R. Griffin - Seamless

“Fuck yeah, I do. My dad had one.”

“You watch your six. I’ll keep you updated. I’m putting all my eggs in the FBI basket. I hope that it pans out.” She really did hope that she wasn’t going in the wrong direction. What the hell would she do if this didn’t work out?

“I hope so too.”

She leaned back in her chair on the porch, the crispness of the air reminding her it was her favorite time of year. She took another sip of her drink and decided she couldn’t be by herself, but she wasn’t up for Patrick and Millie.

“Breaker, breaker, No Balls. Where you at?” she said through Voxer.

It took Billy an entire whiskey to get back with her. “Whole of Vagina, I’m at home.”

She laughed wholeheartedly. “Oh my shit, Billy! I almost spit out my drink. Come meet me at Finnegan’s. I don’t want to drink by myself.”

“Well, friends don’t let friends drink alone. I’ll see you in ten.”

She smiled and walked inside. Cooper followed her. She took a deep breath and got his leash out and shoved her feet into her rain boots. Walking outside, she braced herself for the camera, but there were only two photographers hanging out at the park waiting for her. Relieved, she walked Cooper toward the Potomac and stared into the deep muddled color that was the river, losing herself in her thoughts for a few minutes. She didn’t realize that one of the photographers had approached her.

“El. How’s everything going?” The photographer was in his twenties and pudgy with a bad haircut. His use of her nickname caught her off guard.

“Excuse me?” she said, livid.

“How’s it going? What’d you do to your hand?” Click went his camera.

“Please step back,” she demanded.

“What? I’m in a public park.” Click.

“Step. Back.” She used an authoritative voice that made Cooper stop smelling and stand at attention, his tail sticking straight up in the air.

“I can be anywhere I want to be in a park.” Click. He stepped even closer to her, deliberately invading her personal space.

She turned to leave and he grabbed her arm. “Do not fucking touch me!”

He held his hands up innocently. “I’m not.”

He stepped in again and rubbed her arm with his. She kicked him in the nuts out of sheer instinct.

“Shit,” Stella muttered.

Cooper started barking and growling at the photographer.

The photographer was doubled over, but that didn’t keep her from hearing him grunt, “That’s battery, bitch.”

* * *

Stella wanted to get obliterated so she wouldn’t have to examine the colossal mistake she just made. Fuck. She’d already called Greg to let him know that she’d be getting a suit for damage to the photographer’s nuts. It didn’t matter that he’d touched her first, it was the fucking hassle that would come. He would sue her, it would be in the media, and it wouldn’t matter what really happened.

She walked the few blocks to Finnegan’s to meet Billy and voxed George on her way.

“You fucking vultures,” she started.

“Hey, Love,” George answered, his voice cheery.

“So I just got myself sued by kicking a photographer in the nuts. Just FYI.”

“Nice. What happened?”

Stella sighed. “I was walking Cooper and this guy got in my face. I told him to back off several times and he just kept coming at me. He touched my arm, so I kicked him in the nuts.”

“Sounds fair to me, Love.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew so when the asshole media reports it, you’re already aware.”

“Okay, Love. What’re you doing now?”

“Headed to Finnegan’s to drink with Billy. I need to get drunk and I try not to do that by myself anymore.”

“Tell everyone I said hello,” George said. “Wish I was there for a drink.”

“Will do,” she agreed, “and me too.”

“I love you.”

“Not as much as I do.” She put her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Her sweater was big and chunky and kept her warm in the night air.

The heat of Finnegan’s hit her face as soon as she opened the door. Hazel was behind the bar, but so was Owen. He smiled and winked at her as she entered. Billy was already there, nursing a beer.

She plopped down on the barstool next to him.

“Um, ten minutes was twenty minutes ago.” Billy pointed at his watch.

“Well, I was busy kicking a reporter in the balls and getting myself sued.” She took a sip of the warm beer that sat in front of her.

“Your life is so fucking boring. How do you even stand yourself?” Billy asked, stone-faced.

“I want to stab myself in the eye on a daily basis,” she deadpanned.

“I would too.” He leaned his shoulder into hers and put his head briefly on her shoulder. “You good?”

She shrugged. “I’m about to be out several thousand dollars to make this dirtbag motherfucker go away.”

“It looks like you have some new jewelry on too.” Billy pointed at her cast. “Is that in fashion now?”

She smiled. “Broke it on Jamie’s face this morning.”

Billy gaped at her for just a second, then grinned as he pondered her words and took a sip of beer. “Where?”

Her phone went off. It was a text from Millie. “Running,” she answered, reading the text.

WTF did you do?

Stella sighed.

It cannot be on Twitter already

Millie’s response was quick.

It’s on fucking CNN

Stella’s eyes widened at the text.

“What?” Billy looked her phone. “Why would you kicking a photographer in the balls be on CNN?”

There’s a video of you kicking a photographer in the nuts and then cussing at him. Really?

“What the fuck?” Stella examined the text and showed it to Billy.

“Did you see anyone else in the park?” Billy asked.

“There was another photographer, but he wasn’t over there. Just the one guy.” Realization set in. They’d set her up. “Fuck.”

