Practice Makes Perfect: A Novel

“What’s so bad about the town?” asks Liv Nolsen, my boss, from the other end of the phone line. She is trying to persuade me to extend my stay in Rome, Kentucky, as one of Amelia’s permanent agents rather than transferring to Washington, D.C., and guarding a high-profile politician after the month is out, as I’m requesting. I’ve been here one weekend, and I’m already bored to death.

Usually I’m placed with other celebrities when I’m not working for Amelia—partly because they request me after having seen me on either BuzzFeed and social media, or met me while I worked for one of their famous friends. Amelia is the only celebrity who hasn’t made me want to rip my hair out, though.

And truthfully, my favorite assignments have been providing security for politicians. Why? Because shit gets real for them. It’s rarely dull guarding someone whom half the country hates. And when I’m busy, I don’t have time to stop and think about anything else. I don’t have time to worry whether I’m lonely or whether I made the right career choice. I just work and stay on the move, and my mind remains blissfully clear.

So about ten minutes ago when my boss said she was contemplating keeping me in Rome at the request of Amelia’s team, I felt sick. Not because of Amelia—I’ll gladly provide security for her on each and every one of her tours. But in this sleepy town long-term: no.

“Uh—let me put it this way, I’m talking to you from a landline in the coffee shop because the cell service is so spotty. And the room I’m staying in is filled with frilly embroidered phrases on the walls and a Chicken Soup for the Soul book beside the bed.”

There is wifi, but you have to have the damn password for it. And no one in any of these establishments will let me have it. Apparently, you have to be one of them to gain access, and they don’t trust me ever since I jogged with my shirt off.

“Damn. I love Mayberry towns,” says Liv. She may be a stoic agent, but she’s also a romantic. She always claims she’s going to meet the perfect woman on a mission someday and fall in love James Bond style. I’ve pointed out that James Bond never has the same lover in the next movie, but she always just waves me off.

“Then why don’t you come and take over if you love small towns so much?”

“Because Ms. Rose specifically asked for you when her manager said she wanted an agent to stay on for a while even after the wedding because they will be announcing the upcoming album. And because she happens to be our highest-paying client, I will literally do anything to keep her happy, including selling my kidney or forcing my best agent to live in her town for a while. Rae Rose wants someone she can trust to keep her safe and be discreet with her personal life, and thanks to your years together, you achieve that for her, so suck it up, Griffin.”

Great. This is what being reliable and hardworking has gotten me. It’s high school all over again, where I practically killed myself to get the highest, most impressive grades in the class just so my parents would notice. Whether it was out of a need to make them proud, make them see me, or make them stop fighting so damn much and get along for five seconds, I still don’t know. Probably a heavy combination of the three. Either way, it didn’t help. It worked against me. My parents didn’t notice my good grades, they noticed the random low ones instead and would chew me out relentlessly for slacking off even though they knew I wasn’t.

I run my hand down the back of my hair, rubbing at the tension building in my neck. “Does this mean I have no choice? You’re really not going to let me transfer to D.C. even after the wedding?” If that happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. Quit most likely. I’d sooner change agencies than be forced to kick my feet in a rocking chair for the rest of my damn career.

She breathes out a long breath. “I’ll think about it. For now, make the best of it and pick up a hobby in your downtime. It’ll be good for you. You’ve been working like a dog for, well, since you joined the agency ten years ago.”

“I don’t want a hobby.”

She scoffs. “Get a girlfriend then.”

“That’s definitely not going to hap—” As if on cue, I look out the front café windows and spot Annie across the street. She’s walking up the sidewalk from the communal parking lot, and I’m able to see her perfectly through these giant picture windows. Today she’s wearing jean shorts and a pink tank top—long blonde hair down and straight.

She smiles and greets everyone she passes before pausing outside of the hardware store to talk with Phil for a minute. He tells her something that makes her tilt her head back as she laughs. That ache in my chest cinches tight. She looks happy and warm and…so damn sweet. It’s exactly the distraction I need from my boredom. I might not be able to have Annie in the way my body wants, but I can at least have fun with her in the way she requested.

At some point I realize I’ve completely tuned Liv out. “Griffin. Hello? Are you there?”

I clear my throat. “Sorry. I…lost service for a second.”

“I thought you were on a landline?”

“Right. Actually, I was distracted by some suspicious activity.”

She shuffles papers. “You’re the suspicious activity.”

“Liv—sorry, I need to run.”

“Check your email. I’m sending over some new info on stalkers and fans to watch.”

“Will do,” I say, putting the phone on the receiver just as the barista calls out my order and sets Amelia’s iced latte on the counter. This is what I’ve been reduced to: an errand boy. And no, Amelia didn’t make me come into town just for her coffee—I begged her for something to do while she’s working in the studio today. So here I am.

“Would you mind putting it in the fridge for a minute?” I ask the barista. “I’ll be right back.”