Machine by Normandie Alleman
3
Dynassy
Part spin doctor, part TV mom, my mother, Lucinda Barnes, always knew how to work the system and have herself and her children come out looking good. Or at the very least, have the public talking about them.
In fact, the day after it came out that the man in that damning video with me was a veteran, my mother started plotting a counterattack. Her brainchild to get me out of hot water was for our family to do a big fundraiser for veterans.
She’s calling it “A Barnes Family 4th.” Her idea was that, in America, we’re as close to royalty as it gets. (At least that’s my mother’s warped perception.) But in her defense, my twin brother and sister are probably the most beloved pop stars on the planet, my brother is an All-Star basketball player, and I’ve been accused of “breaking Twitter” with a few of my racier selfies.
We’re certainly not royalty, though our dad was a rock star whose fame rivaled Elvis’, and who has only grown in stature since his death when I was eight, but we’re a staple of popular culture. I’m not so sure trying to associate us with patriotism will work, but a lot of people will watch it.
The show is to be broadcast over the internet, and while most of it will be a live performance from Ivy and Leo, the rest of us are filming segments ahead of time to fill the three-hour program. Nick’s going to do a basketball camp with inner-city kids and we’ll air highlights from that. Mom’s got something planned where she’s sponsoring some budding American fashion designers and setting them up with US factories to help them create their garments for retail sale.
In preparation for the big event, Lucinda had me attending an event for wounded warriors. It was for injured vets and service dogs, so Lucinda figured there would be plenty of opportunities for photo ops and footage of me with the guys and the dogs that they could air during “A Barnes Family 4th” that would make me look more sympathetic to those who have served our country.
Lucinda wanted me to wear red, white, and blue, but I put my foot down and chose a figure-hugging red dress with a modest round collar. No cleavage for this event.
I swear sometimes my mother’s sense of taste was all in her mouth. She thought of herself as a style maven, but honestly, Ivy and I think she’d about five years behind. We always talk about it. Thank God we have stylists who can give us another voice when we disagree with Lucinda the Great.
When I woke up this morning, I’d actually been dreading this appearance. What if the vets who were here at the event believed that I was an insensitive bitch who stomped on their homeless brothers?
I doubted they would do anything to me, and my security team could take on even the baddest of the bad, but I still worried some of them would make a snide remark or give me dirty looks.
As I got ready to get out of my car, I took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and climbed out. Here goes nothing.
My nerves had me a bit jumpy for the first few minutes, but as I followed the event coordinator to the area where I’d be signing pictures, I noted the admiring looks coming in my direction from the majority of the men we passed. That helped me breathe easier.
We started with a photo op of me and a three-legged German shepherd named Jackson. Jackson had been injured in a bomb blast that had killed his handler, but the Army had seen to his recovery and he had been retired with full honors. He now resided with one of his handler’s friends, an Army buddy who’d also lost a leg in the same explosion.
“Come get in this next shot,” I said to Jackson’s owner.
“If you insist, Ms. Barnes.” The young man’s name was Tyler and he kept tugging at his scruff of a beard nervously. “Ms.” was much better than the ma’am I’d been getting lately. I found I was enjoying Jackson and his friends already.
We got a couple of selfies for Tyler’s phone, and a line started to form.
Somebody from the film crew had given me a cup of water and while I sipped it, my eyes scanned the room. I noticed a handsome guy about thirty yards away whose eyes were locked in on mine.
It wasn’t unusual for a guy to be staring at me, but this guy looked familiar.
Then I realized it was Bridger Thompson from the auto repair shop.
Before I could plot a reaction, a thrill ran through me, and I broke into a wide grin. What was he doing here? Did he have a friend who was injured? Or maybe he had rescued one of the injured dogs. That was so sweet. Suddenly, he was even more attractive to me, if that was possible.
He grinned back then looked away and before I knew it, he disappeared into the crowd.
I hoped he would come by and speak to me, but it seemed silly for him to stand in this line to shake my hand and have his picture taken with me when we’d already met. It wasn’t like he was a fan of mine.
Still, as the event wore on, I couldn’t help but peek over and through people in the crowd to see if I could spy Bridger again. My portion of the event was winding down, the camera crew had started to put things away, and the last couple of people got their pictures taken with me. I thanked them for coming out before glancing down at my phone.
The raw masculinity of Bridger’s voice interrupted my surfing. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ms. Barnes.”
My head snapped up. “Ms.? Why does everyone want to call me Ms.? Or worse, ma’am? It makes me feel so old. I wish you’d call me Dynassy.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Dynassy it is. Sorry.”
Crap. Now I’d offended him. He was only trying to be polite, and here I was coming across like a bitch. Not only what I didn’t need to be seen as by him, but that was what this whole event was supposed to do, counteract the perception that I was a bitch. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Sometimes I guess I’m just too sensitive. But I didn’t expect to see you here either.”
He nodded, but gave me no explanation for his presence, so I probed further. “Are you affiliated with the organization?” There. That was vague enough to make him have to fill in the blanks.
“Yeah, this organization helped me more than I can ever repay.”
“Do you have a dog?” The man didn’t look like anything was wrong with him. If he had a prosthetic hidden under those jeans, you couldn’t tell it. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that people could be wounded in ways you might not be able to see. Maybe this organization had services for people with PTSD. If that was the case, maybe he didn’t want to talk about it, and I’d stuck my foot in my mouth yet again.
“I’m a former SEAL. When I came back from Iraq, I was pretty messed up. Had to have a lot of surgeries, it’s been a long journey.”
My heart clenched. Whatever it was that had happened to him, it had been significant. I was about to launch into the whole “I’m so sorry” bit, but he didn’t give me a chance.
“Music’s about to start. Want to go over there?”
He extended his hand, and there was nothing in the world to do but accept it. I curled my fingers around his. The warmth of his touch made me swoon a little, and I allowed him to pull me into the adjacent room where a country band was starting to play. I looked over my shoulder and waved to my production assistant Marla, and she nodded back.
It was standing-room only, and when the music started, Bridger winked at me then pulled me into his arms. He held me close and whispered, “Do you know how to two-step?”
“I do,” I smirked.
This must’ve surprised him because he eyed me skeptically. “You do?”
“My brother lived in Texas for two years. Don’t think I didn’t go dancing when I went to visit.”
“Well alright then, Ms. Barnes. I mean to see,” he laughed.
He stood almost a foot taller than me, and I made a point of resting my cheek against his chest. As loud as the music was, I thought I heard his heart beating into my ear. Or maybe I felt it. Either way, I loved being in his arms so much I prayed it was a long song.
Bridger took one step, then another, and before I knew it, he and I were gliding around the dance floor in our own little world. I felt as if I was back at a high school dance as the music thrummed with sparks of excitement.
I don’t know how much time passed before Marla tapped me on the shoulder. “Dynassy, we’re leaving. Do you need the car? We can leave it for you, and I can catch a ride with one of the cameramen, or we can send it back for you.”
Before I could say anything, Bridger offered, “I can give you a ride.”
