Billy wrung his hands nervously as he watched the houses outside the black SUV flit by. They were in a nice middle class neighborhood. Nothing fancy, but it was the kind of place you could feel safe leaving your doors unlocked. Pete glanced at him from the driver's seat. "Are you going to be alright?" The body guard asked stiffly as he signaled their next turn.
Billy shook his head. "I feel like I'm going to be sick." He answered honestly. Pete didn't laugh or give him an odd look. The aging man kept his eyes on the road, always scanning for potential dangers.
"That's understandable I suppose. It is kind of a weird situation."
Billy snorted more at himself than Pete. "I met a woman once at a party, spent six months getting entirely sober, hired a PI to track her down and am now going to ask her out on a date. The best that could happen is that she doesn't think I'm a stalker."
"The best that could happen is she says yes." A monotone voice chimed in from the back seat. Angela his PR rep had insisted on joining them. "I've spent the last six months pounding down rumors about this 'mysterious wounded woman' and frankly it would make my job easier if you did date her."
"I know it's your job, Ang, and you're great at it, but do you think you could not say that to Blythe?" Billy smiled weakly as Angela glanced up at him over her glasses. She sighed and went back to studying her portfolio of documents. Billy had been through a lot of PR agents and Angela had stuck with him the longest. He wasn't the easiest rock star to manage and he knew it. He appreciated what she did, but she had a tendency to make things sound very impersonal.
"This is it." Pete announced as they pulled into a quiet cul de sac. The body guard manuvered the SUV into the driveway of a small house with tan plastic siding. It was clean, well kept, and to Billy seemed to scream American Dream. He sat staring at the green front door for several minutes before Pete checked his watch and coughed. "It's now or never kid. We can keep coming back and parking in her driveway, but that's probably going to scare her." Billy nodded and stepped out of the vehicle. Pete was out of the driver's seat and by his side before he had shut the passenger side door.
"We're sure this is her house?" He asked stalling.
Angela pushed her glasses up the brim of her nose. "Blythe Mitchel, 29, single, 221 Wallaby Drive." She responded mater-o-factly. "There is an entire file on her if you'd rather read it than actually talk to her yourself."
The snippy comment caught Billy a little off guard and made him realize how childish he was being. With a deep breath he forced himself up the two small steps to the door and knocked. There was the immediate response of vicious barking and the scuttle of feet to the front door. It took a moment, but the door suddenly swung wide open to reveal a brown haired young boy. He looked to be about ten, but his faded jeans, rock t-shirt, and converse gave the air of a teenager.
"Hi." He greeted mildly. Before Billy could reply a large German Shepherd paced around the boy and stared at him threateningly. "Oh, don't worry about Winston. He doesn't bite unless he's told to." The boy stated casually.
"So he does bite, then?" Billy answered barely holding back his incredulity.
"Parker, who is it?!" A woman's voice called from somewhere inside the home. Billy's heart jumped in his chest. He knew that voice.
"I dunno. Some guy." Parker yelled back.
"Does the guy have a name?" The voice was getting closer and the sound of bare feet on hardwood came with it. Parker looked back to Billy expectantly.
"William Morrison." He answered just as Blythe turned the corner.
Loose jeans hung from her hips as a blue tank top rode up one side of her midriff. The towel that she had been using to dry her long dirty blond hair slipped from her hands as a slack jawed expression suddenly appeared.
Billy rubbed the back of his head nervously and tried for a smile. "Good to see you, too.