Plain Sight

A/N: Here's another chappie! If you like it, review! It really does help me turn out chapters faster. And for my shameless plug: If you like James, you might like my other bitchy heroines, Deirdre in "Looking Glass" and Cam in "Mooncalf". :)))

ddf

Chapter Three


Her clothes were a mess. Her car was just filthy—as was her mouth. Her apartment, on the other hand, was immaculate. James appreciated Ella’s hygenic efforts. She really did. But it probably wasn’t fair to raise the guy’s expectations.

“Why, helloooo,” Ella said appreciatively when James and her new bodyguard entered the apartment. She peeled off a pair of rubber gloves and ran her hands over her hair.

“James, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Right. This is Ella,” James said, a little ungraciously.

“Your roommate?” the bodyguard asked.

“No. Surrogate mother.” Ella stuck her tongue out, and James continued, “And Ella, this is . . .” Well. Deep-fried Christ on a stick. Damned if she could remember the asshole’s name. “Justin.”

The bodyguard cleared his throat. “Er, that’d be Jake, actually.” He’d just spect two hours in the car with the woman, and she didn’t even know his name. Granted, they hadn’t talked much. She had been too busy shoving french fries into her face. All that fat had probably made her brain the consistency of Jell-o.

She shrugged. “Well, I was close.”

Ella shot him a sympathetic look and continued playing hostess. “Jake, would you like anything to drink? James has got, erm, beer and orange juice.” She put the juice back in the fridge. “Never mind. The orange juice is past its expiration date. Want a beer?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Ella shot James a look that said she just bet he was. He continued, “But I could use the bathroom.”

“No!” James and Jake both looked to Ella in surprise. “I mean, I didn’t get to the bathroom,” she explained.

“Whatever,” James said, pointing to the short hall. “First door on the left.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, Ella whirled on James.

“Do you know what that room looks like?” she screeched.

“He’s supposed to be a tough guy. He can probably handle it.”

“But there are tampons on the vanity,” Ella protested. “A lot. I found six boxes, James, scattered throughout this apartment. And they are all on your vanity.”

James barked out a laugh. “Maybe he’ll think I’m preparing for nuclear war.”

Ella hissed, “This is not funny, Fritzi James. And you didn’t call me when you got to your mother’s. I am really not happy with you right now.”

“Blah, blah, blah. I never fucking call you when you tell me to. You should know better. And you know that I don’t like to be called that.”

Jake had returned to the living room before Ella could respond, looking a little dazed. He pointed back at the bathroom. “Did you know that you have six—never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“I’m preparing for nuclear war,” James explained. The guy just looked at her like blood was going to come shooting out from her lady bits at any moment.

“She’s kidding. Now. Is there anything you guys need? I could come back this evening with a casserole. James, are you going to be okay for work tomorrow, or are you taking the day off?” James rolled her eyes and gave her friend the bird.

“No, there’s nothing we need. Please don’t come back with food. You can’t cook worth a damn and I’d rather starve. We’ll order take-out. And as long as Doc Long doesn’t fire me, I’m gonna keep working. Now—and I say this lovingly—get the fuck out of my apartment.” Ella just rolled her eyes, and told James to be careful before leaving with a cheery little wave to Jake.

“You have a job,” Jake stated when she was gone, his tone flat.

“Yeah. Don’t you?” He didn’t deign to respond. After a moment, James added, “And shouldn’t you have known that before? I mean, don’t you people get briefed or something before an assignment, or whatever you call people like me?”

Jake didn’t tell her they usually called people like her pains in the ass. He also didn’t tell her that he hadn’t read her file. She was Fritzi James, the tabloids’ favorite celebutante—he’d figured he’d be spending the next few weeks in exclusive boutiques and trendy clubs. He knew her trust fund had more money in it than most people would see in their lives. Why she was living in a decidedly average apartment complex and working was beyond him. He wondered vaguely what her job was.

“I suppose you still need to meet Schlitz,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Schlitz?”

“Yeah. You know, the beer? Crappy and a bad idea. Let me find him.”

She disappeared into the room across from the bathroom. He assumed it was her bedroom. He heard a screech and a crash, and the words, “You cocksucking, bushy-tailed shithead! Get your fucking teeth out of my fucking arm!” He was just about to go rescue whatever it was Fritzi was battling when she emerged, creature still attached to her forearm.

