Page 5 of Starrily (Perks of Being #2)

Chapter 5

S imon cracked his neck to look at the top of the white-domed building housing the city observatory. A group of tourists had just entered the building, leaving the area relatively peaceful. A park stretched around the observatory, with a few blossoming cherry trees swaying in the wind. The park continued to a fence separating it from a drop and the city below.

Suddenly, Simon was thrust into shadow as Stan stepped close to him, arms crossed in front, assuming full bodyguard position.

“You know you don’t have to stand that close,” Simon said in a light, joking tone.

“Hmph.”

Someone called his name—Jessica, running toward him, a bulky camera around her neck, locks of hair falling out of her messy bun. Calliope trudged behind, and even though the sun still shone on those not blocked by Stan, her expression was anything but sunny.

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jessica said as she approached.

“No problem,” Simon said. “What was wrong with the office?”

“Wasn’t vibing with it.” Jessica shrugged. “Every angle felt wrong. This is much better for a photo shoot.”

Simon didn’t think Calliope’s office was that bad—small, perhaps, but charming in its own way.

Jessica measured Stan from top to bottom with her eyes. “Wow. You’re big.”

“This is Jessica, our journalist and photographer,” Simon said. “And this is our scientist, Dr. Guidry.”

Stan nodded at Jessica, then at Calliope.

“Stan, my chauffeur and moonlighting bodyguard,” Simon explained.

“ Mr. Montague’s personal driver was a man of few words but many muscles, ” Jessica narrated out loud as she typed into her phone. “By the way, Callie, do you think they’d let us into the observatory? I could take a photo of you looking through the telescope.”

“It’s probably booked,” Calliope said. “And most telescopes nowadays don’t require looking through. If you wanted to show me at work, I’d be in the control room, looking at the pictures the camera in the telescope is taking.”

“Oh.” Jessica slumped her shoulders.

“It’s more convenient. The images store much more data. Looking up at the sky with your eyes might be … romantic, but hardly useful in our line of work.”

“We could still try for a few pictures in a control room when there’s an opportunity,” Simon said.

“That doesn’t happen often,” Calliope said. “I have an appointment for an observation a month from now on the Gemini telescope in Hawaii, but even that is in observer mode. I don’t go there; I only tell the people in the control room what I’d like to do. So you wouldn’t have anything interesting to take pictures of.”

A memory split Simon’s skull, more focused and painful than a headache. “Mr. Tate?” A child’s voice echoed. Simon stood in front of a blackboard in a sunlit classroom and turned to his student. “Could we go observe through a telescope?” the boy asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure they’d let us,” he said and, at the disappointed sighs of a few students, added, “But we can look through some pictures those telescopes had taken. Would you like to see a nebula that looks like a horse’s head? But first—who can tell me what a nebula is?”

Simon shook his head, forcing himself out of his memory. No, not his—Raleigh’s. Why did it resurface after all this time?

“Let’s get our job done here, then.” Jessica’s voice felt as if it was coming from far away, and Simon blinked and focused back on reality. “Come, Callie. We’ll start over there, with the observatory in the background …”

Jessica and Calliope headed to the building, and Simon wandered off to the fence, welcoming the bursts of wind. Anything to take his mind off the memory—even if it was observing Calliope, posing as awkwardly as a wooden doll while Jessica gave her instructions. He wondered how the pictures would turn out, with Calliope being rather pretty, but clearly not having a posing bone in her body—

Hold up. Pretty? No, no, he wasn’t going there. Add it to the list of things he should keep firmly locked away.

Two women in jogging pants walked by. Desperate for a distraction, Simon did a basic greeting nod, and one of them stopped and looked at him for a split moment before looking back to her friend, then at Simon again.

“Say, are you that tech guy? Simon Montague?” she asked.

Simon raised his hands to the level of his shoulders. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, my god.” She smoothed out her ponytail. “I never thought I’d see you just … walking around.”

“My usual carrier’s on a break.” Where was Stan, anyway? He was supposed to be all bodyguard-like. Not that Simon minded having a moment for himself, especially if it included a pretty stranger.

The woman giggled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Sorry. I can’t believe I’m talking to you! You’re so …” She eyed him up and down. “Tall. I mean, taller. In person. Mr. Montague.”

“Please, call me Simon.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Technically, you already did.”

She laughed, and Simon smiled. Nice that someone appreciated his humor for once.

“Uhm … I’m done.” Calliope approached, hugging her middle.

