Guardian Angel

by Andrew Neiderman

  Megan heard the doorbell and started for the front door.

  “I’ll call if I’m going to be any later than twelve, Margaret.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Lester. I’ve got lots to read and do.”

  Tricia Morgan burst into a smile the moment she saw Megan.

  “Wow. You’re really a hot chick tonight. Where have you been keeping these clothes, and why?”

  “Scott hates them,” Megan said.

  “Hated. He’s gone, baby, gone. I feel like a schoolmarm or something dressed in this,” Tricia said, turning.

  “It’s a pretty nice dress, Tricia. It’s complementary too.”

  “Which is another way to say it hides my flaws. Ready?”

  “Ready, but I’m not sure about the able.”

  “You will be.”

  “Bye, kids,” Megan shouted back and walked out.

  “I love those shoes,” Tricia said. “I didn’t realize you had such a firm rear.”

  “All those hours of exercise waiting for Scott to come home,” Megan said.

  “Now I’m beginning to regret asking you out. I’ll be the wallflower.”

  “Stop it, Tricia. I’m nervous enough as it is.”

  “Good,” Tricia said and they got into her BMW 335i convertible.

  “Want the top down? It’ll give you that bedroom look.”

  “No thanks. My hair’s wild enough.”

  Tricia laughed and backed out of the driveway.

  “Here we go,” she said, and shot off so fast, Megan fell back against the seat.

  They both laughed.

  It was as if they had become teenagers again.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the valet at the Cage. Megan hesitated on the sidewalk. The music spilled out of the front double doors, which had bars embossed on them from top to bottom.

  “Why did they want to call this the Cage?” Megan asked.

  “It’s all about bondage,” Tricia said, winking, and started for the door.

  “What?”

  “C’mon, you idiot. You’ll see. It’s fun.”

  Megan joined her and they entered the dance club and bar that was indeed designed to look like a great cage. There were bars from floor to ceiling inches from the walls and bars comprised the ceiling above them. The floor of the club, except for the dance floor, was built out of wide raw-looking planks with dark knots. Off to the left, a DJ spun the music and looked down at the crowd of dancers, which Megan thought was already drummed into a frenzy. To the right and also up a level was the L-shaped bar with a glass top that pulsated neon colors in sync with the beat of the music. It was heavily populated, but not yet too crowded.

  In the bar area and to the right side below were black-topped tables and chairs. Most were already taken. Waitresses wearing skimpy outfits decorated with chains made of nothing more than tinfoil navigated through the partygoers to deliver drinks in tall glasses and bottles of beer. Megan panned the room and shook her head.

  “Everyone here looks ten years younger than us, Tricia.”

  “Not if you look closely,” she replied, and steered them to an opening at the bar. “I’ll bet thirty percent of the women and men here are either in a divorce, separation or recently broken-up relationship. You get so you know what places they favor,” she said. “Let’s get a drink. You want that Cosmopolitan Scott always orders for you in fancy restaurants? They make good ones here.”

  Just the mention of Scott and her Cosmopolitans deflated some of her excitement. He had introduced her to the drink.

  “What are you having?”

  “Simple. Vodka and soda with a twist of lime.”

  “Me too,” Megan said.

  A couple moved off the stools nearest them and they quickly took them. Tricia ordered their drinks.

  “I really feel like a fish out of water,” Megan said.

  “Just give yourself a chance to get wet again.”

  “Ladies?” the bartender asked.

  “Two vodkas and soda with a lime twist, please.”

  “Coming up.”

  “Hope so,” Tricia said, and he laughed.

  “Hey, you were here last weekend, weren’t you?” he asked.

  “I can’t remember,” Tricia replied. “It’s too far back.”

  He laughed again and started to make their drinks.

  Suddenly, a tall stout man with short graying brown hair stepped up behind Tricia and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, hi again,” he said when she turned around.

  “Oh, yeah, hi.”

  “I thought you were coming back on Wednesday night.”