It could hardly be called a cat. Maybe a bobcat crossed with a Mastiff. Jake had seen smaller Labradors. It had long, shaggy hair. Under the matted mud, it might have been gray. Hate-filled eyes glared at James from beneath eyebrow dreadlocks. It never lost eye contact with her as it sunk its teeth deeper into her arm.

“I got him declawed and neutered. I should have had the vet take his fucking teeth, too.”

“Good Lord,” Jake said. He couldn’t think of any other response.

“Good old Schlitz. Fucker hates me. I found him a couple streets over. He’d been hit by a car. I probably should have let him go to his just rewards in kitty hell. I needed six stitches and a goddamned tetanus shot by the time I got him to the shelter, and then they told me they were at capacity, and they’d probably just put him down. Well, I hadn’t gotten the shit beat out of me by that bastard just to let him die.” She shrugged and kissed the beast’s head. Schlitz rumbled a purr but didn’t remove his teeth. “Here. I gotta feed him.” She dumped the cat in his arms.

“Ah, nice kitty,” Jake mumbled while Fritzi dug around under the sink. Finally she found what she was looking for—two cans of cat food. Two. Well, the cat had to weigh over twenty-five pounds. Not exactly the toy dog that most girls like her preferred. This thing probably ate toy dogs for breakfast. The beast purred like a car without a muffler and rubbed his head along Jake’s shoulder, leaving dirt and a leaf on the white linen of his shirt.

“Um, I think he needs a bath,” Jake said.

James laughed. “I’d like to see you try. I even brought him to a groomer’s once. They gave me my money back and told me not to bring Schlitz back. I’ve found it’s just easier to let him do what he wants. Certainly less painful. ‘Kay, you can let the bastard down now.”

Jake had no more than started to bend to let the cat down when it launched itself from his arms, using his sternum to push off. Jake was deeply grateful the thing had been declawed. Schlitz bolted for the kitchen and slammed his face into the first of the two cans. His eating habits weren’t dissimilar to his owner’s, actually. Jake had to look away or risk gagging. He picked up his duffel from where he’d left it near the front door, and looked at James expectantly. She pointed at the door at the end of the hall.

The second bedroom was bare but for a bed and a bedside table with a lamp. He dumped his duffel in the empty closet after pulling Fritzi’s file from it. Maybe it was time to figure out exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

*****

“Justin. You still fucking in there, or what? Pizza’s here. I hope you like everything,” James said through the door several hours later. He had heard her watching the “Kill Bill” movies out in the living room, but hadn’t joined her after reading her file. He’d needed the time to process her nightmare.

Two years ago, Fritzi had been the classic party-girl celebutante he’d expected. And the press had loved her. With her long, curly brown hair and legs that ended somewhere in the vicinity of her ears, it was obvious why. And she’d shown herself off then, with expensive, trendy clothes and all that girly stuff he didn’t see the need for. She’d had a boyfriend, some drummer from an up-and-coming band. Her chauffer had retired and was replaced by a guy who’d been obsessed with her. One night, on their way to a party, the guy had gone ape-shit and shot the boyfriend and Fritzi. Fritzi had spent over a week recuperating in the hospital. She missed her boyfriend’s funeral. And then she had just disappeared from the press’s sight. If Jake had actually every read People magazine, he’d probably already know that.

Few celebrities could disappear so completely. Fritzi had gone to extremes, though. She had moved to a safe, but predominately working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of L.A. She had gotten her Associate’s Degree and a job. She bought a shitty car. She became a slob. She wasn’t precisely what the paparazzi would have been looking for in the famous Fritzi James. They were having a field day with it, now that they had. Still, it ought to be a fairly regular job. Just make sure the photographers and reporters didn’t give her too hard a time, and keep the curious and obnoxious fans at bay. But he’d watch for signs of anyone becoming dangerously attached to her.

“Oi! What the fuck! You dead in there, or what?” she shouted, obviously irritated.

“I’m coming.”

“Look, Fritzi,” he began. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior today. I haven’t been very sensitive.”

She was silent for a long minute. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

“First, let’s get something straight. I don’t answer to that name. Call me that again and I’ll break your face. Second—I don’t want your fucking pity, tough guy. And I don’t need it. I’ve built a good life, and I like it. So wipe that sympathetic look off your face. Stop being an asshole, and we’ll get along fine.”

Huh. Maybe the tough girl act wasn’t just an act. Jake found himself a little impressed. “Fine. Stop calling me Justin, and I’ll stop calling you Fritzi. And there better not be olives on that pizza.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile. “There aren’t if you pick ‘em off.”

“Goddamn.”