Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

“Shane’s addiction doesn’t have meaning?”

  “Your shit has meaning.”

  Mid bite, I almost choked. I pushed the mouthful of pizza to the side of my cheek. “You’ve read my music?”

  “I was looking for some paper,” Tate explained, picking bits of bacon off his pizza and popping them into his mouth. “I was hoping to get some writing done while we’re on hiatus, and your place is perfect. It’s quiet, solitary, gives you time and space to think. You don’t get that on the road. It’s rare.” Pausing, he looked up, seeming to realize he might’ve tread onto personal ground. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your shit. I wasn’t snooping. Swear. I didn’t have my tablet with me, that’s all.”

  “I could care less about you going through my stuff.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “You read my music.”

  “Your music’s great, Coop.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Hiding a smile, I polished off my wine cooler. Tate Watkins thought my music was great. Tate Watkins loved me. Despite the attempt on my life, I think today might’ve been the best day of my life. Miracles did come true.

  “You never told me the song you sang the other night was yours,” Tate said. The song was one of the dozens written in my notebook he found. It was a journal, of sorts, most of it deriving from my experiences in life. It spanned from high school to current day.

  “I guess it slipped my mind after you corrupted me in the storage room.”

  “I was enlightening you. Remember, you called me a god.”

  “Oh, right, the teaching of all things holy, pun intended.”

  “That, I just might write a song about.” Twisting open another wine cooler for me, Tate took a sip before handing it over. He looked at the bottle with distaste. “You know, now that I think about it—”

  “Promise me you won’t write a song about that. For reals, I can see it already. Number one on the top one hundred…I touched Cooper’s pooper…”

  Tate laughed, shaking the bed. The wine coolers clinked together between us. “You are seriously cute.”

  “That’s so not funny. If my mother were listening…”

  “Your mother listens to my shit?”

  “My mother has very eclectic taste.”

  “I liked her before, but I like her even more now.”

  “I got news for you, buddy, she loooovvves you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “You saved my life today, Tate.” If not for his quick thinking by calling the police from my landline, that psycho would’ve killed me. It was close, too damn close. “Don’t underestimate the value of your deeds.”

  “Ok, no songs about your naiveté.” Folding the pizza box shut, he dropped it to the floor and then placed the wine coolers on the small bed table. When he lay down and held his arm out, I stretched out beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. “Back to the song you sang last week…”

  “It probably wasn’t a good idea.”

  “You’re positive that it wasn’t your ex today? That song was a blatant flip-off if I ever heard one. If this asshole’s as arrogant as you say, it might’ve pissed him off.”

  “I’m not positive about anything.”

  “In any case, I talked to Richard, and he’s going to look into the reports. See if he can get them bumped up in line. Whoever’s trying to hurt you needs to be behind bars.”

  “I agree, but I’m not putting my life on hold anymore. I’ve been so damn vigilant with everything I do, and it obviously hasn’t made a difference. I’m done hiding.”

  “Promise me you’ll still be careful.”

  Sliding my leg over Tate’s waist, I rose and sat astride him. “Careful? I’m done being careful. I want to be wild and reckless.”

  “Wild and reckless? Where’d my Coop go?”

  “She doesn’t belong in this illusion.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nope, this is the new Coop. She likes living on the edge. She likes hard alcohol—”

  “I hardly think wine coolers are hard alcohol.”

  “This is my illusion. I make the rules. I say wine coolers count. Now where was I?”

  “Living on the edge and hard alcohol.”

  “Thank you. Like I said, she likes hard alcohol. She likes fast cars—”

  “Like Mini Coopers and Ford Focuses?”

  “That’s the old Coop, Tate. Stay with me here. She likes living on the edge. She likes hard alcohol. She likes fast cars. She likes loud music.” I stroked a fingertip across the length of his arm, tracing his tats. “She likes ink.”

  “Ink?”

  “And piercings.” Leaning over him, I nibbled the hoop circling his lip. The one in his tongue would come next. It was like the hard gumball in the center of the snow cone, a hidden little gem.

