“Oh, no, no, no! Go ask that guy over there. He’s your daddy now.”
Levy looked at Tate with confusion.
I promptly decided it was best to intervene before Levy thought too hard about it. Sliding from Tate’s lap, I hoisted him from Carter’s feet. “Come on kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I poopie.”
“You sure did.”
“Tate poopie.”
“No, Tate farted.”
“Stinky.”
“Yup.”
“It was not that bad!” Tate exclaimed as we walked past. Levy smiled and squirmed on my hip, preparing for a rebuttal by virtually scaling my side until Tate was safely in the distance.
“YEW stinky!”
“I’m not the one with DOODIE in his drawers!”
“Uh huh!”
“Un uh!”
Laughing, I laid Levy on the bed and made quick work of changing his diaper. Neither of us wanted to spend any more time on the task than possible. He was behaving. He hadn’t when he was younger. When Levy was smaller, he would wiggle and fuss. So I had made of game of it by singing with him. Currently, he was crooning Classy Girls, what parts he knew.
“Teaching him young, aren’t you,” Tate said, standing behind me.
“He doesn’t know what the song means.”
“I meant to sing, babe. With his looks, I imagine he won’t have any problem kissing girls in bars.”
The bus shimmied, undulating Levy’s voice similar to speaking into a fan. Noting the resonation, Levy beamed a smile. His mouth fell slack. “A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h-h-h-h…”
Tate and I looked at each other, puzzled over the source of the vibrations. That’s when I noticed the warbling sound coming from outside. Rising to my toes, I peered out the window.
“Oh my God! Stop the bus!” I shouted. “Stop the bu—” Just then, I felt a deep shudder, and heard a sharp snap. The right front wheel of my Mini broke free of the axle and shot out into the left lane; the right rear wheel wobbled precariously before it, too, broke the lug nuts and bounced into traffic. That was when we lost my Mini. “My car!” I couldn’t look. I couldn’t turn away. The scene was an atrocity.
Cars swerved left and right trying to avoid the unmanned vehicle. Horns began blaring as they swerved haphazardly into neighboring lanes of traffic. My car dug into the asphalt, spinning in a wide circle, the naked rotors sparking and grinding. It narrowly missed a large cargo van, and continued to spin, broadsiding the concrete median and rebounding into traffic.
Carter made his way to the back, as did Jake and Shane. We all watched out the rear window of the bus in awe and trepidation as my car caused mayhem on the highway.
A subcompact matching its size darted to the left, clipping my bumper and spinning out of control. The semi tractor-trailer behind it wasn’t as lucky. My car had spun one hundred and eighty degrees by this time. The semi hit it head on, crushing the front end into a ball of twisted metal. The Mini rode on its stubbed nose as the semi jackknifed and pushed it forward, cradling my car between its cab and trailer. The driver of the semi made a valiant attempt to gain control of his vehicle, but it was no use. The momentum sent it teetering precariously to the side. In the meantime, my car had slipped past the cab of the semi, so when the semi finally lost its battle with inertia, it landed on the remains of my freshly painted Mini Cooper.
When all came to a rest, the semi blocked two of the four lanes of traffic.
“Momma, das your car?” Levy asked. “Is dat your car, Momma?”
“Yeah, Lev,” I murmured, half in shock, “That was momma’s car.”
Chapter 16
“I’ll be right back,” I told Marshall. “I just want to check something out.” Rising from my seat in the C section of The Garden, I made my way up to the edge of the stage. “Tate!”
Tate’s head shot up from where he was speaking to one of the stage crew. He gestured to the man to hold his thought, and jogged over. “What up, babe?”
“Move the drums up closer to the audience. Shane’s lost in the back.”
“Really?” Lifting his arm, he shrilled a whistle to get Shane’s attention and beckoned him over. “Coop says you’re lost back there.”
Shane lifted his shoulder apathetically. “It’s where I’m always positioned.”
