Someone to Watch Over Me

by Anne Berkeley

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m not, and if I were involved in those fantasies I might feel differently, but right now all I’m picturing is you and my employer.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I’d swear I saw Taylor laughing, but when I turned my head, his face was expressionless. For some reason, this made me giggle uncontrollably.

  I think the JD was starting to kick in.

  “It just isn’t right, Cooper.”

  “Wanna see what else I had pierced, Marshall?” Grasping the hem of my shirt, I tugged it up a few inches, bearing my torso. From the pit, I heard a few hoots and a “Take it ooofffffff!”

  Marshall reached and yanked it back down. In a split second, he took the bottle from my hand, hitched me over his hip, and carried me toward the exit.

  “That’s it, you’re flagged. Who gave you that shit anyway? They should’ve known better. Everyone knows you’re a lightweight.”

  “Tate. He gave me a shot of JD too.”

  Setting me back on my feet, he gave me back my beer and smacked my rump. “I’ll let you off easy this time, but slow it down. The show hasn’t even started yet.”

  “Jerk.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said WORK, you’re in the right line of work.”

  Above, the lights flickered off, sending everyone into silence for a brief second before the black lights flickered on and everyone erupted into cheering. People began to filter in through the entrance doors, either forfeiting their spot in line for the bathrooms or the bar. You could actually sense the atmosphere charge. It was a palpable spark of excitement. If the pit wasn’t already crowded, it was now. I could almost feel them pressing at my back, despite the barrier.

  Carter’s killer bass line began choking through the amplifiers. A lone spotlight zeroed in on the instrumentalist with the glossy brown curls. All conversation other than ‘YEEAAHHHH” or “WWWHHOOOOO’ was positively lost in the roar of the crowd.

  Shane began pounding on his drums somewhere in the back of the stage. I could barely see him because of the odd angle of where I was standing, but my arm immediately went up in the air and began pumping with the beat.

  The keyboards were next in line. Jake’s hands arched over the keys, skipping and dancing down the length of the keyboard, hammering out a silvery treble down to a fuzzy bass which he played with a soft dissonance that fell unobtrusively into the background.

  Spotlights began crisscrossing the stage, highlighting the platforms and risers with ever-changing streams of colored light. Several others worked the audience, highlighting the fans as the camera men walked the edge of the stage, zooming in and out of the pit.

  Tears filled my eyes, and the real show hadn’t even begun.

  God, I was such a sap.

  Tate began strumming a lick on his guitar just before the last spotlight settled on him. As he opened in his mouth and belted out the first line, flames burst from four points along the back of the stage.

  This is what I dreamed of

  Traveling the world and free love

  Cocaine, girls, booze and weed

  What else could a man need

  Except maybe some sanity

  God where did I go wrong

  My life’s a fuckin’ country song

  I’m crying in my beer

  Wondering what the hell I’m doing here

  Where did I go wrong

  Nick another hand rolled

  To get me through this dog and pony show

  Publicity and photo ops

  My head’s spinning so fast it’s starting to throb

  What the fuck

  Is that really me

  I can’t recognize a single thing

  Christian Dior, Michael Kor

  Don’t know who I am anymore

  Fancy colognes and designer clothes

  I don’t need any of those

  God where did I go wrong

  My life’s a fuckin’ country song

  I’m crying in my beer

  Wondering what the hell I’m doing here

  Where did I go wrong

  Lose the jacket and the tie

  I’m not that kind of guy

  Fuck—You don’t like the way I dress

  You can hit the road

  Take a trip

  If you don’t like my ways

  You can all suck my

  Lick your wounded pride

  My manager said to no surprise

  You crossed the Ts and dotted the Is.

  God where did I go wrong

  My life’s a fuckin’ country song

  I’m crying in my beer

  Wondering what the hell I’m doing here

  Where did I go wrong

  Drop on down the head shop

  Blast a roach

  Blast a tick

  Shit

  Roll me up another spliff

  Parties, sex and rock and roll

  Fuck it

  If you can’t beat em

  Why bother with self-control

  God where did I go right

  I’m living the easy life

  Cocaine, girls, booze and weed

  What else could a man need

  Except maybe some XTC

  I knew I looked ridiculous. I was half-drunk. Yet I couldn’t stop from idolizing him on stage. He was brilliant. He was captivating. All I could do was stare.

  “Coop?” Marshall shouted over the crowd. I had fallen still, gazing up at the stage with starlights in my eyes. “Hey, man, you all right?”

  “He’s beautiful!” Marshall laughed as I stumbled forward and wrapped my arms around his chest. “God, he’s so beautiful, Marshall! Just look at him!”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”

  “You don’t get it. He’s mine! I feel like I just won the fuckin’ lottery! That’s Tate Watkins! Tate Watkins is in love with me!”

  Chapter 14

  I woke in a hazy fog of noise and light. It sounded like I was on a jet plane and we were descending. Oddly enough, it felt like that too. The bed shimmied and shook beneath me, jiggling my ass in a completely disconcerting manner. It wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare.

  “Babe.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured, fighting the growing light in my eyes.

