Chapter 4: Being in Public, Security Issues, Immigration, and Engaging Carrie's Sister

Carrie, Marjorie, Jerry, and I stayed in the cabin for three more days. On Sunday, we packed up and left. Carrie and I followed Jerry and Marjorie in their rental car to Nashville where we dropped their car off. The four of us then took turns driving straight through to Silver Spring. We figured we could all crash at my condo, and we ended up there about ten o'clock that night.

We'd rotated who slept with whom while at the cabin. Jerry was especially accommodating and willing to accept any situation put to him, even volunteering to sleep alone so my two loves could be with me. He didn't want to upset anything we had going. The situation in the cabin sort of resolved itself because the two beds in the two bedrooms were each queen-size beds; three people in either one of them was not a comfortable arrangement. Thus, we alternated which woman slept with which man. 'Slept' was a misnomer, because we all had going to bed sex, and then middle of the night sex, and then waking up sex with our bed partner. None of that was to be confused with the later in the morning sex, the after lunch sex, or the late afternoon or evening sex.

I suggested that Jerry stay over and that we'd retrieve his car from Washington's Reagan Airport in the morning. He liked that idea, so he and Marjorie disappeared to my guest room, and only a couple of minutes later, Carrie and I could hear them fucking up a storm. Marge was often very vocal about her sex and satisfaction.

Carrie said, "I'm glad I get to spend the night with you. I like Jerry, but I love you."

I noted, "Jerry might be around more than you think for a while. I think he's right about your security. You do need a bodyguard. I can't protect you the way he can. I'd have trouble breaking out of a paper bag."

Carrie said, "Well, if that's the case, I think I should return to a nonsexual relationship with him, at least most of the time. He's nice, but he's not you."

"I'm flattered, but don't you think he's a hunky man?"

"I do, but so what. He's not the man I fell in love with ... who I am in love with. He's desirable, once in a while, but I want you all the time. I'll play it by ear, and you tell me if you feel bad about any aspect of it. I never want you to get upset because I'm with him."

Carrie and I spent a beautiful night together. In the morning, I drove Marjorie and Jerry to the airport to retrieve their cars, and then we all headed off in different directions to work. Carrie had agreed to stay in the condo for the day. I felt bad for her decision to hibernate because just like when she was at the palace, she was restricted in her movement.

I had an idea that I talked to Marjorie and Carrie about when I got home. "Carrie, you want normal. Well, normal people go out and about all the time, they don't stay inside. Some of them get jobs or they do volunteer work; you know because you've met many of them from the philanthropic side of your previous life. Maybe now is the time to re-invoke some of that, but with the 'normal' spin on things."

"You mean volunteer for something?" Carrie asked.

"Maybe. That'd be up to you. You could also just take a 'normal' paying job at something you'd like to do. I'm sure you could get hired right away"

"I don't want to trade on my name or position."

"We know, but some of your life is still going to be unavoidably tied to your past."

Marjorie said, "I could get you a job at the TV station in an instant. You could do human interest stories for us, the type of thing that we might do a special on, or show at the end of a news broadcast to show we report some good stuff along with all the bad shit."

"That sounds like fun. What would I have to do?"

"You could have your own ideas or we could feed you some. You might do a couple of dozen interviews with a cameraman joined to your hip, do some editing of the results, and then set the stage in a live broadcast occasionally. We should talk about it with our production director who's responsible for that kind of stuff. I don't know what their budget for that would be."

"Could I go in with you tomorrow?"

"Sure. Let me send him an email tonight to be sure it's all right with him."

An hour later she got a reply text, 'Bring her in. Sounds like a great idea.'

The next morning, I went off to work and Marjorie and Carrie drove to WDC-TV to meet with Phil Coleman, the VP Production for the station.

I got a text while at lunch with my work team, 'Got the job. Fun. Love you, C.'

When I got home from work, Marjorie was there alone puttering in the kitchen starting to make some kind of pasta dinner.

"Where's Carrie?"

"Oh, she went to the grocery store in my car." After laying that surprising fact at my feet, Marge studied me to see what my reaction would be.

"Is she alone?"

"Yes. She's attempting something 'normal.'"

I rolled my eyes. Twenty minutes later, Carrie came in with a shopping cart laden with various groceries and a few bottles of wine. She looked at me to see if I were mad or any other negative emotion.

I just went to her and kissed her. I said, "I want to hear all about your new job and your day. You've had a lot of excitement."

She broke into a huge smile. "Yes, I did, and I love grocery shopping. Everyone was so nice. Most of the people didn't even know it was me – I mean me the princess, plus there's so much choice of something in the store. I bet there were twenty different kinds of spaghetti sauce."

