Dirk Saber P.I.: Jane Russell Ch. 06

Sitting in my home office once again, I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on the desk, and closed my eyes. Maid Becky had drained me mentally as well as physically. When the whirr of the vacuum cleaner stopped I woke from an unintended nap. The desk clock reported a twenty minute snooze had elapsed. An unsettled feeling settled upon me. I needed to do something normal, do something that would get Becky out of my head so I could think clearly. It was the perfect time to brush Dick.

"Dick, come! Come Dick!"

I heard him rumble down the stairs with his usual dogged enthusiasm. We escaped the house into the backyard through the patio doors. After retrieving his brush and nail clippers from the garage, we adjourned to the picnic table where he dutifully sat between my knees. Still early enough to be in the shade of the house, I lost myself in Dick's cool fur, such a soothing chore, calmly grooming this gentle giant. As I pulled the shed hair from the brush, I thought maybe for Halloween I'd get him a Brandy cask dog collar. Too bad I lived so far from the city. No kids come to the door for trick or treat. Realizing I was getting my dog involved in cosplay, I frowned at the thought that Ms. Renaldi may have found my previously undiscovered Achilles heel.

Dick got tired of sitting, so, with a contented groan, he walked is front paws down and rolled over, exposing his belly. I obliged him with a belly rub for a minute, and then brushed out more dead fur.

"I'm envious."

Startled, I looked up to see Becky leaning against the corner of the house. She wasn't the Victorian maid anymore. Dressed in cutoff blue jean shorts and a white tee shirt, she looked like a normal person. That is, if that person were a Hollywood movie star. "Envious?" Holding out the fur matted brush, I said, "You can take over. Be my guest."

Her eyes rolled, as she shook her head. "I'm not envious of you."

Finally it clicked. "Oh," was all I could manage after a thoughtful moment. Should I have then said, 'Lay down, and I'll rub your belly', or maybe, 'I prefer women that aren't furry'? But I didn't say anything, right or wrong.

Becky walked over and sat next to me on the picnic bench. As I rolled Dick over to brush his other side, she said, "You're not so tough."

My hackles rose. I mean, they would have if I had them. Was that an indictment on my ability to keep her safe? The way she easily manipulated me the last 24 hours, maybe she felt I wasn't man enough to protect her. Keeping control of my tongue, I said, "I can recommend someone else if you feel you need a different bodyguard."

"What?"

My voice rose, since my hackles couldn't, and I blurted on, "I don't normally do this type of protection work; in fact I've never done it. So maybe I'm not meeting your expectations. But I assure you, just because I have some personal vulnerabilities doesn't mean I'm not vigilant and capable of doing my job. What happened between us --"

"Just shut up for a second," she said, placing her hand on my knee. "Let me make myself clear. I misspoke. What I meant to say was you're not phony tough. Hollywood is full of phonies that act all gangster, until things get out of control and you find out they're wimps. When I saw you at the parade dressed like a gangster from the 40's --"

"Not a gangster, a G-man."

"Whatever. I thought you looked like a fun guy. Someone I'd like to meet. And when I found out you were John Smith... well, after what I'd heard about you, even better."

Finally, an opening. "What exactly did Samantha say about me?" I asked, squatting down to continue brushing Dick.

After a heavy sigh, Becky said, "I have a confession to make. I've never met your friend Samantha."

I looked over my shoulder with feigned surprise, and said, "Confession's good for the soul."

"My roommate, who got into some legal trouble and spent time with Samantha, heard about you and repeated the stories to me. I thought it was fate that you lived in the same town as my brother."

Continuing to brush dead fur from Dick's flank, I saw an opening to brush up against a sore subject. "What was your roommate's legal problem?"

There was a long hesitation, and I thought no answer was forthcoming, until Becky clarified, "She was arrested for prostitution."

Without hesitation and without judgement, I said, "I see," unconsciously brushing harder. Dick lifted his head to look at me with concern. When I eased up, he relaxed and put his head back down.

After a minute of silence, Becky said, "Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"Don't act stupid. I'll tell you the truth."

Of course I wanted to know if Rebecca Renaldi was a prostitute. But was it any of my business? No, it wasn't. Bodyguards really only have one job, keep the client safe regardless of any moral or ethical disparity. The ease in which she seduced me left little doubt in my mind, but I had to ask anyway, "Were you involved in your roommate's profession?"

