“I’m so glad you’re here. You’re never going to believe this!”
“What?” I drop my purse and my tote bag on Brenna’s desk as I rush to my door. “Is it good or bad?” I ask before I open it.
“It’s fucking amazing!” Luna begins. I hesitate. I’m not good with surprises. Luna must recognize my fear because she says, “What’s the second thing Penn does for Kasey in your book?”
My eyes narrow as I rack my brain to think. When it hits me, my eyes bulge. “No!” I shout.
Luna claps and I open my office door. Positioned in the corner is a string quartet in tuxedos: three violins and a cello. When I wrote this scene, I tried to think of something really romantic that any girl would love. So, in my story, Kasey writes about her fictitious boyfriend sending a string quartet to serenade her with her favorite classical music while she works.
“They just showed up!” Brenna shouts. Half the office has now gathered outside my door as I walk inside.
“This is Macy,” Luna says, motioning to me.
The cello player nods to the others and they start to play. I slowly amble to my desk, completely aware that my mouth is hanging on the floor.
At first, I don’t recognize the song. I’m not much of a classical girl. I just wrote Kasey as one because she’s a little more sophisticated than I am. But as they play, I start to recognize the melody. It’s not Bach, or Mozart, it’s . . . Fall Out Boy? Are they playing “I Don’t Care” on strings?
Tears sting my eyes. It’s beautiful and crazy all at the same time. I slide into my desk chair, unable to take my eyes off them.
Their fingers move with grace and skill. If you didn’t know any better you’d think they were playing a concerto rather than a rock song. As they play, more and more people from the office crowd into my room. We clap and roar at the end of the song. They move right into, “Sugar, I’m Going Down” and then “Irresistible.”
Just as they’re about to start another, I ask them to stop. I walk around my desk and over to them then I eye Luna. She reads my mind. Waving everyone out of the room, she closes the door behind the last person.
“I don’t mean to be rude by interrupting, and you play magnificently, but I need to know. Who sent you?” I ask.
“We’re not at liberty to say, miss. It’s part of our contract.”
“Your contract?”
“Yes, we were asked to play a variety of Fall Out Boy songs on strings for one hour, but we weren’t allowed to begin until you arrived, no matter how long that took.”
“But . . . why?” I ask. “Who would do this?”
The cello player seems to be in charge since he’s the only one who speaks. He shrugs his shoulders to my question then says, “Shall we continue?”
My head rolls to regard Luna as my hands fly open in question to her. She can see I don’t know what to do, so she pipes up.
“Are you allowed to tell us anything?”
He smiles. “I was told that the woman we were playing for was quite lovely and that this was her favorite band. That’s all.”
“Did you meet the person who contracted you?”
“No. We spoke on the phone.”
“Man or woman?” Luna asks.
“Man.”
“And how did he pay?” I ask, as if I don’t already know the answer.
“He paid in cash. There was an envelope waiting with the signed agreement last night.”
“Could you give me a minute?” I ask, pulling Luna by the elbow as we leave my office. She’s smirking the whole way.
As soon as we’re in her office, I close the door behind me. “This is awful!” I moan, placing my fingers over my eyes and leaning my back against the door.
“No, it’s not! It’s fantastic! Someone is following your book to the letter! Well, except for the choice of music.”
“That’s just it! How did they know my favorite music?” My mind wanders back to the day on the beach with Fisher and my ratted T-shirt. I swallow hard.
“Duh?” Luna says as she rolls her eyes. “You post about them all the time. You recorded half their songs on your Instagram feed when you went to their concert, remember? Anyone who knows you, knows you love them.”
I teeter my head. She’s got a point. A quick search on my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts and you’d see I talk about them more than my own books.
“And you swear to the creator of dildos and dicks that this is not you?”
She lifts her right hand and places the other on her heart. “I swear. If I’m lying I’ll never have sex again.”
She’s serious. She’d never say that unless it was the absolute truth. “Do you really think it’s just a fan? I mean, that shit costs money!”
“I do. Think about it. Whoever sent them had no clue you weren’t working today. No one knew you were coming but you. If it was someone we knew, someone we worked with, like, say, the movie team, they’d know you only worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Whoever sent it didn’t make sure you’d be here first. That’s kind of dumb when you think about it.”
I nod.
“Stop worrying about it and just enjoy.”
“In the book, Kasey thinks it’s a fan and it’s not. It’s Penn. What if this is . . . him?”
Luna stands up straighter. “The Fish guy?”
I nod once more.
Luna laughs. “No way. What would be the chances? You said you gave him your real name not your author name, right?”
“Yes.”
“And he had no clue what you did for a living?”
“No.”
She waves me off. “It’s a fan.”
I furrow my brows and hug myself.
“What comes next?” Luna grabs my book off her shelf and I start biting at my nails as I try to remember. “The dress!”
She starts to clap. “Doesn’t he show his face then too? Girl . . . this stuff is gold!”
Walking over to her window, I slide down into the seat. Fear hits me hard. “What if it’s a stalker? Did you think of that?”
Luna’s face turns white. She immediately picks up her phone. “Brenna, get Fabian on the line.”