  “Coop.” This time, I felt an added horizontal shake, which concentrated on my right shoulder. “Coop, you need to get up. We’re going to descend. We need to get buckled.”

  “Descending where, to the gates of Hell?” As I sat up and pushed the hair from my face, my heart worked its way up my neck and into my head, pounding like a snare drum. Holy Christ on a crutch, I was on a plane. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Philly, babe, come on. Put this on.” Tate proffered a plush white robe. I slid ungracefully to the edge of the bed and slipped into the robe, thankful since I was wearing nothing else. If we were going to crash, I wouldn’t have to go out of this world as bare as the day I was born.

  “Tate, why are we on a plane?”

  “We had to get back in time for the show tonight.”

  Following Tate from the cabin, I found Carter adjusting the back of his plush leather seat into an upright position. He looked none the worse for wear, aside from the slight dent in his brown curls. I sat in the seat across from him, beside Tate, and began buckling my seatbelt.

  “Why, good morning, Mrs. Watkins.”

  “What’s so good about it.”

  “Chipper this morning, aren’t we.”

  “Oh lord…why does my head hurt so bad?” Reaching down, I released the lever to recline my seat. “I think I’m having an aneurism.”

  “Not yet,” Carter muttered. “But give it a couple minutes.”

  “Babe, you need to sit up,” Tate told me, reaching for the lever to raise it again. “We’re landing.”

  “Are we going to crash?”

  “No.”

  “Then leave it the hell alone.” As I lay there wincing behind the blood red glow of my eyeli
ds, something occurred to me. I lifted my head and squinted at Carter. “Did you just call me Mrs. Watkins?”

  “Those stones on your finger aren’t just for show.”

  My thumb moved to the underside of the rings hugging my fourth finger. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said last night too,” Carter quipped with a well-timed eye roll.

  Reaching for the seat lever, I jerked it hard, catapulting myself into an upright position. My eyes flew to the multi-carat diamond ring nestled on my finger. “Oh. My. God.”

  Carter sank into his seat as if he could make himself smaller. “Wow if this isn’t uncomfortable.”

  I glared at him, my irises flashing red. “Fuck the fuck off, fuckhead!”

  “Do you kiss your son with that mouth?”

  “Carter,” Tate scolded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not making things any better.”

  “I’m sorry, let me give you some privacy,” Carter scoffed. “Oh, that’s right, I can’t! We’re sort of landing right now!”

  “Tate, please tell me we didn’t go to Vegas last night.”

  Tate’s response was to hold his left hand upright and wriggle his finger. A thick platinum band winked back at me. My head dropped. I pressed my temples with the tips of my fingers. This was so not happening. Tears blurred my vision, and traced the curve of my nose.

  Both men had the sense to leave it alone until the plane landed. I suppose neither wanted Carter to witness the scene that was about to occur. I, myself, didn’t want to be involved.

  With a few short jerks, the wheels touched down. The engines quieted, relieving me of the rumble aggravating my headache. About twenty minutes later, we rolled to a stop. The cockpit door opened and a short, squat man in a pilot’s uniform emerged. With a genial smile, he tipped his hat and pulled the lever for the exit door.

  “Your car is waiting, but feel free to take your time.”

  “Thank god,” Carter sighed. “Good luck, bro, she’s all yours.” Releasing his buckle, he climbed from the seat and exited the plane as soon as the stairs touched the ground.

  Tate waited for the pilot to exit the plane. Then, he moved to the seat across from me. “Cooper.” Tipping my chin up, he took in my red eyes and wet cheeks. “I’m sorry. I never planned for it to go this far.”

  “The hell you didn’t.”

  “That’s the hangover talking. You’re going to feel like shit for a while, a little depressed, or maybe a lot, but it’s just the hangover.”

  “It’s not the hangover! It’s the rings on my finger!” I held up my hand as if they were hard to miss. Obvious and unpretentious, he gave me both as requested. “How do you explain this?”

  “I was shitfaced.”

  “You had this all planned!”

  “Whoa now,” Tate growled, straightening in his seat. “I planned to get you drunk, yes, but I had no intention to elope.”

  “I don’t believe you! You told all those reporters we were engaged! Then you got me drunk and told me Taylor and Marshall would make sure I didn’t do anything stupid! We’ve known each other two weeks, Tate! I, along with many, many people, would consider getting married highly stupid! How could you do this to me?”

  “You’re running on only a few hours of sleep, and you’re crashing. Get some rest. You’ll feel more rational when you wake up.”

  “I’m not irrational; I’m married!” Yanking the strap to the seatbelt, I unbuckled and rose from the seat. Tate stood and followed me into the small cabin. The bed was a mess. I tried to ignore the dubious stains on the sheets as I searched the rumpled linens for my clothes. Unable to find any sign of them, I huffed and ran my hands through my hair. “Tate, where are my clothes?”

  Behind me, Tate was pulling his shirt over his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he panned the floor around the bed as if I had overlooked my clothes in the three square feet of space. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” God, that wasn’t a good sign. He really didn’t remember anything. My mind immediately began listing the many other things we might’ve done through the course of the night. “You didn’t clean up in here before you woke me up?”

