The Bodyguard

by Pamela DuMond

God, she sounds like me.

  “Do you like Max, Maia? Because I know he likes you. And he might appear full of bravado, but he has a very sweet heart.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I do like him.” When my stupid hand starts shaking.

  And Alida spots it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I cover my shaky hand quickly with my other hand. “I heard this used to be Gary Cooper’s house. Did you buy it from his estate? What else did you do to renovate it? I’d love to know more.”

  “So would I.” She sighs and sits next to the desk and motions for me to sit on the adjacent loveseat. “You haven’t told Max why you really hired him to drive you, have you?” She reaches for my good hand and places it on my lap.

  “No.”

  She takes my trembling hand and holds it. “Why not?”

  I meet her gaze. “I don’t tell a lot of people. That probably makes me a terrible person, but no, I haven’t told him. Yet.”

  She sighs. “To be fair he hasn’t told you either.”

  What hasn’t he told me?

  “Why are you really here, Maia? I don’t believe you’re here to visit all the healers simply to write a book proposal.”

  Busted.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m petrified my grandmother’s dying. She’s had MS for thirty years. She’s been in a wheelchair for five. She’s going downhill. I can’t just sit still, do nothing, and lose her without a fight.”

  Alida nods.

  “I traveled to L.A. to find a miracle. For my grandmother.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Is there more to the story?”

  “I have early onset MS. I’m willing to be a guinea pig to find something, to find anything that can extend her life. Maybe that will be six months. Maybe I can find something that will buy her a year or two or five. Maybe I’ll just stumble across a therapy that makes her more comfortable. Gives her less pain.”

  “Why haven’t you told Max?”

  “A lot of reasons. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. He told you that I’m paying him. Right? I would never take advantage of him. I adore him.”

  “He adores you back.” She squeezes my hand. “I know a curandero in Rosarito, Mexico. Do you know what a curandero is?”

  “A healer?”

  She nods. “He’s a little out there, but he’s so good at what he does. He’s usually booked solid.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time left in L.A.”

  “I can get you an appointment with him. Soon.”

  “You would do that?”

  “I’m happy to do that,” Alida says and stands. “I’m not going to tell Max about our talk. But you both have stories. When or if you decide to share them is between the two of you.”

  The pool house has been converted into Max’s studio. His surfboards lean against a wall. Pool nets hang on another wall next to some of his mom’s framed photos. There’s a beat up leather couch, and a desk with his laptop and printer. A few family photos, as well as candid shots of him and his friends are thumbtacked to a bulletin board next to the kitchenette.

  “Great place,” I say. “Rescue anyone with those nets?”

  “My mom’s dog, Señora Amor, fell into the deep end when I was a kid, and forgot the dog paddle. I tried to scoop her out, but the net scared her. So, I jumped in and saved her.” He points to a photo on one of the walls. He’s dripping wet, looks to be about twelve-years-old, smiling up at the camera and hugging a drenched, irritated-looking dog.

  “Which started your long string of saving bedraggled mutts. Like me, my first night in L.A.”

  “Bonita, you’re a far cry from bedraggled.” He takes my hand, tugs me toward him, and kisses me. His lips are soft on mine, his hand is in my hair, he wraps his arm around my waist.

  Tingles shoot down my spine. My breath comes a little faster.

  “I’d rescue you any day,” he says. He slips a hand under my sleeve, pulls it down my arm, presses kisses on my bare shoulder. An ache builds in my belly.

  “Max. We’re at your parent’s house.”

  “Maia. We’re in my house. It’s not like they’re going to burst through the door unannounced.”

  I reluctantly pull away. “What happened the other night when you left so quickly?”

  “I was on call. I got a message that someone needed a driver. The guy was a friend of a friend. I had to grab his keys before he got in the car.”

  “I don’t get it. Why don’t these people just use a ride share?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Pride? Bad judgment? Sometimes they don’t think they’re as fucked up as they are and one of their friends calls it in.”

  “Do you have to take every call, every time?”

