by R. J. Jacobs
“But we weren’t looking for it,” Malik reassures me.
“Yeah, it’s not like we knew what we were gonna see,” Andre agrees. “Or went up on that hill meaning to look in the back of the house, which turned out to be all glass, like some kind of stalkers.”
Malik laughs softly.
Ha ha, I think. I flash to my dream from the night before of falling to the earth. My stomach feels like wasp stings again.
“Then she says, ‘There’s nothing going on worth laughing at, got it?’ And she storms off. And what can we say but ‘Yeah, we got it.’” Malik gives a little salute as they both share an uneasy laugh.
“She looks just like her mom. Or her mom looks just like her.” I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it’s true. Last winter, when Finch cut her hair shorter, Shelly went out and got the exact same haircut.
“Other than all that, the place itself was cool,” Andre says, shaking his head.
My eyes must go blank as I’m picturing it, still half listening to Andre describing how similar Shelly and Finch can look. A shadow crosses my eyes as Andre waves his hand, his eyebrows raised. “Earth to Jessie. You in there? Ken said we could take off. You comin’?”
I shake my head and point at the stack of recipes I’d been going through.
“Suit yourself,” Andre says. “You know that party don’t start till Saturday.”
They’re heading toward the door when Ken comes in from outside, index finger up like he was saying wait. “The guy who runs their security for parties wants to meet everyone. He’s on his way now.”
I stop right where I am and let out a little sound like a gasp. I can’t help it.
Detective Marion.
Ken turns, his smile kind but unknowing. “What?” he asks.
My heart is thundering in my ribs. I have to find a way out of the kitchen, but it feels like it’s closing in on me. My head can’t work through the blurry cloud of Andre and Malik’s story—Shelly’s selfie, Finch confronting them, Robert asking if everyone was there. Does he know about me?
Ken looks at his watch. “Guys, this will take no time at all. A few minutes, then we can all go.”
Behind him, Malik lets his head fall back against the wall. He laughs a little and rubs the spot where it hit. “Man, Ken, I got places to be.” He starts playing air drums, mimicking percussion sounds as his hands work up and down.
“Ten minutes, relax. The guy just needs our information so he can run background checks.”
“Background checks? To work a party?” Malik asks.
“High profile,” Ken answers.
“Shouldn’t they have done that before we went over there?” Andre asks. “What kind of guard is this?”
In my heart, I know exactly what kind—the kind who has already proven his bravery during a crisis. An actual cop, who works the Jameses’ parties and special functions during off hours, who’s not afraid to tackle and cuff a suspect carrying a knife. Inside my mouth, my tongue finds the rough edge of my chipped tooth. Of course, Detective Marion works security for the Jameses. Not many people would have risked their own life to stop a crazed fan. And I know Marion does special jobs like this. I’ve seen his photo online. If anyone would recognize me, it would be him. My hand finds the place on my lower back where his knee pinned me against the concrete floor that night.
I hear a car door slam in the alley. Everyone’s head turns.
“Well, shit, that was quick,” Andre says.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Ken cocks his head to the side like a curious dog. “Jessie?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say, starting to back out of the room.
Too late. I’m trapped. The kitchen has two doors—the side entrance I know Detective Marion is about to walk through, and what Ken calls the front door, which was actually at the rear of the building. Marion will be between me and both. From where I stand, I can see the frosted glass of the bathroom window, and for just a second I think about escaping through it. Just running. I don’t want to think about what would happen next if I did. It feels like the end of a board game that I’m losing: there are fewer and fewer open moves. The choices get worse and worse. Still, I have to find a way out.
Marion will know me instantly. He will add everything up. He will think I’m planning to go to the Jameses’ house and know I’d seen Owen and Shelly at the Petersons’ party. I’d been less than twenty feet away. When he looks at me, the face he will see will be the one picture taken by someone’s cell phone—the one of me on the ground, a trickle of blood flowing from between my lips where my face had been slammed down. The one that comes up on Internet searches. Marion will look at me and then … what?