  “Carter woke me about five minutes before I woke you.”

  “Fuck,” I hissed, searching the sheets a little more frantically. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I pulled back the comforter with one sharp jerk and tossed it to the floor. The flat sheet joined it, followed by the pillows. I found nothing except an empty bottle of Bollinger, which fell to the floor and spun in a circle. “Oh God no.” In full panic, I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling along the skirt of the bed with my hands for some sign that one of us had an ounce of sense.

  Nothing.

  Inside of the bedside table, I searched the one tiny drawer and the small built-in wastebasket. They too, came up empty. Sitting with my back against the side of the bed, I dropped my head into my hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Easy now. Settle down. They’ve gotta be around here somewhere.” Tate took this as a sign of mental collapse, and began searching the compartments by the door. “Found them… it… wow… I’ll be damned… I had my doubts, but we really did it.”

  Lifting my head, I found Tate holding a long, white gown made of tulle and satin. Yeah, I guess we really did. Tears sprang from my eyes. I muffled a sob with the back of my hand.

  Kneeling on the floor beside me, Tate pulled me under his arm, tucking my face against his shoulder. My tears wet his t-shirt, turning it to a darker shade of black.

  “I swear to you that I didn’t plan any of this. What I did and what you’re accusing me of are two different things. I wouldn’t trap you like that. I’m desperate, but I’m not deluded. I wouldn’t force you to come with me…”

  With the back of my sleeve, I rubbed the tears from my nose. It was so much worse than marriage. A marriage we could have annulled. But this…some things were irrevocable.

  “Tate,” I said, trying to get his attention.

  “I was drunk. It’s as simple as that. I had a few too many drinks and I—we—acted impulsively. If you think about it, though, Coop—”

  “We didn’t use protection!”

  “What?”

  “There isn’t one single condom in here. Not even a wrapper.”

  “Relax, Coop. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  I laughed deprecatingly. Tate’s unwarranted optimism was almost endearing. “Have you seen the sheets? They look like a fuckin’ Jackson Pollock.”

  “Well that’s a good sign.”

  “How is that a good sign?”

  “I pulled out.”

  “That is NOT an effective method of birth control!” Shoving off the floor, I began rooting through the compartment for my bag. I would’ve needed my ID in order to get married. Perhaps Carter would’ve grabbed my clothes too. There was no way I was putting that gown back on my body. It was too much of a reality check. I had enough to process already.

  “Coop.”

  I couldn’t be pregnant again. I wasn’t ready. Levy wasn’t even out of diapers yet. Then there were the nighttime feedings. The bottles. The burp cloths. And where would I live? My apartment was barely big enough for the two of us. Where the hell would I fit a crib?

  “Coop.”

  In truth, my living conditions were the least of my worries. I still had to worry about Grant. He knew where I lived. He knew about Levy. Christ, he tried to break into my house.

  “Cooper.” Grasping my shoulders, Tate spun me around. “Look at me, babe.” Tipping my chin up, he ducked his head until I met his eyes. “Now breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. Good. That’s good. We’re going to get through this. It’s nothing. Just a bump in the road.”

  “Pregnancy is not a bump in the road. It’s a landmine.”

  “I’m almost twenty-nine. The notion doesn’t devastate me.”

  “I’m only twenty-one—”

  “Then you should bounce back quicker. Imagine us d
oing this in another few years when you’re on tour and trying to put out a new album. It’s exhausting.”

  “I won’t be on tour. I won’t even have a music career.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Kids cost money, Tate. There’s diapers, clothing, food, health insurance, daycare… That stuff isn’t free. I have to work.”

  “My net worth is two hundred mill. I’ve got money.”

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  “Actually, it’s our money.” Tate held up his left hand and flashed his ring at me. “We’re married now, remember?”

  “I’m not holding you to this.”

  “I am.”

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “We’re married. It’s a lot sooner than I’d anticipated, but it was going to happen anyway. Having it annulled would be pointless.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  Tate’s eyes flashed with dark humor. “I didn’t plan any of this, but the hell if I’m going to squander the opportunity. I told you, strawberry girl, I’m in this to win.”

  “This is extortion!”

  “Why do you always look at the downside of things? You act as if I’m strong-arming you into driving across the country, when all I’m doing is opening a path for you with the most favorable conditions. You have nothing to lose. What are you leaving behind?”

  “Control over my life!” I exclaimed, my tone just shy of hysterical. “I don’t have much, but I can’t hand over what little I do! I would be nothing but dependant on you! I can’t put myself in that position!” Shaking with emotion, I gasped for air, choking on a sob.

  I was wrong. I was mentally scarred. I did blame the entire male race. I hadn’t wanted to see it, but there it was. “Everything is happening too fast, Tate. I need time.”

  “I’m not forcing you, Cooper.” At the full use of my first name, I met his gaze, noted the absence of humor in his expression. “I’m desperate. I’m begging. Please don’t make me leave here without you. I’ll worry about you night and day. It’s as simple as that. I’ll worry.”