"What about your job?"

"Well, I'm a special reporter and I have my first assignment. I have a guy named Pete, who's my cameraman, and we're going to do a special on the environment and how the rising waters due to the melting ice caps will impact the Washington, D.C. area. I've got to do research, come up with at least a dozen pithy questions, and then figure out whom to interview to get some of the answers. Since many of the authorities work in nearby government agencies, this will be a good starter assignment for me, plus it's something that has worried me for a long time."

Marjorie volunteered, "Pete is in his late sixties, but didn't want to retire. His work is top notch, plus he speaks his mind. If he sees she's doing something dangerous or dumb, he won't hold back – princess or no princess, that's the way he is."

Carrie said, "Yes, I liked him. He'll keep me honest, if I can put it that way. He doesn't put up with any bullshit." She paused and said, "Oh, I got to use one of the words I learned in high school."

We laughed, and got into dinner. After dinner, Carrie announced that she wanted to go to an ice cream store for dessert. Consequently, the three of us hopped in the car, Carrie drove, and we navigated to Columbia, and found a TCBY ice cream store to indulge our taste buds.

We sat in the store eating our ice cream, and I could tell that Carrie was soaking up the fact that she was doing something 'normal.'

I carefully watched the other people in the store to see if there was any recognition. One man about Carrie's age figured it out, but all he did was nod at her and smile. He did whisper to his girlfriend, who glanced over and also smiled. Carrie gave them a little wave, and went back to her cone and talking to Marge. No one else reacted, and the couple seemed to find satisfaction in knowing and not saying anything. Of course, Carrie had the short red hair image, so not everyone would immediately see her in the thin disguise.

The experience at the ice cream shop gave us all a false sense of security. Somehow, when we looked back on the situation, we realized we'd all thought we could go out in public with little consequence other than some occasional recognition.

That silly notion got blown away on Friday evening when we went to the Outback Steakhouse. We'd traded off preparing dinner during the week, Carrie, Marjorie, and me each taking an evening. We decided to eat out to celebrate Carrie's first week of work at the TV station.

We got to the restaurant and there was a ten-minute wait for a table. We stood around in the foyer of the restaurant until they called my name. By that time, I think several of the other people waiting for tables had figured out that Marjorie – now a TV personality, and Carrie – the royal princess, accompanied me. There had been a subtle buzz, but we just ignored it. We got seated in a booth deep inside the restaurant, and had just ordered some wine when things started.

A young twenties girl came up to the table and addressed the princess; "Your royal highness, may I be so bold as to take a 'selfie' with you?"

Carrie patted the seat beside her, the girl pulled out her cell phone, and three seconds later had taken the requested photo. The phone's photoflash had fired off for the pic calling attention to us.

As the young woman left, I got a bad feeling. I saw three other people in my line of sight stand and start for our table. One served as their spokesman when they arrived simultaneously; "We'd like to have our picture taken with you too." The request sounded more like a demand than a request.

Carrie shot me a nervous glance. "Errr, I guess so, but we're trying to have our dinner in peace."

One by one each person sat with Carrie for a photo, but by then there was a line of about a dozen people at our table.

Our drinks came, and the waitress looked highly perturbed. She asked, "Do you want me to do anything?"

I nodded and whispered to her, "Help. This is getting out of control."

The waitress disappeared. Carrie slowly sipped her wine and ignored an older man who had just sat down beside her to do a selfie. Another teen had sat beside Marjorie and was taking a selfie with her too. I was chopped liver; no one wanted my picture.

The restaurant manager came over to the table. He said, "What seems to be the problem here ... Oh, shit." He'd just seen the princess and Marjorie.

I said quietly to him, "Could you just ask these people to return to their seats so we can eat our meal in peace?"

He immediately turned to the growing crowd around out table and urged everyone to leave and return to their seats.

There was a lot of grumbling, but people did move away. A few just took photos of us at our table as they departed. The scene and the words of the manager were heard throughout the restaurant, so everyone knew or should have known that we were 'off limits' for the rest of the evening.

We weren't that lucky.

As we were finishing, the manager returned. He said, "I hate to tell you this, but there is a crowd of people outside the restaurant waiting for you to leave. I don't know what to do about it. They're all peaceful, but there must be about fifty people out front."

I asked, "Do you have a back door?"

He nodded, "Yes, I can let you out an emergency exit or through the kitchen. Are you parked nearby?"

I replied, "Back by your dumpster."

