Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

1

Heather

We hadn’t gotten caught.

Yet.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maurice whispered next to me.

“Yes!” I hissed. “Shut up and act natural. Emphasis on act.”

We were on the upper deck concourse of the Staples Center, and the sound of dribbling basketballs and squeaking sneakers filled the air. The Los Angeles Lakers were currently playing the Milwaukee Bucks, but we couldn’t see much from our seats. Our tickets were up in the nosebleed section, so high up that we could practically reach above us and touch the roof.

Granted, they were free tickets given to us by our acting coach, Mr. Howard. We should have been happy with whatever seats we had. I’d been living in Los Angeles for three years and hadn’t been to any sort of sporting event yet. It was tough when you were an aspiring actor barely getting by. So now that I was here, I wanted to really see the action. We couldn’t do that from the upper deck. We wanted to get closer.

Well, I should say that I wanted to get closer. Maurice, my best friend, was reluctant.

“It’s not worth the risk,” he whispered.

I waved him off while eyeing the ushers on the next level. “It’ll be fine.”

“Heather, you are not listening to me,” Maurice insisted. As an actor, he had a way of enunciating every single syllable. “I cannot afford to get arrested. I mean that literally. I literally cannot afford it. Just taking the Metro here wiped out half my account balance.”

“We’re not going to get arrested,” I said impatiently. “If we get caught, we’ll pretend like we’re lost. The worst they’ll do is kick us out.”

“You do not know that.” He sighed. “I want to get closer to the court as much as you do, but…”

“You don’t get what you want in life,” I told him. “You only get what you fight for.”

It was one of those phrases my dad used to say, and it stuck. I’d always tried to live my life that way. It had gotten me this far.

I cupped both of Maurice’s hollow cheeks and stared into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Hell no,” he replied, but he said it with a laugh.

“Well, pretend like you do. I’m going to get us closer to the action. And, hopefully, some food and drinks.”

The layout of the Staples Center was like most modern sports stadiums. There was a ground floor that had access to the seats closest to the court. Then there was an upper level which led to the highest seats—that’s where ours were, and where we were currently standing.

But there was a middle level between the two. That’s where the expensive suites were located. That level could only be accessed by escalator, and ushers were standing guard at all times to check tickets.

From our spot at the upper level railing, I could see the escalator leading down to the suite level. Two ushers in yellow pants and purple shirts—Lakers colors—were politely, but firmly, guiding people along to the cheap seats.

“What are we doing?” Maurice whispered.

“Waiting for the right usher,” I said. “When we first arrived, there was someone else down there. A little old lady. She looked friendlier than the two ushers down there now. I think they rotate them.”

“We’ve been standing here ten minutes,” Maurice complained. “I’m missing LeBron. I bet he’s all sweaty now. Picture it, Heather: LeBron’s muscles glistening in the overhead lights as he goes in for a dunk…”

“You can ogle your boyfriend from the suite level,” I said. “You’ll really be able to see him there.”

“Not if we never get there.”

I held up a hand. “Shh! It’s happening.”

Down below, the silver-haired usher I had seen before walked up and tapped one of the other ushers on the shoulder. They exchanged a few words, and then Granny—that’s what I was calling her in my head—took her spot checking tickets.

“Lights, cameras, action,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Here, take a selfie with me.”

Maurice scowled as I held up my phone. “Why are we taking a selfie right now?”

“Just trust me. And smile.”

Maurice was dressed in a suit for the game, because of course he was. He didn’t leave his apartment in anything less than business casual. I was wearing my favorite blue dress with a plunging neckline and tapered waist. Completing the outfit was a gaudy diamond engagement ring on the third finger of my left hand. It was fake, just a prop from Mr. Howard’s acting class, but it looked real enough. I positioned my hand on my chest as I took the selfie to ensure the ring was visible.

After taking the photo, I wandered away from the railing above the ushers. The upper level continued along the outer wall of the arena, overlooking the suite level below. It wasn’t very crowded down there. In fact, after walking twenty feet from the area overooking the ushers, I didn’t see anyone below us. Everyone was in their suites watching the game.

It was at least fifty feet down. Too far to jump. But not too far for a small metal object…

I slipped the diamond engagement ring off my finger, held it over the railing, and let go. After a long moment of silence, the ring clinked on the ground below, disappearing out of sight.

“What are you doing!” Maurice hissed. “If Mr. Howard finds out you lost one of his props…”

“He doesn’t even know I borrowed it,” I replied.

“WHAT!” Maurice blurted out. He shook his head slowly and said, “You have lost your mind. I am talking to a crazy person. The kind who should be restrained with a straight jacket at all times.”

I grabbed his hand. “Trust me. I have a plan. Follow my lead.”

I led him over to the escalator. Maurice fidgeted while we rode it down a level. As we neared the landing to the suite level, Granny and the other usher eyed us. Sizing us up and preparing to wave us along to the next escalator that would carry us down to the bottom level. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, which I always did before getting into character.

You don’t get what you want in life, I thought to myself. You get what you fight for.

“Excuse me!” I said to Granny. “Can you please help us?”

She gestured. “The main concourse is that way. This entrance is only for—”

“We are staying in Suite number seventeen,” I said in a pompous voice. “The food was simply mediocre. No gluten-free or vegan options. Unacceptable, especially from MacKenzie Scott, of all people! Can you imagine? I would expect such treatment from her ex-husband Jeff, but MacKenzie always had better taste.”

