by Mac Flynn
"That long? I'm disappointed," I teased.
"He can only perform so many miracles with all the government agencies being closed for the night," John pointed out.
"I can I'll take that excuse, but I expect quick results from our secret agent," I scolded.
"I'll be sure to tell him that. Is there anything else you'd like him to do for us?"
"Um, I'd like for you not to tell him I said that. I like to stay on the good side of someone who I swear could order me dead."
"He could, but I don't think he will. He's not the kind of person to want anybody dead because he'd rather see them alive and financially destroyed."
I shuddered. "Nice uncle you have there, John."
"He's very efficient. What was the number and name of that guy?" I gave him both and he jotted them down. "All right, hopefully I'll survive this cat long enough to pass on the information."
"Maybe Sassy is an assassin sent by your uncle to bump you off," I laughed.
"This would be the slow, painful torture he'd give to his enemies, but I won't let her beat me." I heard a cute meow in the background, and John sighed. "It seems she wants more food."
I ground my teeth together to keep from barking a laugh into the receiver. "She hasn't beaten you, she's whipped you into being her slave."
"And I blame you for this."
"Are you lonely?"
"Are you here?"
"No."
"Then you have your answer."
I rolled my eyes. "I promise I'll be there tomorrow after classes. Is that good enough?"
"No. As your employer I demand your full attention."
"Don't make me quit and go back to that diner," I playfully warned him.
"I'd buy the diner," he threatened. I had to admit he had me there. The owner would sell it in a heartbeat, especially at the price John was willing to pay.
"And you call me evil," I scolded.
"And for good reason.'
"True, but don't you have an uncle you're supposed to be calling?"
"Also true. I expect you to be punctual tomorrow."
"Yes, sir! Will do, sir!" I saluted him.
"Good. And Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
My shoulders slumped and I sighed. "I-well, I'm really fond of you."
"Damn."
"Really, really fond of you?"
"Damn."
I rolled my eyes. "Give me more time," I pleaded with him.
"How much?"
"Now you're just being childish. Call your uncle so I can feed my paranoia with the info he can give us on my new neighbor."
"That sounds like an unhealthy obsession," he scolded me.
"It is, and the only cure is to satiate my curiosity. Now be a good boy and hang up on me."
"You hang up first," he dared.
"Not happening. You first."
"Fine." There was silence between us. "You're not going to hang up, are you?"
"No."
"Fine, I'll be the grownup and say goodbye." I clicked the button and hung up on him, then slumped down on the couch. "He is so stubborn," I grumbled.
I passed the rest of the day glancing over the magazines that Andy left me. The columns were shameful cell pools of lies and half-truths, and I enjoyed every word of it. Well, except the stuff about me. That was just wrong, and my only hope was the whole world wasn't into reading this deliciously gossipy stuff. Unfortunately, I was about to find out how many people read those magazines.
The next day was Monday which meant it dawned too early and too dreary. I shuffled out of bed and drove to the campus. My first class was at an awful hour, nine o'clock, and I was only half awake when I entered the geography building. There was a group of adults huddled together on the ground floor, and when they turned at my coming I noticed some of them had cameras at their feet. Their faces lit up with smiles and whipped out pen microphones. They stampeded toward me, and the cameras and pens were shoved into my face. In the case of the pens some of them went up my nose.
"How did you two meet?"
"Is there an engagement in the near future?"
"What's your favorite North American bird?"
These were reporters, and I didn't want to answer any of those questions. Especially that last one. That one was just weird. "Um, I really have to get to class." I tried to slide around them but they slid with me and blocked my path. The cameramen circled me like voyeuristic sharks which meant I couldn't run back through the front doors. I frantically looked around and spotted my salvation. It was a janitor's closet a few feet away.
There were rear doors opposite the front ones, and my eyes widened and I pointed at them. "Look! A pink elephant!"
The reporters and cameramen zoomed their attention on the invisible elephant, and I slipped from their circle of questions and into the janitor's closet. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing when my ruse was discovered. "Damn it!" swore one of the reporters.
"Fan out! She couldn't have gone far!" ordered another one. My heart stopped and I froze. They were bound to find me hiding in here, and then there'd be no getting away from them. I squished myself up against the back wall behind a couple of mops, but there was nothing but trash liners and dustpans in the closet.
Then the door flung open and the light from the lobby outlined the silhouette of a man. He stepped into the closet and clicked on the light overhead to reveal himself as the janitor. In his hands was one of those giant trash cans with wheels. He was as surprised to find me as I was surprised to see him. I frantically pressed my fingers to my lips and pointed at the people behind him.
The janitor closed the door behind himself and lazily leaned over his trash can with a smile on his face. "You're in a mess of trouble, aren't ya?" I nodded. "Were ya wanting to get away from them?" Again I nodded. "Willing to do most anything?" I was starting to feel like a bobble-head doll. "All right, hop in." My mouth dropped open when he pushed the trash toward me. He smiled and nodded at the unused trash liners. "Ah've got to cover you with trash, but you can climb into one of those to save yer clothes."
"Thank you," I mouthed. I grabbed one of the bags, carefully climbed into the filth inside the trash, and stepped into the open, clean trash bag.
