felix or Gregory will be with the baby, too.
I make my way down a long wide hallway, pausing at the one door that’s open and has light streaming out of it. Peering in, I note loads of unopened boxes holding things like diapers, new strollers, and brand new baby-bouncy seats. Any bit of floor space that’s not holding a box or baby gear is littered with giant shopping bags. Bags that are also full of new baby stuff. It looks like someone threw them in here and ran away. There’s so many, I first think I’ve made a mistake and that I’ve stumbled into a storage room or something. But then I hear her—the baby—squeak and utter her now familiar small determined cry, as well as some people talking.
Pulling off my flip flops and leaving them at the door, I step in and peer around a large box that’s on its side, marked changing table, fully assembled. Two tall guys, one with jet-black hair I instantly recognize as Royce’s, and his band mate, Adam, the one with the chestnut-brown hair from yesterday, are both huddled over a crib that’s in the corner farthest from the door. I pause at the edge of the boxes and try to analyze what’s going on in here.
Royce earns a few points because he’s in the middle of sing-whispering, “There, there, little baby, little pretty one. Please. Please. Please, little noisy one. Go back to sleep so we can, too.”
Adam appears to be helping Royce by trying to pat the baby’s back or something. When the baby still won’t settle, Royce groans out, “Christ. This is so hard. Poor little baby. Where’s a sucky-binky thing? Why does she keep staring at me?”
“Pacifier, Paci, or binky,” Adam corrects. “But in Canada it’s called a soother.”
“Is there going to be a test? How do you know these whack facts? Just help me look for it, dammit.” Royce has dropped to the floor to look under the crib. “I know Gregory bought fifty of them after what happened yesterday, and I will rip this room apart looking if I have to. Why is the sound of her crying so excruciating?”
“There’s one.” Adam reaches down into the back side of the crib and retrieves it with his pinky as Royce hops back up to take it.
He holds it high, glaring at it. “Do we have to boil it and shit like we did those bottles, or do you think it’s clean enough?”
“Let’s go with the idea that it’s still clean. The books say babies need to build up immune systems and a little dirt is okay. I’m sure it’s fine. Not like the baby can tell on us.” Adam takes it back then leans down, most probably to put the pacifier in her mouth, and suddenly the baby quiets. “There. Did you see that?” He smiles down at the crib. “Look at my mad parenting skills. I was just freaking awesome.”
“This baby…” Royce breathes out a long breath, then leans his weight on the side of the crib to stare down at his daughter. “She terrifies me. How can she not terrify you? She’s so small.”
“You’ll get used to her.”
“Will I? You know how I worry. Is it dangerous for babies to cry so loudly? And she does it every two hours. Is that normal? I feel like we’ve done everything she’d ever want, yet every time she wakes up and cries again I feel like a failure.”
“Dude. I’m right there with you. The crying is legit. Totally normal, that’s how they talk. Besides, if she’s supposed to be your kid, she’s bound to be temperamental, sulky, and always a bit too loud. Am I right?” Adam chuckles when Royce has no answer. Adam reaches into the crib again. “Man, at least admit that the fluffy ginger hair on her head is so cute. Love it.” He swaps into a baby-talk voice. “Sweet baby has such cute fluffy hair and such big, big voice, just like her baby-daddy Royce.”
“Adam. The crap you say to push my buttons. You aren’t funny. I’m about to deck you for all of this.”
Adam shrugs. “Sorry. If we can’t find some humor in this week and next—I feel like we’re all going to go insane. You being pegged as an insta-dad by your grandmother is the funny side of this mayhem.”
Royce whispers, “There is no funny side here, at least not from my point of view. As for us all going crazy? I don’t know about you, but I’m there, feeling as crazy as hell right now. Your antics have sent our whole lives over the edge.”
“This is not antics. It’s all necessary and important. And…watch your language in front of our little girl.” The laughter slips out of Adam’s voice. “None of this could be helped, right? We will weather this shit-storm just fine, won’t we?” He croons to the baby. “And your mommy is going to come back. She must be flipping out to have to leave her like this…huh?”
“God. I can’t imagine what that woman is feeling right now. It can’t be easy.” Royce sighs.
Adam’s sighs, too. “Makes me so depressed, dude.”
