Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  “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!”

  Still unable to look me in the eye, he nodded. “Ma’am.”

  I had to pinch my lips together so that I didn’t laugh.

  “My point is stress affects people in all different manners. I threw up. It’s a case of posttraumatic stress or delayed shock or something. Besides, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you calling Tate every time I don’t feel good. He isn’t my damn keeper.”

  The idiot actually looked at me in disagreement.

  “Jesus, Taylor, do you want to tell him every time I fart too?”

  “Ma’am,” Taylor sighed. Closing his eyes, he searched for a breath of guidance. Note to self: Taylor is easily discomfited over bodily functions and matters of sexual nature.

  “Do you know how ridiculous this whole conversation is?”

  “Unquestionably.”

  “Then we can forget this. It never happened.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Thank you, Taylor.” Before he could object, I pressed a kiss to his cheek and paraded up the stairs, leaving him red and blushing. I guess he wasn’t immune to my magnetism.

  Marshall looked up and grinned when I reached the top of the stairs. He was sitting in Taylor’s seat, rolling the newspaper in his hands. With a point of his finger, he gestured for me to sit across from him. “You feel better now?”

  “Much.”

  “You puked, didn’t you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Thought you might. You were looking a little green around the gills. Sometimes it’s best to jettison the chunky cargo and get it over with.”

  “You’re so wise, Marshall.”

  “Nah, you haven’t batted an eye since yesterday, Coop. It was only a matter of time until you finally fell to pieces. I’d say you had a good case of delayed shock.”

  “Taylor wanted to call Tate, or maybe nine-one-one,” I said mockingly as Taylor plucked his mangled paper from Marshall’s hand. Sitting across from Levy, he unrolled it and began to smooth the thing out over the table.

  “That would’ve worked too, except you’d have a longer wait and a fifty dollar copay.” Questioningly, Marshall arched an eyebrow. “You hungry now? I could get you something.”

  “No, thank you.” Just the thought of fried hamburgers with onions and mustard had my stomach turning again. “It’s just an all around bad idea.”

  “Understandable.” Sitting up, Marshall began tidying the trays of salt and sugar, lining them up in neat and tidy rows. He was nervous, delaying the inevitable.

  “Marshall,” I said, dropping all traces of good humor, “whom did you lose?”

  “My little sister. She was still in high school. Did cheerleading. She was a flyer, you know, like they’d toss her up and catch her. Stuff like that. And it all made sense in the beginning. She’d have finger marks on her arms or thighs. She’d say she landed wrong. We had no reason not to believe her. But slowly things changed. Stories didn’t match up. She became withdrawn. Then one night a friend of hers called my mother, told her what was really going on. She said Rachel had broken it off with her boyfriend about two weeks earlier, and that he had been harassing her. He had confronted her in school that day. They drove off together after their last class. She was afraid for Rachel.

  “Well, I lost it. I wanted to go after him, but my mother begged me to stay out of it. I was over eighteen. He wasn’t. She didn’t want me to get arrested. So I listened. But Rachel didn’t come home that night. My mother finally caved. I was just about to go find Rachel when the police pulled into the driveway. He’d raped and strangled her. Said it was rough sex. She liked erotic asphyxiation was what he claimed. She liked the adrenaline rush. Jury believed it too. He got involuntary manslaughter. Did only three years.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too. Me too.” Tearing open a packet of sugar, he poured the crystals on the table and began pushing them around in hapless circ
les. “Most people just want to forget everything, act as if it never happened. I suppose everybody copes with things differently. Me, I sat back once. Not again. Never again. If I can make a difference, even if it’s just protecting your body with my own…”

  “I appreciate your help, Marshall, but lying to me was still wrong.” Em, Mr. Craig, Billy, Molly, my parents, they were all in on it. I felt like a fool. I’d been played, duped, guided like a mouse with a hunk of cheese. I felt oddly robbed of my independence. I had prided myself on my accomplishments. I had prevailed over Grant’s abuse. Now, I just felt gullible, humiliated, and somewhat angry.