The janitor covered me with trash and playfully tapped me on the head. "Here we go."
The trash can shuddered to a start and glided across the floor out into the lobby. I could still hear my pursuers playing hide-and-seek with me, but the trash can soon bumped over the automatic doors and we traveled along the campus concrete walkways for a few minutes. Then the trash stopped and I heard rustling above me. "You can get out now, miss."
I popped out of my bag and breathed a breath of fresh air. We were halfway across campus and conveniently close to the parking lot where I'd left my car. I turned to my hero and wrapped my arms around his neck, nearly toppling the trash can. "Thank you so much!"
I released him and found he had a blush on his cheeks. "It was nothing, miss, but you keep out of trouble so I can get some work done."
"Definitely," I promised as I stepped out of my trash can. Now I knew why Oscar the Grouch was always grouchy. Those things were cramped.
Now that I was safe I had a certain man to go visit.
CHAPTER 6
I stalked into the house and John could not only hear me coming, but smell me. The stench of the garbage was strong with me, and he popped his head out of his study just as I reached the door. "What in the world is that smell?" he asked me.
"It's the smell of a successful escape, now let me use your shower or I'll rub myself all over you."
He raised an eyebrow and evilly grinned. "Maybe I'd like that," he countered.
I spread my fingers and slapped my hand over his face. He gagged and pulled my arm away. "And I've got another hand that smells just as bad," I warned him.
He covered his hand over his face and pointed upward. I took the hint, went upstairs to shower, and came down in some of
his clothes I'd found lying in his drawers. He sat in his desk chair and turned when I entered the study. His eyes flickered with that mischievous look again, and I noticed Sassy lay atop the back of his chair. It made him look diabolical. "You certainly make yourself at home."
I shrugged and the long shirt sleeves flopped at my sides. "I didn't think you minded," I pointed out as I made myself comfortable in my usual chair.
"I don't, though I would have preferred you come down in nothing," he teased.
"My birthday suit is in the wash with the rest of my stinky clothes."
"About that. How did you acquire that unique perfume?" he wondered.
"It's called the Scent of Escape. If the reporters keep hounding me than I plan on opening my own perfume line," I quipped.
He leaned back and intertwined his fingers together with his elbows on his knees. "So more trouble?"
"Yeah. I was going to class this morning and they ambushed me in the geography building lobby. A nice janitor smuggled me out in his trash can, but I barely made it out of there alive, though my nose will never be the same."
"Were any innocent bystanders wounded?" he teased.
I rolled my eyes. "This is kind of serious. I need to be at class if I'm going to pass college."
John gestured to the room. "You could always go full-time and stay here," he suggested.
"You know why I can't do that. Your cake proved we haven't been together for very long-"
"-and I'd like it to be much longer," he interrupted.
"The marriage proposal?" I guessed.
He sighed. "Still a no?"
"Still a not-yet," I corrected him.
"You give me hope, and dash it at the same time."
"I like to multi-task, but that still doesn't help me."
"Maybe go undercover?" he playfully suggested.
"Hardy-har-har. I'm being serious here. I don't want to be tracked down like a wild beast and tranquilized by their cameras."
"I could have a guard placed on you to keep them off, but that's no guarantee," he pointed out.
"What about Cecil? Can't he murder a few reporters for me to scare the rest of them away?" I wondered.
John chuckled. "He has a lot of influence, but it's dangerous dealing with the press. They don't take kindly to intimidation and a murder would only-" His phone rang, and he answered it. "Hello? What have you got for me?" He listened for a moment and frowned. "I see. Thanks. I owe you." He hung up and smirked. "That was Cecil. It seems your friend Andy hasn't been entirely truthful with you."
"Is that an understatement?"
"If you mean he lied about who he was, what he wanted, and his age, then yes, he is a giant understatement."
"So who is he?"
"His real name is Andrew Parks, and he's a reporter for one of the larger gossip magazines."
"Which one?"
"Gossip Globe."
"Classy."
"That's what Cecil thought. It seems Mr. Parks has been assigned to tail you and find out every personal detail he can get a hold of." He rummaged through a mess of magazines on his desk and pulled out one of them. "I suppose his real identify explains this article." He tossed the magazine at me, and I fumbled before I grasped it and looked at the cover. It had a picture of my car with my own image in a square inset. The headline read "Waitress Rolling Around In Dough."
"At least he has enough wit to make that headline," I admitted. "Unfortunately, he's still the least of my worries. I need to get to class. Hell, I'd like to be able to walk around through my apartment building without getting mugged by people."
John half-turned his chair from me and rubbed his chin. "College. . .college. Which college do you go to?"
"North-Central Eastern College," I replied. He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, and I shrugged. "The colleges are kind of like businesses now, so it merged with a few others."
"What was its old name?"
"Eastern College. Not too original, but it's a pretty old place," I explained to him. John smirked and chuckled. "What? I don't think old places are that funny."
"It's not what you said, but what you told me. I happen to have some influence over the college formerly known as Eastern."
"Influence? Like killing-reporters influence or something else?"
"Something else. Is there a theater hall there with the name of Benson?"
