Chapter 7 #2
She thumbed through it, found whatever it was she wanted, and handed the phone back to him, pointing at the screen. “See?
Custard. That shade of yellow.”
She’d done exactly what the Eagles hadn’t been able to do to him last season. She’d thrown him off his game. “You don’t have
to paint the caboose.”
“I’m bored.” The dog dug his muzzle into her crotch. “Oh my God! Stop that!”
His good mood almost restored, Clint put his ball cap back on, added sunglasses, and headed for the store and the inevitable.
It was hot in the car. Clint had left his keys in the cup holder, so Dancy got behind the wheel to lower the windows. She’d
probably need to borrow his car in the next few days, so she shouldn’t have flat-out lied when she’d told him she didn’t have
her driver’s license with her, but she hadn’t wanted to admit she needed a little emotional support at the animal shelter.
She killed the engine and glanced at the dog, comfortably stretched out in the back seat instead of a shelter cage. Roth hadn’t
liked dogs or cats.
She’d been filming the Bond picture when Roth arranged an introduction. On their first date, he’d driven them to the Van Nuys
airport, where his private jet had been waiting to fly them to Napa. Over appetizers at a three-star Michelin restaurant,
Dancy had reminded him of his plane’s environmental impact and bypassing the option of eating locally. Her reprimand, instead
of offending him, had increased his interest in her.
Roth specialized in charm, and the dinner had quickly turned magical. He’d listened intently to everything she said and sought
out her opinion on various films and performances. When she confessed how much she wanted to move beyond the parts she was
usually given, he’d encouraged her and shared that he felt the same about his own work. He wanted to be more than Cole Legend.
Despite the disparity in their height, which bothered him more than it should have, they’d married.
“You always want to make everything about you!” A man’s voice raised in anger caught her attention.
A couple stood by the cart rack not far away.
The woman, who looked to be about Dancy’s age, stood rigidly by the side of a slimly built man, maybe a few years younger.
He wore chinos, a charcoal T-shirt, and a knit beanie over shaggy dark hair.
With the windows lowered, Dancy could hear him shouting.
“I’m a fucking poet!” he exclaimed, hitting his chest with his fist. “How can you not understand that?”
The woman glanced around, clearly embarrassed. “Shane, shhh . . . not here.”
He shoved away the hand she placed on his arm. “Don’t tell me to shut up! You don’t have a fucking brain in your fucking head!”
“All I’m trying to do is help.” Even from the car, Dancy could hear the tears in her voice. “Why are you being like this?”
“Because of you!” He grabbed her upper arms “I’m sick of your bitching!” He shook her. “Now you’re going to cry. Like you’re
the big victim!”
Dancy was already out of the car racing toward them. “Let her go!”
The asshole rounded on her. He would have been a good-looking guy if it weren’t for his snarl. “Mind your own business!”
Dancy yearned to kick him in the balls, but there was no one else around at this end of the parking lot to help, so she focused
on his victim instead. Despite her blotchy complexion and tear-filled hazel eyes, the woman, a few years older than him, was
pretty, with round cheeks and a full figure in a loose-fitting white eyelet sundress. Small diamond sunburst earrings shone
through the light brown fringe of her pixie cut.
“Are you okay?” Dancy said softly.
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly.
Dancy kept her voice calm, addressing only her. “I don’t think you’re fine.”
“Leave us alone.” The bastard waved an arm, his wrist encircled with rope bracelets. “This is a private conversation.”
Ignoring him, Dancy held the woman’s gaze. “Why don’t you come with me?”
She bit her bottom lip but didn’t move.
The man shifted his weight. “Fuck off, lady, and stay out of this.”
The woman stared hopelessly at Dancy. Dancy placed her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder. “Come and meet my dog.”
The younger man’s face grew ruddy with anger. “Don’t you move, Erin!”
To Dancy’s surprise, the woman—Erin—took a step toward her. And then another. Together they walked away from the shouting
man toward the Range Rover.
“Come back here!” he yelled. “We’re not done with this!” He charged after them, the soles of his leather water buffalo sandals
slapping the asphalt.
Dancy whirled around and shot out her arm. “Not another step, asshole, or I will take you out.” She puffed herself up into a six-foot warrior and curled her lip. It had been years since she’d practiced any of
the defensive tricks she’d learned from stunt men, but Scumbag didn’t know that.
