Crazy Times // Jars Of Clay

"What's a succubus?" I blurt the question not ten seconds after pulling away from Emily's estate. Clinton grins.

"Seriously?" he laughs as he asks.

Dick.

I groan, realizing I've set myself up for some world class hazing. I thought being referred to as a perpetual kid was bad. But now Clinton's going to call me a succubus or something.

"Kind of," I say, backpedaling. "I know what a siren is, musical temptation personified, hence the name of Brianna's studio. But what the hell is a succubus? Sounds like an insect."

"Before I tell you, disclaimer."

"Okay..." I've never heard Clinton sound uncomfortable before. Guess there's a first time for everything.

"I only know because my fiancee is a fantasy and paranormal romance author and she tells me these things whether I want to know, or not."

"Got it. Your manhood is intact."

Clinton rolls his eyes. "A succubus is a demon that has her way with sleeping men and steals their souls when she..." he clears his throat, "climaxes. The men aren't tempted, like they would be with a siren, because they're unconscious."

Emily sees herself as a succubus? Dangerous temptation versus a dreamlike demon that takes advantage of sleeping men. How would she even come to that self-image?

"You okay?" Clinton asks with a laugh. "You seem horrified."

"I don't get why Emily would compare herself to a succubus."

"What, the painting? It's just typical Hollywood dramatics. Don't spend too much of your life trying to figure it out."

I nod although I don't truly agree with him. If my job is to keep her safe from herself, I need to understand my subject matter. If I understand her, I can anticipate the crazy things she might do and stop her before she causes more harm.

"I assume you'll be making a visit to the homefront prior to moving into Emily's place? Keep your mama's boy status active." He asks, changing the topic.

"I wouldn't be a good son if I didn't." I smile, leaning back against the headrest now that I have front seat privileges rightfully returned. "My mom would hunt me down. Not a good look for the bodyguard to suffer a beat down from a fiery fifty-year-old Latina mother."

"On the contrary. The fiery Latina would scare away all threats. Problem solved."

"If only," I laugh. In reality, I have more respect for my mom than any woman on the planet. She single handedly raised me and my siblings, both kids she fostered and eventually adopted. Before my brother and sister came into our lives, Mom and I had it rough. She pulled us out of the fire. She sacrificed everything to keep us safe.

And for that reason alone, I have mad respect for her. Clinton can call me a mama's boy all day long, it doesn't bother me. I gladly wear that title for this woman.

***

"Is that my boy?" My mom's voice rings through the small house as soon as I open the door. I still have a key and never bother knocking, but the woman knows which kid of hers walks through the door.

"It's one of them," I call out.

Mom rounds the corner, wiping her hands with the bottom of her apron. The woman always has an apron on when she's home because she's perpetually cooking, feeding not only her three kids but half the neighborhood.

"I knew it was you from the jingle of your keys." She smiles, grabbing my face and pulling me down for a kiss on my cheek. I wrap her in my arms, towering over her at my 6 foot 2 height. My dad wasn't as tall as I am and my mom is a tiny thing, so somewhere in my DNA was a tall ancestor. I've used my height to my advantage, both in school with sports and in intimidation when necessary.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming for a visit? I would have made something." Mom pats my cheek tenderly.

I look down at her apron. "As if you weren't already cooking. Did you really need a heads up?" She waves me off and turns back to the kitchen. I follow through the tiny living room and into the even smaller kitchen like a puppy. "Besides, I usually come for a visit before a big job. I told you I'm starting one this week." Tomorrow in fact. I can't stall long enough before moving into the house of a self-proclaimed succubus.

I shudder at the description Clinton gave me. She had to be kidding about that. I should lock my door at night just so I don't worry in my subconscious that Emily will sneak into my room.

"Ack, you work too hard. Those celebrities take advantage. And I'm making Albondigas like I do every Saturday but I would have made a double batch if I knew you were coming." She stands at the counter surrounded by ingredients and mixing bowls littering the butter yellow tile original to the house built back in the 1970's.

"Sorry, Mom." I'm successfully shamed. Albondigas is my favorite. I should have known. "I'll only eat a little."

"I'll make more."

"You're the one who works too hard, Mama. Feeding half of Fallbrook Hills on the daily."

She waves me off. Secretly she loves feeding everyone in our lives, and I know many of the families in our neighborhood give her money towards ingredients because they'd never take advantage of one of their own, so I can't really say much about it.

"Where's Oscar?" My brother is rarely home so I'm not surprised he's absent.

"The football practice. He's been moved up to Varsity this year."

"What? Since when?" My brother is a sophomore at a high school with a championship team, so being pulled up to play against seniors with scholarships on the line is a huge deal.

"Since school started last month. You've been too busy with those Hollywood types."

I should be checking in more. My brother has come a long way since the scrawny kid Mom fostered when he was five. Shell shocked and traumatized from being in the system, my mom brought that kid back to life. She's my inspiration for doing the same as a profession, keeping people safe from the evils of the world. But nothing I can do will hold a candle to how this woman loves.

"I'll make sure to come to a game." I make the promise not knowing exactly how I'll pull it off with my current assignment. Keeping Emily out of trouble and the scrutiny of the public eye doesn't have an exact end date because she's been a hot mess for so long her mother requested an open ended lock down.

My gut twists when I remember the woman's disdain for her own child. My mother would never and I am beyond grateful for the way she's supported me in everything I've done. She's the reason I didn't end up in jail like most of the guys in our old neighborhood. She saw where I was headed and made a call to a friend in Fallbrook Hills and got us the hell out of there.

"Here, baby." Mom puts a bowl of her famous meatball soup in front of me. "Eat. I can't imagine what you feed yourself off in the lala land. All that kale must taste horrible."

I laugh. "It's not like that. I can cook, ya know. You taught me enough."