Report me? Have me fired? Call Ms. Carr?
Draw his gun?
He could, I know, take me away right then.
Ms. Parsons’s voice comes back to me: Fifteen years.
Ken smooths his hair as he starts toward the door.
In my mind, I see the metal rail above my bed in jail, and smell the bleach-mud scent that is on everything inside. I flash back to my feelings from then too—the suspicion all around you, like air, like something sharp close to your throat, even when you’re asleep.
I hear a knock. Malik and Andre straighten themselves, tugging at the bottoms of their shirts. Andre checks his breath in his cupped hand. Malik raises his eyebrows. My eyes sweep over the freezer—large enough to hide in. A bead of sweat runs from my hairline to my lips. My fear tastes like salt.
The side door opens and Ken extends his hand. Andre and Malik step forward. The temperature rises from the heat outside flooding in.
I drop my chin and take a step toward Detective Marion, just as he walks in.
Except it isn’t Detective Marion.
The man in front of me is tall and blonde. Aviator sunglasses rest on his forehead, and he wears light-blue jeans and a polo shirt the color of the basil I’d just added to Ken’s list.
Ken’s voice gets high and nervous-sounding again, like when he first spoke to Lane Peterson. “I’m Ken, from All Out Catering. Ms. James said that you’d want to meet before the event.”
The not-Detective-Marion-man whistles as he looks around the kitchen. I can tell Ken is introducing Andre and Malik, but the whoosh of my pulse in my ears keeps me from fully hearing him. Relief fills me, but a small part of me has already begun to wonder about Marion. Maybe a work issue prevented him from being here?
The blonde man holds a tablet with a shell-like black case and makes a sort of approving frown as Ken shows him around the kitchen. I blink away my fear as my hands unclench and hear him introduce himself, saying, “I’ve just started working for the James family but will be managing security for events at the house going forward. I apologize if the background checks seem excessive, but there’ve been issues in the past … You’ve met with Ms. James, I understand?”
“We just left there. Everything’s pretty much set for Saturday. She wants the event to start around seven, so we’re planning to arrive around six.”
The man touches the pad. “How many in your crew?”
“Myself and three assistants, so four of us altogether. We actually all met Owen and Shelly at the Petersons’ event last week.”
The man looks up from his pad. “Oh, it was you guys working that party?”
“Sure was,” Ken says, like it happens all the time.
“Small world. So, for today, I’ll need to see …” The man’s phone chirps. He raises his index finger and slips his sunglasses off his forehead as he answers it, then turns away when he realizes the four of us are watching.
My heart jumps a little. I can hear enough to know it’s Shelly James on the phone—I would know her voice anywhere. I can’t make out her words, but her tone is excited. Maybe even upset. I watch the blonde guard twirl his sunglasses by the stem. Malik and Andre glance at each other while we wait, and I realize how thankful I am that I’m not on the ground at the moment
, being handcuffed.
But another part of me wonders where Marion is. I keep thinking about this new guard explaining he’s new on the job.
Why would the Jameses need a new head of security?
Still, I know what the guard will need to see—everyone’s ID. And if he runs mine, it won’t be long before everything crashes. I eye the door again as the guard walks in a tight circle, his eyes up to the ceiling.
His mouth tightens before he says, “Be right there, Ms. James.” He drops his phone into his pocket and looks at his watch. “Anyone in the crew that I should be worried about? Any felonies I should be notified of?” he asks, his voice different, suddenly. He looks at Ken with mild irritation, like this meeting is an imposition, like it was Ken’s idea.
Ken smiles. “No sir, absolutely not.”
“Okay, well, just check in with me Saturday once you guys …” He looks over at me for a second. “This all looks fine.”
Fine?
A second later, the door slams closed behind him and I hear his car start in the alley.
I let my breath out.