  “Something unexpected is always coming up to interfere with your plans. Don’t you find that to be true?” she asked, and looked to Megan for confirmation and support. Megan nodded.

  “Absolutely,” he said, and looked at Megan too.

  “Oh, this is my best friend, Megan. I’m sorry. I forgot your name,” Tricia told him.

  He laughed. “Someone said we’d be better off wearing name tags in here. I guess she was right. I’m Harry, Harry Kaufman,” he said, holding his hand out to Megan. She shook it quickly.

  The bartender served their drinks.

  “I thought we had a pretty good time together last week,” Harry told Tricia.

  She sipped her drink and nodded.

  “And I remembered your name, so I know it was a memorable night.”

  “I’m convinced,” Tricia said. She took another long sip of her drink and put it down hard on the bar. “So let’s dance.” She got off the stool and then leaned toward Megan to whisper. “You have a better chance alone.”

  Before Megan could respond, Tricia grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged him toward the stairway and down to the dance floor. She watched them go and then turned around to drink her vodka and soda.

  He would always believe she and he were meant to be. It was the way he was immediately drawn to her when he entered the Cage. She was sitting alone at the bar. For a few moments, he just stood there watching her to be sure she was not with anyone. It was certainly a wild enough place. He hadn’t expected it. He was thinking it would be more sedate, young men and women having conversations over cocktails with soft music in the background, everyone dressed like window mannequins. Instead, the place looked like it could break out in a veritable orgy at any moment.

  Something about her, about the way she looked meekly around and hovered over her drink, gave him the impression she was just as uncomfortable in here as he was beginning to feel. That gave him more encouragement. He started for the bar.

  Two stools down from Megan, a chubby man with thinning brown hair downed an Irish whiskey and pulled his shoulders back. He was obviously building his courage to ask her to dance. He had been eyeing her ever since she had come in with Tricia, and when Tricia went off to dance with someone and left her alone, he was elated. She had no date.

  He slipped off the stool and took a few steps toward her to lean on the bar and look at her. For a moment Megan didn’t realize he was there.

  “‘Scuse me,” he said.

  “Oh. Yes?”

  “I’m Tyler Barton.”

  “Yes?” Was she supposed to know him?

  “I just wanted to introduce myself before I asked you if you wanted to dance.”

  “Oh. Thank you, but no. I’m not in the mood for that right now.”

  “Not in the mood? Why would you come to a dance club then?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated,” she replied, hoping he would take that as a final answer and go away. He didn’t look much older than twenty-five at the most, but with a face and body most Santa Claus impersonators would covet, he was anything but attractive. Even though it was a nonsmoking club, he reeked of cigarette smoke, and a quick glimpse of his teeth revealed a layer of nicotine yellow-stained enamel.

  “Hey, there’s nothing complicated about dancing. C’mon,” he pleaded. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “No thank yo
u. Thanks,” she said, turning away and hoping that would end it.

  “C’mon,” he whined.

  “Didn’t you hear her say no twice?” Megan heard. She turned to see a strapping six-feet-three-inch man with chiseled, perfect facial features and emerald green eyes standing between her and Tyler Barton.

  Tyler didn’t move. He looked at him and at her and smirked.

  “What are you, the complication?” he asked, the last syllables dripping out of the sides of his thick lips.

  For a few moments, Megan didn’t realize the man had punched Tyler Barton in his rubber-tire stomach. He was that fast. Tyler gasped and bent over, falling back against another stool.

  “Jesus!” he screamed loud enough to get the attention of most everyone at the bar. “He hit me!” he shouted, straightening up with great effort and pointing at the man beside Megan.

  No one spoke; no one looked as though he or she much cared. Everyone went back to their conversations. The man stepped closer to Megan and faced Tyler, who turned-more like spun-over the stool, and rushed down the stairs toward the dance floor.

  “You all right?” the man asked Megan.

  “Yes. You hit him?”

