by T. C. Clover
Fassim’s orange headscarf. “Well isn’t that just fantastic?” The millionaire paused and shifted his stance to admire the photographer’s beautiful face. “Have you ever heard about the Muslim woman who took home a lonely Texas boy?” His face lit up with excitement as he made this offer, and he began to imagine what the woman looked like in the nude.
“Do you see this thing around my head?” Fassim demanded with a hint of proud feminist rhetoric. “This is supposed to send a message to all of the men in the area. It’s hot and uncomfortable, but not as bad as getting hit on when you aren’t looking for anyone. Now, I understand that you have physical needs, sir. So may I direct your attention to the blonde over there that is speaking loudly and showing off her cleavage? She would be more in the market for what you’re offering. Now have a good night!” The fiery Muslim pointed to a blonde woman over thirty feet away who looked as if she was falling out of her red dress.
After the man had spotted the blonde that Fassim was pointing out, he nodded and returned a warm smile. His appreciation reminded her of stories about Sacagawea guiding Lewis and Clark through the barren wilderness to sustenance.
“Deflection is always better than rejection,” Fassim said to Jazzy as the man walked away in a hurry. “They think you’re their hero and don’t blame you if the next girl shoots them down.”
Jazzy smiled at her companion and realized that it was the first time a paparazzo had ever protected her from harassment. The comedian had picked a low-key black gown for the event, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail to combat the famous Houston humidity. Fassim had chosen to wear a blue and white flower print blouse, along with loose-fitting blue jeans to go with her headscarf. They stood near a bar that the NASA employees had fashioned from the reception desk and a white bed sheet.
The skillful Muslim had been surpassing Jazzy’s expectations all week. Her actions could almost justify the comedian forgiving her for the collage of nude photos that were published in various tabloids. It was a bittersweet sisterhood, but after the support shown in her time of crisis, Jazzy considered the woman her ‘bitchy little sister.’
Jazzy watched the country musicians on the stage with an unusual amount of reverence. Her father had been a music teacher, but after three bouts with cancer, the family had nearly gone broke. Although he survived his long battle, it came with an impossible price tag. She had to drop out of high school to get a job at age fifteen, and found herself serving tables at a local nightclub in Chicago, Illinois. There was a terrible snowstorm on Open Mic Night, which kept away most of the scheduled acts. Jazzy had been coerced by the club owner to take the stage and tell a few jokes. Although she was nervous, it wound up being one of the best nights of her life.
The impressionable woman lowered her head as the best night of her life wound up reminding her of the worst. She glanced over at CKB and traced the contours of his muscular body in the stylish black tuxedo. Although the comedian had made several attempts to find out his plans to ‘take care of’ the billionaire that attacked her, he had only responded with winks or smiles. There was a nervous energy brewing within her lower abdomen. On one hand, she welcomed swift and fierce retribution for the violence that had been visited upon her, but on the other, it could backfire into something worse. CKB could get hurt or killed, and the man might seek vengeance of his own against the entertainer.
“Where is Litz?” Richard barked as he approached the two women like an overzealous bloodhound. “I need to tell her something.”
Jazzy was startled by her co-star when she saw him encroaching on the sisterly space between her and Fassim. Richard was wearing a black button-down shirt with matching dress pants, and a shiny pair of noir wingtip shoes. He had been as approachable as a cactus since Stoney made his announcement, and the all-black ensemble wasn’t helping.
“You shouldn’t talk to Litz right now, Richard,” Jazzy instructed and placed her right hand on his left bicep to caution him further.
“Are you drunk, Richard?” Fassim asked with wide eyes as she took in his stuffy mannerisms and slurred speech. “What are you trying to do, win the hypocrite of the year award?”
“I need to tell Litz something…important,” he continued in an awkward fashion and spun around counterclockwise a few times, looking in all directions.
“Look, Litz went home with Jason,” the comedian began in a noble moment of tough love, “you should try hitting on that loud blonde over there.”
