Samson and the Bon Jovi Stakeout

Jessica pulled down the bill of her baseball cap, adjusted her sunglasses, and handed the cashier ten dollars for a medium vanilla latte that cost three-fifty. She walked away without taking the change, and gave the surprised girl behind the counter a quick wave. The coffee shop was busy and crammed mostly with college kids from a nearby campus. Most of them sipped from their cups and had their noses stuffed in books, while others lounged casually, talking with friends. She quickened her step in the direction of the exit, hoping none of them would approach her. Suddenly, she felt a light touch on her shoulder.

"Miss Connor! Excuse me..." She stopped and turned.

It was a tall, skinny kid with dark, shaggy hair wearing a torn jean jacket covered in sew on patches. He had a boyish face, and did not strike her as immediately threatening. He looked a bit like her nephew Jake, who she hadn't seen for at least a year. He fumbled awkwardly in the pockets of his jacket, trying not to spill his coffee. She wondered if he might be drunk, knocking back a vodka and coffee before the big exam, but he seemed too nervous for that. Drunk people were much more uninhibited. She had been on the alert for inebriation ever since she encountered a plastered businessman in an O'Hare Airport lobby the year before.

"Looookee here!! We got a big shot in our midst ye commoners! Clear the way!" he had yelled, while a hundred pairs of eyes looked in her direction. She had been reading a magazine one minute, and hiding in a bathroom stall the next while her mother paced frantically in front of the sinks. When they walked out, the paparazzi descended on them like crows over fresh road kill. Her mother's terrified expression as she was bumped and shoved among the mob still haunted her to this day.

Jess snapped out of the unpleasant memory as the kid in front of her took a red, felt tip marker out of his pocket and handed it to her without a word. She looked at him, waiting for him to realize she had nothing to sign. After a moment, a look of embarrassment crossed his face. He quickly guzzled the rest of his coffee and handed her the cup.

"I'm sorry," he said "I don't have anything else for you to sign." He patted his jacket and pants pockets as though looking for something else. Jess took the cup and silently admired his resourcefulness. The sides were sticky and she could smell cinnamon. She put her own coffee cup on the table next to her, looking around quickly to make sure nobody was noticing this little interaction.

"What's your name?" she asked the kid, who seemed to be relaxing a little.

"Samson...but I'm certainly not that strong" he replied, immediately regretting the corny biblical reference.

"That's okay," Jess said, scribbling her name on the cup "strength doesn't just come from the biceps." She smiled, and handed the cup and the pen back to him. Before he could thank her, she leaned in closer to him and whispered.

"Thanks eagle eye, do me a favor and don't blow my cover."

She walked a block to where her best friend Tia was waiting in the car, causing a handful of heads to turn on the way.

"Wow, you made it out quick, I'm surprised." Tia said. Jess got in the driver's side and started the car. Three years ago when Jess's career took off and the money started coming in, she hired her friend as an assistant and flew her to California to get her away from an abusive man.

"Yeah, minimal interference," Jess laughed "just a biblical strongman drunk on cinnamon and final exams." She blew on her coffee and pulled into traffic. She lived an hour outside of Los Angeles in a small town called Coraville, and came to the city four or five times a week for whatever duty called¦a talk show, an interview, various meetings, and whatever other ridiculous parade her agent came up with for her to do when she wasn't off on a set somewhere.

As they approached her driveway, Jess noticed two teenage girls hanging around the sidewalk by her fence, acting like they just happened to be there. One of them had big blonde hair and too much eye makeup, and reminded her of Tia when they were in the tenth grade. The other girl was dressed in black and seemed less loud, looking at the ground and kicking at the sidewalk, flicking a cigarette lightly with her thumb.

"Haa, the one on the left looks like you used to." Jess laughed, giving Tia a light elbow.

"Aw fuck Jess, please tell me we're not stopping." Tia moaned.

"Four words...1987 Bon Jovi stakeout. That's all I'm going to say." Jess slowed the car and pulled up alongside the pair. Tia rolled her eyes and knew she had been beaten. During their senior year when Tia got her driver's license, she dragged Jess with her to stake out Jon Bon Jovi's house in upstate New Jersey. They had driven for four hours, and stood in the freezing rain for another four before an irritated security guard told them Mr. Bon Jovi was on tour, and had been for several months. Tia drove home in tears while Jess sat in the passenger seat fuming and freezing the whole way, wondering how she couldn't possibly have known they were on tour.

"Hi girls...what's going on today?" Jess asked.

The girls looked up, at first not saying anything, then realizing who had spoken to them. The blonde girl whacked the other one on the arm.

"Brianne, it's her! Check it out!" The one who had been kicking at the sidewalk looked at her friend with surprise, and grabbed her arm.

"That hurt Sara! Damn, I can see who she is, you don't have to hit me!" Jess grinned and tried not to laugh.

Sara took a few steps towards the car and held out her hand. She had clear plastic bracelets of various colors on her wrist.

"Hi Jessica, this is like, such a trip, I mean, we weren't even sure you actually lived here, and...is that a latte? Are lattes your favorite coffee? I love lattes!" she nodded her head and did a little jump in excitement. Brianne, still pacing and looking at the ground, seemed overall unaffected by the presence of an international celebrity. Before Jess could say anything more, Tia leaned across her lap and stuck her head out the window.

"What do you little stalkers want?"