  “Piercings?”

  Nodding, I leaned close to his ear. “And…sex…on…top.”

  Tate swallowed thickly, giving me the best portrayal of fear he could drum up. “On top?”

  “Mm hmm. If I’m facing my fears, you’re going to face yours.”

  “I have one demand. If we’re going to do this…no holding back. You need to give me your all. I don’t want you to take it easy on me. If I’m going to get over this fear of mine…I think you need to be…rough.”

  “Rough?”

  “Rough, babe. I can take it.”

  Chapter 10

  “You brought everything but the kitchen sink,” Tate observed. “Do you really need so much stuff?”

  “I brought an umbrella stroller and a diaper bag.” The stroller was the smallest out there and I didn’t even bring a purse. I travelled light.

  “But the kid can walk.”

  “The kid can run. The kid can grab stuff, knock stuff over, and break stuff, expensive stuff. The kid can disappear between the legs of people in a second flat. The kid can pick chewed gum or cigarette butts off the sidewalk—depending on his mood—and put them in his mouth. When all’s said and done, the kid will get tired and want to nap in the stroller.”

  “When he gets tired, he can ride on my shoulders.”

  “It’s ninety degrees out; do you really want a possibly wet diaper hugging the back of your neck?”

  “I walk!” Levy exclaimed. “I no nap!”

  After my spending Saturday cooped up and hiding my bruises, I was starting to go stir crazy. I desperately needed some fresh air or I was going to go certifiably insane.

  Maybe I already was.

  For some bizarre reason, I thought a day outside would be relaxing, if not pleasant. Thus, I packed the necessities, and set off for a day of leisure in the quaint village of New Hope.

  It was an amazing little strip of art galleries, antique shops, and restaurants. It even boasted a playhouse for those that like the theatre. If you really felt adventurous, you could take a nature walk along the Delaware Canal, or visit a few historical landmarks dated back to the Revolutionary War. Me, I just wanted to score an ice cream cone and some fresh air.

  “That’s right, Mini Cooper, you’re a big boy. You’re gonna walk with Tate, right?” Tate held his hand out, which Levy looked at with indifference and then immediately bolted down the sidewalk. To give Tate credit, he didn’t hesitate. He chased right after Levy, though he did mutter a “little shit” under his breath in surprise. “It’s ok, I’ve got him!”

  Shaking my head, I laughed along with Carter and Jake. Shane had stayed behind. He was camping out in the body bag when we left. From what Tate had explained about him, he wasn’t much of a group person. He preferred a bottle and the bag of whatever illegal substances he was consuming that week. He had a diverse taste in drugs.

  “Cigarette butts?” Carter asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and starting after Tate and Levy. I shoved the stroller forward and met his stride. “That’s nasty.”

  Jake walked behind us, gazing through the store windows as we ambled alo
ng. “I had a dog once. He used to eat everything. And I mean everything. If it was within reach, it was game. Toilet paper. Trash. Plastic bottles. Crayons. He shat a rainbow of colors. Oh man, one time he ate one of one of my gloves my gram knitted for me. He had yarn coming out his ass for a week. When it would get too long, it would tickle his bunghole, and he would run in circles trying to get at it.”

  “It would’ve been funnier if he did,” Carter said. “It would’ve been an infinity chain, an ever constant loop of yarn. How gross is that?”

  “I’m stuck on ‘shat,’ I observed, fighting a smile. “Did you really just say he ‘shat’?”

  Jake lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “It’s grammatically correct.”

  “I know but I’ve never heard anyone use it before.”

  “Then I think I should get a gold star.”

  “I have a drawer full of them at home that I’m saving for Lev’s potty training, but I’ll give you a whole sheet if you can use shat three more times before the day is over.”

  “I shat glitter when I was a kid,” Carter confessed. “What? It was in preschool! We were making some fake sugar cookies that we decorated with glitter instead of sprinkles! They were made of fake dough! They looked really real!”