The phone rings and she faces me as she speaks. “Fabian, I’m going to need the best private security you can find and I need it today.”
It’s odd always having someone with me, but I also feel so much better when Marcus is around.
Within an hour of Luna’s call to Fabian, the production team had sent the owner of the security firm they use to her office for a consult. Part of me was worried I was overreacting, but when Luna explained what had happened to him and he seemed concerned, I felt validated.
I was immediately paired with Marcus. He’s a tall, house of a man. He looks like he eats fear for breakfast, but when he smiles it’s a lot less intimidating. I don’t think he smiles much, though. He came over to my place and helped set up a security system and even gave me a panic button for my key chain that sends both the police and him running. I might sleep with it on my nightstand. I might be crazy, too.
It’s been a week since my personal concert and nothing else has happened. Marcus meets me every time I have to leave the house. It’s weird giving him my schedule and having to stick to it.
He went grocery shopping with me the other day and I only bought one bag of Sour Patch Kids because I felt like he might judge me for buying three. I’m a writer, though, and we writers need our snacks. Snacks and words go hand in hand. Too bad I ate them while I watched TV rather than writing. Now I’m out of luck.
Last night, I had a craving for Taco Bell and I wanted to run out to get it, but I ended up eating stale cereal instead because I freaked myself out of leaving the apartment.
I pictured myself thinking I’d be safe this one time without Marcus and then encountering a crazy stalker with a large machete. Isn’t that how people die in movies? They take a risk and then they get kidnapped and chopped into pieces. Or for authors, tied to a bed and forced to write like in “Mi
sery.” As a viewer, you’re sitting there screaming at your TV, telling them not to do it, but they go anyway.
I didn’t want to be a stupid victim, so I stayed home. Unfortunately my irrational thinking continued the rest of the night and I barely slept. Once my damn brain gets going, I can’t turn it off.
People may think it’s fun being creative. They may think having an overactive imagination is a blessing. And while I’ll admit, it’s a great trait when you’re writing at your laptop, it’s not so great when you’re sitting alone in your apartment and you overthink every little noise you hear.
I’d managed to convince myself that I heard a tap on my fourth story window. Then I pictured a man dressed in black scaling down from the roof to get a glimpse of me as I lay in bed. I invented his backstory and pictured the 20/20 episode where they reveal how they caught him. I think I got two hours, tops.
So, as I stagger into my office this morning with Marcus, I know I look as bad as I feel. At this rate, my sequel is going to turn into a thriller. I need to think romance not murder.
Brenna hands me a cup of coffee as soon as I sit down. I mouth the words “Thank you” to her because, truth be told, I’m too tired to speak.
After staring out my window for way too long, I finally start to feel semi human enough to write. I manage a thousand words before Brenna knocks on my door.
“Greer, you got something.”
She walks through the door carrying a rather large box and Marcus follows her. He’s stationed outside in case I need him during the day and he’s never come inside before. The fact he’s walking with her has my arm hairs standing at attention.
“Should I get Luna?” Brenna asks.
“I don’t know.” I gaze at Marcus and he motions for Brenna to give him the box.
“If it’s okay with you, Ms. Greer, I’d like to open this myself.”
I nod in approval and Brenna bolts out the door. Luna rushes in a few seconds later.
We stand a few feet from Marcus and cringe like the box might explode when he uses his pocket knife to slice open the tape.
He puts on a pair of latex gloves as he unfolds a letter, reads it, and then proceeds to remove a black sequin gown from the box. He grins. “We’re going to get him now.”
“Can you read it out loud?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Your presence is requested for dinner tonight at The Chateau on Market Street at eight p.m. I will have a table reserved in your name and will wait for you to arrive. Consider the dress a gift, not a requirement.”
Luna gasps. “Well, shit. It’s the exact words from the book except for the restaurant. The Chateau is here in San Francisco. It’s about three blocks away. It’s a really nice place. At least you’ll have a good meal,” she says with a shrug.
“She’s not going,” Marcus announces. “We’ll be there waiting for him instead and we’ll grab him. There’s no need for you to be present.”
“Like hell I’m not going!” I reply, folding my arms. “In the book, Penn makes sure Kasey is there before he shows himself. If he doesn’t see me, he might not go through with it.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
“He probably read the story. I want to go. I want answers. I can’t take this anymore. This whole thing is making me paranoid. I’m going and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.”
“Ms. Greer, I highly suggest you—”
“She’s right,” Luna interrupts. “And in the book Kasey goes alone. This guy won’t be expecting security, but he won’t approach unless he sees her sitting at the table. Once he identifies himself as the stalker, then you can pounce. Otherwise, what’s to stop him from just walking away when he sees she’s not there? You’ll have no proof and no grounds. Plus, it’s a busy restaurant.”
“Maybe. But I don’t want him getting that close.”
“I can handle it!” I tell him. “And I’ll give you some kind of sign when I know it’s him. Otherwise, it could just be a fan and you’ll give yourself away.”
I gaze over at Luna as I speak and she nods in agreement. We both turn to face Marcus, who seems a little dazed.
He runs his fingers through his hair as he glances back and forth at us. “Have you two done this before? You seem to have this thought out.”