Ponytail Girl shuffled to the side, looking from Callie to Simon. “Oh. I—I guess I have to go.”

“Wai—” Simon started, but she’d already joined her friend, and they continued jogging. “You think next time, you could wait a minute?” he asked Calliope.

“I just had to spend fifteen minutes pretending I’m in America’s Next Top Model .”

“I’m surprised you know what that is.”

“I know I don’t want to be in it.” She sighed. “Maybe Jessica can find a model and use her instead. People don’t need to know what I look like. I’d be perfectly fine with taking someone’s face.”

Like I did.

“I need to take a walk,” Calliope grumbled, fixed her scarf—she was wearing the blue one with stars and planets again—and headed toward the park.

He had no idea why he followed her, especially since he was still mildly annoyed with her crashing his flirting party, but the alternative was to stay here with his thoughts, and that was worse.

They walked down a path, gravel crunching under their feet, when Simon heard running and panting from behind. He turned just in time to not get knocked down by an overly-excited golden retriever, booking it straight for him.

“Whoa, boy.” Simon caught the dog’s front paws as he jumped up. There was no threat from the big fur ball; based on his wagging tail and wide smile, he only wanted to play.

Simon got the dog back on the ground and scratched him behind his ears. “Who’s a good boy, huh?”

“You shouldn’t pet strange dogs.” Calliope’s tone was as stern as a parent’s.

“But he’s not a strange dog, are you buddy? Of course, you’re not.” Simon grabbed a nearby stick and threw it; the dog shot after it like a rocket.

“Hmph,” Calliope commented, sounding remarkably like Stan.

“Relax. He only wants to play.”

The dog returned, carrying the twig—but ran to Calliope instead.

Simon put a hand over his heart. “Betrayed so soon.”

Calliope stood there, looking about as awkward as when she was posing.

The dog nudged the stick against her body.

“Fine,” she said, wrestled it from him, and threw it with surprising force.

Soon, the dog came back, heading for Calliope again. He dropped the stick at her feet this time. Calliope bent, petted the dog, and threw the stick again.

“Huh. A cat and a dog person,” Simon said.

“How did you—”

“You have a picture of your cat in your office. At least I assume it’s your cat and you don’t frame random cat pictures from the internet.”

Her lips quirked, not quite in a smile, but something . “She is mine. Theia. But this dog isn’t mine. We should get it back to its owner.”

“I’m sure they’re somewhere nearby. Don’t worry.”

“Who’d leave a dog unleashed like that?”

The dog came back, bouncing between them like a hyperactive child. Simon heard the snapping of a shutter and looked over his shoulder. Jessica was hiding behind a bush like a paparazzi. “Looking perfect,” she whispered. “Don’t mind me. Continue.”

“I think she’s in the wrong profession,” Calliope said. “She should’ve become a photographer.”

“I wanted to, but Dad said it was too artsy,” Jessica said. “Ignore me now. Go on.”

“Okay, buddy,” Simon said to the dog, still circling them. “Do you know any commands? Sit?”

The dog promptly sat, continuing to smile at Simon.

Would you look at that. “Lie down?”

The dog lay.

“Roll over?”

Simon wasn’t even surprised when he did.

“You’re either a dog whisperer, or this is your dog, and you’re playing a prank on me,” Calliope said.

“Careful, now. You don’t want to get too wild with your theories. Stay firmly grounded. Facts only.”

“Just because I’m a scientist, it doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with theories occasionally.”

“Simon!”

He automatically turned to the unknown voice. A young woman in a colorful outfit with ash blond hair stood further away on another path through the park. Well, stood —she was presently being held back by Stan, who’d nearly lifted her off the ground, making her look like a hamster running inside a wheel.

“What the hell,” Simon murmured.

The dog started toward Stan and the woman.

“Please. I only want to talk to you,” she yelled, then lightly hit Stan on the forearm. “Let me go!”

“Ma’am, stay back,” Stan said. He turned around and deposited her on the ground, positioning himself between her and Simon.

“I just want to—”

“Mr. Montague doesn’t have the time right now.”

The dog ran to the woman. She leashed him and tried to lean past Stan.

“Ma’am—” he warned.

“Fine,” she grumbled and left with the dog.

“What was that?” Simon asked as Stan approached.

“A crazed fan. A stalker, perhaps,” Stan explained. “Don’t worry. I have her handled.”

“You know her?”

“She’s attempted to make contact before.”