“You’re way out in left field. You need to be closer to the front.” Pushing my hair from my face, I turned my attention back to Tate. “Put him on an angle so that he’s not completely hidden by his drums. Let your fans see him. I caught a little bit of him the other night. He’s fuckin’ hot when he’s playing. He has energy. He projects it to the audience. It pumps them up.”
“All right. We’ll move him up then.” That said, Tate turned and went back to work. Shane just looked around, as if he were standing in an alternate universe.
“You’re pretty amazing behind those drums.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I just make one suggestion, though—make sure you wear a belt tonight, or you’re gonna give your fans more of a show than they bargained for.” Shane liked ultra low-rise jeans. The problem was they tended to sag when he stood from his chair. From watching him play the past three concerts, I knew he came off his stool when he immersed himself in his playing. Scoffing, Shane turned, but as he walked away, I watched him hike up his drawers.
“You’re welcome!”
“Yeah, thanks, Coop, you’re all right.”
“Yeah, thanks, Coop, you’re all right,” I mimed. I tried really stinking hard to win over Tate’s band. I wasn’t a hard person to get along with, but damn if Shane wasn’t difficult. He was a loner. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, what came out of his mouth was hardly forthcoming. Ok, so it wasn’t so much Tate’s band as Shane.
“You shouldn’t bother,” Carter spoke up, sitting on the edge of the stage. His legs hung over the sides. He was sipping at a beer. “He’s unsociable.”
“So I shouldn’t assume that he doesn’t like me.”
“Sure you should. He doesn’t like anybody. Want a drink?” Generously, he offered me a sip of his beer.
“No thanks.”
“Oh, that’s right, you can’t.”
“Fuck off Carter.” I was beginning to rethink my view on friends razzing each other. Carter never stopped. For nearly a week now, he taunted me with suggestions of pregnancy.
“Moody, are we?”
“I just find you intolerable.” I didn’t really. Carter was a good friend to Tate. He just liked to push buttons. Mine, particularly. “And it’s not frustration because I secretly want you.”
“At least you’re admitting it now. That’s the first step.”
With a sound of disgust hissing up my throat, I returned to my seat next to Marshall, who was watching over Levy as he hopped from seat to seat with an infinite amount of energy.
“You need fresh air,” Marshall observed, rising from his seat. “And the kid’s hungry. Let’s get out of here for a few.”
“Ok.” I’d been climbing out of my own skin since watching my car skid to its demise on the I95. The entire day before, I spent on the phone with the insurance company and alternately sulking over the loss. It was like losing a child. I loved my Mini with all my heart. Its purchase had been an accomplishment. I had earned every penny that went toward the down payment.
Pulling his phone from its holster, Marshall spoke a few words into the speaker. A few seconds later, he received a message back. The whole exchange was clandestine and completely pretentious.
“Do you really need to do that every time I go somewhere?”
“Yeah. Boss’s orders.”
“I think you enjoy it.”
“I do. I take your safety seriously.”
“That’s not what I meant, though I do appreciate that.” Contrary to my previous beliefs, wheels didn’t just randomly fall off your car. Someone had to loosen the lug nuts first. Furthermore, imagine the chances that two wheels fell off my car at one s
hot. It was almost unheard of. Especially since the body shop hadn’t needed to remove the tires to paint my car. “I meant the whole ‘chirp chirp’ thing. Chirp chirp. ‘The assignment requests formal permission to vacate the premises.’ Chirp chirp.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Sure.”
“I said we were stepping out. I didn’t ask permission.”
“Chirp chirp.”
Laughing, Marshall pulled me under his arm. “I’m glad you’re talking to me again, Coop. Without you around, I’d have no meaning in life.”
“You mean life would be boring.”
“Pretty much.” Wincing, he barked a laugh when I dug my elbow into his side. “Kidding, just kidding.”
As we fell into silence, my mind naturally wandered. I’d had three attempts on my life since I met Tate. I wasn’t living in denial. Grant would rather see me dead than know I was sleeping with another man. Loosening the tires on my car was a risky move. He obviously didn’t care about Levy’s life. And honestly, that scared me more than anything he could ever do to me personally. My son was no more than collateral damage in his twisted game of control.