“That was it?” Malik asks.
“Apparently,” Ken says, standing on his toes to see out the back window. “Not a big deal, I guess. Jessie, you still here? The security guy already took off.”
It takes me a second to remember my excuse about needing to use the bathroom. “I’m here,” I call as I step out.
The cooks both leave. On his way out the door, Ken tells me he’ll see me Saturday, and I don’t know how to find the words to tell him he won’t. I’ll have to message him later.
I’m not usually the last one to leave, but I’m lost in my head. I pull the back door closed behind me, lock it, and drop my keys into my pocket.
I’ll go home, I think, and figure out something to tell Ken to get out of doing the event. Even if it means lying to him or losing my job.
I’ve just turned toward my car when I hear it.
“Hey.”
Just that one word. It breaks the silence of the alley and snaps me away from my thoughts, back into the world. I feel my hands clench into fists as I stop in my tracks. I recognize this voice, I realize. I turn to face who spoke to me.
Robert Holloway steps from the shadows. His red hair is a little longer than he wore it on the tour, his beard more neatly trimmed. He wears a navy baseball cap now, which he’s pulled low on his forehead. His palms are turned up as if to say he means no harm, but my heart instantly starts pounding. I look over my shoulder for a way to run, but realize I’m backed against the closed end of the alley. I step back and he steps forward. I see the bumper of his truck and realize from its angle that he has parked to intentionally block in my car.
I try to shut down the fight-or-flight reaction, but it surges. My teeth grind together. I can almost feel my pupils dilate. I was a fool for telling myself he hadn’t seen me at the party, just like I was a fool for not running the second I saw the Jameses and for letting my curiosity draw me in, again. I try to read what Holloway wants from the little I can see in his eyes as he takes another step toward me.
“Jessie, I need your help.”
7
Robert Holloway opens the passenger door of his truck and motions for me to get inside. I’m not sure I have a choice. I glance at the back of my car, inches from his front bumper. I could run, but how far would I get? And where would I run to? He found me at work; he could find me again. Easily. I realize with a shudder that if he knows where I work, he most likely knows where I live.
He’s been watching me.
The visor of his cap shields his face but his voice sounds gentle, almost kind.
“Please.”
I get in and sink into the passenger seat while he hurries to the driver’s-side door. Inside, the truck smells like leather, expensive cologne, cigar smoke. Bits of paper that look like receipts line the rubber floor mats, which my feet barely reach. The cab hardly rocks as he climbs in and closes his door. Slightly out of breath, he presses a button and the engine rumbles to life. The cabin floods with a blast of air-conditioning, which he lowers with the press of another button.
His eyes have a kind twinkle I’ve never seen in them before. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. My apologies. I waited until the others left, Jessie, because I wanted to speak to you alone. I wasn’t sure it was you at first when I saw you at the party. I caught you out of the corner of my eye and wondered if I was seeing things. It’s been a long time.”
A year, I think. Longer for me than for you, I bet. Still, he sounds sincere.
“But then Shelly said she thought she saw you too. I know she was having kind of a rough night. Owen thought she might have been mistaken but …” He pauses. “You look good. Really good, actually. Healthy. I know you’ve had your struggles in the past, like we all have …”
A sudden, violent urge to smash his face surges through me. Struggles he can’t possibly imagine. But what he’s saying settles over me: Shelly not only saw me, she’d told people she had, including Robert—the very person I’d specifically hoped would not find out.
“… but now you’ve got a job where you’re part of a team. The food is incredible too. What can I say? I’m impressed. You should be proud of how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time.”
I force myself to interrupt. “You said you needed my help?”
A smile slowly creeps over Robert’s lips. “I did. Actually, it was Owen who asked me to find you.”
“Owen?” I try not to show how taken aback I am, but my heart jumps inside my chest. I clench my teeth, not wanting to give away any of my feelings to Robert Holloway.
“I … need this to stay just between us. Can we agree to that?”
