Page 57 of Still Her

Warriors of all different backgrounds and time periods would put paint on their faces before going into battle for a myriad of reasons: to appear fearsome to their opponents, to look unrecognizable or unreadable, to psych themselves up, to name a few. I’m finding myself relating deeply to the theory that it would help change a warrior’s mindset and give them a sense of confidence and strength. I consider this as I lay out my color options on the vanity. I’m putting on my war paint.

My train of thought then takes me in the direction of professional sports teams and how they like to blast death metal or angry hip hop in their locker rooms to get themselves pumped and feeling hardcore before a game. I reach for my Kindle and turn on my music app.

As I take in the lyrics and tunes of my hard rock dance playlist, I get to work with some black eyeliner on my lower lids before pulling up a tutorial on smoky eyes on YouTube on my phone. Any time I’ve worn dramatic eye makeup, it’s been done to me by someone else, and I never took much note as to how they did it. Once I’m satisfied with the end result, i.e., I don’t look like a raccoon on a bender, I apply some pitch-black mascara and find a dark wine colored lipstick for the finishing touch.

Setting the lipstick down, I glance back up to the mirror. They say that how you look on the outside shouldn’t dictate who you are on the inside, and I believe that, but I also think that there’s some merit in the idea that sometimes your insides just need a little help from your outside. And on the outside… I look fierce. I keep eye contact with my reflection as I take in a cleansing breath. Once I’ve let it all the way out, I stand and head over to where my suitcase is perched on the bed and look through my after party reserves. After leafing through a few garments, I come across a dress that I had bought just before the tour but haven’t worn yet. The tags are still on it. I’ve been putting it off because I’ve since had second thoughts about buying it, and haven’t been excited to wear it. I take it over to the full-length mirror, holding it against my body. It’s a slinky knee length black wrap dress. It hasn’t felt right before, but it sure seems to now. I lay it on the bed while I unzip my hoodie…

There’s a knock at the door as I’m securing the tie of the dress at the left side of my waist. I walk out of the bedroom and into the sitting area to find Shane leaning back from the peephole. I stand still, twisting my hands together as he lets in Detective Morris, followed by a female hotel employee dressed in black slacks and a white chef’s jacket, pushing a room service cart. Once the door is closed behind them, she straightens up as Morris introduces her.

“Mayzie, this is Officer Bennett and she’ll be helping on the team tonight.” The officer pulls a badge out from inside her chef’s jacket and holds it up for me to see. And all of a sudden, it’s real. This is about to happen. Reality drops on me like a battleship, and I can actually feel the blood draining from my face.

Without a word in greeting, I walk over to the wet bar and pull out the bottle of tequila and a shot glass.

“Mayzie, you need to have a clear head for this,” Morris begins to lecture me, as the officer lifts the cloth on the cart and reaches under it to retrieve a black case.

This. As inthis is it.

“I agree,” I retort flippantly as I proceed to pour the clear liquid into the glass. “And my nerves going haywire does not a clear head make.” I knock the shot back and grimace as the liquid burns a blazing trail down my throat towards my stomach. When the flash of fire simmers in my chest and disseminates through the rest of me, I screw the top back on the bottle.

“No more,” he lectures sternly.

Oh bite me.

He and his trusty sidekick follow wordlessly as I stalk back towards the bedroom and wait stoically as I walk into the adjoining bathroom to rinse with some mouthwash. When I come out, the lady officer is standing at the dresser with a small case lying on top of it, unzipped. She’s playing with and testing what appears to be a wire.

Morris waves his hand at the bed as he pulls a chair closer. “Why don’t you sit down so we can go over the plan,” Those words are another punch to the gut, and I let the feeling drag me down to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Morris sits down in the chair, but still leans forward with his forearms on his knees. “How are you feeling?” he starts in with a pleasantry, I’m sure trying to gain easier cooperation.

“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” With all my focus reserved for keeping a grip on my nerves and holding on to my courage, other things are slipping. My manners for instance. Right out the window. I remind myself he’s here to help, and mumble a feeble ‘sorry’ under my breath. He lets it go, taking in a breath before diving in.

“Remember, he’s playing a game. Sometimes he’s content to use his money and power to let the women come flocking, and sometimes, he uses it to conquer them.” God, what a tool. “It’s pretty obvious he’s doing the latter with you, that he wants to work for what he believes will be the prize at the end. Gold digging, star-struck women looking to get ahead are one thing, but a happily married woman whose husband is a well-known rock star is quite another. It would be a big deal if he scored what he wanted from you in the end, which means you don’t want to make it too easy for him, but you do want to let on that he could be winning. It will be a tricky balance of hooking him, and then reeling it back a little. Be a challenge, but make it seem like you’re an attainable one.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean come off reluctant, but like you’re giving in. If anything is going to make him lower his guard some, it’s that. And then when you pull back, he will hopefully up his game and slip a little when he does it.”

This makes sense. Kind of. “Got it,” I say, giving a nervous nod.

Morris motions to the officer to come over. “Officer Bennet is going to put a wire on you.” She comes to sit next to me on the bed and murmurs a quiet ‘hi’, her voice gentle and friendly. Morris gets up and walks out of the room, and I understand why when the officer asks me to hold the sides of my dress open so that she can secure the wire to my bra. It’s tiny and black, and once it’s attached, I can’t even see it.

“Alright,” Morris says when he comes back in the room a couple of minutes later. “Everything is set and in place. My team is all ready to go in the suite below Costa’s. Your wire is working, so all that’s left is to head up when it’s time.” He gives a shrug as if he’s trying to lighten the weight of what I have to do. Right. No big deal. “And I want you to remember the word ‘shark’.” He finishes.

“Shark?” I repeat.

“Yeah. That’s your safe word. If you feel like things are taking a wrong turn and you’re seriously fearful for your safety, you say that word loud and clear and we come in.”

“Shark,” I say again out loud, more to myself, nodding.

“What about Jack?” I nudge, as he puts his hands in his pockets and his lips press into a flat line. “We agreed, Morris, I need him. I need to know he’s near.”

Morris sighs. “I just got a text from him. He’s waiting in an SUV nearby. As soon as you cross the threshold of the penthouse, he’ll be called to come up.”

I look down, giving a soft nod.

“Hey,” he prods. “We’re going to be right there too. Despite how it will feel, you’re not going to be alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” I affirm, giving a more convincing nod.

“Okay. I have my cell close. Text or call with anything between now and then.” I nod again, as he attempts an encouraging smile before turning and exiting the room. Once they’re gone, I glance at the digital clock by the bed.

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