Lucky Me (2 page)

“As of now,” Dad said. “Everything's fine, and that's all you need to know. But that doesn't mean it can't get worse.”

“Well what happened?” Mike asked. “Should we be worried?”

“No, I've got the situation controlled. But that being said, the bodyguards do need to be with you at all times, just in case. And that's non-negotiable.”

“All times?” I repeated, and Dad nodded. “Like
all
the time?”

“Even at school?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

“No way!” I said bluntly, shaking my head some more. “That's so embarrassing! I can't have some random guy following me everywhere I go! People will stare!”

“Gia, there may be a serious threat here!” Dad looked at me with disbelief. “I think that should matter more than what your classmates think.”

Obviously my father had never had to be a teenage girl growing up in Hollywood, so he was in no position to make a statement like that.

“Well which is it?” I snapped. “On one hand you tell us we shouldn't be worried, but then you hire full time bodyguards to stalk us all day long just
in case
something goes down?”

“I—”

“Listen Dad,” Mike interrupted calmly, rising from the plush sofa. “I get that you're famous and all. But I think you're taking the idea of a desperate housewife to the extreme. The most they'll do is throw a heel at you. Maybe even underwear if you're lucky. But that's hardly
life threatening.
”

“Ew. Never repeat that.”

“Thanks Mike,” Dad replied, his tone completely dry of any humor. “But this is a little more than some housewife. It's not even me I'm worried about! Look, you're just going to have to trust me on this one. I can't explain everything to you right now, but it's already been decided.”

“But, but,” I persisted, refusing to back down. “Why would anyone care about harming us? Aren't there a billion more important celebrities to go after?”

Who would waste their time trying to get to Harry Winters's kids when Ryan Gosling was alive? Surely no one was
that
bored.

“Gia,” Dad said, his stern parenting voice in full swing. “We're getting bodyguards and that's final!”

He may as well have stamped his foot on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest, like a four-year-old throwing a tantrum in the candy aisle of a supermarket. We all stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, contemplating our next move. Arguing further was probably a waste of time, and I wasn't in the mood to lose a fight. But the whole idea was so ridiculous, I was half expecting Dad to burst into laughter and tell us it was a joke.

“So how do you even get a bodyguard anyway?” Mike asked, clearly beginning to succumb. “Do you just look it up in the yellow pages, or something?”

“Your Uncle Don has two bodyguards. I spoke to him yesterday and he recommended a great agency from New York.”

“Uncle Don? As in, the guy who hasn't been in a movie since like, the eighteenth century?” Mike said with a laugh. “Why does he
need a bodyguard? No one even knows who he is!”

“Irrelevant!” I help up a hand so Mike would stop talking. “But don't you think it's going to be a little suspicious to everyone if we suddenly show up to school carting around these mean-looking, buff guys? Won't that draw more attention to us and our so-called ‘threat?'”

“That's already been dealt with,” Dad told me. He had clearly rehearsed some of this talk in the shower. “The agency is sending over their youngest bodyguards for you two, so fitting in won't be a problem. I've already spoken to your school's principal, and they were enrolled yesterd—”

“You enrolled them?” I interrupted, my voice becoming shrill with disbelief. “Like, at our school?”

“As far as the public knows,” Dad continued, ignoring me completely. “They're family friends who have recently moved to L.A. I've got all the details worked out.”

Couldn't argue with that. He had clearly planned the entire bodyguard scheme out, and very carefully. Whatever this mysterious threat was, it really had him going. The only problem was, I still wasn't fully convinced. The family friend excuse was a seriously pathetic one, and no one was going to buy it. You don't have family friends in Hollywood. You have family, and you have friends. The two don't mix.

“Dad,” Mike said with a frown. “This plan just ain't right.”

“Stop saying
ain't,
” I told him, giving him a judgemental look. “You're not a gangster and you're not a farmer.”

“If I want to say ain't then I'm gonna say ain't,” Mike replied with a glare. “That's in the Constitution. Look it up.”

I'll admit I was a little impressed he knew what the Constitution was. Got to give a guy credit where it's due.