“What’s wrong, Coop? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Just promise me something, Marshall.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“If you ever have to make a choice between me and Levy…”
Stopping, Marshall turned me so that I faced him. His large hands rested on either shoulder. Dropping his head, he looked me in the eyes. “It’ll never happen.”
“You don’t know that. He wants to kill me.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re surrounded by people who don’t give a shit what he wants. He’s not going to get it. We’ve been looking out for you a long time, pumpkin. We’re not going to let him hurt you again.”
“We? What do you mean we?”
“Me. Garrison. Emily. Billy. Molly—”
“What? How do you know Molly?” In fact, I hadn’t thought he knew Em or Garrison until a couple days ago when I introduced them at the farm. They’d shaken hands as if they’d just met.
“We attend a support group together for victims of stalking and abuse. We’ve all lost someone at one time or another, Coop, including your parents. We met them just about a year ago.”
“Jesus.” Half numb with shock, I pushed a hand through my hair. “Is this some kind of joke? I’m not dead yet, Marshall.”
“They’ve lost you all the same. You’ve cut off virtually all contact with them.”
“For good reason. I don’t want them to get hurt.”
“That was a mistake on your part. You need the support of your friends and family. Which is the reason we didn’t tell you anything. You would’ve walked.”
“That was—is my choice to make.”
“That’s what he wants, you know, to isolate you, alienate you. It puts him in control. Gives him power.”
“I don’t need a psychological profile. I know how the guy thinks.” Grasping Levy under the arms, I lifted him to my hip and headed for the exit. I was standing in the center of Madison Square Garden, yet I never felt so suffocated. It was as if I couldn’t catch enough air.
A few minutes later, I pushed through the front doors and onto Fashion Ave. The air was stale, oppressive. The smell of exhaust filled my nose, choked my thoughts.
“Cooper.” It was Taylor’s voice. I turned. He gestured up the street. From the corner of my eye, I saw the photographers snapping away. “We should find somewhere more private.”
I nodded and headed up the street. The McDonalds would have to suffice. I could get Levy some McNuggets and a chocolate milk. Marshall fell into step beside me, and Taylor a few steps behind. Across the street, the paparazzi kept pace with us, weaving through the pedestrians. Occasionally, one would lift their long, white lens and snap another shot.
We made our way to the corner and crossed the street where, unfortunately, we had to share the sidewalk with the cameras. They kept their distance for the most part, jogging ahead and then turning to steal another shot. People turned and stared, curious over the celebrity in question. Most had no clue of who I was and passed by without a second glance.
Ever the gentleman, Marshall held the door. I walked past and approached the counter, pitiful for the employees behind the counter with their black shirts and cheerless faces. I ordered Levy his happy meal and chocolate milk and turned to find a seat somewhere in the exodus of customers rushing their way through their lunch hour.
The restaurant was actually the most modernized of all fast food chains I’d visited, and I know because fast food was all you did with a two year old. Besides the neon-lighted counter, the walls sported color-blocked paneling and retro, wood printed chairs. Some of the smaller tables paired with triangular vinyl seats and matching, marshmallow shaped footstools.
“Upstairs,” Taylor spoke up. “I’ve already checked it out. It’s almost empty.”
“Upstairs,” I muttered, amazed. “It’s kind of sad that I’m actually impressed that I’ve found a McDonalds that has multiple floors.”
Upstairs, I sat Levy in the booster Taylor apparently retrieved while I was ordering Levy’s lunch. Marshall sat across from us, watching attentively as I spread Levy’s food across the table, and squeezed several packets of ketchup into the lid of his McNuggets.
“You didn’t get yourself anything,” he observed. I held up the bottle of water in response, which evidently he found unsatisfactory. “That’s not a meal, Coop.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said the same thing this morning.”