  My job and my apartment, had they both been prearranged? I’d filled out applications and sat through interviews, and they were fucking shams? Well, it certainly knocked my confidence down a few rungs. In my head, I began second-guessing my life. Everything I knew was a lie. That promotion at work, had I really earned it? Or that fat check Billy handed me, had my time on stage really been the source of the profits? Or was I just a flipping charity case?

  I went from feeling as if I had paved my own path in life to feeling as if Grant had defined who I was. I felt small, weak, victimized. That sliver of control I had over my life was nothing but a ruse.

  “Someone should’ve told me.”

  “I thought that’s what I just did.”

  “A year too late, Marshall!” Standing, I began to pack up Levy’s lunch, tossing the trash haphazardly onto the tray. I refused to cry. I refused to feel guilty. I was hurt. They’d all lied to me repeatedly. “Do you have any idea of what’s going through my head right now?”

  “You’re a woman, Coop. Most of the male race often wonders that very thing.”

  Taylor—who’d been trying to avoid eye contact with me—choked and spewed hot coffee through his nose. His expression, as he wiped his face, pleaded me to go lightly on Marshall.

  Unable to hold a straight face, I smiled. It was vague and fleeting. My pride was hurt, but their intentions were in the right place. “Could you stay angry at something so dumb?” I asked Taylor.

  “I’ve met a lot of women that would.”

  “Like you said, they broke the mold when they made me.” I winked conspiratorially. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t give Marshall a hard time. He had groveling to do.

  “He said that?” Marshall asked indignantly. “When did he say that? I was gone five minutes and the two of you are forming soul bonds? I’ve just sworn my life for you, Coop. I bared my soul. I’ve told you my deepest, darkest secret. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Panning the room, my gaze swept past Marshall and back again. “Did you hear something, Taylor?”

  “No, not the silent treatment again,” Marshall groaned. “Anything but that.”

  Ignoring Marshall, I lifted Levy from his stool and rested him on my hip, then took the tray to the trash on my way out the door.

  “Coop?” Marshall whined, trailing behind. “Coop? Come on, Coop!”

  Chapter 17

  Bent at the waist and clutching his stomach, Tate laughed so hard his eyes teared.

  “It really wasn’t that funny,” Shane complained, but there was a grin toiling at the corners of lips.

  “You totally dropped trou in the middle of the set,” Carter disagreed. “It was a fu—udging riot. We all just stopped playing. I mean, you couldn’t help but look.”

  Trying to hide my own smile, I read the headline again. “Shane Richardson’s Crack Problem Goes Public.” I can’t say I didn’t warn him.

  “I’m going back to the back,” Shane muttered.

  “But I had an even better idea,” I spoke up. “We could put you on this revolving platfor—”

  “No!” Shane interjected.

  “But—”

  “No. No. No infinity.”

  “Come on!”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Carter agreed. He cracked open another beer on the edge of the counter. “Maybe if we speed it up, he’ll actually keep time.”

  “Fuck you!” The bus fell silent. Shane realized what he did or rather said. I could only thank the heavens that Levy was still asleep. Under his breath, he hissed another long string of expletives. Tate had upped the ante by imposing latrine duty on anyone who cursed on the bus. Up until now, it had worked. Of course, looking at Carter’s smirk, I couldn’t help but think that he had thrown that insult out there intentionally.

  “Gloves are in the closet,” Tate advised, making his way to the back of the bus. “You can start cleaning just after I’m done with it.”

  “God help me. If you stink it up in there…”

  “It won’t smell any worse than that trash that comes out your mouth.”

  “My mom used to say that,” Shane carped. “I don’t get it, man. This used to be a tour bus. Now it’s a nursery school. Maybe we should paint the thing yellow and smack a stop sign on the side.”

  Wow. Ok. If that didn’t make things uncomfortable. Everyone just sort of looked at each other, unsure of what to say. I was back to feeling like a wet blanket.

  “Maybe we should smack some tape over your mouth,” Carter suggested. “It would solve a lot bigger problems than your foul language.”

