By Degrees (21 page)

The Pac-Man conclusion seems perfectly reasonable to me.
 
There’s a big yellow blob in the middle of the picture and a blue blob near it.

Scott points.
 
“Yeah, that’s one of the ghosts right there and Pac-Man’s about to eat him.
 
Wabba, wabba, wabba, wabba…”

My face is flaming red.
 
I feel like a fool for having sat on that table as his model.

“That’s not fucking Pac-Man, okay?
 
And it’s not a ghost.
 
That’s supposed to be her.”
 
He gestures at me with the painting.

Ricky snorts and then turns around quickly, hiding his face.

Scott goes from amused to angry in a nanosecond.
 
“You know what, dude?”
 
He’s so pissed I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears.
 
“That’s fucked up.
 
You’ve gone too far this time.”

Tarin raises his voice.
 
“Fuck you, man!
 
I’m not a fucking painter, okay!”
 
He throws the canvas onto the ground and stalks over in our direction.
 
We part like the Red Sea and let him through.
 
I turn away when the sharp buzz of a zipper going down reaches my ears, only catching a small glimpse of his tattooed back before I can see no more.

I walk over to the painting and pick it up gingerly from the floor, resting it in the easel.
 
I use the rag to wipe the black and blue paint from my fingers and a little dust from some of the wet paint on one of the corners.
 
My smile will not go away as I stare at the finger-painted mess. For someone
not
trying to paint a video game character, he sure did a pretty damn good job of it.

“I hear you laughing over there,” Tarin says.
 
He’s pouting, I can hear it in his voice.
 
“Just throw it in the garbage.”

I turn back, hoping he’s dressed.
 
My blood pressure stays level when I realize he is, even though a slight trill of disappointment runs through my veins.
 
“I’m not going to throw it away.
 
I want Greg to see it.”

“Why?
 
So he can laugh at me too?”

“No.
 
So he can give you some pointers next time.”
 
I walk to the door where Ricky is standing and holding it open.

“There’s not going to be any next time,” says Tarin, staring me down.

I shake my head slightly at Scott, sensing he’s about to unload his temper on Tarin.
 
Scott turns on his heel and leaves the studio, not saying a word.

“What’s his problem?” Tarin asks, watching him go.

I don’t say anything, not trusting myself to make the right decision with my words.
 
A piece of me thinks Tarin should hear the straight-up truth about how his words hurt people like Scott and me; but the other piece of me worries he’s too far gone right now to care.
 
Neither Scott nor I can put up with too much more abuse before something bad happens.
 
I don’t like the idea of putting that kind of ammunition in Tarin’s hands.
 
I can’t trust him enough yet.

“He’s just having a bad day.
 
Come on,” I say, gesturing towards the door, “we have an appointment with your lawyers.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We’ll eat on the way.
 
I brought food.”

“Of course you did.”

I pass Ricky as he begins talking. “Tarin…”

“What?”

Ricky says nothing.
 
I can’t see them anymore because I’m outside and they’re still in the studio.

“What?!” asks Tarin, more insistently this time.

Ricky walks out without saying a word and gets into the car.
 
He starts the engine and just stares out the window.
 
Scott joins him in the front seat, also staring off into space.

Tarin walks out of the building and stands just at the entrance.
 
“What the fuck is everyone’s problem today?”

I stare at Tarin and wait for him to finally look at me.
 
His angry green eyes make my heart hurt.

My voice is soft, but strong at the same time. “You can’t keep pretending you don’t know what you’re doing to people.”

His nostrils flaring are the only sign I have that he understands me.
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
 
He clenches his jaw and the muscle in the side of his face twitches over and over.
 
I want to say this visible sign of his anger makes him unattractive, but that would be a lie.
 
The darkness that’s hovering over him right now only draws me in tighter.
 
I have to battle to breathe normally.
 
Oh, how that darkness pulls at me, tempting me to dive headfirst into danger with this man.
 
God, I am the dumbest girl alive.

I decide against having a head-to-head confrontation right now.
 
It’s not the right time or the right place.
 
Those things will come later, though.
 
It’s inevitable that we will have it out, and it’s going to happen soon.
 
“Just think about it,” I say.
 
“If you still want to discuss it with me this evening, I’ll be available.”

“Never mind.
 
I don’t care.”
 
He walks over to the car and gets inside, shutting the door so hard it rocks the vehicle.

I don’t believe he doesn’t care, and it gives me hope to know he’s as bothered by this whole scene as we are; maybe not for the same reasons, but it’s a start at least.

I take a deep breath, lock the studio door, and walk around to the opposite side of the car, not looking forward to meeting lawyers with Tarin when he’s in this kind of mood.
 
I get in and speak only to Ricky.
 
“Take us to the attorney’s office, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, putting the car in reverse and then pointing us back out onto the main road.

Chapter Nineteen

WE’RE ON OUR WAY TO the lawyer’s office when I notice Ricky glancing in the rearview mirror over and over.
 
He appears nervous about something. I look over my shoulder at a minivan that’s behind us.
 
Nothing about it looks wrong to me.

“What’s up, Ricky?” I ask.

“We’re being followed.”

I twist around in my seat more fully and this time notice a Jeep with at least three girls in it weaving around the slower moving minivan.
 
One person in the backseat and one in the front passenger seat are leaning out of their windows and waving at our car.

I sigh.
 
Great.
 
Because things aren’t shitty enough right now, let’s add lunatic chicks to the mix.

Their expressions are classic psycho-fan: mouths wide open in grins so big they make the girls appear unbalanced, eyes bugging out, arms flailing, hands fluttering, screaming … In any other situation, people doing these things would be locked away in a mental hospital.
 