I wanted to spit out a retort about him being my keeper, but it looked like that’s exactly what he had appointed himself. “Stress will do that to you.”
“I’ll be right back.” Standing, Marshall nodded at Taylor—who had taken a seat at a nearby table—and trotted down the stairs.
I looked at Levy, who was nibbling on a French fry the same way a rabbit would eat a blade a grass. “Fwench fwy.”
“Yummy.” Sifting through his blond hair with my fingers, I pressed a kiss to his forehead and sat down beside him. “Eat your chicken too, kiddo.” I could at least pretend that the stuff was good for him, though it probably didn’t have an ounce of nutrition in it.
“Chocowit milk?”
“Eat your chicken first.” That was the deal. There was always a deal. Even at two, the kid drew a hard bargain. Lucky for me, Levy would jump through hoops for chocolate milk.
Across the aisle, I glanced at Taylor. He was sipping at a coffee and browsing over a folded newspaper from behind his mirrored sunglasses.
“You don’t have to sit over there,” I told him. “We have an extra seat.”
Taylor simply nodded toward the stairs. He wasn’t reading his paper. It was a prop, as were the sunglasses and coffee. People, like me, would assume he was reading when he was really keeping the peace. “Marshall is right, ma’am; you really should eat something.”
Courteously, Levy offered me a piece of his chicken to which I politely declined. “That’s your chicken, Lev, but thank you.”
“Yew eat it,” he insisted.
“If I eat your chicken, than I get to drink your chocolate milk too.”
“No! Mine!”
Beside me, Taylor chuckled. As always, he cleared his expression when I looked at him. “Is there some sort of code that says you can’t laugh while in your client’s presence?”
“No ma’am. It’s best if our attention is on the environment while on duty. Socializing is a distraction.”
“We’re at McDonalds, and I’m barely the queen of my own universe.”
“You’ve had four incidents since I’ve met you.”
“Four?” I only knew of three. Did Taylor know something I didn’t?
“Sweet Talking Ken, I think you called him, ma’am.”
Sweet Talking Ken was hardly a concern. He was a harmless drunk that flirted with ha
lf the girls at The Loft. “What happened to Cooper?”
“It feels disrespectful to me, and I’m not sure that you’re comfortable with Mrs. Watkins, so I prefer to use ma’am.”
“Fair enough.” I guess I knew how Garrison felt when I called him Mr. Craig. It kinda sucked. “You really consider Ken a threat?”
“Andrew Lee Walker is a delusional individual. He thinks that when you’re on stage, you’re performing for him personally.”
“Good lord.”
“You see my concern.”
“Well, I have to tell you, whenever a person refers to another person with all three names, it’s never good. They save the middle name for serial killers and the like.”
“He missed his arraignment Wednesday. There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”
“This is all about that night at the bar?”
“Public intoxication. Simple assault. Disorderly conduct. Resisting arrest.” All of which the judge could and probably would have reduced to community service if he would have shown up. What an idiot.
“Are you sure this wasn’t taken out of context? The guy was drunk.”
For some reason, my comment made Taylor smile. “You’re a beautiful person, ma’am. They broke the mold with you.”
“I think you just made me flush, Taylor.”
“All humor aside,” Taylor pressed on, “You’re attractive, friendly, humble, approachable, tolerant, bold. People naturally gravitate toward you. Unfortunately, it’s that magnetism that puts you at risk.”
“So, what’re you saying; I should be a witch?”
“No, that’s why you have me. I’m here to act as the boundary between you and your fans.” Abruptly, the smirk faded from Taylor’s face. He straightened in his seat, back to business. A second later, Marshall placed a bottle of Green Machine on the table in front of me.
“Brunch served.”
“Where did you go to get that?” I hoped he didn’t go far, because I wasn’t drinking it. It looked like puréed broccoli and wheat grass.
“Down the street.”
“It’s…green.”
“Don’t worry; it’s not bad. I drink it all the time.”
“Is that what happened to you? I always thought you bore some resemblance to the Incredible Hulk.”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 22