He said, "What I suggest you do is leave by the kitchen, maybe even pull your car close to the door, and then you two ladies quickly get in and leave."

We all nodded, and I slipped him a fifty for his consideration. I also hailed our waitress so we could settle up our regular bill. I tipped her heavily too since she'd had to fight her way to and from our table several times before things quieted down inside the restaurant.

After I'd paid, the manager came back. He quickly escorted us through the kitchen to the back door. My car was only about thirty feet away. I clicked the doors unlocked, and we made a run for it.

Seconds later, we were inside, and on our way out of the parking lot. We were discovered by someone on the edge of the waiting crowd who pointed and said, "There they go!" in a loud voice. People started running after us, and more than several flashes went off in the dark night.

I wasn't even out of the mall parking lot when I became aware that we were being followed by at least three or four other cars that were speeding through the rows of parked cars to catch up to us. This was getting dangerous to bystanders.

I pulled onto the main road and hoped that I'd lose my pursuers at a traffic light, but to no avail. By then there had to have been six or eight cars racing after us. I kept right at the speed limit, and prayed for a yellow light.

Marjorie got on her cell phone and called Jerry. He answered on the first ring. "Jerry, we have a problem and need your help." "We're on Madisonville Road heading north and about eight cars are following us; we ate out and had a crowd situation in the restaurant so we beat it out the back door, but someone saw us. Now, we're being following and wondering what to do."

Marjorie listened for a long time. I could just hear the overtones through the iPhone's small earpiece.

Eventually, she ended the call. She said, "Head into Washington, but stay on single lane streets otherwise we might have someone cut in front of us to stop us. We're going to meet Jerry. Take route fifty-nine."

I took the next right turn and started to head south. I asked, "What's he going to do?"

Marjorie explained, "He's going to cut off the cars following us and allow us to keep going. We're to head back to Silver Spring on Georgia Avenue, when we get there."

Marjorie's phone rang five minutes later and she gave him an update on our progress. By now we definitely had eight cars in slow speed pursuit.

Jerry vectored us onto Lincoln Drive. Marjorie put him on speaker. "I'm just past the intersection of Lincoln and Minor Streets, parked along the side. There's a steady stream of cars out of downtown, plus there's a median strip in that part of Lincoln. When you get near Minor Street, accelerate so there's at least a three hundred foot gap behind you. Flash your lights so I know it are you. I'll take it from there."

A block away from the intersection I flashed my headlights several times, and I floored the accelerator. The car leapt forward creating a larger gap from the lead car following us.

I didn't know which car was Jerry's, but as I passed a long row of cars parked along the side of the street, one had headlights on, and as I passed the car swung out across the travel lanes blocking the street unless the cars following us veered over the curbed median, an act that would wreck their tires and suspension, and put them into oncoming traffic.

A check in the rearview mirror again, showed that we'd lost our pursuers. I turned southeast on McKinley, and a little further on cut over the Georgia Avenue and started to head home.

Jerry called just as we got on Georgia. "You guys are in the clear. None of those cars will follow you again - ever, otherwise I told four of them I'd shoot them. I think they believed me too."

"Thank you," Marjorie passed along from all of us. "I think we learned our lesson, but what now?"

"I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. We need to have a talk about security and going out in public, both of you for now, and if any of those group photos hit the newspaper probably Jim too."

"See you in the P.M.," I said.

Jerry arrived at the condo right at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. He was dressed casually, but still sharp: loafers with no socks, blue jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, a button shirt with contrasting collar, and a vest. The vest was to hide his pistol holster.

After we greeted we all sat in a circle in the living room. Jerry started, "OK, so you went out to dinner in public – two A-list personalities. You expected nothing would happen, but all hell broke loose. What lessons did you learn?"

Carrie said, "Not to say 'yes' to people that want selfies with me, for starters."

Jerry said, "Better than that, what you need is a vocabulary that is polite, but firm about no. For instance, 'I'd love to, but it would soon have everybody in the restaurant over here wanting one. What I will do is shake your hand.' That gives them a take away, but doesn't start a stampede, at least most of the time."

Marjorie said, "Some guy copped a feel of my boobs."

Jerry laughed, "Best response to that is to slap him. Word gets out early, plus if his wife or girlfriend is in the restaurant she'll raise hell with him later."

I said, "I have a feeling there are rules or a checklist that we should go by."

Jerry nodded. "Right. Most of it is common sense, and most of that involves advance planning. For instance, call ahead to the restaurant and tell them who you are, what time you want to be there, and so on. Even places that don't take reservations will set a table aside where you'll either be mostly unseen or it'll be hard for the masses to get to you."

