Chasing Luck

by Brinda Berry

  Sneaky bastard said ‘we’ as if I’d already agreed.

  “It’s an easy job.” Billy takes a sip of tea and smiles.

  Things that sound too good to be true, are. There are no jackpots, no easy breaks.

  "Why can't she drive herself?" I ask.

  "She doesn't have a license." Billy looks to the entryway like he's heard something and then returns his gaze to me.

  I stand and both dogs rise from the floor. A growl rumbles from the chest of one. The sound freezes my feet in mid-motion.

  "She says she's alive because of you," he says.

  "She's wrong," I say, without taking my eyes off the dogs. I haven't moved and the dogs haven't either. I don't need some girl thinking I'm her hero.

  Billy looks away from me and smiles at someone past my shoulder.

  "Oh, you're here," Billy says. "I was about to come and help you. We have a guest."

  "I don't need your help, Billy." Malerie's voice surprises me. It's raspy and cold. Her appearance surprises me more. Gone is the girl I met in the restaurant.

  A sad ghost of a girl stands in her place.

  7

  Malerie

  “Take my hand and I’ll lead you through the dark, through the fire, through hell. Trust the hand I’m giving you.” ~Jelly Bean Queen

  "Why are you here?" I stare at Ace and wait for the answer, my heart pounding and the answer more important than he can possibly know. Billy told me Ace was coming, but I'm still not prepared for the way my stomach flutters when I see him.

  Did he come to see me? The thought makes me nervous. I want that to be the answer. I need answers about what happened in the restaurant.

  Ace left that night and then came back. Why?

  Billy moves over to help me inside the room to a chair near him. I bristle at his constant coddling and sit with one bare foot tucked underneath me.

  Ace stands awkwardly in front of the sofa, his hands tucked into his pockets, and I can't tell if he's arriving or leaving.

  "Why were you back inside the restaurant when the guy killed JT? You’d left." I study him.

  Billy steps in front of Ace and I'm forced to focus on him. "I've offered Ace a position with us," he says.

  "What kind of position?" I tilt my head to the side and lean forward, directing my question at Ace now that he's in my line of vision. I try to remember why JT wanted to hire him.

  My need to scream has no end. The sound of the scraping chairs is constantly in my head and cuts through the medicinal haze, through my sleep, through minutes standing in the shower, through every single breath I take.

  The screams ended quickly before, when my mother died.

  Instead of Ace, Billy answers me. "He's going to act as security. He has an extensive background in security. You won't even know he's here. Security. That's what you want, right Malerie? To never leave this house and always feel safe?"

  I gasp before I can stop myself. He never would’ve said something so cruel when JT was alive.

  Ace's head whips to Billy and there's something odd in his narrowed eyes. He folds his arms and stares at Billy.

  "I want to talk about that day." I direct the command at Ace.

  "Malerie. I think it's best if we wait until you're recovered. Ace doesn't know anything," Billy says in a tone he used with me when I was a kid.

  "If we're not going to talk about the shooting, I don't want him here." I use the arm of the chair to rise.

  "Quit acting like a petulant child." Billy's forehead furrows into unhappy lines.

  "I'm not a child. And you can leave too if you're tired of it."

  "Malerie," Billy scolds me. "We'll talk later. I think it's best if you go and lie down."

  I don't answer but rise to my feet in a wobbly stance. "Going upstairs." My chin juts up and I dare Billy to stop me.

  "Ace, would you mind helping Malerie up the stairs? She's been using one of the guest rooms and she's angry I won't let her go sleep in her own bed." He talks about me like I'm not standing a foot from him.

  "No, nevermind. I told you I don't want—" I'm interrupted by the mesmerizing way Ace moves toward me, panther-like. He doesn’t takes his gaze off me.

  "Hey. Let me help you." His voice soothes me, wrapping me in a silky, hypnotic embrace. He's sliding his hand into place at my elbow.

  Hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I don’t trust him and I don’t trust Billy. Billy stands at the side of the room shaking his head as if I annoy him.

