My Bodyguard, Hollywood, and the Restless

Chapter One

Ava Anderson

I hate the fact that it is today, of all days, that this is happening to me. I cannot believe it- I do not want to believe it, but it’s right there in front of me, the cold, hard evidence. I’m sick, down with the flu, and now I have to miss the one opportunity in my life I’ve been waiting and training for months and months for.

I put everything in me into this performance. For the last six months, the only things I did was breathe, think, and live for this. Mornings and nights gone without eating, practicing with the rest of the crew in preparation for the biggest night of our lives. We were finally going to be on Broadway, or at the next best thing in these times, considering it is Hollywood, but I cannot even lift a finger because of the fever. And the cold clogs up my sinuses. An opera singer with a cold, who can barely move. I am absolutely useless.

It feels horrible. In fact, horrible is a bit of an understatement considering the fact that this is supposed to be my debut. My manager spent years preparing me for this, and all that time, money, and effort that we’ve both put into this, is about to be harvested by another. Sucks. And still, for the love of God, despite my bitterness, I could never find it in me to be bitter toward her. Lynn Watt, that is. My understudy.

I toy with the idea of calling her, yet I just am unable to get myself to do it yet. I might not be bitter, but I’m definitely not happy to be sidelined on what’s supposed to be my day. And the most infuriating thing is, my cold visited just this morning, despite the performance being tonight. Out of the blue, almost like it waited for the worst possible moment to attack me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe that I was the target of an attack to get me out of the way. But not by Lynn. She is the sweetest soul I ever met, and what I’m thinking just isn’t possible.

I’m in my room, and alone. Dayton set me up with some water and put on the TV for me to watch something while he went over to continue managing the set. Canceling the performance would lose us hundreds of thousands, so it is probably for the best that Lynn filled in. That way, we won’t lose money.

But I just have to know how she’s doing. It’s killing me inside. So, I picked up the phone and speed dialed her.

“Hey! Ava!” The high-pitched voice that she usually has whenever she is excited, sounds over the phone. “How are you! I didn’t know you could talk over the phone, or I would have called!”

How could you hate someone like her? I think. It just isn’t possible.

Lynn is the sweetest soul you could ever hope to meet. Literally all she knows how to do is be kind and sweet. She’s always hanging around me on set while we practice, knows all the lines by heart and even acts as my prompter most times. Hell, if it wasn’t my debut performance on the line and I was someone else, I would be rooting so much for her today.

“Hey Lynn,” I say, struggling to get the words out through a restricted throat that seems bent on denying me airflow. “I just called to wish you some luck. I—I…”

I didn’t finish my sentence because I was immediately thrown into a hacking fit. For the first couple of seconds, I thought I would cough out my lungs.

“Jeez! You shouldn’t be calling if it’s this bad, Ava!” She sounds worried, and I instantly regret calling her. Now she’s going to have to deal with the knowledge that I am really sick while she’s performing. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t want it done to me.

But then again, I know this is just my prejudices fighting to the fore of my mind. Lynn definitely does not care, and I know that if there was someone else who could take the role, she would give it up in a heartbeat and come visit me. She’s that kind of person.

I decided it's best to wrap this up at once. “I know, Lynn.” I say, albeit weakly. “Here’s the thing, I just needed to wish you good luck, okay?”

I wait for her response, but it takes a while to come back to me.

“I—I…I am so nervous, Ava.” Her voice is down to a whisper now, and I know she’s probably trying to keep the conversation away from Dayton, my manager. “I don’t know if I can do it, and I really wish you weren’t sick. It feels like a nightmare!”

It hits even harder, knowing she is telling me the truth. I’d worked so hard for this. So, so hard, and now I have no choice but to cheer her up and wish her all the best.

“You’re gonna do great, Lynn, darling.” I say, finally meaning it. I would hate for her to pick up on any ill will or hesitation on my part. There will be more iterations of our performance, and I will have the chance to take back my role as lead performer. Just, it won’t be the same. It can’t.

“You know all the lines, you know all the songs. And you have an amazing voice that carries just as much as mine. If anything, I’m completely relieved that you’re available to do this for us, Lynn. I wouldn’t have it be anyone else, sweetheart.”

There, this is all the confidence she needs to get from me, and I’m certain because I hear her breathe a huge sigh of relief as soon as I am done speaking. That aside, I realize it’s time for me to get some rest. The performances were joint, and the quicker I heal, the sooner I will be back in my rightful position. At this point, all I need is sleep, rest, and to make sure that I use the right prescription medication.