  Shane flipped him the bird and mouthed, “Fuck off.”

  “Coop, where’s the toothpaste you just bought?” Tate called from the main cabin. He muttered something about fur on his tongue while he rustled through the bags from the pharm—turning on my heel, I rushed to the rear of the bus. I found Tate staring blankly at the package of pregnancy tests I had purchased after my fiasco at McDonalds the day before.

  “Is this for real?” he asked, looking up from the package.

  I lifted my shoulder noncommittally.

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t checked. I’m not sure if it’ll show up yet.”

  “It says up to a week before your missed period,” he said, skimming over the text on the package. “Are you late?”

  “Not really.”

  “When are you due?”

  “Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. It’s not an exact science.”

  “Coop.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “You have to have some inkling of what’s going on. Why else would you have bought this? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I threw up yesterday,” I mumbled. I thought I might throw up again. The conversation was only exasperating the matter.

  “You what?”

  “I threw up.”

  “When?”

  “When I was out yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Answering his question, my eyes brimmed with tears. My breath caught in my throat. The sound that came out was so girly I was almost embarrassed.

  “Oh…oh, Jesus. Come here.” Pulling me into his arms, he patted my back. “I didn’t mean to grill you like that.”

  I so wasn’t ready for this. I had planned to put it off as long as possible. Acknowledging it would only make it all the more real. I really didn’t want to see that little pink line. I knew what it meant. Diapers. Bottles. Midnight feedings. Two AM feedings. Three AM feedings.

  “Didn’t we talk about this, Coop? It’s just a bump in the road. Nothing we can’t handle. Think about it. We already have one. What’s one more? This’ll be a piece of cake for a pro like you.”

  Indelicately, I snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “Look, we don’t even know for sure. Let’s do that first. One thing at a time. Ok?” Pushing me to arms length, he searched my face. “Ok?”

  “Ok.” I nodded. My voice was thick with tears.

  “Alright then, let’s do this.” Grasping my hand, Tate led me from the cabin. The bus was only so big, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to bump into anyone during the short distance to the bathroom. I really could’ve done without bumping into anyone.

  “Listen, Coop, I didn’t mean what I said about the bus. It was a joke, a poorly made one,” Shane
apologized. His gaze dropped, unable to look me in the eye. In doing so, he noticed the box in Tate’s hand. I knew by the look of shock that crossed his face. “Oh man…I’ll uh…yeah…ok. It can wait.”

  “Thanks man,” Tate scoffed, and pushed me into the bathroom. I turned in the small space and stumbled back when Tate stepped in behind me. “Sorry…sorry, just take a step back. Give me some room. I’m coming in.”

  “Tate, I think I can do this by myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, but you’re not going through this alone. Now drop your drawers and plant your ass on the can.”

  “Such class.”

  “Yeah, well, call me Mr. Congeniality.” While I assumed position, Tate tore the box open and shook two of the three wands into his hand.

  “I think one will do.”

  “One for me and one for you, babe.” Tearing the wrapper for the first, he passed it to me, and then quickly began on the second. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I can’t go with you standing there. You’re going to have to run the water or something.” Tate rolled his eyes, but obliged by reaching back and twisting the faucet. The stream of water that burbled out was sad and uncharacteristically quiet. “Sing or something, and stop staring.”

  “Sing?”

  “Sing.”

  Lifting his shoulder, Tate cleared his throat.

  “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey

  “Don't you know that I love you?

  “In-a-gadda-da-vida,baby

  “Don't you know that I'll always be true?

  “Oh,won't you come with me and take my hand?

  “Or,won't you come with me and walk this land?

  “Ah, please take my—You’re laughing! You told me to sing, and now you’re laughing at me!” Leaning against the sink, he crossed his arms over his chest, feigning offense.

  “In a Gadda Da Vida?”

  “It’s the first thing that came to mind.”

  “Give me the other one.” I swapped out the wands, making sure each was sufficiently saturated. I wanted no mistakes. I couldn’t go through the hysterics again. Once was enough, thank you very much. My nerves were already shot to hell.