“Are you always swarmed by women when you go out?” Calliope asked.

“Not always,” Simon said. “But you’re doing a pretty good job of chasing them away. Soon, I won’t even need Stan anymore.”

“I’m fired?” Stan asked.

“No, no …” Simon leaned his head back. “Jokes, people!”

Jessica caught up with them. “Who’s ready to take more photos?”

“Don’t you have plenty already?” Simon asked.

“Of Callie, yes. But I need some of you two together. I think over by the fence would look great. Come!” She pulled Calliope by the sleeve and ran toward the spot.

Simon spared one last look over his shoulder. The woman was gone, but a twinge of uneasiness remained. A fawning fan was one thing, but a stalker?

He caught Stan’s gaze; the bodyguard gave him a stoic nod, meaning he had everything handled.

Hopefully, he did. Simon had enough on his plate at the moment.

The wind was stronger at Jessica’s chosen spot, but Simon could see why she wanted to take pictures here—the view of the sky and ocean behind them was fantastic. Calliope was already waiting, clenching her arms close to her body when Simon joined her.

“What do we do now? Shake hands?” Calliope asked.

“You’re not politicians,” Jessica said. She looked through the camera, then lowered it. “Simon, put your hand on the fence behind her. Callie, look … relaxed.”

Calliope shot a quick glance at Simon.

“It’s fine. Surely she’ll run out of batteries soon,” he whispered.

“Step closer to each other.”

They both moved, bumping into each other.

“Watch where you—” Calliope started.

“You watch—” The wind slapped her scarf into his face.

Jessica giggled. “Maybe take off the scarf?”

Calliope attempted to do so, but the scarf had gotten tangled up in the back.

“Here, let me do it.” Simon grabbed the scarf.

“I’ve got it.”

“You can’t even see where to untangle it. Let me—there.” He pulled the scarf off her, and just as he was about to hand it to her, he lost hold of it as another gust of wind swept through.

Simon had fast reflexes—in many of his hobbies, he needed them. In a split second, he reached to catch the scarf, but it slipped through his fingers.

Literally, through . He watched them move straight through—and the scarf flew off, rising up and away from them, a ribbon of swirling fabric in the wind.

“My scarf!” Even leaning over the fence, Calliope was much too late to grab it.

Simon stared at his hand and flexed his fingers. Surely not. Surely …

Tentatively, he touched the fence. His fingers made contact. See, you were imagining it.

But how did he let the scarf slip? He had been holding it; he was sure of that.

“You!” Calliope turned to him, eyes lit up by fury. “I told you I had it!”

She wasn’t acting like she’d noticed anything strange. Was it all in his imagination, or did she not see it?

“I tried to help.”

“And you helped really well.” Her voice broke in the end as if she was close to crying. She gazed at the scarf, now a dot on the horizon, blown away somewhere over the ocean. “You lost my scarf.”

“Here.” He brought out his wallet. “How much do you need to buy a new one?”

“A new—oh.” She put her hands on her hips. “I can afford a scarf. I don’t need your money.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It was one of a kind. My friend gave it to me as a gift, and she painted it herself.”

Oh. That’s why it looked so … artsy.

“And now it’s lost forever. Money won’t buy another.”

“Could your friend—”

“Don’t even suggest I ask her to paint another.”

“Fine.” He folded his arms. “I won’t try to find any solutions.”

“Your solution could’ve been not to get involved.”

“Then next time, I’ll let the scarf strangle you while you wrestle with it.”

“I had it! This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t constantly need to meddle in things.”

“Oh, really? What did I meddle in?”

“My work, my … everything!” She threw her arms out in frustration.

“Says the woman who meddled in my conversation with another person.”

“At least that poor woman didn’t have to listen to your horrible pick-up lines anymore.”

“ Horrible pick-up lines?”

She crossed her arms and said, in a mocking, deeper voice, “Calliope, a- muse -ing.”

Simon let out a short, sardonic laugh. “You thought that was a pick-up line? As if I’d waste them on you.”

“As if I’d want you to waste them on me.”

He leaned in closer. “As if I’d want anything to do with you at all.”

Calliope lifted her chin, sparks of angry lightning shooting out of her eyes. “Then don’t. You don’t have to work with me, and you definitely don’t have to show up in my office!”

“Good!”

“Good!” She pursed her lips—wait, why was he looking at her lips anyway?—then turned and stormed off.

“See you never, then!” he shouted after her and, to emphasize his point, stormed off in the opposite direction.