  “You can’t reason with guys like that. It’s like trying to talk a mosquito out of biting you. Best to just swat them and move on.”

  Megan laughed.

  “Well, that’s a folksy way of putting it.”

  He shrugged.

  “I tell it like it is. Always have.”

  “I guess I’m out of practice. I haven’t had to drive them off for a long time. Thanks.”

  He shrugged again.

  “Couldn’t help myself from coming to your assistance.”

  Megan smiled.

  “Why, are you a guardian angel or something?”

  “Something,” he said.

  Before he could order a drink and sit beside her, Tyler Barton returned with two friends, both of whom looked younger, one of whom looked like he could be his brother. He wasn’t quite as heavy, but he had similar facial features and the same color hair.

  “This the guy?” he asked.

  “That’s him,” Tyler said.

  “You hit my brother,” he said, stepping forward.

  Again, Megan never saw the punch coming. Most of the arguments and fights she had seen between boys while she was growing up were usually much slower in developing. It was always as if one or the other boy was trying to find a way to extricate himself from the situation without losing face. Rarely did she see one boy swing unexpectedly at another, and she had never witnessed a violent confrontation since high school, except in a movie, of course.

  One thing was sure, she had never seen anyone hit so hard in the mouth that one of his teeth flew out and his head snapped back with such force that it actually broke the skin around the middle of his neck. A thin red line instantly formed. His companion and his brother moved quickly to keep him from sinking to the floor.

  “Call the cops!” Tyler screamed at the bartender.

  Megan’s guardian angel looked at her sorrowfully.

  “More mosquitoes,” he muttered. “I better go. Don’t want to make any trouble for you,” he added, and started away, forcefully separating two other men standing with the gathering crowd. No one tried to stop him.

  “Call the cops!” Tyler screamed again. “And an ambulance for my brother.”

  They had lowered him to the floor. He was obviously dazed.

  Tricia came running up the steps with Harry.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Megan. They both looked at Tyler and his brother.

  Megan shook her head.

  “Mosquitoes,” she said, and laughed to relieve the boiling tension that threatened to blow off the top of her head.

  The club manager and two waiters helped get Tyler’s injured brother off to the side. Megan started to explain to Tricia and Harry what had happened, but before she finished, two Beverly Hills patrolmen entered the club and the bartender sent them over to Tyler first, and then they came over to her. She quickly described the events as she remembered them. Tyler stood off to the side listening.

  “I wasn’t begging her to dance,” he moaned.

  “Just a moment,” one of the officers said, and turned to Megan. “Do you know the man who hit his brother?”

  “No, I don’t, Officer.”

  “He sure acted like he knew her,” Tyler said.

  “He’s wrong,” Megan said. “He never even told me his name. This man and two others came up from the dance floor before he could say much to me, and threatened him.”

  “Threatened him? He hit me!” Tyler cried.

  “All right. Just go see to your brother. There’s an ambulance on its way. Paramedics will be here any moment,” the police officer told him. Reluctantly, Tyler Barton retreated.

  “What’s your name, miss, and your address?” the officer asked Megan.

  She looked at Tricia.

  “Why do you need that? She didn’t do anything. She was just sitting here,” Tricia said sharply.

  “I need her name and address. Whether she did anything or not, she was involved in this violent incident. We don’t know how serious the injuries are yet,” he replied just as sharply.

  “She doesn’t need this.”

  “It’s all right, Tricia. My name’s Megan Lester,” Megan said, and gave him her address and phone number.

  “And you’re absolutely positive you don’t know the man?”

  “I am, Officer.”

  “Let’s get a description then,” his partner said.

  “I didn’t get all that much time with him,” Megan began.

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was about your height, well built, light brown hair with green eyes. He was wearing a black button-collar short-sleeve shirt and a pair of black dress pants with cuffs. He was cleanly shaven with high cheekbones.”

  “Not bad for not much time,” the patrolman quipped. He looked at Tricia. “You should hear the descriptions we get from people who spend hours with perpetrators.”

