Someone to Watch Over Me (31 page)

“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 half 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.”

“Funny. Now drink it or I’ll be forced to
make you eat a fried cheeseburger with onions and mustard.”

“It’s going to leave green specs stuck in my
teeth.”

“Don’t test me. I’ll do it.”

Twisting off the cap, I took a tentative
sip. Ok, so it wasn’t that bad. It tasted like the label claimed,
apples and kiwi. Still, I could barely bring myself to swallow.
“Mm.”

“It’s all in your head. Just close your eyes
and imagine it’s red.”

Easy for him to say. I could feel the bile
roiling in my stomach.

“Come on, Coop, where’s your poker face,”
Marshall pressed. “Your boy’s watching you.” My gaze drew down to
Levy, who was indeed watching me with mute fascination.

“Dat yucky?”

“Oh, no, it’s yummy,” I lied. “And it’s
green. Isn’t that fun?” Fun? Green gelatin was fun. This shit was
weird. It was just so…
opaque
.

Levy smiled, wide and toothy. He shook his
head. “No.”

Damn. Tilting the bottle, I downed a few big
gulps without tasting it. I could feel it sink down to my stomach
and rest there as if unsure it wanted to stay or not. “Mm,
yummy.”

Levy merely looked at me as if I’d lost my
wits. I looked at Marshall with mild contempt. “Happy?”

“Enough,” Marshall qualified with a dry
smile.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Rising
from my seat, I panned the room for the bathroom. I had to suppress
an aggrieved sigh when Taylor stood beside me, ready to escort me
to the first floor. Without the time to give it a second thought, I
trotted down the stairs, feeling a fresh coat of perspiration
budding across my forehead. My head whipped side to side, searching
for the telltale sign with the feminine gender symbol.

“Ma’am,” Taylor said, pointing at the back
right corner of the restaurant. I hastened through the room, nearly
tripping over one of those retro chairs as its occupant pushed away
from the table. I quickly excused myself and shoved through the
doors to the restroom.

My Green Machine came back up like a
wheatgrass geyser. Somehow, I managed to pull my hair out of the
way. For what felt like several long minutes, I stood hunched over
the toilet at McDonalds on Fashion Ave. in none other than the Big
Apple. I mean, how much more undignified could it get? Where was
the justice? I should’ve been having the time of my life.

Out beyond my own private hell in the stall,
the door creaked open. “Cooper?”

“I’m fine.” I guess it
was
several
long minutes. Taylor had even resorted to calling me Cooper again.
I wasn’t ma’am anymore. He must’ve thought my life was in imminent
peril.

Satisfied, the door drifted closed. I was
once again left in peace. Straightening my back, I tucked my hair
behind my ear and left the stall. I took a quick glance in the
mirror before bending and rinsing my mouth in the sink. I guess
after vomiting in the McDonald’s restroom during mid September in
New York, that looking presentable was too much to expect.

Pulling an elastic from my pocket, I weaved
my hair in a loose braid and draped it over my shoulder, keeping it
off the back of my neck. I wiped my face, doing the best to remove
the smeared mascara from the underside of my eyes, and brushed a
fresh coat of gloss on my lips.

Positive that I’d done the best I could
manage with my limited resources, I vacated the restroom. Taylor’s
head snapped up. He strode over from where he was pacing and looked
me once over. Before he could say anything, I gave him the
hand.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Should I call Tate?”

“No!” I blurted. “God no! It’s just nerves.
Someone tried to murder me yesterday, Taylor. I watched my brand
new car get demolished on the highway. It’s like Death Valley hot
outside. And Marshall just forced me to drink a bottle of pesto
sauce. I’m fine.”

Unblinking, Taylor stared, his lips pressed
to a thin line. “Stress.”

“Yes, stress. Some people get ED, I—”
Taylor’s face turned several shades of red. He quickly looked away
to hide his discomfort. “Explosive diarrhea, Taylor,
not
erectile dysfunction! Get your mind out of the gutter, man!”