“Me, too. Don’t worry, we will solve this. We will.” Royce suddenly sounds apologetic. “But in the meantime, could you ramp in and help me spin-doctor the press a little better? And my grandmother. Yesterday that woman got out of control. Who knew becoming a great-grandmother would set off so many hormones. If she cries one more time, it’s going to kill me.”
Adam chuckles. “She keeps calling the baby her long lost, darling, great-granddaughter. Poor, sweet lady. I never knew this would affect her like this, either. Will she be okay at the end of this?”
“Dude. None of us will be okay after this. There’s a baby in our lives now. Shit. I know you’re helping all that you can…but we have to get this child’s mother back here as soon as possible. Is there any news?”
“None. But I’m on that today. Like you, I haven’t slept a wink since she arrived. I’m not going to abandon you on your newfound dad duties, either. I swear. I know you weren’t down for the little-nanny-girl idea, but I’m thinking it’s a good thing she’s coming.”
“It’s not.” His voice sounds cynical. “That little-nanny-girl, is seriously too young and too innocent to be caught in our band’s shit storm. You know I’m right. What if we ruin her life in addition to this baby’s life? You should have heard the lecture my grandmother gave me about being an honorable father—how I needed to go from a boy to a man now. Then Gregory started in about all my new father responsibilities. And Vere—she’s making me insane with her lollipops and rainbows speeches. If I hear her say, Royce, you’re someone’s daddy now, one more time, I might break that life-long, never-hit-a-girl rule.”
“I’m trying to make up for all of that.” Adam points around the room. “Who’s the one that went out and got this baby stuff—me! And who’s the one reading the next boring-as-hell baby book—me. I’m at your beck and call for questions and assistance should you get freaked out.”
“I am freaked out. You know I’m not capable of babies! I don’t even want to hold her, so keep on doing what you’re doing, Uncle Adam.” Royce’s voice is dripping in sarcasm. “Also, someone needs to bring Vere in on the information updates. She should have known everything from the beginning.”
Adam sighs. “Fine. You’re right. It was a mistake to keep her out of the plan. I’ll get her ramped in, eventually. After I sleep.”
The way Royce is so disdainful of the baby and the responsibilities that come with his daughter is wrecking my heart, because I know my father loved every second of when Sage and I were babies. He used to talk about it all the time. How he loved holding us, and even how he loved the spit-up and diaper changes. He’d always mention how we were the best life-change with such a twinkle in his eye. That twinkle—it was—is, such a part of what makes up my father’s face and personality. What I miss every single day.
Because thinking about my dad and starting to cry right here seems way scarier than talking to rock stars, I pad forward, my feet sinking into the thick, large mushroom colored rug
that was placed over the polished ebony wood floors.
When I’m right behind them and they still haven’t heard my approach, I finally blurt out, “Um. Hi.” I move even closer and don’t pretend I didn’t overhear them by saying, “Little-nanny-girl, is uh…reporting for duty or…work.”
They both leap away from the crib like they’ve been caught stealing something. They’re also suddenly so tense that I wonder if they think I’m going to try to jump on them and get all fan-girl crazy or something?
Adam turns toward me while Royce, along with those silver eyes of his, thankfully moves in the opposite direction of where I’m standing.
Adam grins wide as he looks me up and down. “Thank God you’re here. But where’s your shoes?”
I point behind me. “I can put them back on, but they’re noisy flip flops so…I thought…just in case she was sleeping.” I motion to the crib. “Mrs. Hildebrandt says if you don’t like my outfit she can send up a hotel uniform. I’m not sure exactly what a hired nanny should wear. So…yeah.”
“No. That’s fine you took off your shoes. Considerate. We did the same. And your outfit seems great to me.”
Royce calls out with his back to me, “We want you to feel comfortable.”
I decide not to bring up the part where I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my whole life and forge onward, “Hope I’m not late. Gregory said seven. Paper signing and key card and instructions on comportment took a while.” I tug on the lanyard so he knows what I’m talking and pretend to examine it some so I don’t have to look at either of the guys directly while I get used to the sheer size of them. Yesterday they were sitting or crouching in and out of the limo, but today they’re standing and I could swear they’re both over six feet tall.
I already learned yesterday these nearly demi-god looking people make my knees shake and my tummy spin in ways that mess with my head. I’m going to have to be careful, move slowly and think before speaking or glancing at their beautiful faces, so I don’t come across as a complete idiot.