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“Can I take a look?” Sandra asks, pointing to the test results.
“No, Sandra. No,” I use my best voice of command. “There’s a seal on that envelope, I’m going to know if you open it!”
“Okay, okay, forget I suggested it!” she says, stashing the results in her purse. “But when do you plan on opening it?”
I drink the remainder of my coffee and search for my wallet, “When she feels like she is ready.”
“But aren’t you dying to know?” Sandra asks, still trying to convince me.
I nod emphatically. “I am. Like I said, I’m ready for whatever comes, and I just want the doubt to be over, but I want it to be on Lily’s timetable.”
Sandra leaves a twenty-dollar bill on the table for her share, and then stands, heading for the center field in front of the stage. “I’m going to talk to her.”
“Sandra! No!” I drop a twenty of my own and go follow her.
I catch Sandra while she is going through the security detail, to which I submit myself to lead by example.
“Sandra, leave Lily be!” I loud whisper as she goes through the pat down and I through the metal detector. “She’ll want to look at it when she wants to look at it!”
But Sandra just smiles a bratty smile, and promptly ignores my pleas.
Luckily, Lily is still busy on stage, dancing around, singing, entranced by the sound of music as if a crowd were already watching her. It takes me a while to cross the field and get to the center stage, and when I do I see Sweets and her band ready to move in.
I stand by the sidelines with her, while Lily and her musicians finish their set. Sweets looks at them with darts in her eyes, arms crossed and foot tapping in anger.
My hands are tucked behind my back in a reflexive stance, but my feet walk all the way towards Sweets. My mind is trying to decide on how - or even if - I should approach her.
“I hope tonight’s show goes nicely,” I say, shouting to get her attention.
Her eyes move from Lily to me in a matter of a few long seconds. “Oh, hi!” Sweets says, insincere. “I sure hope so. Ugh… You’re the guy from security, aren’t you?”
Sweets’ tone and body language change completely with that last sentence, and she fully turns her attention to me when I nod my head, confirming her suspicion.
“Are you sure everything will be alright?” She goes on.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, serious. “We have armed security all around the arena; no one coming in goes without walking through security. Next best thing is a sniper, but I don’t deem it necessary just yet.”
I watch as Sweets slightly shakes, clearly feeling dismayed and helpless. “Can we get that sniper for the next venue? It’s an open dome…” she asks, clearly unsure of what she’s saying.
And now I smile, to calm her down and sooth her anxiety. And Sweets just looks back at me terrified, finding solace in someone she barely knows.
But no, the police do not deem Mr. Bartleby Jones a priority, and since they don’t, I have no argument to keep these girls away from the spotlight, if only for a couple nights.
“Sweets…” I say, “Is that your name?”
“My name is Michelle!” She giggles and kicks up her heel, “Sweets is just my stage name.”
“Okay, Michelle…” I wipe my face clean of the sweat buildup of the day and begin talking again.
“We have to take advantage of the shows to draw this harasser out. He will try to get close again.”
She recoils, but I lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “But we will catch him way before he can get closer to you.”
She deposits her little manicured hand over mine, and looks me in the eye, showing hope and trust. “Thank you… I don’t remember your name.”
“Garrison. Brody Garrison.”
“Brody…” she once again giggles, smitten like a schoolgirl. “Thank you for protecting me!”