  “No. The other Drivers and I usually take turns. Divide up shifts. But Nick got a call right before mine. And I don’t like to let people down.” He glances up at a framed photo on his wall. The crumpled SUV with the missing windshield.

  “That photo’s on your mom’s wall. Why’s it on yours?”

  He shakes his head. “Today’s a fun day. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s grab some barbecue before it’s gone.” He takes my hand, and kisses me again. We leave the pool house and make our way to the picnic tables and the smiling people.

  I, of all people, know that sometimes dark matters are best kept hidden. I wasn’t ready to tell him about my MS. So, I didn’t push him about the picture. But I’m not the only one who has secrets.

  Back at Walden Hall the next day I turn in a paper to Dr. Schillinger. So far, I’m pulling a 3.85 out of 4 in his class. Not bad considering all the other stuff I’m doing. Aura cleansing. Goddess Tarot Card Reading. Reiki.

  “Maia. Can we talk after class for a second?” Dr. Schillinger asks.

  “Sure,” I say, curious. “I’ve got an appointment in about a half hour.”

  “We’ll make it quick,” he says.

  I take a seat next to his desk.

  “You know how we did that genetic test with Spectrum Labs?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the test where we learn part of our ancestry or what family genes we might carry for certain traits. Like who’s likely to have blue eyes. Or brown eyes. Or oily skin. Or…”

  This isn’t about my grades. Schillinger glances down at a paper on his desk. It has my name on top.

  “Or someone who might be pre-disposed to an autoimmune disease like Lupus, or MS, or Rheumatoid arthritis,” I say.

  “That’s right. You already know.”

  “I do. But thanks. It was kind of you to try and break it to me.” A lump grows in my throat and I stand and walk toward the door.

  “You’re young, Maia. It’s not a death sentence. You can experiment. Stem cell studies. New therapies popping up every day—”

  “Thanks, Dr. Schillinger. Already on it.” I leave the room.

  I’m about to open the door to the clinic when I get a call. Max.

  “Hey Bonita,” he says. “Do you have a bathing suit?”

  “Strange question,” I say and check my watch. I don’t want to be late for my blood draw. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mom got you an appointment with the healer she told you about in Rosarito.”

  “Terrific,” I say. “Why the suit?”

  “It’s a beach town. We could double down on the appointment with the healer and have our official first date. Who knows what kind of fun we’d have?”

  “Yes on the healer. I’ll see what I can do about the suit.”

  “Or not,” he says. “Might be more fun if you didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Bye.” I click off.

  I sign in at the UCLA receptionist’s desk. “Hey Phil,” I say to the receptionist. “Here for a blood draw. Think you can track down the tech who knows how to hit deep rolling veins? I’m missing the first half of the Packers-Viking game and I’m not all that happy about it.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” he says.
/>
  “Thanks.”

  “It’s pre-season football, you know,” he says. “It doesn’t really count.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Vikings. Packers. No one cares who wins this game. Pre-season doesn’t count.”

  “Where you from?”

  “Minnesota.”

  “Shocker,” I say. “It’s still a Packers-Viking game.”

  “Do not cast aspersions on my home people, Cheesehead,” he says checking his computer. “Hey, today’s more than a blood draw. You’re scheduled for an MRI.”

  “I just had an MRI.”

  “The powers that be have requested another one. Room 104. Nurse Michaels will check you in.”

  Nurse Michaels asks a slew of questions. Have I experienced increased headaches, dizziness, or nausea? He takes my blood.

  “Why do I have to have another MRI so soon?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  And bam, I’m back in the freaking imaging tube again. This time I opt for double earplugs. I concentrate on all the goodness in my life. My mom and her sacrifices. Nana and how funny and giving she is. The joy when I watched Napoleon toddle around my apartment. How my breath vanishes and time stands still when Max kisses me. I get through this test by thinking about love. And then I get a little homesick.

  Two hours later I pulled my clothes back on in the small exam room and get the hell out of Dodge. As I walk home I remind myself that loneliness is part of the deal when one travels away from home. I snag a lemon from the tree close to my apartment. My phone rings and I pick it up.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Blue asks.