Jazzy and Fassim looked at one another and shared a delinquent laugh. They had lost count of how many men were sent in the direction of the blonde in search of love. It had made for good amusement when the men discovered that her husband was seated right beside her. The smile left Jazzy’s face when she noticed that Richard was poking her bare shoulder with his right index finger.
“What? What do you need to tell Litz that is so important?” Jazzy shouted at her co-star in a moment of severe annoyance.
“Jason is standing right there,” Richard said as he turned his finger over and pointed it at the dance floor.
Jazzy screwed up her face when she noticed that Jason was waiting near the corner of the dance floor wearing a white dress shirt and orange tie. His suit jacket was wrapped around his arms, and he seemed to be bothered by something.
“Look, Richard, I need you to go with Stoney and CKB,” Jazzy instructed her drunken co-star, tapping him on the shoulder in a gentle way with her right hand. “Fassim and I will go find Litz, and we’ll let her know that you have something important to say.”
Richard held up his right hand with the index finger and thumb pressed together as if to say ‘okay.’ Jazzy and Fassim then made their way through the partygoers towards the dance floor, watching for Litz as they went.
“Where’s our girl?” Jazzy inquired when she and her co-star were within five feet of Jason.
“I don’t know,” the astronaut said in what seemed like a lost and hopeless state. “She might be in the bathroom thinking about things, or maybe she talked to Richard and went back to the hotel.”
“Why? What does Richard want?” The unshakable woman pried with a hint of concern. “How long ago did she leave for the bathroom?”
“It’s been about thirty minutes,” Jason replied in a forlorn manner as he listened to the rebellious notes of the live country music.
Jazzy turned away from Jason upon hearing this news and made her way over to their security detail. A bullish Hispanic man was standing near the door in a light gray suit. His hands were clasped together over his abdomen as his body swayed in time with the music.
“Jose, where did Litz go?” Jazzy requested when she reached the double doors of the meeting hall.
“She went to the bathroom, but I haven’t seen her for a while,” the twenty-five-year-old bodyguard announced with a shrug.
“Call the hotel and see if she’s there,” the comedian ordered with alarm as she and Fassim made their way out into the hallway.
“Why are you so worried about Litz?” Fassim asked during a spirited dash through the dark and desolate office hallways.
“I heard Jennifer and Mike talking about a guy who is obsessed with Litz from watching our TV show,” Jazzy responded in a hurry as she burst into the ladies’ room with Fassim in tow.
“You mean she has a stalker?” The paparazzi photographer attempted to confirm in a whisper. “But why would he be down here in Texas?”
The flustered comedian ignored this valid question and elected instead to trust her gut. She maneuvered through a handful of women in their early twenties and began to inspect the areas under the bathroom stalls.
“Look, if she has a stalker, it’s unlikely that he took a flight down here,” Fassim offered with a shrug of impending disappointment.
Jazzy knelt down like a crab and reached under one of the stall doors, grunting somewhat from the strain.
She then stood up tall with a pair of lime green high heels clutched in her right hand. The photographer opened her mouth in shock and closed her eyes with a feeling of shame.
X. Diving Into Concrete
“There are 1,600 acres of grounds to search at the space center,” Jason concluded with a desperate gaze as he ran his fingers through his hair. “And she’s not answering her phone?” He asked the security guards and actors that were standing before him.
“She may not even be here,” Jazzy speculated with her arms folded tight in a display of concern.
“Well, if she’s not at the hotel, then where else would she go?” The astronaut asked with impatience. “I mean she is old enough to make her own choices, but nobody is going out on the town without their shoes. So why would she leave?”
“Look, Jennifer and Mike have been getting death threats for Litz every day,” the comedian explained with a demeanor of exhaustion. “Someone is obsessed with her, and they’ve been sending letters to the television station. I think the producers even got the FBI involved.”
“I don’t want to think that way!” Jason exclaimed with a scowl as he began to pace back and forth through the conference room. “The chance that some creep followed her here is unlikely, so I’m going to assume that she’s on the grounds. We’ll get some people on our
