A reporter for one of the Trenton papers got the nod. He looked mid-twenties.
Probably fresh out of college. He was slim and dressed in an oversize shirt and khaki slacks.
“Brenda,” he said, “my grandfather has been a huge fan ever since he first heard you perform when he was in college. Do you expect to see much of that early fan base here at your concert in Trenton?”
“Cripes,” Brenda said. “Your grandfather? How old are you? You look like the last guy I dated.”
Nancy jumped out of her chair. “And that concludes our press conference. Thank you all for coming.”
Ranger helped Brenda off the stage and handed her a can of soda and a cookie from the refreshment table set out for the press.
“Keeping her hands occupied?” I asked him.
“Trying.”
He put his hand to Brenda's back and guided her through the crowd. I watched for the stalker guy and put myself between him and Brenda when he moved toward her.
“Are you her bodyguard?” the stalker asked.
“I'm part of the security team.”
“I gotta talk to her.”
“No can do,” I said.
“You don't understand. It's critical. I had a new vision.”
I moved closer to Ranger, closing the gap, and followed him into the elevator.
The doors closed and Brenda's stalker was out of my life, stuck in the lobby with the rest of the crazies.
Brenda drank some soda and nibbled the cookie. “Where am I again?”
“Trenton.”
She did an exaggerated eye roll. “I hate Trenton. It's dreary and provincial. Why can't I be in New York or Paris?”
“No one wanted you there,” Nancy said. “We could only get you a gig in Trenton.”
“That's ridiculous,” Brenda said. “It's your incompetence that has me stuck here. Why do I always get the incompetent assistants?”
Tank was in the hall when we stepped out of the elevator. He was back to silent mode after spilling his guts about his engagement. I thought he probably wouldn't speak to me again for another four or five years. We lured Nancy and Brenda into the suite with the promise of room service and closed the door after them.
“Tank and I can take it for the rest of the afternoon,” Ranger said. “I'd like you back here at six-thirty. The dinner is at seven. It's formal. Black tie.”
“Formal! You never told me the dinner was formal. I haven't got anything to wear.”
He gave me a credit card. “Take the corporate card. Get whatever you need.”
My eyes went wide. “It's not that easy! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find the right gown? And then I have to accessorize. Shoes and a purse and jewelry.”
“Babe,” Ranger said.
Zook WAS waiting when I rolled to a stop in front of his school. He was with the same odd assortment of friends, and they all applauded when they saw my car.
He slid onto the passenger seat, dropped his backpack between his legs, and buckled up. “I guess my mom's still in the slammer,” he said on a sigh.
“I'm sorry.”