  “Working on the final paper for Schillinger’s class.”

  “Text me your address. We’re picking you up at seven.”

  Who’s we?”

  “My friends from the stem cell program.”

  “I don’t think so.” I scoop up the black kitten who is thinking about making a run for it “I’ve got an appointment thing tomorrow and I’m going to Rosarito.”

  “Mexico?”

  “Yeah. With the guy.”

  “The good kisser?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you made a good impression on his parents?”

  I remember how I felt when Alida spotted my trembling hand. “I definitely left an impression.”

  “Work on your Genetics paper this afternoon and screw the appointment. The timing for this outing couldn’t be more perfect.”

  “How so?”

  “We’re going shopping. We’ll help you pick a suit.”

  “I don’t swim. I don’t need a suit.”

  “You’re going to a romantic Mexican beach resort town with the guy you like. You need a new suit. Do you not remember the transformative power of beautification?”

  “I hate shopping.”

  “You’ve never been shopping with us before. It’s an adventure mixed with a party. We’ll be outside your place at 7 p.m. Look for a pink limo.”

  “Pink?” I hear squeals of laughter in the background.

  “Yes. Pink. It works for us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I stand on the sidewalk at 7 p.m. A bubblegum pink stretch limo pulls onto the street, windows down. Strangely enough, Pink—the singer—blares from its sound system. It pulls to a stop and a side door flies open. Blue pokes her head out. “Welcome to the party. Hop aboard.”

  Blue and three of her friends are seated in the plush, tricked-out limo. Wheelchairs are stacked in the far back of the vehicle.

  “This is my friend, Maia,” Blue says pouring a glass of Champagne and passing it to me. “She’s here from Wisconsin and is a rat in the degenerative diseases stem cell study.”

  “Welcome,” a gorgeous brunette lifts her glass. “I’m Lulu.”

  “Nice to meet you,” a pretty mocha skinned young woman says. “Gabrielle.”

  “Amy” a redheaded girl says.

  “A toast,” Blue says. “To a most excellent shopping adventure.”

  We raise glasses.

  “Thanks for including me.” I sip.

  “Thanks for joining us,” Amy says.

  “What do you say we tell Maia how we got our chairs?” Blue asks.

  “Ugh.” Amy makes a face. “Does she want to hear all the gory details?”

  “Whatever you want to share,” I say.

  She sighs. “Car accident three years ago. I used to be a party girl college cheerleader.”

  Lulu tops off Amy’s glass. “Now you’ve graduated college and you’re still party girl.”

  Amy smiles. “Truth.”

  “I got my wheels after a slip and fall,” Gabrielle says.

  “Stupid store didn’t put up the yellow sign after they mopped,” Blue says.

  Gabrielle looks at Lulu. “Your turn.”

  “Car accident,” Lulu says. “Old story. Drink up ladies. We’re celebrating.”

  “I love celebrations,” Amy said.

  “What are we celebrating?” Gabrielle asks.

  “Lulu has news,” Blue says.

  “I’ve been in the stem cell program for over a year now,” she says glancing at the stack of wheelchairs in the back. “A week ago, I bent down to put on a shoe. First time in years, I wiggled a few my toes. I thought it was a fluke so I did it again. Not a fluke.”

  Gabrielle nearly spits her drink. “Wow.”

  “Oh my God!” Amy squeals. “What happens next? Do they change your protocol?”

  “I’m not thinking about that tonight,” Lulu says. “Tonight’s just about having fun.”

  “I’m happy for you Lulu,” I say and catch the look on Blue’s face. Happiness, envy. Back to happiness.

  “I love you, Lu,” Blue says. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”

  We hit Nordie’s third floor, and the bathing suit department.

  Blue and I sort through the racks. She’s looking at bikinis. I’m hunting down a one-piece. Amy, Gabrielle and Lulu already made their selections and are trying them on in the dressing room. I hover next to the circular rack, flipping through suit after suit and select five in an array of colors.

