“First, you should call me Randy,” he said.
“Okay, Randy.”
“But.” He held his index finger up in warning. “Never on camera.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“It’s bad enough that my name sounds so fake.” He began to pace nervously back and forth from the door to the dressing table against the far wall, a distance of about ten feet total. “I mean, who names their kid Randolph Rayburn? Can you picture me getting beaten up every day after school?”
“Oh, dear.” I tried to bite back a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “It was touch-and-go for a while, but I’m okay now. The name Randolph has some gravity to it, so it works for someone who’s hosting a hoity-toity antiques show, right? Makes me sound smart. That’s what I like to believe anyway. But Randy? Makes me sound like a horny goat.”
“I can call you Randolph if you think it’ll help.”
“No, no, I actually prefer to be called Randy by my friends. But I’m under no illusions. I know what image the name conjures up.”
“Horny goats.”
“Exactly.”
“I think it’s a fine name,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I’ll be happy to call you Randy from now on. But not on camera.”
He stopped pacing and peered at me for a long moment. “Wow, you really got nailed.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said, touching my chin. It was still sore.
“I mean, you’re beautiful and all, but, well.” He didn’t seem to know what to say, so he began to pace some more. His handsome face was marred by those severe worry lines across his forehead.
I was getting a little dizzy watching him. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me about your stalker?”
He stopped in his tracks, stared at me for several seconds, then picked up the pace again. His hands were clutched behind his back and he was gazing at the carpeting as he walked. He looked nervous or guilt ridden—I couldn’t tell which. Finally, he stopped moving. “I’m worried my stalker might be the man who attacked you.”
Now I understood why he was so upset. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. Stalkers tend to be more nuanced. They don’t show their faces. They move in the shadows and strike when you least expect it. This guy out in the parking lot was a big, mean creep, over six feet tall and heavyset. He was sweaty and in-your-face, you know? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a nuanced bone in his body.”
I just hoped Randy wouldn’t ask how I knew so much about stalkers.
“Oh.” He nodded. “Okay, good point.” He sat down in the orange chair and crossed his leg so his ankle rested on his opposite knee. “Nuanced. I like that. You’re probably right. Whoever’s after me has been working in the shadows. I’ve never seen him, but I know he’s there.”
“I’m not sure what’s worse,” I said, as I adjusted the slowly melting ice pack. “The devil you know or the one you never see. I just wish they’d all go to hell.”
“I’ll second that. So besides being big, what did your guy look like?”
“I’d rather not think of him as my guy,” I said, glowering. “But like I said, he was about six-foot-four, two hundred fifty pounds, sweaty red face, dirty white T-shirt. Crappy dresser.”
“Don’t think I could miss someone matching that description around here.”
“No, he stands out in a crowd.” I tried to scowl but it hurt too much so I winced instead. “And his eyes give his real nature away. Mean. Soulless. He’s a psychopath. I would hate to meet him in a dark alley.”
“Or in a parking lot in broad daylight, either.”
“No.” With a sigh, I rested my head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes.
“You poor dear,” Randy murmured. “I should leave you alone.”
“No, don’t go. I really do want to hear about your stalker.”
He sighed and scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck. “Sure, why not? Everyone can use a little schadenfreude once in a while to perk themselves up.”
I heard his contemptuous tone and my eyes flashed open. Schadenfreude was a popular German buzzword that had to do with finding enjoyment from another’s troubles. A lot of reality shows seemed to be based on the concept.
“You don’t know me,” I said slowly, “but the last thing I want is for you to get hurt. I know the producers have brushed off your concerns, but you shouldn’t. Have you considered hiring a private security person?”
“You mean, like a bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“No, but I like the idea. I just don’t think Tom and Walter will spring for the expense.”
“Then you should cover the cost yourself.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I can recommend someone very good and very discreet.”
“Okay, I’ll get back to you on that.”
“It’s not just you, Randy. If there’s someone skulking around the studio trying to hurt you, all of us could be in danger.”
“I never even thought of that.” His shoulders drooped a little. “I guess I’ve been selfish.”