“I should leave you to it now, Lynn.” I say, making sure my voice remains as bright and cheery as possible.

“Thank you for your kind words, Ava.” She says in reply. “Can I stop by after the show to check in on you? And also tell you how it went?”

For a moment there, I almost rejected the offer. I’m absolutely miserable, and I know that having her come over to yap about the awesomeness of the show that I’d planned and organized would probably only serve to exacerbate the injury. But this is Lynn, and I really want to know how it went. I doubt I can live through the night without knowing if it was a success or not.

“Sure, you can come with Dayton when he comes back after the performance.”

“Sweet! Thanks Ava!” There’s a small pause, and then she is back on the phone. “Say, do you want us to get you anything when coming back? Like food?”

I’m really not hungry, but the thought of hotdogs and waffles sounds mighty divine. The imagery itself, another thing entirely. “Sure, I’d like hotdogs and waffles. From around the corner, where we usually go every night. Two large orders.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere else, but I thought you were sick?” The last sentence is delivered with an incredulous laugh that has me spluttering too, as I struggle to fight the pain once my throat constricts again.

“Hey, Lynn?” I called out, worried she would hang up before I could deliver my message.

“Yes? What is it?”

“No matter what happens out there tonight, have fun. Okay?”

“Wow, thanks, Ava. I will.”

I pressed the disconnect button and threw the phone to the floor. There, I’d done it. At least now I could get the rest I’d been advised to get, and maybe things would turn out better than I feared. And of course, I know my fears are irrational. She is a talented singer, just way more untested than I was and this development is sure to have blindsided her. It was only yesterday that I’d fallen ill, and the performance is just a few hours away.

While I lay there on the sofa, I tried to fight the flood of thoughts that seemed to be relentlessly ramming at the edges of my consciousness. I want to sleep. Maybe if I sleep and wake up later, I’ll feel better. It’s an asinine thought, almost futile in the endeavor but the thought of being asleep through the hours of the performance and until it was over is enough to get me by, and soon I drift off to sleep.

* * * *

The consistent dull ringing is annoying. And really persistent, refusing to let up even as I toss and turn, trying to go back to the peace and quiet that was my world. But it won’t let up, and then I can’t ignore it anymore. Frustrated, I reach through the ether at the noise, desperate to shut it out and then, I blink into consciousness.

It’s my phone ringing. Startled out of sleep, I groggily fumble around on the floor for it. But it’s too far. I have to leave the couch. Grumbling, and very weak, I managed to get a grip on the edge of the couch and lower myself to the floor, where I picked up the phone. The caller ID says Dayton.

I wonder what could be so urgent that he would be calling me so persistently at 4 PM. They are supposed to be starting the show right about now! Something’s wrong. I instantly feel it in my soul.

I picked up the phone, dial back. But it isn’t going through. It appears that he’s on another call. Worried, I try calling someone else. I can’t call Lynn because she is performing, and perhaps this is just Dayton being worried about me. I don’t want to cause any more trouble than I already have. So I simply sit there, waiting for him to call me back.

But several minutes pass, and even when I try again, I get a busy signal from his number. I decided to go over onto Twitter, something to take my mind off the debilitating pain I was currently in.

It’s all boring though, celebrity stuff that I usually liked, which now feels so inane and forced. I am just about to quit the app when I see it. From the handle of the show’s promoters. They were apologizing for canceling the show, and something about an incident at the venue, the Goldmeyer, where a shooting just happened.

Stunned, I checked the time to find it is a fresh post, barely 5 minutes old.

What is going on? Is this why Dayton has been trying to call me? God, is he all right?

Then I check the account to find it has another post up. The victim is none other than Lynn. She had been shot six times in the chest.

I don’t know when the phone falls from my hands. I just sit there, staring into empty space in shock as I struggle to make sense of what I read. But it just isn’t happening. I understood what I’d read, but why is this happening?

I just spoke to her, and she is supposed to help me save my show! How is it that I am waking up to something like this? I don’t know what to think, and I can barely move. Hell, my limbs are all aching from the illness. And yet I can’t help but wonder what happened. I tried to call again, but no one is answering.

That could have been me. I could have been the one shot today. And suddenly, I feel guilt and shame course through me. How could I feel relief at the fact that my friend was dead? And that it isn’t me? I don’t feel safe in my house now.

What if they come for me next?

Just as the thought strikes, the doorbell rings, shattering the frightening silence in the house. My heart leaps into my mouth.