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Cazzie
I walked around the perimeter of the condo for the third time that day and tried not to grind my teeth. The sun was hotter than usual for Pasadena. It didn’t help that I was wearing a suit jacket. My client always demanded that I keep it on to look intimidating.
After circling the perimeter, I went back inside. Kaylyn was sunbathing on the terrace. “Nothing to report, ma’am,” I said. It made me cringe to call this girlma’am;at eighteen, she was a full ten years younger than me.
“They must have run off,” Kaylyn replied. “My fans are really persistent.”
As she rolled onto her belly, I tried not to roll my eyes. She was an online influencer who got famous creating makeup tutorial videos. She also vastly overestimated just how much her internet fame translated into the real world. I had been her bodyguard for two weeks now, and we had yet to stumble across one of her fans in person.
But as annoying as Kaylyn was, I couldn’t really complain. It was a cushy job. I spent most of my days watching TV in her condo while she sunbathed or made TikTok videos in her studio. It was easier than the first few bodyguard gigs I had been assigned, andmuchless stressful than my days of being an Army MP.
Still, part of me missed the good old days when I had toreallyearn my paycheck.
I sank into the couch and turned on SportsCenter. They were showing highlights from last night’s opening game between the Stallions and the Chiefs. I had missed the game because Kaylyn had dragged me all over Los Angeles trying to use her internet credentials—and a really bad fake ID—to get into clubs.
“But his first NFL game wasn’t the only excitement for Luke August,” the anchor was saying. “The first-round draft pick was robbed at knifepoint at his Salt Lake City apartment after the game. Police are asking for any information about the assailant, who escaped before the authorities could arrive. When asked to comment on the attack, Luke August joked that some people will do anything for an autograph.”
I shook my head. Professional athletes were a group thatreallyneeded bodyguards. There were a lot of crazy fans out there.Although they would do better to try robbing someone who isn’t playing on a rookie contract, I thought with a chuckle.
The sliding door to the terrace opened. “Switch it to Real Housewives of Orange County. I recorded two episodes last night and want to watch it with my smoothie.”
The rest of the afternoon crawled by while Kaylyn caught up on her crappy reality show.It could be worse, I reminded myself.Cushy clients are better than stressful ones.
At seven o’clock, Kaylyn insisted on going out. We took an Uber down into the city to a French restaurant where the cheapest appetizer was over a hundred dollars. It was obscene how much money these influencers made. She wasn’t old enough to drink yet, and she almost had enough money to retire. When I was her age, I was getting screamed at by Sergeant Corvo at boot camp.
“Did you see my most recent post?” she suddenly asked me. “The one about melting your pencil liner?”
“I think I missed that one,” I said, deadpan.
“You really ought to watch it,” she said while picking at a steak that cost more than my suit. “You should sit down and watchallmy videos. They would really help make your facepop.”
I gave her what I hoped looked like a grateful smile. “Maybe I’ll do that, ma’am.”
She nodded as if I had complimented her, then she looked over to the left. “Those men totally recognize me. They’ve been staring at me all night. It’sso annoyingto be recognized in public.”
I glanced at the men in question. They were in their forties, businessmen discussing some real estate deal, judging by the snippets of conversation I’d heard. Neither of them had looked in our direction since we sat down.
“It must be tough,” I agreed.
After dinner, Kaylyn spent two hours trying to get into clubs. None of them would accept her fake ID, nor her imaginary internet credentials as a celebrity. Eventually she settled at a bar in Pasadena that didn’t card anyone, and then she ordered a bottle of champagne and quickly began making up for lost time.
“And whatever mybodyguardwants,” she told the bartender.
“Diet Dr. Pepper,” I said.
I knew what I was to Kaylyn. I was a status symbol. Famous people needed bodyguards, and since she was pretending to be famous, she needed one to follow her around like a pet. I might as well have been the Jimmy Choos on her feet for all I mattered.
Ten grand a week,I reminded myself.There are a lot worse jobs for worse money.
After guzzling down the bottle of champagne, Kaylyn decided to call it a night. She swayed where she stood while waiting for the Uber, eying everyone around us.
“Those guys have been stalking me all night,” she suddenly said, pointing at a cluster of college men vaping up against the wall.
“First I’m seeing them,” I said. “And I would know.”
“They’ve beenstalkingme,” she repeated, words slurring a little more this time. “Go tell them to back off.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I knew she wasn’t going to let up unless I did as she asked—or at leastlookedlike I was doing so. I unbuttoned my suit jacket and walked toward them. When I approached, they cut off their conversation and turned to me.