  I snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. “What color did you eat?”

  “A big spoonful of pink glitter.”

  “Pink?” Jake observed. “Why pink?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I was three. I only remember because my mom tells everybody every year at Christmas. She said my shit looked like one of the pinecones you roll in glitter and hang on the Christmas tree.”

  “I have one of those,” I admitted. “A pinecone, I mean. Ours is silver so that it looks like snow.”

  “We used to cover them in peanut butter and birdseed and hang them outside,” Jake said. “But I sure as shit didn’t eat any.”

  “You never ate anything gross or unusual,” Carter objected. “Ever?”

  “Uuummmm, no,” Jake said sarcastically. “Never.”

  Carter made a sound of disbelief and looked at me. “What’s the worst thing you ever ate, Coop?”

  “A penny.” I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out one green and pitted Abe Lincoln. “I still carry it around. It’s good luck.”

  “Dude!” Jake exclaimed, staring in revulsion. Carter guffawed so loud everyone turned to stare. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “Yes.” I slid the penny back in my pocket. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I have terrible luck, Jake.”

  “Coop, you kill me,” Carter said, taking me by surprise. It must’ve shown in my expression because Carter lifted his hands. “What? I like a girl that can hold her own. You’re funny. You have a good sense of humor.”

  “I’m just waiting for the punchline, Carter.” I really didn’t think he liked me, and with that catty smile of his, I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not.

  “Well, I had a good one lined up, but you look like you’re ready to kick me in the balls again, so I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

  “Ha ha.” Up ahead, I spotted Tate. He had Levy in his arms. Some blonde bombshell was cooing at him—not at Tate, at Levy—as if he was a baby. The million-megawatt smile, she aimed at Tate. Levy looked completely disinterested with the baby talk. He panned the sidewalk for something with a little more appeal.

  “Momma!”

  “Babe!” Tate beamed, the blonde forgotten. Handing Levy over to Carter, he pried the stroller from my hands and pushed it toward Carter too.

  “Tate, what are you doing?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “But Levy—”

  “Carter’s an uncle. He can handle him. Besides, Mini Cooper’s a chick magnet.” Before I could object any further, he clutched my hand and began dragging me down the sidewalk. “It’s just a small place, but it looks clean, and they have an opening right now.”

  “What are you talking about?” As we turned the corner, the sign answered my question. Tiny Tim’s Tattoos. “Oh my God.”

  Tate dragged me inside, where a largely muscled man with a handlebar mustache was prepping the piercing station. He looked up upon our entrance. “This your girl?”

  “Cooper,” Tate said.

  “Coop,” I added.

  “Call me Tiny, Coop. Have a seat.” As I climbed into the leather barber’s chair, he began pulling on a pair of black latex gloves. The room smelled like a doctor’s office from all the sanitizers. In this case, the scent was comforting, as was the sight of all the medically sealed implements. Hopefully that meant Tiny kept the place sterile and I wouldn’t contract tetanus. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

  “I am.”

  Tate and Tiny laughed. “Piece of cake, babe,” Tate said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You went though childbirth. This…this is nothing. It’s like a bee sting.”

  “You have a kid?” Tiny asked. It was funny to watch him talk. His mustache hid everything happening under his nose, except for his full bottom lip. It kind of reminded me of Santa on those old stop animation Christmas specials. “How old?”

  “A son. He’s two.”

  “This one’s mine.” Turning to the right, he pushed up his sleeve and flashed the most intricately detailed tattoo I’ve ever seen. It was done in black ink, with the slightest hints of color shading the hair and face, like a black and white film with added color.

  “Amazing.”

  “Yes, she is. She’s sixteen now. Came in last week for her first piercing.”

  “What did she have done?”

  Tiny laughed. “Her ears.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. She had the tragus and her lobes done. The tragus is the hard cartilage that sticks out in the front, just above your lobe.” Grabbing a Sharpie from his tray, he faced me. “Stick your tongue out for me, sweetheart.”