I smile. “You have no idea how gratifying that is to hear.”
Luna smirks and leans against the wall smugly.
“Am I missing something?” he asks.
Sitting in my desk chair, I roll forward until I can place my elbows on the desk. “We spent a lot of time on the particulars of this scene in the book so it seemed realistic. We ran a lot of scenarios.”
“I see,” he says with a small grin. “Let me think about it. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me.”
Once he’s gone and my door is closed, Luna and I face each other, completely dumbfounded.
“Well, this has taken an interesting turn.” Luna walks over to the dress and lifts it out of the box. “Want to try it on?”
“Hell no. I’m not wearing that thing. He probably jacked off all over it.”
“Eww. That’s gross. And Penn didn’t. It looks clean . . . and pricey. Kasey wore it. She thought it was beautiful.”
“We both know I’m not Kasey. Kasey was trusting until she realized he was the reason she became a best seller.” Doubt invades my brain. “You don’t think my stalker bought ten thousand copies too, do you?”
“No!” Luna says, shaking her head. “This is real life, darling. Men like Penn don’t exist, remember?”
I know she’s right. Penn doesn’t exist. Real men are nothing like the ones in my head. Real men lie and cheat and break your heart. Book boyfriends will always be better than reality.
“Are you clear on what you’re supposed to do?” Marcus asks, as he places a pin containing a small camera on my sweater. He’s recording the whole thing in case we need it for a court case.
“Yes. When I know it’s him, I stand up.”
He places his hands on his thighs, leaning toward me. “You know it’s not too late to change your mind.”
Even though I’m nervous, I’m also pretty excited. It feels like I’m playing a part in a crime drama. I’ve already plotted a book off this whole thing about an undercover detective who falls for the guy she’s supposed to be investigating. I’m trying to pretend I’m not scared because I know Marcus wouldn’t let me go through with it if he knew I wasn’t half as confident as I appear to be.
I suppose with popularity comes increased risk. When I first became a best seller, I paid a company to wipe my past personal stuff from the web mostly so I could keep my address safe. Looking back, especially since we’re divorced, I’m glad I didn’t take Oliver’s name. Greer Bruckner never sat well with me anyway. Now, it’s nearly impossible to know that Greer Hanson ever existed. I guess security and stalkers are the things I never considered when I prayed for fame.
“I’m not going to change my mind. Besides, you have like twenty other guys stationed all around this place. I’m not the slightest bit worried.”
“Please reconsider the vest.”
I inhale a deep breath through my nostrils to try to stay calm. The suggestion of my wearing a bulletproof vest almost made me cry when he mentioned it the first time. If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen. I’ll die someday, vest or not. “Nope. I’m good.”
Marcus arranged for a guard at the door and one sitting at the table near me. He’s going to be standing at the bar, within feet of me. Luna wanted to be here, but he said no and I agreed. I don’t need her taking any risks.
I’m directed to the table my stalker/gift giver reserved. I rub my hands on my jeans. My palms are sweaty. I semi-sing Eminem’s song “Lose Yourself” as soon as the thought crosses my mind. Another one of my issues. I tend to think of song lyrics when I’m nervous.
This dude might expect me to be in the dress he bought me, but I’m not Kasey and my not wearing the dress like s
he did should drive that point home even further. Part of me hopes a smiling fan shows up and just asks for my autograph. Then Marcus can give her a restraining order and we can call it a day.
I watch the condensation drip down my water glass and realize the sweat on my back is following the same pattern. I keep glancing back and forth between the door and Marcus. He nods to me as he holds a glass of soda and perches half a butt cheek on the bar stool.
A tap on my shoulder startles me and I almost bolt from my seat. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Macy Greer?” a young woman asks as she steps in front of me.
Is this her? Is this it? Should I stand?
“Are you the person I’m meeting?” I ask hesitantly.
“I wish. I’m so sorry for bothering you, but my mom and I saw you when you came in and it took me a few minutes to get the courage to ask for your autograph.”
I smile. “Um, sure. What do you want me to sign?”
She hands me a napkin and I gaze over at Marcus and shake my head lightly. I try to smile as I scribble my name.
“I love Kasey. She’s like, my favorite character of all time. I love how feisty and sexy she is. I wish I could be more like her.”
“Just be you. The world needs you to be exactly who you are and no one else.”
She grins. “Thank you so much. Have a great dinner.”
I watch her walk back to her table and I wave to the older woman she’s sitting with. She smiles back.
Where the hell is he? I know I’m early, but jeez. Why is he late? Let’s get this show on the road. People really need to be more punctual. It’s rude to keep me waiting.
I try to busy myself by taking in the décor. You never know when I might need to describe a restaurant in a book. The walls are a deep shade of red. I suppose it’s to match the exposed brick on the wall by the fireplace in the corner. It’s a nice place. And I might have even thought it was a romantic location if I were on a date rather than waiting to meet a crazy person.
Why would anyone think I’d be interested in recreating a story in my book? I’ve written twelve other novels and no one copied those. I wish they would have. It would have been nice to inherit a million dollars from someone for real.
Book Boyfriend Page 5
