Tuesday, 9:09 am
If the swarm of paparazzi was any indicator, my time of anonymity had come to a swift end.
I was grateful to Helen and Erin for pushing me to hire bodyguards so quickly. Today, I was surrounded by four of them, who were doing a fantastic job of keeping the hounds at bay. Chloe took point, blazing a trail through a veritable sea of ambulance chasers and photographers while I was flanked by two others with a fourth having my back. It made walking thirty feet from my car to the door of the Strange Mudd take ten times as long. Camera flashes kept blinding me, and I raised a hand to shield them and hopefully thwart most of them from getting a clear shot of me.
"Jesus!" I shouted into my phone as I fought my way into the back of the black suburban. Chloe followed behind me, shutting the door and cutting off most of the noise outside. "This is insane!"
"You're telling me. I'd keep away this morning, boss," Erin said over the phone. She was at the Dunbar building setting up a couple of meetings for me later today. After yesterday's press conference, Chandler had asked to meet and discuss the fallout and the next steps needed to ensure VistaVision wasn't impacted negatively by my surprise announcement. On top of that, the private investigator Erin hired to look into the break-in at my old apartment had some new information he wanted to present.
"Is it that bad?"
"Yep. Like a bunch of dogs hanging around the dinner table. Some of them are pretty obvious, but most are trying to look like they're just reading the paper on a bench or pacing back and forth while talking on the phone. Stuff like that. It's all so obvious. Who the hell reads newspapers on a park bench? Do they think they're in a sting operation in an eighties movie?"
"Fuck. Is this what it's going to be like for the rest of my life?"
"I doubt it," Erin replied. "Just until you stop being the most interesting thing to happen in the Northeastern quadrant. The American attention span is about 6 seconds. They'll drop you as soon as a sex tape hits the internet or someone tries to ban abortion."
"That's comforting," I muttered. "I was planning on coming in later this morning, but maybe I'll wait till closer to the meeting this afternoon. Maybe they'll tire out by then, or do you think I should change the location."
"I don't think that'll be necessary," Erin said. "They look like they've been out here a while. They'll get tired and eventually leave. You should be good to go by one or two."
"Cool," I said. By now Chloe had reached the door of the coffee shop and had it open for me. I entered, followed by my bodyguards. "I'm going to take it easy this morning. Just got to a coffee shop where a friend works. We're going to hang out for a bit."
"A 'friend'. Should I be jealous you didn't invite me along?"
I made a face as I glanced out the window at the throng of hungry ambulance chasers. "Don't be gross. First off, Darrin's not my type, and second, he showers like once a week."
"Ew. Why's he your friend?"
"Eh. He's good people. I just don't want to spoon him."
"That's good. Means more spooning for me," I could practically hear her grin.
"I miss that," I said.
"I do too. It's been a little over twenty-four hours. Soon?"
"You bet," I said. "Anything going on that I need to be aware of?"
"Yes sir," Erin's tone suddenly took a sharp turn into professional, "Psalter called this morning to push the meeting back to four-thirty. I told him that was okay. Chandler won't be here till six anyway."
"That's fine," I said, turning away from the window. I got in line to order with Chloe beside me. My other three bodyguards were nowhere to be found. "I'm gonna let you go. Talk to you later this afternoon.
I hung up Erin and looked at Chloe. "Where did John and the others go?"
"To secure a table," Chloe said, her dark eyes scanning the customers. They were all staring and rubbernecking to get a good look at the guy who had just left a crowd of gawkers outside the quiet little coffee shop. Most of them were made up of college students, a couple of guys in cheap suits probably trying to sucker someone into a pyramid scheme, and bored housewives.
"Good call on beefing up security," I said.
"It's why I get paid the big bucks," she responded, sounding distracted as she turned her attention to the chalkboard next to the counter, looking at the specials. "Shouldn't last long. I give it about a week at most before it dies down."
"That's what Erin said," I muttered.
"Thank social media for ruining the attention spans of multiple generations," she said.
The line moved as the person being served moved to the side to wait for their order, leaving two people in front of me. I spotted Dillon emerging from a door in the back; he grinned at me and jerked his head toward the main sitting area to the right. I was a creature of habit, usually ordering the same thing every time I visited. Since he knew what I wanted, he usually brought it to me on his break. It was a ritual at this point. I shook my head and stayed in line behind the bottle blonde in front of me, jabbing my thumb at Chloe. Dillon wouldn't know Chloe's order and I didn't want to complicate his day. I also didn't want to seem like an entitled asshole, which was what it would have looked like now that I was wealthier than a sheik. I'd caught the light of recognition in most of the customers' eyes, and some of them even had their phones out, taking pictures or videos of the newly minted king of the Gerrard empire. In a way, the paparazzi had followed me into the building after all.
"What do you want?" I asked Chloe.
"I'll just take a medium coffee. Black."
"That scans," I said. I was starting to suspect that Chloe was the reincarnation of some hardened detective from the forties - strong, silent, and crotchety. It only made sense that she would take her coffee the same way an old war vet would.
"I might get a double today," I muttered, looking at the board. "I'll need the extra caffeine if I'm going to talk to the PI
and
have a meeting with Chandler Grayson."
"Don't like him?" Chloe asked.
"Oh, I like him well enough," I said, "but I went cross-eyed after two minutes of looking at the reports he emailed me. It's a
lot
.
One of the only patrons of the the Mudd not gawking was the blonde in front of me who was too busy scrolling through her phone to bother with whatever was happening around her. However, as soon as I said Chandler's name, she glanced at me, and from the way her face lit up, I could tell she immediately recognized me.
This coffee shop attracted a lot of people like me who had - until recently - been part of the middle class, but there were a lot of upper middle class that enjoyed the folksy, hipster environment of the Mudd. Most of them were able to afford the time and means to keep themselves trim and looking their best, and this woman was no exception.
She appeared in her mid-thirties with light, honey-blonde hair from a bottle that hung around her in gently layered waves with cute bangs that came dangerously close to falling into her lovely hazel eyes. She had a strong, Roman nose and a pair of plump, cupid's bow lips covered in an understated shade of lipstick that probably wasn't far off from her lips' natural color. Her perfect, white teeth almost sparkled as she smiled at me. The high heels she wore made her almost exactly my height, and she was clad in a wispy black-and-white skirt that stopped just below her knees and a loose blouse with a plunging neckline that showed off an enticing amount of cleavage. My very male brain immediately judged her to be at least a D or even a DD-cup.
"You're Marcus Upton," she said, surprise in her tone. "I saw you on the news!"
She offered me her hand, and I glanced around to see if everyone else was still paying attention. Much to my chagrin, most of them were still eyeing me, whispering to each other with phones still out.
