Benedict Cumberbatch and the Bodyguard

Visible

I had managed to avoid Ben by taking the odd shifts no one else wanted. My luck would soon run out, due to the fact that one of my colleagues had ingested way too much stout. He showed up green in the face and spewing out more vomit, than I thought a human could spew.

"Anderson, I need you to do a double."

I nodded, then looked around. All seemed quiet, other the faint noise of retching in the background. Fog billowed around me, obscuring my vision. Damn, I'm cold. I shivered, then walked the perimeter with another colleague.

"Damn, that was brutal seeing Howell puking up his guts."

I nodded, anxious to change the subject, lest I start retching myself.

"Hey, Anderson, you've never been on this shift. Well, be prepared for a treat. Usually when it's this cold, Ben brings us coffee and tea. You know for a hot house orchid, he's really is a nice guy."

I froze in my tracks. Who could fail to recognize that low dulcet toned voice?

"Good morning, I've got tea and coffee for all."

The team went forward in shifts. I ignored the rush. Maybe if I remained still, no one would notice me. God, knows it worked in high school. Memories of jammed hallways, jostled at my current reality, until I finally succumbed to the past. I looked at kids from my high school days, they swirled past me in slow motion—the jocks and cheerleaders laughing, not seeing that their sense of entitlement would be rejected in the real world, the 4.0's knowing that someday the fragile high school balance of power would shift to them, the nerds, the band animals, the tormented misfits all had their place in the school's macrocosm, all except the invisibles. The invisibles, who drifted through the halls like specters, knowing that any action, or reaction would go unnoticed— unacknowledged. They were and are the blank squares in every high school annual, the lost ones, whom every reunion committee seeks to reach, but can't remember—you know what's her name.

"Excuse me, would you like a coffee or tea?"

Damn, apparently my invisible cloak had screwed me over, just when I needed it the most. I turned and looked into those luminous green eyes—eyes that could see the lost ones. He cocked his head to one side. "Charlotte? Charlotte Anderson?"

I tapped my earpiece, attempting not to scream when it whined, screeched in my ear. "I'm sorry, there's an emergency in hospitality...." My façade is crumbling. He can see me.

He laughed. "Charlotte, you were always clowning around. An emergency in hospitality indeed. What? Did someone attempt to make off with the sugar? Come here and give me a hug."

I shook my head and whispered, "I can't. If the head of the team thought I knew you, I would be fired." Now this wasn't the total truth, okay it was a bold-faced lie. Ben wasn't family or a close friend, he was an acquaintance. Acquaintance, a perfect description for a lost one.

"Anderson, is there a problem over here?"

I shook my head. "No, sir, Mr. Cumberbatch, was just offering me coffee or tea, or er something."

The head of the team nodded, but kept watching us. Ben smiled at him, then at me, handing me a lukewarm cup. His eyes held mine, then he whispered, "I remember that you prefer tea."

I took the cup, then he left. Damn, he remembered. Then how come he never kept in touch? Charlotte, stop it, don't be like Scarlett O'Hare, mooning after something that you can't have. He's busy and world famous, people like him don't have time for the lost ones. I took a sip of my tea and grimaced, when the tepid liquid hit my lips. Its warmth had vanished, consumed by the morning chill.

By the time, my shift ended I was exhausted. I went back to my small room and collapsed on the bed. A few hours later, I woke up got a shower and attempted to get more sleep. After a bout of tossing and turning, I knew it was no use. Feeling hungry and restless, I decided to take my motorcycle out and go for a drive. I know it sounds stressful to ride around London on a motorcycle, but it's quite relaxing. Sights and sounds flew around me while I zoomed in and out of traffic, my shoulders felt fluid and I reveled in the sensations of my heightened senses. I stopped to get something to eat and had just finished my pasta, when I felt my phone vibrate against my hip.

Hello?

Anderson, get in here. There's been another threat against Mr. Cumberbatch's life. He's asking that you be on his special detail. Anderson, is there something you're not telling me? Because he seems to think you're going to get fired.

Well, sir, I met him once before and...

Yeah, he told me the circumstances. You should have come to me sooner. Oh, and next time you tell a client you're going to get fired read the employee manual first. I don't like being side swiped. Now, get in here.

I pressed the end button and sighed. Shit, I'm on the radar.

I raced back to the set, parked my bike and prepared to be visible. Fans were being herded away from the site in a more aggressive way than usual. It must be bad, poor Ben.

I reported to my station and waited at attention until my team leader came over. "Anderson, I've already told the client that I'm the one who picks assignments and that I will take his request into consideration. However, after reviewing your record, I noticed that you scored pretty damned high on the analytical skills test. Anyway, don't think you're getting special treatment because the client asked for you. In other words, this isn't The Bodyguard, no heroics. Just do your job and analyze the data you're given about the case. Oh, and Anderson don't blow this, or you'll be on crowd control until you start collecting your pension."

Wow, no pressure there. "Yes, sir."