Granny blinked at us in confusion. “Umm…”

I put my arm around Maurice and laid it on thick. “So my wonderful fiancé and I went in search of acceptable food options. We looked high and low in this place—it’s like a maze, honestly. I swear my Stuart Weitzman pumps are scuffed from all the walking.”

These were actually ten dollar heels from JC Penny, but I was counting on Granny not knowing the difference.

“Fortunately, my fiancé—” (I made sure to emphasize the word this time) “—found vegan options on the upper level. Spring rolls with locally-sourced cabbage, of course. Simply delicious, and better than we expected in this place.”

Granny’s eyes flicked to my hand. “How is he your fiancé if you aren’t wearing a ring?”

“You are so observant!” I gushed. “That is precisely the problem. I was so upset about the food options that my ring must have slipped off my finger when we left the suite! Can you imagine? Losing an engagement ring a week after receiving it?”

The other usher, the stern-looking one, wasn’t buying any of this. “Can I see your suite passes, please?”

“We left them in the suite,” I said. “We rushed out of there without thinking…”

Maurice put his arm around me and finally joined in. He was slow at improv, but he was a damn good actor.

“It is my fault for not having the ring sized correctly,” he said pouring regret and fear into his voice. “I knew I should have taken it in for resizing as soon as she said yes, but Tiffany’s was booked until next month! We simply must find the ring. It is six carats, so it should be quite easy to find.” He held out a palm confidently. “Not that it would be a problem acquiring another one. My father owns a diamond mine in Sierra Leone. But it is the principle of the matter!”

“Honey, do not blame yourself,” I said, stroking his cheek. I turned back to Granny and said, “I think we lost the ring over there. If you would let us check I’m sure we can find it quickly…”

Granny looked at the other usher. For a moment, I didn’t think they were going to let us through. In which case I would need to explain to Mr. Howard how I had lost his ring.

“I’ll go with you,” the other usher said. Not Granny—the butch, stern-looking one. “But if there’s no ring, I’m calling security.”

“If there’s no ring,” I said dramatically, “you’ll have to call the morgue—because I may throw myself from the balcony in distress!”

The usher rolled her eyes as she led us into the suite concourse. Unlike the upper and lower areas, this level was nearly deserted. Everyone was already in their suites.

“We paused to look at that map,” I said, pointing. “I was fidgeting with my ring. I must have dropped it there.”

The usher looked around. “I don’t see any ring.”

“It must be here somewhere…” I began to panic while searching. This usher was more of a hard-ass than Granny. The trick wasn’t going to work on her. And the ring wasn’t anywhere in sight, which means someone might have picked it up already.

“I don’t see it,” the usher repeated. “It must have been found. I can escort you down to Lost and Found…”

“There!” Maurice said with genuine relief. He pointed over to the edge of the wall. “I see it. Where the wall meets the floor…”

The usher beat us to it. She lifted the ring, eyes widening at the size of it. She looked at us, then back at the ring in amazement.

“Thank you so much,” I said, reaching for it.

She started to hand it over, then clutched it to her chest. “How do I know this is yours?” she asked. “Maybe you saw someone else drop it and are trying to steal it.”

I smiled and pulled out my phone. “I’m sure I have a photo of it here, let me see… Ah, yes. Here we go.” I turned the phone around to show her the selfie we had taken before. “Doesn’t it look amazing on me? Maurice insisted six carats was too much, but what do men know?”

While she squinted at the screen, I gave Maurice a told you so look.

The usher’s stern visage was replaced with a warm smile. “Ma’am, I’ll be honest. I thought you were just making all that up to get through. I only indulged you because this is a boring job and I wanted some entertainment. But I can see you were telling the truth. Sorry for giving you the third degree.”

“No apology needed!” I said. “I’m just so happy to have the ring back.”

“It’s a beauty all right.” She squinted at the band. “What’s the engraving on the inside mean?”

Crap. I didn’t know there was an engraving in the ring. I had worn the prop for different acting skits, but I had never looked closely at it!

“Uh,” I said. “Well, the engraving…”

“It says verum, which is Latin for be true,” Maurice said smoothly. “When we are finally joined in marriage, my band will say the same.”

The usher smiled and finally handed me the ring. “That’s real sweet.”

“Thank you…” I glanced at her name tag. “…Lisa. I will be sure to mention how helpful you were the next time we see Jeanie.”

She frowned. “Jeanie?”

“Jeanie Buss,” I said offhand. “The controlling owner of the Lakers, of course.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Aw, you don’t have to do that. You two enjoy the rest of the game. And make sure to keep your passes on you, next time.” She walked away.

I hugged Maurice. “Oh thank you, sweetie! I just don’t know what I would have done if I lost the ring…”

Maurice muttered, “She’s gone. You can drop the act.”

I giggled and said, “I told you it would work! Let this be a lesson to always trust Heather Hart.”

“It only worked because Iremembered the inscription on the prop ring.”

I looked sideways at him. “Yeah, how did you know that?’

He snorted. “You’re not the only one who likes to borrow Mr. Howard’s prop jewelry. Sometimes I like to look pretty, too.”

I took him by the hand and led him down the suite level concourse. “A diamond mine in Sierra Leone, huh?”

“You told me to follow your lead,” he replied. “If we’re going to be wealthy enough to be on the suite level, I wanted an exciting backstory.”

I waggled my diamond-adorned finger. “If your family really owned a diamond mine, you would know this ring is only four carats. You told the usher it was six.”

Maurice rolled his eyes again. “Okay, James Bond. We’re on the suite level. Now what do we do?”

“Now,” I said, “we find the right suite to sneak into.”