  I want to fight Ace’s help but I'm too weak. "I don't need it."

  Ace ignores my scowl and leads me to the stairs. My shoulder throbs with each step I take. A fine sheen of perspiration coats my upper lip at the effort, and I breathe out in a huff, frustrated and near tears.

  We stand together looking up the staircase, an incline with over a dozen steps.

  "I could carry you," he says.

  "No way. My legs are fine. I’m just weak." My cheeks burn at the thought. Afraid he'll do it, I balk. "I don't have to go upstairs. I can stay in the room on this floor—"

  "Hey, whatever you want," he says evenly. "But I'd want my own bed. My own place."

  His understanding rips my resolve to shreds, and tears sting my eyes. I'm being a baby and a wimp and the realization makes me want to sit on the bottom step and cry.

  Silence stretches between us and it startles me when he places a hand on my arm. Stepping behind me, he says, "I'll make you a deal. I'll help you upstairs and you can ask me about that night."

  "And you'll tell me everything."

  He looks confused by my question.

  “I can’t remember it all.”

  “All right. Can I put my arm around your waist? I'll brace you as much as you need. You tell me what to do."

  "Okay. Yeah. Okay." I glance at him on my left and he moves up to slide an arm to my right hip. I notice an empty earring hole in his earlobe and his long, dark eyelashes.

  "We'll go slowly. I'm ready when you are." He looks straight ahead. Half his body presses against my back.

  We move as one up the stairs and his steps are careful, the pressure of his hand on my waist firm. He pauses at the top to let me catch my breath. My room is at the end of the long hallway and seems impossibly far.

  "I can manage now." I move to disengage myself from his grasp.

  He doesn't release me. "Which room?"

  "The one at the end." I sigh and he smirks.

  "Of course it's the one at the end."

  We stand unmoving and he waits for me. "Ready."

  The stroll to the end takes a while and I become aware of his bare arm supporting me, the deep smell of his cologne, and how I must look to him. I haven't bathed properly since a nurse helps me clean up daily. There's nothing that reduces your well-being more than having a complete stranger assist you with bathing. A total confidence killer.

  I'm not vain, but I know I've had better days. I'm relieved when we finally make it to my room.

  "On the right." Unlike most of the other doors along the hall, mine is open. I never shut my door, or the door to any room when I'm inside. That’s why Billy noticed the closed door earlier.

  "This is your bedroom?" Shock punctuates every word. Ace finally releases my waist and pivots, looking at every wall.

  "What?"

  Ace turns to me and raises one eyebrow. "You're not a dude." He takes a step back, and then another, finally and stops. "Sorry. I'm rarely surprised. You have concert setlists on your walls."

  "And I’m not supposed to have pictures like this as opposed to … I don’t know…? What’s on your walls?"

  "Don't have anything on my walls. This doesn't look like…" He waves a hand up and down my body. "A girl like you. Or any girl I know."

  I give him a cold look. "I don't know what you mean."

  "So, are you a groupie? How did you get these?" He moves to stand in front of one for Radiohead. Then he moves over to look at the one for Jelly Bean Queen’s Across My Dreams tour. ”You saw a
ll these bands in concert?"

  "No. I've never been to a concert."

  "Oh, so you bought them." He nods. "That makes sense. Don't you think that's a bit … oh, I don't know … pretentious?"

  "Listen. I didn't bring you up here to talk about my room or if I'm up to the standards of the cool people you know. You said you'd tell me what happened that night."

  "Hey, hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to piss you off. You don't seem like the rock-n-roll type." He gives me a smile. Those dimples I noticed the first time I saw him appear and I fight the heart-melting sensation.

  I'm struggling to hold my totally-undeniably-pissed expression.

  I go to my favorite chair and sink into the cushions. "Why were you in the restaurant when the gunman came in? You should have been gone by that time."

  He's not focused on my walls at this point. When he picks up a Rolling Stone Magazine, he raises an eyebrow at me before putting it back on the nightstand. "I went back in for my keys. I left you and your uncle, couldn't find my keys, and went back in. You know the rest."

