The Bodyguard (25)

I waited for him, leaning against the bumper of his car, rocking from the blasts of 18-wheelers zooming by, watching the tension in his face and the focus of his eyes as he made a straight line from one shore to the other.

Wow. How many people have driven past a random pedestrian walking across a highway bridge, never realizing it was megastar Jack Stapleton?

When he reached me, his face was pale and there was sweat on his forehead. “You weren’t joking,” I said.

“I never joke about bridges.”

He got back in the driver’s seat and rolled down the windows, and, with that, he shifted back into character as a relaxed, carefree guy who had it all.

“You’ve asked me a lot of questions today,” Jack said then. “I haven’t asked you even one.”

“And we should keep it that way.”

“I can’t ask you questions?”

“You can ask…” I said with a little I-don’t-make-the-rules shrug.

But the question he asked wasn’t what I was expecting.

He turned and looked me up and down. “Have you done any acting?”

Given where we were headed at that very moment and the collaboration I’d just signed up for, this was one I probably needed to answer.

A first.

I thought about it. “I’ve portrayed a few barnyard animals in a few Christmas pageants.”

“So that’s a full no.”

I tried to give him something. “There are elements of acting to my job. Sometimes I have to play a kind of role in a situation. But it’s mostly about blending into the background, or vaguely seeming like a personal assistant.”

Jack nodded, thinking.

“Never anything so … detailed, though.”

“Okay,” he said, still thinking. “I’m going to tell them that you’re my girlfriend, and that should do a lot of the heavy lifting. Once that’s established, I’ll do most of the work. I mean, who lies about having a girlfriend? All you really have to do is just be pleasant.”

“Be pleasant,” I said, like I was writing it down.

“Yeah, like, you don’t have to memorize lines, or deliver a soliloquy. This isn’t Shakespeare. Just be normal, and the context should do the rest.”

“So I don’t have to act like I’m madly in love with you?”

He gave a little sideways glance. “Not unless you want to.”

“What if they don’t believe you? That I’m your girlfriend?” I hadn’t realized how vulnerable it would feel to ask this question until I was doing it.

But Jack gave a confident nod. “They’ll believe me.”

“Why?”

“You’re totally my type.”

I couldn’t resist. “Cleaning ladies are your type?”

He pointed at me. “That was an honest mistake.”

I actually had no idea how I was going to pass for Jack Stapleton’s girlfriend. I did not buy for a second that I was his type. I’d done a thorough Google search on him and I’d seen enough Barbie dolls to last me a lifetime. One of them had clearly had so much cosmetic surgery, I couldn’t help but wonder if her mother missed her face.

Not to mention Kennedy Monroe.

“Hey—” I said then. “What about your real girlfriend?”

“What do you mean—‘real girlfriend’?”

I gave a sharp sigh. “I think your parents might notice that I am not Kennedy Monroe.”

Jack puffed out a laugh. Then he said, “My parents don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

“Are you saying your parents don’t know you’re dating Kennedy Monroe? You were on the cover of People! In matching sweaters!”

“It’s possible.”

“It’s really not. Nobody doesn’t know that.”

Jack thought about it. Then he shrugged. “If they ask, I’ll just tell them we broke up. But they won’t ask. They know nothing in Hollywood is real.”

Was Kennedy Monroe not real? Suddenly, I felt too shy to ask.

I tried to imagine anyone believing that Jack would downshift from Kennedy Monroe to me. Just how gullible were these parents? Were they in comas?

The sound of Robby saying there was no way I could pass echoed through my mind, and I so hated that I agreed with him.

But here we were.

Jack was still noodling on it. “I think our best option is just for you to smile a lot.”

That didn’t sound too hard.

“Just smile. At them. At me. Just smile until your cheeks hurt.”

“Got it.”

“How do you feel about me touching you?”

How did I feel about Jack Stapleton touching me? “What kind of touching are we talking about?”

“Well, the way I am around girlfriends … I’d say that I tend to touch them a lot. You know. If you’re into someone, you just want to be touching them.”

“Sure,” I said.

“So, that could add some authenticity.”

“Agreed.”

“Would it be okay for me to hold your hand?”

Not a hard question. “Yes.”

“Can I … drape my arm over your shoulders?”

Another nod. “That sounds acceptable.”