“Look,” Dad said wearily, his patience clearly growing thinner by the second. “I know you're confused, but I need you to trust me on this one. I'm only doing this for your own good. I don't ask for a lot from both of you, but I hope you can do this much for me. Just give it a try.”

Dad looked like he was just about ready to drop to his knees and start begging. I glanced at Mike begrudgingly, who returned the look with slight guilt. Dad had pulled out the
doing this for your own good
card, which was a hard one to refute. Besides, if my life were actually in danger I would probably need some major protection. I can't even kill a fly without backup.

“Fine.” I sighed in defeat.

“Yeah, fine.” Mike agreed.

Dad smiled at us gratefully, releasing a relieved sigh. “I appreciate it, kids. I really do.”

Alright, fine, so bodyguards weren't the most horrible things in the world. It could have been worse. Dad's so-called present could very well have been that girlfriend. Or worse, another family botany class. He had tried that on me once, saying I should get more involved in the environment and bond with him. It was so boring; I had almost keeled over and died within the first ten minutes. All we did was inspect leaves and talk about greenhouse gases, which I still don't understand to be honest. Needless to say we never went back.

“Are we done here?” I mumbled, reaching for the Vogue.

The doorbell suddenly rang, and my hand froze, mid-air. I looked at Mike, then at Dad, as the chimes echoed off every wall of the house.

“They're here,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together like an evil genius.

“The bodyguards?” Mike said, and Dad nodded.

“Wait, you invited them right now?” I asked.

“Yes!”

“What! Why?”

Dad didn't reply. Instead we all stood in silence, shooting each other panicked looks, neither of us going to answer the door. Anya, our head housekeeper and maker of the world's best pancakes, shuffled into the room and announced in her heavy Russian accent that a “Mizter Walterz” had arrived. Almost immediately after she left the room, we heard light footsteps from the hallway approaching us. I felt a buzzing in the pocket of my jeans, and pulled my phone out. It was my boyfriend, Brendan.

“Sorry,” I said, giving Dad an apologetic look. “I have to take this.”

“Gia!” Dad hissed, but I answered the phone anyway.

“I'll be a minute, jeez!”

I spun around so my back was facing my dad and Mike, putting the phone to my ear. Dad was no doubt going to enjoy lecturing me later on, but the more time I had to delay the bodyguard process, the better. Brendan was supposed to come over for dinner, but it was a majorly inconvenient time.

It's not like I had anticipated my dad was going to hit me with the news of bodyguards like, an hour before our dinner plans. That, and Dad hated Brendan. But that wasn't really important; he hated most people.

Behind me I could hear my father introducing himself to someone named Colin, which didn't sound very bodyguard-ish. His last bodyguard had insisted we call him Bob, which he claimed wasn't short for Robert. He was “just Bob.”

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's me, Brendan.”

I did an internal eye roll. He said that every time he called, as though caller ID hadn't been invented yet. “Yeah, hey. What's up?”

“I got into it with my dad again,” Brendan said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “He's being a real pain in the ass and took my keys. I could take one of the other cars, but I'm kind of not in the mood. I'm going to have to cancel, I'm sorry.”

Behind me I could hear my dad introducing Mike to the room. I put a hand over my free ear, so I could block out the noise, and said, “Oh, that sucks!”

Actually it didn't suck, but a tiny white lie wasn't going to kill anyone. Brendan cancelling was perfect timing, what with Dad offering a group of bodyguards refreshments right behind me. Brendan did some more apologizing and promised he'd pick me up for school the next day. I did some more pretend, disappointed sighing and hung up the phone. At least now Brendan had saved himself from a night of death glares coming from my father.

I don't know why Dad didn't like Brendan. He was insanely attractive, sweet, and smart. Well, smart is pushing it a little. But he was genuinely a nice guy. I thought
I
fought with my dad a lot, but my situation was nothing compared to Brendan's. He'd always wanted to make it big in Hollywood, but his dad seemed to think it was a terrible idea, so they spent all their time hating each other. I had once asked my father if he could help Brendan out with a role, even if it was tiny. I even showed him an audition Brendan did for a cheese commercial. Dad laughed so hard I was scared he might have ruptured a kidney or something. Brendan never even landed that cheese commercial. I still don't know why he decided to do it in an Indian accent.