  "Nothing told you to go back in? Intuition?"

  He rubs a hand over his jaw. "I told you. I needed my keys."

  "Oh."

  "I know you're trying to make sense of all this, but it's the world we live in. Crazy people are out there." He walks to over to my window.

  "And how do we tell the crazy ones from the sane ones? They all look alike to me."

  "You'll never know the difference. We all think we're sane. The world's full of lunatics trying to pretend they’re sane and sane people walking the edge of sanity." He walks to the door of my room and pauses. "See you later."

  I don't respond. I just listen to the sound of his footsteps fading away.

  * * *

  It's five o' clock. The nurse is gone for the day and I can finally relax. Billy retires to his quarters early, so I never see him this late in the day. I log in to my laptop and see a message from Collin. Collin and I have been friends for years. The podcast show we created called Rock Universe has a growing subscriber fan base.

  Collin_RockMeister: Long time no see. You doing okay?

  Malerie: Tired of doing the show alone?

  Collin_RockMeister: Nah. I'm the star when you're gone. I crank it up and let loose.

  Malerie: Ha ha. Have you been drinking?

  Collin_RockMeister: Very funny. It's been boring as hell. Can you do next week’s show with me?

  Malerie: Yes, but I may still be on painkillers. So, don't let me wander off from topic. Ok?

  Collin_RockMeister: Done. Actually, can't promise that. Might be the most fun show ever.

  Malerie: And who are we interviewing?

  Collin_RockMeister: You are out of it. It’s only your favorite of all time. Jelly Bean Queen is the coup de gras. Can’t believe we got them. Hell yes, we are in the big leagues now baby.

  Malerie: I feel so out of sorts lately. Bring me up to speed?

  Collin_RockMeister: Sure thing.

  Malerie: Still have their drummer?

  Collin_RockMeister: No. They fired him.

  Malerie: No rehab then.

  Collin_RockMeister: But Paulie asked me to avoid that topic.

  Malerie: Are you crazy? That's a hot one. It's one we want to talk about.

  Collin_RockMeister: No, Mal. Seriously. Don't do it.

  Malerie: You can say I didn't know the subject was off the table.

  Collin_RockMeister: You are going to get us in trouble with other bands.

  Malerie: Don't be a wuss.

  Collin_RockMeister: Don't be a bitch.

  Malerie: It's my contribution to the show. Keepin' it real. Honest. Intense.

  Collin_RockMeister: I wonder if you could be this cutthroat you were in the same room with these guys.

  Malerie: As if.

  Collin_RockMeister: And what are you going to do when you run into one of these musicians in person?

  Malerie: As if.

  Collin_RockMeister: It could happen.

  Malerie: Not.

  Collin_RockMeister: Go with me to the next Jelly Bean Queen concert. They're playing in Chicago. I'll buy a plane ticket. We'll request the setlist. Tell them we want to do an interview on our show. They might say yes.

  Malerie: Can't.

  Collin_RockMeister: Why? You don't even know when.

  Malerie: Sure I do.

  Collin_RockMeister: When.

  Malerie: Hey Collin … gotta go. I'll chat at you a few minutes before we go live on the next show. Can you get the band members connected?

  Collin_RockMeister: Are you mad about me asking?

  Malerie: Duh? No, course not. I just have to go for now. Talk to you later.

  Collin_RockMeister: Ok.

  Malerie: And maybe I'll go easy on them and not bring up the drummer. Bye.

  Collin_RockMeister: Bye Mal.

  Collin has no idea how psyched I am about having Jelly Bean Queen on our show. Of all the bands we’ve interviewed, JBQ holds a more personal place in my soul. Their music quells my anxiety, soothes my pain, gives me focus. Some days would be unbearable without their lyrics, my personal glimpse into a world of love and passion. A world of living.