Even if I knew how to answer, I’m not sure I would be able to force the words out. My head is swimming as I look at the face of the man who’d smirked and waved bye-bye as I was driven away in the back of a police car the year before. Robert, who witnessed the most horrifying moment of my life. What message could he possibly have from Owen? I’m too stunned to do anything but agree.
“Sure,” I say.
“You’re surprised to see me, I’m sure. I didn’t expect to be here myself, quite honestly. I hadn’t thought about you in a long time, but when I asked to check the nondisclosure agreements for the party, there was your name.”
Of course, I think. It wasn’t like signing my full name was very subtle.
I glance behind us, over the truck bed, and see Robert catching me look.
He unpeels a breath mint from a roll and pops it in his mouth. A second later, I smell wintergreen as I hear it clicking against his teeth. “I know you must be nervous to see me.”
To say the least.
“If you’re worried about getting in trouble because of working that party, don’t be. Believe me, I’m nervous to see you too. I just want to say, when your arrest happened at the end of the tour, I was just doing my job—protecting Owen and Shelly at all costs. My basic rule was to take care of them first and ask questions later. You got burned, unfairly, and I’m sorry.”
I nod once, tentatively.
“I’m here because they want to meet you.”
I shift in my seat. I’m sure I haven’t heard correctly. “They what?”
Robert’s smile broadens into a grin. His eyes hold steady. “They’ve been talking about finding you for some time. Truth be told, you going to jail didn’t look great in terms of public perception. After what happened, they learned about how you grew up. They have huge hearts, Jessie, and, honestly, once they learned about your past, they felt sick. Owen believes in second chances. And you know how he respects hard work. He loved finding out that you’d been working, and just between you and me, it’s why he offered your boss the gig for the album party. He and Shelly want a chance to meet you, and maybe have a photo taken together. They want to do right by you. It would be a nice turn of events, don’t you think?” He pauses. “Besides, I
have to admit, PR-wise, with the album coming out the timing would be perfect.”
My head tries to conjure the images of Shelly telling Owen that she saw me, and then him going to find and hire Ken.
Does this mean Ken knows?
My stomach turns from the rush of too many thoughts and feelings at once, and from the disorientation of half-trust. But what comes on most strongly, what threatens to swallow me whole, is disbelief. It’s all I can do to stay grounded like Ms. Parsons showed me as I manage to ask, “A picture?”
Robert chuckles, soothingly. “Only if the timing is right. Everybody understands the situation. But think of it—the story coming full circle. Essentially, you’d be working for Shelly and Owen. Knowing you’re coming would mean the world to them.”
The muscles in my legs relax, slightly. The leather seat is so soft it seems to pull me into it. Hope is dangerous, but it begins to rise in my chest. I can’t help it. I’ve wanted so badly for my intentions to be known. God, to be forgiven. How many times have I wished I had a time machine to go back and undo everything about the concert, to be more careful, less of a monster?
I feel a flutter in my stomach as my tongue finds the edge of my tooth, still cracked from that night. “What about security? A guard was just here, checking on us.”
“Not an issue.” He waves his hand, laughing like he’s relieved. “I wanted to wait till you agreed before speaking with security, but it won’t be a problem. You’re invited.”
I think back to the blonde guard I’d seen a few minutes earlier, a part of me still trying to make sense of his visit. “Will Detective Marion be there?” I ask. “At the party?”
Robert’s eyebrow twitches. He stammers some before his calm tone reemerges. “Marion is no longer employed by the family.” His hand rises a few inches, and for a second, I think he means to pat my knee. “I get why seeing him would be upsetting. But, no, he’s focusing on his main job being a Metro detective as of about three weeks ago. Nothing to worry about there.”
Detective Marion’s departure makes perfect sense, but I find it strange somehow. Maybe because I’d pictured him with the Jameses for so long. Something about Robert’s hesitation tells me there is more to the story.