She laughed, and said, "Wow, 'roommate's profession'? You sound like a lawyer." Then she touched my back, and said, "Look at me."

I stopped my dead fur distraction, sat up, and met her eye to eye.

"No, I was not." Glancing away, she added, "Not that I wasn't recruited or tempted. California is an expensive place to live."

A surge of relief flowed through me for some reason. She would've made a fantastic escort. "Why didn't you?" I said, returning to my Dick work.

Becky laughed, and said, "I guess I'm a sixties throwback. I believe in free love."

I looked up at her with wrinkled brow, "But you said it's been over a year?"

Her cheeks colored. "I guess I believe in selective free love." After a long pause, she continued, "I should apologize. I took advantage of our... arrangement, and...uh... indulged my fantasies."

Finished with the fur removal, I began clipping Dick's toenails, and saying, "Thank you for apologizing, because I really felt used. Since you're paying me, I was obligated to play along. But I got no pleasure out of it."

Glancing over my shoulder, I could see by her half grin she wasn't buying any of it. She said, "Thank you for accepting my apology. I've gotten my erotic impulses out of my system, and I won't be sexually harassing you anymore."

"That's a relief." I sat up, and said, "All done."

Dick took the cue and stood. He walked over to Becky and put his head in her lap. She obliged him with an ear scratch, saying, "You're such a handsome boy." She bent down and kissed his head.

Raking up from the ground all the fur fallout with my fingers, I said, "Let's go get groceries before lunch. Before it gets really hot."

"Sounds like a plan. Can we take your cool car?"

I smiled at 'cool car'. "Sure, if you don't mind not having air conditioning."

"Yay!" She stood abruptly, adding, "I have to change."

"Me too. Wearing sweatpants when it's 85 is not cool." Then I had an afterthought. "Please wear something from this century."

"Aw, I had the perfect Flapper costume in mind, too." Walking away, she said, "But okay. I will dress appropriately."

My first thought was the Flapper age was over by the time my Ford was off the assembly line. My second thought was, 'I don't care. I want to see her wearing that.' This cosplay thing is addictive.

After changing into shorts and a tee, I backed the Ford Fordor Deluxe out of the garage, removed the bullet-hole stickers, and my magnetic advertising signs.

As I stood admiring it, Becky walked up beside me, and said, "That is such a bitchin' car."

"Bitchin', haven't heard that expression in a while," I said laughing, and turning toward her. My laugh caught in my throat as I stopped breathing. My heart jumped in my chest at the vision of Rebecca Renaldi in a yellow, spaghetti strapped sundress.

Grinning back at me, she twirled arms out, and asked, "Do I look all right." The hem flared, exposing flawless legs from thigh to leather sandals. Her hair whipped around and landed over her shoulder when she stopped.

Clavicles, cleavage, and the pulsing beat in the hollow of her throat left me speechless until I gathered my wits enough to say, "That'll do."

"Great! Let's hit the road."

As Becky circled around to the other side I got in behind the wheel and started up the antique.

She slid into the passenger seat and instinctively reached for the nonexistent seatbelt.

"No seatbelts. You'll just have to trust my driving skills and be ready to jump out."

She laughed, and said, "Ooo, it's not just a ride, it's an adventure."

I pulled out onto the road and headed for town. "Roll down your window if you want a breeze."

She cranked open the window and inhaled deeply. "I can't remember the last time I rode with the windows down. That's a major health risk in L.A.. But the air smells so fresh and clean here." With one arm on the open window and the other across the back of the seat, Becky leaned her head against the doorframe, and closed her eyes. Half of her hair was outside, fluttering in the breeze. Her lips curled into a pleasant grin.

Maybe beautiful women should be outlawed in cars, because I most certainly became a distracted driver. My eyes only spent half the time scanning the road. The rest of the time my eyes traveled from red toenails, up smooth shins, over knee bumps, and then cruised along bronzed thighs, raced through the yellow caution-lite sundress, and stopped at the glistening cleavage valley where I reminisced about my last visit there, before ending my trip on her peaceful countenance.

After my third trip up, I discovered Becky's eyes were open and fastened to mine. Her grin widened to a full spectrum smile, and then she looked away, out the window. I know she read my mind. Women perceive men's desires. I believe they see thought bubbles over our heads, and at that moment mine said, 'I want her like I want food and air'-- the desire to breed with the most desirable woman instinctual, written in my DNA over millenniums of natural selection.