  “He didn’t say anything about himself?” the second patrolman asked.

  “He just said sometimes when you’re dealing with mosquitoes, you can’t talk them out of biting you. You have to swat them,” she said.

  The two policemen stared at her a moment. One of them finally smiled.

  “Let’s get their description of the guy,” the other patrolman said, just as the paramedics arrived.

  “Can we go?” Tricia asked them.

  “Yes, but let us know if you see this guy again. Here,” the patrolman added, giving Megan a card.

  She took it, but didn’t put it in her purse. She just held it.

  “Tricia, get me out of here,” she said in a low but firm voice.

  “Will do,” Tricia said. “See you later, Harry,” she told him, and they walked out of the Cage. Tricia gave the valet her ticket and turned to Megan.

  “Holy mackerel, as my grandfather used to say. None of the girls are going to believe this.”

  “I don’t,” Megan said. “Take me somewhere where I can get a calming cup of tea.”

  “I will,” Tricia said, and then knocked Megan’s shoulder with hers. “That cop was right. You did a pretty good description of him for someone who barely saw him.”

  “He had the sort of face you don’t easily forget. Actually, he was…in and out like…Batman,” Megan said. She looked back at the entrance to the Cage as if she wanted to be sure there was no one close enough to hear her and then she leaned toward Tricia to add, “And probably just as exciting.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He sat in his truck well in the shadows across the street and watched Tricia and Megan come out of the Cage. He was prepared to wait all night if he had to and was happy to see them come out so soon after the police had arrived. He had a strong feeling she would come out as soon as she could. She didn’t belong there. The fact that he was so instinctively right about th
is woman continued to build his confidence.

  When they drove off, he followed slowly, and when they pulled up in front of a small café, he drove past so they wouldn’t see him. Then he turned around and parked across the street again to wait. From where he was, he could see through the front window. They had taken a table up front, so she was quite visible.

  Every gesture she made, the way she held her head and sipped from her cup when she was served, amused and pleased him. He was glad to see that before they paid their bill and got up to leave, she was laughing.

  Again, he waited for them to emerge and then started his truck and followed the car. When he saw it pull into the driveway of an enormous twostory Beverly Hills house, his heart sank with his hopes. She couldn’t be single and live in a house like this, he thought. Sadly, he watched her emerge from the BMW, say something to her girlfriend and head for the front door. He sat there staring at the house after the girlfriend left. A few minutes later a teenage girl appeared and got into her car in the driveway. He watched her drive away as well.

  A babysitter, he thought. She has children or a child, but where is the husband? If she was out with her girlfriend, why wouldn’t her husband watch their children or child? Unless he had something to do, too and they got a babysitter. Families in Beverly hills can afford babysitters. That’s for sure, he thought.

  He saw the lights go off downstairs and then some turned on upstairs. He wasn’t going to go home this early. His mother would drive him up a wall. He thought about going to one of the hangouts, but that was even more unattractive to him now. Instead, he just sat in his truck watching the house, seeing the light go out upstairs. Hours passed, but no one else came. The husband must be away on business, he concluded. He checked the time and then started his truck. As he turned around to head home, he thought there were another couple of possibilities, of course. The husband could be dead, or maybe she was divorced. Divorce was practically a national pastime, especially in this city. It was worth looking into, he concluded, and went home far less depressed than he had anticipated.

  His mother was asleep, so he didn’t face the usual inquisition when he returned from a night out. He slipped as quietly as he could into his bedroom and closed the door softly. He knew he was going to have trouble falling asleep. He was still quite excited. The look on her face when he’d punched that guy in the stomach and then his brother in the mouth was adorable. She’d been shocked, but he would swear there’d been a pleasant kind of surprise in her eyes. She really appreciated him. He stopped pacing and conjured her face. She wasn’t just cute or pleasant to look at; she was beautiful. She was the kind of woman who really got under your skin and crawled right into your heart.