  I felt like a dork, but I stuck my tongue out. Tate aimed his phone at me and began recording.

  “Up. Down. Ok. Hold still for me.” He marked the top with a few careful dabs. “Do I need to run through all the rules?”

  “Rules?”

  “You know, aftercare, rinse well after ingesting anything except water, no oral sex for a few weeks etcetera etcetera…”

  I blinked and looked at Tate. “No oral sex. My god, what will I do with myself. Do you have a room we can borrow?”

  Tiny’s mustache twitched. “Funny girl.”

  “That was smooth. Really. I like how you slipped that in there right between ‘rinse well after eating and etcetera etcetera.’ I almost didn’t catch it.”

  Tiny turned to Tate. “Is she always like this?”

  “All the time.”

  “Ok, down to business. This clamp here,” Tiny said, holding said clamp in the air. “Once I put this on, keep your tongue out. If you pull back, it can slip. That would be bad all around. None of us wants that.”

  That said, Tiny clamped my tongue, lifted it up and down a few times, checking the placement. When he seemed happy that he had it right, he picked up the needle. That’s when I decided it was time to close my eyes. I hated needles with a passion. I felt a swift prick of pain and a lot of pressure as he pushed the pin through. Wincing, I waited for the real pain to start.

  “That’s it.”

  Oh my God! I let out the breath I was holding and laughed. Tiny removed the clamp and handed me a paper cup of mouth rinse. I rinsed until he told me I could stop, and then got to check it out in the mirror. The barbell hung loosely beneath my tongue by a good half inch.

  “Why ish eh so wong?”

  “To allow room for swelling,” Tate explained, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “You can have it changed after two weeks.”

  “Ooh weeks?! How a fuck am I supposed ooh sing?!”

  Finding some sort of humor in this, Tate laughed. Perhaps it was the speech impediment caused by the oversized barbell impaling my tongue. “You don’t. I have a concert next weekend a
nyhow.”

  “Whas a have ooh ooh with me?”

  “Because you’re gonna come.”

  “Tate,” I said, with much effort. It sounded more like eight without the ‘t’ on the end. I couldn’t keep taking days off indiscriminately.

  “Coop.”

  “Tate.”

  “Coop.”

  “Hijack,” I swore, scowling. “Ooh’ve hijack my ife.”

  “What happened to wild and reckless, babe?”

  That’s all I’ve been since I met you, my glare said. He knew he’d won. I could barely talk let alone sing. Besides, I did want to see him in concert. I just didn’t want to keep taking days off from work. I coveted my days for emergencies like the stomach flu and falling down stairs.

  Off to the side, Tiny was chuckling over our little tiff while he cleaned up his tray of implements. “You playing somewhere local?”

  “Susquehanna Bank Center.”

  “No shit? What fuckin’ band?”

  “Hautboy.”

  “No shit?” Dragging a hand down his face, he wiped away the shock in his expression. “You’re Tate Watkins.”

  Tate twitched a smile. “No shit.”

  “Goddamn.” Pulling his gloves off, Tiny shook Tate’s hand. “Good to meet you, man. I’ve heard your shit on the radio, but my daughter, she’s the real fan.”

  As the two fell into conversation about signatures and photographs, I perused the shop, checking out the diverse collection of images on the walls and workstations. There were the typical skulls, roses, angel wings and tigers. The tribal and Celtic designs were aplenty. I found a wall of girly stuff with flowers and butterflies, but nothing had jumped out at me. I wanted something unique, something personal, yet nothing unusual or overly conspicuous.

  Abruptly, I had just the idea.

  A little over an hour later, I emerged from the shop where Tate, Carter and Jake stood waiting. Levy was asleep in the stroller. Zonked. His shirt was covered in what I assumed was chocolate. It looked like he’d finger-painted the front of it with ice cream and fudge sauce.

  I had made Tate leave before Tiny started. I wanted it to be a surprise. I could do a private unveiling later at home. While he had agreed earlier, he looked overeager now.