  Blue wheels up. “Show me.”

  I hold out one. “Pink. In honor or tonight’s theme.”

  “Too safe,” Blue says. “You’re going to Mexico with a hot bodyguard.”

  I hold out another. “Teal. It has a built-in pushup bra. I’ll dazzle him with my cleavage.”

  “Is he eighty-five years old and half blind?”

  “No,” I frown and hold out another. “White. Retro. Like something a Bond Girl would wear. Sexy, yes?”

  “Fifty years ago, Mamie Eisenhower.”

  I harrumph and flip to another. “This black one. The tag says it’s slimming.”

  “Houston, we have a problem,” she says. “Why are you picking suits designed for middle-aged women? Show off the goods, girl.”

  “I don’t even swim.”

  “This isn’t about swimming.”

  Lulu, Gabrielle and Amy exit the dressing room. A saleslady trails behind them carrying a pile of clothes.

  Gabrielle wrinkles her nose. “You’re getting a one-piece?”

  “Tell them Maia.” Blue smirks. “Tell them or we play truth or dare.”

  Oh crap. I do not want to tell these girls I’m headed to Mexico with Max. “I, I…”

  “Fine. I’ll tell them,” Blue says. “Maia’s got a hot—”

  “Dare!” I exclaim.

  “Love a hot dare,” Amy says.

  “Huge fan of hot dares.” Gabrielle smiles.

  “Dare it is.” Blue smiles. “We get to pick a suit your suit and you have to promise to wear it.”

  “I’m in.” Amy heads toward the bikini rack.

  “Nothing too revealing,” I say and wring my hands.

  “Not part of the dare,” Blue says and joins Amy.

  The high-rise hotel accommodating Keim’s Vision Quest meeting is sleek and modern, gleaming in th
e morning sun. It’s situated in Century City, a pricey, well-kept section of L.A. on a wide boulevard called the Avenue of the Stars.

  “Do you have to go to this meeting?” Max asks from the Jeep’s driver seat.

  “Yes. I heard Dr. Keim speak at a seminar on the boardwalk that day we were in Venice. He was interesting.”

  Max shakes his head. “A bunch of my mom’s friends went to Keim’s Quests a few years ago. Everyone takes mushrooms, wanders around in the wilderness, and speaks in tongues.”

  “Dr. Keim told me his program has been updated.”

  “Just because something’s updated doesn’t mean it’s a good thing. Case in point, neo-Nazis versus World War II Nazis.” He pulls the Jeep into the sweep of the hotel entrance. “The whole Quest thing creeps me out. It doesn’t seem to be the safest healing modality.”

  A uniformed man opens my door. “Valet?”

  “Thanks. Just dropping off,” Max says. He brushes an errant wisp of hair behind my ear. “How long is this gig?”

  “An hour I think,” I say, suddenly not wanting to leave.

  He kisses me. “Skip it. We can go have lunch somewhere pretty and hit the road.”

  “I shouldn’t.” I reluctantly pull away from him and step out of the car.

  He shakes his head. “We need to beat the traffic and drive south of before gridlock hits. I want to cross the border before rush hour.”

  “Okay. What are you going to do?”

  “Westfield Mall’s up the road. Grabbing provisions.”

  “We’re only staying one night, right? I only made a reservation for one night.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want to stay at my family’s house with me.”

  “If I stay with you I’m not going to be concentrating on meeting the healer. It’s safer if I stay at a hotel.”

  “Your call. This Quest group feels cultish, Bonita. If they ask you to sign an organ donation card, don’t do it.”

  “You’re bad,” I say and cover a smile.

  “You have no idea…” He grins and peels out of the driveway.

  The Quest’s seminar is held in a penthouse suite with sweeping views of downtown L.A. A steroid bodyguard stands by the entrance. People cluster around screens watching YouTube videos of Keim Vision Quests. A waiter walks through offering snacks and tea. A greeter lights a sage stick and swishes it around the room.