Carrie said, "I remember that growing up. We always had to tell my security detail at least a week ahead what we wanted to do during the week. I guess they worked things ahead."

"They did. They would check out a place, look at entrance and exit routes, plan how the your car or motorcade would get you there and leave, build in contingencies, figure out whether to dress to fade into the background or dress to be very up-front and visible. There'd also be the decision about whether weapons would be carried, and if so whether they'd be visible."

Jerry paused and went on, "The issue of who would be on your team would also be considered. Did you need men, women, or a mix? Did the people have experience spotting potential terrorists or others who want to do you harm in some way? A lot goes into providing executive security."

Marge said, "So we don't just waltz into an ice cream shop for a treat?"

Jerry laughed, "The unplanned things in limited environments can be spontaneous and fun, but the idea is not to be predictable."

Carrie said, "Well, I have this new job, and I'll be out doing interviews of people when I'm not in the office doing research or working up a script for a TV special."

Jerry nodded, "Just plan your trips, and aim for the unexpected in terms of disguises and so on. Keep people off balance, not necessarily the people you'll be talking to, but the others who you'll pass on the street or in a building. The best response by them is either no recognition or it dawns on them who they saw about five minutes later." He chuckled.

"What else?"

Jerry lectured, "The big responsibility for everyone involved is Situational Awareness. You have to constantly be scanning your environment, looking directly at people, and assessing whether they pose a threat to you – what kind, how much, when, and so on. If you detect even the hint of a threat, you need to leave wherever you are as soon as possible. Get out of the situation. If you'd left the table at the restaurant immediately after your first encounter, the rest of the night including the chase wouldn't have happened."

Carrie asked, "Am I doomed to have to live my life with a bodyguard?"

Jerry shook his head, "No, not if you can get smart about how to react in certain situations."

Carrie tossed out, "Grocery shopping?"

Jerry countered, "Have a list. Be fast in and fast out. Let the manager of the store know you're coming and don't want to create an incident. Suggest that they have someone meet you and accompany you through the store. If you sense trouble, get out; walk away from it."

I tossed out, "Going to Jacques for drinks and dinner?"

"Call ahead, ask for a table away from the general public if possible, and certainly one where Carrie and/or Marge can sit and not be seen by everyone. Try to use the back or side entrance. Park close to an exit, and use it. Again, if you sense a situation developing walk away."

Marjorie asked, "Going to a mall to shop?"

Jerry said, "Take a friend or two. Disguise yourself in some way: head scarf, hat pulled down, sunglasses, regular glasses, and anything to put your appearance off from how people know you. Be crisp about your shopping. Pick parts of the store that are relatively unoccupied by shoppers if you can. If you sense people gathering, leave the scene. If you sense trouble, flee at a run."

Carrie said, "I think I'm getting it, but when should I involve you or someone like you?"

Jerry said, "There will be situations where you just know you're inviting a crowd, for instance going to a movie premiere as an A-list guest; or a charity ball or even a ball game where you'll likely be seen by thousands and even appear on TV. Take a professional with you in situations like that. The same rules apply but they can run interference for you, block people from bothering you, and certainly extend the image that you are well protected."

"You?"

"Some times. I have a couple of dozen other people who I work with a lot – other independent security agents. We trade off a lot, so our clients don't always appear with the same rent-a-cop in tow. Two-thirds of us are men; one-third are women."

Carrie said, "So, can we go out for dinner again tonight and put some of this to the test?"

"Where would you like to go?"

Carrie said, "Someplace Italian. I have a craving for marinara sauce over some kind of pasta, plus some protein to go with it."

I said, "Rosetti's?"

Everyone nodded. Jerry called up the number on his cell phone and dialed the place. He asked for the manager. We listened as he arranged a seven o'clock 'celebrity' reservation. He carefully described who would be in the party, the kind of table we preferred, how we hoped to be served, and extended our gratitude for the extra service so we didn't provoke a scene. He was smooth and polite – a perfect gentleman."

Later, when we showed up for dinner, everything went just like clockwork. There was no hassle, we were shown every courtesy, and we were generous with our tips when we left. I felt certain that most of patrons recognized us; however, not one bothered us in any way.

On the way home, Carrie wanted a Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I was driving, and Jerry was riding shotgun. As we got to the strip mall with the shop, Jerry hopped out of the car and strolled into the store, had a look around, sized up the other patrons – mostly adults with young kids in tow, and then gestured us in.

We got our ice creams and sat at a table to eat.

Pretty soon, a young girl about eight years old came up to Carrie. "Are you a princess? You look like her."