I refocused on the road ahead, and said, "What time do you have to go to work?"

"Six o'clock." Then, for no apparent reason, she asked, "Can we stop at Walgreens?"

Then I spotted the Walgreens pharmacy sign in the distance. "Sure."

As I pulled into the parking lot, she said, "I'll only be a minute, you don't have to come in."

"Yes I do. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Really? You don't think I'm safe in the drugstore alone?"

"Stranger coincidences have happened. So the answer is, better safe than sorry. Besides it's hot as hell out here."

She laughed. "That's true."

A refreshing air conditioned breeze washed over us as the door opened. I held it for Becky, while scrutinizing the store for credible threats. None perceived, I followed her past the makeup, past the feminine hygiene products, and past the hair dye, to the pharmacy counter. Stopping ten feet away, I turned my back as she spoke to the cashier, and wondered what she needed a prescription for? None of my business, really. Just curious. Maybe she had allergies. Maybe she had herpes. Maybe it was cancer medicine. Okay, my mind went to the dark side too fast, but I'm pessimistic like that when things seem too good to be true.

That's when I saw the imminent threat. Not a threat to Becky, though -- a threat to my patience. Fast approaching with the intent look of a hunting cougar was Laurie Calhoun -- a former client with a cheating spouse. Unfortunately, I couldn't run away and hide.

She hugged me, demanding full frontal contact, and in a loud and grating voice said, "John! It's great to see you. Why haven't you returned any of my calls? You're a naughty boy."

"Hi... Laurie. I've been very busy. How are you?"

"Lonely, since I kicked Fred out." She stood in my personal space, which is a mile from her, and whispered loud enough to be overheard within a 20 foot radius, added, "Why don't you come by some night and keep me company? My son is at summer camp for two weeks."

"Um, thanks Laurie, but like I said, I'm very busy."

Then, unexpectedly, an arm snaked around my waist, and Becky stood next to me hip to hip, which is within my personal space restriction for her. "I'm all set, Sweetheart. I've got my birth control pills." She held out her hand to Laurie, "Hi! I'm Becky."

With obvious angst, Laurie shook hands, and said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Laurie, a friend of John's."

"Nice to meet you, too. I look forward to getting acquainted some time."

What? No, no, no, you don't! Aloud, I said, "Good to see you Laurie. Take care."

Grabbing Becky's hand, I practically dragged her away, as she waved and said, "Sorry, we're in a hurry. I have to take my pill. He's so forceful and impatient. I love a man who knows what he wants."

Oh, god. The whole town will think I'm a brute after Laurie gossips. But Becky giggled all the way to the car.

Once inside and driving away, I said, "Did you have to be so provocative? I have to live here you know."

She stroked my cheek apologetically, "I'm sorry, Sweetie. I couldn't resist. At least she won't be calling you for a while."

"Yeah, maybe no one will." I looked over at the pharmacy bag and felt embolden to ask, "What did you get?"

"Birth control pills, like I said."

I gave her my 'I demand more information' scowl, and said, "If you're not in a relationship why are you taking them?"

The question seemed to deflate Becky's enthusiasm. She slumped and looked out the window. After a moment, she said, "I started taking them because I was afraid of Lloyd kidnapping me, raping me, and making me pregnant."

"You think he's that twisted?"

"Yup." She continued to stare out at the passing scenery, and said, "So if we make, uh... have sex again you don't have to use protection. It's okay with me."

The clipped phrase 'make love' was not lost on me. I decided to keep my own cone of silence until we reached 'Carpenter's Grocery'.

When I pulled into the quaint store's parking lot, she said, "You buy your groceries here? Why not at Walmart?"

"The Carpenter's grocery store has been here for over a hundred years. They're good people. I don't know any of the Walmart clan."

"I admire your loyalty."

"Yeah, I'm like a dog that way."

We entered the store and Becky pulled a cart from the line. She headed for the fresh produce, asking, "What do you like in your salads?"

Salads? They're a waste of digestive juices. "I like a lot of meat in mine -- bacon, ham."

Seeming to ignore my comment, she immediately began thumping, sniffing, and squeezing green stuff. I particularly like how she fondled the cucumbers. When she grinned at me, I knew the stoking was unnecessary, and for her amusement at my expense.

"Hi, John. How's it going?"

Raymond, the store owner and a friend, came up beside me. We shook hands.

"I'm good. How's it going with you?"