He backed off.
She hustled Erin into the rear seat of the Range Rover with Watch and jumped in behind the wheel. Scumbag, in the meantime, climbed into his Toyota, all the while keeping his eye on the Range Rover.
“He’ll come after me,” Erin said dully.
“We’ll see about that.” Dancy shoved the car into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
Clint found everything he needed for the dog without being noticed, but his luck inevitably ran out when he reached the paint
section, and before long, he’d drawn a crowd hurling questions at him and asking him for selfies. By the time he wheeled his
shopping cart laden with paint, dog food, drop cloths, and everything else Dancy might use to destroy the interior of the
caboose, he was in a foul mood.
Only to discover his car and his former high school girlfriend were missing.
Erin’s stiff posture and the way she fixed her gaze straight ahead, except for furtive glances over her shoulder, told Dancy
she expected Scumbag to overtake them, but Dancy had left him behind several miles back. She looked away from the rearview
mirror. Clint was going to be rightfully furious when he found his car missing, but she couldn’t leave this woman on her own.
The woman stroked Watch’s head, her expression stoic.
“The dog’s name is Watch,” Dancy said to break the silence. “He can be a crotch-sniffer, so protect yourself.” One of Clint’s fans would surely drive him home, or he could call an Uber. “Is he your boyfriend or husband?”
“Partner.” Erin sat even straighter in the seat, reclaiming her dignity. “You should understand he’s not always like that.
He’s a brilliant man—an intellectual—and sometimes he gets frustrated.”
“Making you his target.”
“I’m dealing with it,” she said firmly, making it clear she didn’t want to be questioned further.
They passed a grain silo on the left, a farm equipment dealer on the right. Erin spoke more firmly. “I know what you saw was
disturbing, but Shane would never really hurt me. He’s a writer, and he’s been having a hard time lately. I probably haven’t
been as supportive as I could be.” The woman tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “If you could drop me off downtown,
I’d appreciate it.”
“Do you have someone you can stay with?”
“I’ll be fine. I have my own place. And he’s not an abuser. He just has a temper.”
“With a bad habit of taking it out on you.” Dancy had frequently been stupid about men, but she’d never been this stupid.
Watch snuffled behind her. She tried again. “What keeps you with him?”
“I appreciate your help, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
Dancy had a good idea how this would play out. Erin would go back to him, he’d apologize with some lame excuse about being
stressed, she’d forgive him, and the cycle of abuse would start over.
Something pinged. Dancy looked over her shoulder and saw Clint’s phone lying on the back seat, right where she’d set it after she’d shown him the shade of yellow she wanted. So much for him being able to call a taxi or an Uber. Not good. Not good at all.
Scumbag should be gone by now. She had to get back fast.
Clint stood in the Walmart parking lot with at least fifty excited people jammed around him, screaming questions, shouting
demands. A girl with a spider tat nearly blew out his eardrum. “One more selfie!”
Somebody squeezed his ass. Somebody else grabbed his arm.
“Who was better, Rodgers or Brady?”
“Do you memorize a new playbook every week?”
“How worried are you about the Packers?”
They were pushing against him, crowding him, and he didn’t have his phone. He’d known not to expect anything from Dancy, but
he hadn’t imagined she’d take his car for a joy ride and leave him stranded. When he got his hands on her, he was kicking
her out for good. They were done.
“Who’s the biggest Stars’ trash-talker?”
“Is Matthews your favorite wideout?”
He tried to keep his cool, to answer their questions, but they were pressing even closer and he’d started to sweat.
“What do you think about fans showing up at training camp?”
A woman about his age shoved a piece of paper into his pocket. “Call me!”
“If they weren’t retired, who’d you rather play against, Manning or Montana?”
“What’s your main goal for next season?”
He spotted his car turning in from the highway and held up his hand. “Excuse me. Sorry, folks. Excuse me.” He pushed his way
through the crowd, the fucking shopping cart his only lineman. Behind him, someone called out, “Asshole.”
Dancy pulled up. He flipped open the tailgate as they continued to press against him while he tossed everything inside and
wedged his way to the passenger door. He yanked it open and jumped in.
“I can explain,” she said as she pulled away.
He ground his teeth. “Not in a hundred years.”