In this situation, we just smile and try to indulge them without giving them false hope.
 
Such is the life of a celebrity.

The problem is, you never know which fan is just a person carried away by the fantasy and which is one who is truly unhinged.
 
I assume because there are three of them together, we’re looking at the less-threatening variety, but you never can tell, often until it’s too late.

“Fans,” I say simply, even though it’s anything but a simple issue. Tarin would be nowhere without them, singing in the shower without an audience.
 
But some fans take their admiration to a whole other level that oversteps the boundaries between admirer and artist.
 
They go from sane to insane in the blink of an eye, and there’s almost nothing you can do about it but avoid them.
 
They take innocent gestures as signs of mutual attraction and devotion.
 
It’s sad and scary at the same time.

These chicks seemed like the
temporarily
insane type, the way they were endangering life and limb just to get close to Tarin.
 
I watch their Jeep nearly go up on two wheels as they turn a corner too fast trying to keep up with us.

In their regular lives they’re probably perfectly nice, reasonable girls, but seeing Tarin pulls a trigger that pushes them over the edge and makes them act like drunken clowns.
 
And drunken clowns are
so
not attractive.
 
I cringe at the fools they’re making of themselves.

I really wish I knew how they found out we were in this car.
 
I make a mental note to do some checking into possible info leaks among the crew when we get back to Tarin’s place.
 
I notice Scott tapping out either a note or an email on his phone, and I assume he’s thinking the same thing.
 
He’s the best assistant on the entire planet that way.

“Yeah, right. Fans. Awesome,” says Tarin.
 
He doesn’t sound very happy about the idea.
 
Slouching down farther into the seat, he stares out the window where he won’t see them and vice versa.

“Scott, would you take care of this, please?” I ask.

He’s already on the phone, talking to the attorney’s office staff, doing what he can to plan for an uninterrupted arrival.
 
I’ve never been to this attorney’s office before, so I don’t know what kind of security is available, but I’m hoping for an underground parking garage that has a guard shack in front of it.

“Ricky?
 
What are the chances we can get in and out without contact?”

“Very little.
 
I’ve seen these girls before.”
 
Ricky glances over his shoulder at Tarin.
 
“It’s Posey and the Pussycats.”

Tarin snorts with disgust.
 
“Great.
 
Just what I needed.”

“Is that really what they call themselves?” asks Scott, hanging up his phone.

“It’s what we call them.
 
The girl driving is Posey.
 
The rest of them … we just gave them the tag to have something to call them.”

“Is she a stalker?” I ask.

“Not exactly.
 
She’s harmless, but annoying.”
 
Ricky’s frowning, I can see his expression in the rearview mirror.
 
He changes lanes at the last minute so he can take a left turn and try to lose them.

Looking out the back window, I see Posey cut off two other cars in her efforts to follow Tarin, causing one of them to squeal its brakes and the other driver to lay on his horn.

“We’re almost there.
 
What do you want me to do?” asks Ricky.

“Just get us there as quickly as you can and we’ll make a run for it.
 
Scott, can you and Ricky do interference for us?”

“No problem.”
 
Scott looks over his shoulder at his targets.
 
He’s no match for three rabid girl-fans, but he can at least slow them down. He’s used to doing this; he’s been practicing since he was about fourteen.

Ricky pulls up to the valet area of the building and throws the car into park.
 
It lurches forward with the sudden lack of movement as Tarin throws open his door and jumps out.
 
I’m in the process of sliding over to get out after him when he reaches in and grabs my hand, pulling me out with him.
 
I’m not expecting the extra power for my exit, so I stumble a little as I get out, landing against him.
 
I’m still trying to get my feet under me when the girls’ Jeep pulls up and screeches to a halt behind us.

The doorman on duty comes outside the glass doors from inside the building, and Ricky runs around the front of the vehicle to join Scott on the sidewalk.
 
The three of them form a barrier between us and the girls.

As I stand up straight, Tarin puts his arm around my waist and pulls me near to him. Our bodies are touching from thigh to shoulder, and my engine is instantly humming with sexual energy.
 
Having him this close is throwing me for a complete loop.
 
It should mean nothing, but it doesn’t.
 
It means everything, and I hate myself for being affected like this.

I know he’s doing this for protection - either mine or his own - but that doesn’t stop my pulse from going through the roof and my heart from slamming against my ribcage.
 
I picture the tattooed arms I saw bare earlier wrapped around my body while I feel the heat from his body seeping into mine. My ears are burning with embarrassment over where my thoughts are going and with the arousal that suddenly hits me like a truck.
 
BAM.
 
Sex.
 
It’s almost all I can think about, wondering what he might be like in bed, picturing him naked again.

“Oh my god, TARIN!” screams the one out in front, effectively jerking my attention back to the more immediate problem.
 
She’s taller than I am, with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
 
She looks like a Barbie doll and is probably no more than seventeen years old.

“Posey,” he says, nodding at her while guiding us towards the door of the building.
 
He pulls me along with him, keeping my body clamped to his side.

“Ahhhhh!!
 
He remembers your name!” squeals the redhead on her left as she grabs her friend’s arm and shakes it sloppily.

Posey turns to her friend, her eyes blazing as she jerks her arm out of her grip.
 
“Of course he does,
idiot
.
 
He’s my man.
 
He knows I’m his biggest fan.”
 
She turns her fanatically obsessed eyes back to her object of her desire.
 
It’s then that she finally realizes he’s not alone and focuses her attention on me.
 
Glowing eyes become dark with instant hatred.
 
“Oh God, Tarin, who is
that?”