"Can't complain." Then, while watching Becky roll to the fruit section, he asked me, "Can I help you find something?"

"Ray, I've been shopping here my whole life. I think I know where everything is."

He laughed, and said, "Okay, then tell ME where you found HER?"

Becky picked up a strawberry and bit it in half.

Ray groaned.

I said, "I know. She's stealing. I'll make sure to pay for it."

He laughed. "Yeah, that's what I'm groaning about. Who is she? She looks familiar?"

"She's a client, Ray. That's all I can say. But if someone comes in asking questions or showing her picture around, call me immediately."

"Sure, sure," said Ray, while never taking his eyes off Becky as she thumped a cantaloupe. "Excuse me, John. I think she needs help with her melons."

I felt a twinge of jealousy when Ray strode over to her to discuss melons. I'm sure he meant the melons he was selling, not the melons he wanted to squeeze. Besides, he was married with four kids. Still, as he stood next to her, weighing a melon in each hand, explaining their virtue as a possible prevention against a multitude of fatal diseases, I couldn't help wanting her all to myself.

When Becky giggled at some kind of botanical double entendre, I interrupted. "Ray, we have to move along. We're on a tight schedule."

Ray grinned at me, and then turned back to Becky and her melons to say, "It was nice meeting you, Miss...?"

She held out her hand. "Rinaldi, but call me Becky. It was nice meeting you as well, Ray."

"Please come back again. And if you need help with anything don't hesitate to ask for me." Then he turned to me and winked. "See you later, Johnny. Be good."

Becky placed a cantaloupe in the cart, saying, "He's very nice, and helpful. I can see why you come here." Pushing the cart down the aisle, she asked, "What tight schedule are we on?"

Thinking fast, I answered, "I have to mow the lawn. It's going to rain tomorrow, and my yard will be a hay field if I don't cut it today." Then I started to pray for rain.

We continued our grocery upload until the cart was filled to capacity. We struck a compromise in the meat department -- my red meat, our poultry, and her fish. We agreed on salmon, though. I drove straight home without delay, but my stomach rumbled with disappointment as we passed Arby's, because 'they have the meats'.

I helped put away the groceries, showing Becky where everything belonged.

Then she gave me a backhanded wave, and said, "Shoo, I'll make lunch. You go mow. How long before you'll be ready to eat?"

"I'll be done in about an hour," I said, watching her begin the green salad prep while thinking, 'That's going to need a lot of creamy blue cheese.'

The lawn had gotten pretty long, so that part was the truth. A half-an-hour later, my cellphone vibrated against my butt. The number was unfamiliar but local, so I answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, John. This is Becky's brother, Jeff. Are you somewhere you can talk privately?"

My first thought was Becky's stalker made a visit. "Yes. I'm out in the yard. No one's around." Feigning calm, hiding concern in my voice, I asked, "What's up?"

"How's Becky been acting?"

Suddenly confused, I said, "That's a strange question. Why do you ask?"

"Well... I thought you should know her history. It might save you some... confusion."

"I'd be grateful for anything you can tell me that will help me protect your sister."

"The thing is... I'm not sure she needs protection from anyone that's real."

Okay, that sounded bizarre. "What exactly does that mean, Jeff?"

For the next five minutes, Jeff told me about Becky's life over the last three years. The truth of her past shocked and saddened me. She'd spent three months of that time in a mental health facility, recovering from an assault. Before that, she'd been a registered nurse working in the Cedars-Sinai Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. One night after work, Becky was attacked while getting into her car. Beaten and about to be raped, an off duty physician she knew from the hospital intervened, but was fatally stabbed. The attacker ran away and was never caught. Since that day, Becky had a hard time dealing with reality and escaped into a fantasy world. She couldn't face the stressful life as a nurse any longer, and tried forgetting the attack by pretending to be someone else.

Jeff concluded with, "I called her doctor in L.A.. He said she doesn't have Dissociative Identity Disorder, what they used to call a split personality. She isn't crazy. She's not on any medication. They think her trying to be an actress was a way to manage persistent fear -- she feels unsafe all the time. But the pretending isn't helping anymore. She can't escape into her fantasies. So, instead of self-medicating with alcohol or drugs to deaden her anxiety... she's found a new way to feel safe. She can feel safe with 24 hour protection. She found that with you."

I cleared the lump in my throat, and said, "I see. That explains a lot. I appreciate you telling me."