  8

  Ace

  "I’m hiding the truth like I always have. Underneath the layers of raw metal and primer. I’m a liar, liar, and a great pretender.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen

  Checking email is a necessary evil and painful chore spawned by a bunch of scientist types. I dream of the day my secretary will sift through messages that clutter the inbox. I don't fantasize for long because success isn't made by dreamers but by doers.

  And if anything, I'm a doer.

  Billy Vandol's message appears at the top of the queue. The subject line reads 'contract offer' and I'm surprised at the nervous vibe it gives me. I blow on the top of my steaming coffee and take a scalding sip. Prepare myself.

  I click and groan. Vandol has written so much in the email that I'm tempted to skim. Get a grip, old man. Nobody wants to read an email epistle.

  Somebody needs to explain brevity to the geezer.

  "Let me begin with an apology. As you probably guessed, Malerie has been taking some medication that altered her behavior. Please do not allow the incident today to sway your decision about the position I am offering you."

  I read the rest of the email, a real chore considering the length and detail about things that are none of my business. The morning light filters through the blinds and reveals too much: the cracks in the walls, the worn furniture circa the year somebody thought plaid furniture was a good idea and the stained pea-colored carpet. I've looked at worse places.

  When times are good, I spend the money on expensive brew and hang out with my laptop at the local coffee shop. It's comforting to visualize what I want in my future when I look around and see people with agendas.

  Vandol's email comes with an attachment—a contract where I assume he restates every single thing but in legal speak. I hook the printer up and know I'm in for some death-by-reading and I'm definitely on a suicide mission coded please-get-to-the-point.

  The email ends with a paragraph where he asks me to call to discuss the contract.

  I pick up my cell and roll it from palm to fingertips and back, a habit I've fallen into since I gave up smoking. I call him and we agree to meet.

  I drive to the local Starbucks that he's suggested and wait inside. It's raining and customers are dashing in out of the weather with umbrellas and frowns. I don't mind the rain. There's something cleansing and calming about water washing down the coffee shop's windows.

  I glance inside the only thing I've carried with me, a folder with the printed contract. Vandol shows up a couple of minutes later, sees me, and heads to the counter first. He returns to the table with a couple of coffees and sets one if front of me without asking if I want it.

  "We would like for you to start immediately," he says.

  "I have some questions about this," I point to the folder like h
e knows I'm carrying the contract. "I want to know the reasons I'll be doing some of it."

  "The money's not enough?"

  "The money is good." Did Vandol have any idea how long it usually takes me to make that much? I could pay off a lot of debt in a year. Pay off the student loan for the year I wasted.

  "Then is there another problem?"

  "I'm not a babysitter."

  "Malerie has sitters. We currently have on staff a housekeeper who is only available during the day, a nurse who checks in on Malerie at noon, and myself."

  "Then why the security with the specific notes on Malerie? Mr. Vandol—"

  "Call me Billy, please."

  "Billy, she's an adult. If you want me to watch the house, I understand that. This…" I open the folder and remove the contract. "This has very little stated about the house itself. Most of it states I'll be expected to watch Malerie and I don't understand that."

  "You're right. I should be honest with you."

  I nod. It's not the answer I expected.

  "We had a meeting at the attorney's office after JT died. It was for the reading of the will. Malerie has become quite wealthy, as you can imagine. There were mandates about the running of the household I am willing to follow. It was clear Malerie's safety was of great concern to JT as there were mentions of it in the will. Malerie may object to you, but I was appointed her financial guardian until her 21st birthday. Malerie has issues that need to be resolved if I'm to carry out the wishes in JT's will."

  "So, she's some sort of heiress?"

  "You could say that."

  "Then why not hire a professional bodyguard? Listen." I pause in the act of throwing away my chance at the job. "I appreciate the money, the offer, everything, but I don't know if you realize how unqualified I am for this. I was a security guard. There's a huge difference—"

  "I need someone she can trust. You're her age. And what you did at the restaurant was a genuine act of bravery. I trust you. All you have to do is keep an eye on her. I think it's best if she isn't aware you're there for her benefit. As far as Malerie has to know, you are there for the security setup and to keep an eye on the grounds at night."