“Gia!” Dad practically barked at me.

Eyes still on my phone, I spun around with a sigh. I'd just say my hellos, do some polite smiling and retreat back to my room. Dad's happy. I'm happy. It's a win-win. I had barely walked three steps before I slammed into a perfectly toned torso I didn't recognize, almost tripping over my own feet.

“Ooof!”

“Woah!”

I felt two hands hold up my arms, steadying me so that I didn't fall over. My gaze followed the grip all the way up to its owner; a young, blonde-haired guy who was standing only an inch away. His eyes were blue, but not piercing, and I was standing close enough to see tiny bits of grey in them. He was the kind of attractive that you don't come across too often, the kind that makes you all excited. He was the type of guy who you'd tell your friends asked for your number at a bar, when really all he did was walk past you. He had a smile on his face as he watched me, his fingers still curled around my arms.

“You alright?” he said, laughing a little.

I nodded silently, and his hands pulled away from me as he took a step back.

“This is my daughter, Gia.” Dad stepped in. I stood rooted to the spot, scared to blink just in case the view disappeared.

“Hi,” the stranger said.

“Wow!” I breathed.

I mentally slapped myself so hard; I think my cheek actually bruised. With any luck he hadn't heard me.

“Excuse me?”

Yep, he had heard me. My brain kicked into survival gear and I stupidly placed the iPhone to my ear, pretending someone was still on the line.

“Wow! That sounds great. Uh-huh. Okay, bye now!” I hung up on my pretend caller and roughly shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Sorry, phone call. What were you saying?”

“I'm Jack. Anderson,” he said, extending his hand to me.

“Me too,” I replied, shaking his hand lightly. It was like I was scared to touch his skin, just in case I melted.

“What?” His smile widened.

“What?” I repeated casually. Somewhere to my left I heard Mike guffaw, and I realized the entire room could hear me make a fool of myself.

Jack Anderson was undoubtedly one of the most attractive people I had ever met. Which is a big deal, given the fact that I have shared the same air as Jake Gyllenhaal. He shook his head slightly and pulled his hand away, much to my disappointment. I waited for him to turn around and ask if I were mentally challenged. Thankfully, he just stood there.

“Gia, this is Mr. Colin Walters,” Dad said, motioning to the man on his right. “He's head of the agency in New York. They've been nice enough to fly all the way down to L.A. especially for us.”

I smiled awkwardly at the kind looking man with white hair and a white moustache. He reminded me of Santa Claus a little bit, and judging by the blonde present standing right next to me, I had been a good girl this year. I walked over to Mr. Walters and shook his hand, brushing past Jack on my way.

“Nice to meet you, Gia,” Mr. Walters said, and turned to the two other men standing next to him. “This is Kenny, and that's Chris.”

I looked at the other bodyguards, evaluating their appearances as I gave them an awkward wave. Unlike Jack, Kenny looked like a bodyguard. He was dressed in black from head to toe, he was
really
buff, he was bald, and he was African-American. I know, what a stereotype. Chris, on the other hand, looked absolutely nothing like a bodyguard. With his skinny frame and floppy brown hair, he didn't look capable of kicking his own butt, let alone someone else's. Plus, he looked like he hadn't even hit puberty yet. And then there was Jack, who was nothing like I'd ever seen.

“We're all very honored that you chose our company, despite all the fantastic services here in L.A.,” Mr. Walters said, practically beaming behind his moustache. “Personally, I'm a very big fan of your movies.”

Dad smiled humbly and said, “You were very highly recommended. It's no problem at all.”

Mr. Nice Santa Guy started to ramble on about how important it was that we didn't tell even our closest friends about the bodyguards, at least for the time being, but I wasn't really paying attention. Instead, I was concentrating on trying to figure out what was wrong with Jack. Someone who looked that perfect had to have been harboring some kind of crazy secret. If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is. Maybe he was a ribbon gymnastics enthusiast, or had a sock collection stored in his basement.