Before she can school me on my lack of good cooking skills, my sister Marisol breezes through the door.

"Oh my god, I'm starving. Please tell me there's food ready because if I have to smell your cooking and not eat it, I'll die."

"Dramatic much?" I tease as Mari comes into the kitchen in her medical scrubs, clearly just getting off a shift at the convalescent hospital where she's a health aid.

"Haha, brother. You know more about drama than I'll ever know with all your famous clients." She gives me a stink eye as a reward for my teasing. "Didn't know you were visiting today." She playfully punches my shoulder before skipping right over to the sink to wash up.

"Mom already scolded me for not calling ahead so she could double her Albondigas recipe."

Mari gasps. "You haven't eaten it all, have you?"

"Course not. She's making more."

"And you're sitting on your ass, not helping? Mom raised you better than that." Mari scowls but I know she isn't mad. This is how we communicate and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I shove another bite of soup into my mouth, chase it with a gulp of water and wipe my mouth.

"On it, sis. I would never leave Mom in the lurch." I jump up to join mom as she rolls more meatballs and measures spices. Mari grabs her own bowl and sits to eat while watching the two of us make more.

"So are the rumors about Emily Montano true?" Mari asks after I mention my assignment and update my family on my temporary living situation.

"I'm literally under non disclosure orders, so I'm legally obligated to keep it to myself."

"Boo, you're no fun."

"Shush, mija. The poor girl is a twisted up mess," my mom says. "Don't gossip."

"Well, of course she is with Anita Brooks for a mother."

I glance at Mari to find her shaking her head, eyes downcast. Her own mother was a nightmare, causing lasting damage to Mari's self image that took years to overcome. My mom loved on her enough for three people, which is probably the only reason Mari is as stable as she is now.

"Those Hollywood people don't know what it is to struggle," Mom adds. "They live in a bubble. But bubbles are fragile, it takes almost nothing at all to make them pop." It's Mom's turn to shake her head. "No muscle to handle the fall."

Mom has a point. Emily has lived an insulated life. She popped her own bubble. And after meeting Anita Brooks in the flesh, I wouldn't be surprised if Emily popped that bubble on purpose.

"She should count her lucky stars that Javi will be there to catch her," Mom adds. Mari looks over to me with a smirk.

"I can hardly wait to watch this."

"Won't be anything to watch." I return to rolling meatballs as Mom starts adding them to a pan to brown. "My job is to keep the public away."

"As if. The media is her catnip."

I cringe, knowing Mari is absolutely right. Keeping the public away from Emily won't be nearly as challenging as keeping Emily away from the public. I wish Clinton had disabled her social media. That's where she gets into the biggest trouble.

But I'm not her publicist. I'm not her assistant or her manager. I'm her heavy, the guy who shoves the lookers away and shields her from view.

I can't help the rest.

"Look," Mari says, holding her phone toward me. "She's already posting about you."

"What?" I shout as I spin to look. With my hands still covered in raw meat, I lean over to read her post.

Ya girl's gettin a roomie. #cantwait #nomorelonelynights

My name's not mentioned, but the damage is done. The lonely nights hashtag will have people talking, speculating that she's in a relationship. And when I'm the one coming and going from her place, it won't take long to make the connection.

"Shit," I say, not thinking.

"Language, hijo. My ears burn."

"Sorry, Mama." I turn back to the meat, roll a few more meatballs then wash up.

"I'm going to have to leave."

"Already? It was a half day's drive to get here. I thought you'd stay a while." Mom looks crushed. I don't make it out here for that very reason. Driving here takes so long I end up staying the night in most cases. I hadn't planned on it for tonight knowing tomorrow I'll have to move into Emily's place. But with her recent post, I'm sure there'll be some damage control.

"You saw what Mari showed us. I'm not named but I will be. I need an action plan that's more detailed than the one I have when my name gets broadcast."

"Does she know about your poster?" Mari asks with a gleam in her eyes.

"What poster?" Mom asks.

I groan because Mari can't resist.

"Oh, don't you remember that Javi had an Emily Montano poster in his room from that tween show she was on, 'The Mulrooneys.' I think he kissed it every night before bed and after his prayers. Did you pray you'd meet Emily one day?" Mari laughs.

The sad truth is, basically yeah. I didn't kiss the poster, but every red-blooded straight guy my age wanted Emily on their arm when they were younger. I didn't pray I'd meet her, but I imagined it.

Until I saw for myself how off the rails she's gotten.

Back when she started making headlines for her outrageous party behavior and the revolving boy toys, I sobered up on my obsession.

"Funny," I say instead of admitting the truth. "Gotta go." I kiss my mom on the cheek and do the same for my sister. "I'll call soon, Mom."

"You better or I may just drive over to the Lala land and check up on you."

"I'll be at the beach, not Hollywood. And duly noted. I'll call you in a couple of days so don't jump in the car anytime soon."

The last thing I need is my mom making a scene at Emily's house. That wouldn't end well for me.

I wave goodbye as I pull out of the driveway, sad that I didn't get a chance to see Oscar, but I'll have to come back for a visit as soon as I can.

Right now my entire focus is on Emily and damage control. I need to call Clinton on the drive and see where we're at. Hopefully we can rein her in before she does anything more destructive.

A guy can hope.

Gotta love a mama's boy. Did you catch the name of his hometown? Fallbrook Hills. And his mama has an old friend that got her out of a bad neighborhood. If you've read the Blue Bloods series, any guesses who it could be?

We'll have a little more here and there from Javier's family but I'm not sure in what capacity. Anyway, next week is move in day and I don't think it will go smoothly, how about you???

I liked Crazy Times for a home town visit because of the line "It takes more than your safety lines to make things right." He's got a safety line in his family, but Emily doesn't. Think on that...

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