Afraid I’m guilty of that. Going to get my ass sued.

Millie sent a text within seconds.

They’re saying you’ve finally lost your shit

This made Stella laugh. If they only knew.

Are they surprised?

Billy ordered two more beers and Owen sidled over to where they were sitting. “So Stella, who’s your friend?”

“Owen, this is Billy. Billy, Owen,” Stella said, holding her cast down in her lap so that it wasn’t visible. She hadn’t told George yet and she didn’t want it getting back to him before she decided what she was going to tell him. “Billy and I used to live together.”

Owen’s green eyes grew exponentially.

Billy’s laugh was so loud it cut through the bar. “Not even close.”

“No.” Stella shook her head. “I lived with two guys before I moved in with George.”

Owen nodded, contemplating. “You guys are friends?”

“The best,” Stella confirmed.

“Will know you’re here?” he asked.

“Yes.” She laughed uncomfortably. She loved Owen’s Irish accent, so she wouldn’t mind talking to him more, but she really didn’t want him to end up seeing/hearing about her cast. “He told me to tell you hello. I had to tell him that I would be in the news again and it seems like it’s sooner than I thought.”

“What’d you do this time?”

“Kicked a photographer in the balls.”

“He deserve it?” Owen asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded and moved down the bar.

“Odd one,” Billy commented.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed, taking a gulp of her beer. She turned to Billy abruptly. “I think I may stay with y’all this weekend.”

“The silence getting to you?” Billy teased.

“Of course.” She nodded.

“El, I’m not sure what all’s going on, but know you can come back to our house whenever you need to. Your bed’s still there, for fuck’s sake.”

“I appreciate it, Billy. I’ll probably be wearing out my welcome soon enough.”

“You did that a long time ago.” He grinned and pulled her into a side hug.

Confidence exuded through her every pore as she parted the crowd gathered in front of the four microphones set up in front of the National Cathedral. Christine thought it’d be a nice touch to have the press conference in front of a church. Senator Miller had come to them less than 24 hours ago with the reality that his political and personal life was about to explode on the front page of every newspaper in the country. With the 24 hours news cycle, she was all too aware that he’d be on TV and the internet every 10 minutes for the next two weeks. Personally, she always appreciated new headlines—it meant there’d be no stories of her life.

Although everyone in the United States knew her whereabouts and the fact her life was being threatened, no one at her firm or any of the firm’s clients had any idea of the emotional turmoil that bubbled just below the surface of her perfectly straightened hair, exact makeup and designer outfits. She performed her job seamlessly. She wrote competent legal arguments, handled the media with ease and perfected several different fake smiles. The fake smiles were particularly important—they were all smiles for different situations, but covered up her real emotion. Her life was in chaos, but she could do her job. She was happy to be good at something.

“Good morning,” she said into the microphones. Fake smile one, gratitude. “Thank you all so much for taking the time to come and hear Senator Miller’s statement today. The Senator regrets that this statement is even necessary, but as we are all aware, there are some things that the media cannot help covering.” She smiled and the reporters chuckled at her. Fake smile two, amusement with the situation. “Senator Miller is having personal issues that have nothing to do with his duties and responsibilities as a Senator. He’s guilty of having bad judgment, which we all have from time to time, but this in no way compromises his position in the United States Senate.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “That is all we have to say at this time.” Fake smile three (into the cameras), thank you for coming and we’re done. She turned to walk away, confident in her statement. That’s when all questions started.

“Stella! Stella! How are you? Any other death threats?”

“Where is George?”

“How is your hand?”

Stella sighed and counted to ten before she made an off-hand comment about getting injured on the treadmill. Fake smile four, dumb me falling on the treadmill. It was painfully obvious that this was her job—distracting the media from the story they were clambering after and give them herself. Bait and switch. Her story was always way more interesting to the media than anything else going on. She initially thought she’d been hired as an attorney, but she now knew she was hired to be a decoy and it was invaluable to have that big of a story in front of the media. Waving her in front of reporters was like giving a hungry dog a steak; they forgot about the dog food they’d been devouring a second earlier. She turned on her six inch heel and walked toward her car parked on the street near the cathedral.

“Ms. Murphy?” a female called from behind her.

Stella didn’t turn and switched the alarm off on her car. She opened the driver’s side door and got in as elegantly as possible.

“Stella? Ms. Murphy? Do you have a minute?” The reporter made it to Stella’s car before she shut the door.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not doing any interviews right now.” Fake smile.

“Can you tell me about an undercover agent named Jack Ryder?”

Her fake smiled slipped for just a few seconds and Stella felt a flash of fear travel through her body before she arranged her face back into her placating fake smile. “I’m not doing any interviews, but I’m unfamiliar with the name Jack Ryder.”

“Jack Ryder,” the reporter shoved a recorder in Stella’s face, “the undercover ATF agent that you traveled with to Montana before the explosion. Where is he?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I can answer your questions.” Stella slammed her car door and took off as quickly as possible. She couldn’t believe that he’d travel from DC to Montana using his own name. If this reporter knew they flew together, then it is possible Jamie’s cover had been blown in Montana. Fuck. What an idiot.