I rummaged through my memories, but came up empty. "No clue. Geography doesn't really mix with theatrics except when there's a rock slide or volcanic explosion." John bent down and pulled open one of his desk drawers. He shuffled the papers around until he pulled out an old folder and tossed in onto the desk in front of me. I looked at the folder name, which said Benson Theater, and shrugged. "You own a theater?" I guessed.
He smirked and shook his head. "No. My family contributed to its building a few decades ago, so it was dedicated to us. Occasionally Cecil and I still give a donation to the productions, so they might be very willing to help us."
I frowned and held up my hands. "Wait a second, back up. Help us how?"
"With my earlier suggestion to disguise you. This theater is very good at makeup and wigs, and I think they can help you mingle with the crowds so you can get to your classes."
"That'll work for all of a couple of days because I have to shower some time," I reminded him. "That, or I'll permanently be smelling like my last escape perfume."
"That's a problem they'll have to solve for us. Maybe they'll be able to give you a few tips to hide your identity," he pointed out.
I slumped down in my chair and scowled at him. "Did I ever mention I don't like makeup?"
"Never."
"Well, I don't."
"Do you want to get to your classes?"
"I'm starting to question that."
"Then I win."
My eye twitched. I don't know what I'd just lost, but I didn't like losing. "What?"
"If you drop your schooling then all you have left is to work for me," he pointed out. "So that means I win."
My mouth slowly dropped open and my eyes narrowed. "Oh no, I said I wasn't ready for full-time employment and I mean it."
"No, you said you weren't ready for marriage."
"With you as my husband that would be a full-time babysitting position."
"Touche, but if you don't agree to at least try out my idea then what other choice do you have?"
I sighed and shrugged. "Fine. What have I got to lose?"
"Your dignity?" he teased. I scowled at him and he held up his hands. "Just kidding, I swear."
"Well, you'll be laughing all the way to the theater," I promised him.
Now it was his turn to frown. "Pardon?"
"You think I'm going to go to the theater alone? I'm taking you along as my guarantee that they're going to suck up to me and give me a disguise."
He cringed, and grabbed a paper and pen off his desk. "I'm sure a letter from me will work-"
I stood and slammed my hand down on the paper. "Oh no you don't. The papers have one thing right, and that's that we're in this together, so you're coming with me."
"We've had this discussion before. I rarely go out in public," he reminded me.
"And that's probably why so many people are interested in knowing what you're doing. You're so secretive that you're practically a living ghost," I countered.
John raised an eyebrow and gestured to his pale self. "I am a living ghost," he pointed out.
"Then let's upgrade that to a phantom and see if people still want to read about you in these magazines." I strode around the desk and pulled him from his desk. "Come on, the theater department isn't going to wait for us."
John grudgingly let me drag him out into the hall. "It will if they want me to continue my patronage," he grumbled.
After the usual cover up with John's clothes, and depositing mine in the wash and fitting his clothes to me, I drove him to my campus. He directed me to a large old building off to the side of the campus. It was made of bricks a
nd white marble, and had more elegance than all the dozen new buildings combined. The front doors were propped open, so I quickly pulled John out of the sun and into the darkened theater lobby. We heard voices through a pair of doors off to the right, and followed them into a hall that followed the entire length along the theater building. There were doors along the right, and these were the dressing rooms.
People wandered to and fro, most in a half-costumed state. Judging by the white powder wigs and colonial outfits, I guessed they were doing something kind of old. A woman about my age who held a clipboard and pen in hand yelled orders to everyone, though when she noticed us her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together. She stomped over to us and stuck her face into John's. Well, almost. She wasn't quite as tall as him, so she ended up with her nose on the collar of his heavy overcoat. "Too much makeup!" she hissed.
I snorted, and the woman turned on me. "And why aren't you in costume? The rehearsal is about to start!"
I got another look at the chaos behind her and hoped she was misusing the phrase 'about to start.' "Um, we're not really with the company," I told her.
Her face flushed with an angry red and her hands tightly grasped the clipboard and pen. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing here?" she exclaimed. John opened his mouth, but she thrust her finger in his face. "No excuses! This is a theater, not a tourist destination! If you want to watch a show then you will need to buy season tickets or a ticket at the door when the play opens." She gestured to the chaos. "As you can see the play isn't open, so out!"
"But we're-" I began, but she thrust her glaring face into mine.
"Out!"
"Stephanie, I think that's enough." The woman in front of us swirled around and we all noticed a middle-aged woman walk through the chaos toward us. She had a calming effect on the actors, who stopped their panicking and returned to their dressing rooms. The older woman smiled at John and me. "What can we do for you?"
"They're not with the company, Miss Hampton," Stephanie protested.
"That's quite all right. We wouldn't mind having a small audience for the rehearsal," Miss Hampton calmly replied.
"I'm afraid we're not that, either, Miss Hampton," John spoke up. He held out his gloved hand to her. "My name is John Benson." Stephanie's face paled and Miss Hampton's registered shock.
"Mr. Benson?" Miss Hampton guessed, and John nodded. The theater manager smiled and eagerly shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet our long-time benefactor, but what brings you here?"
