Benedict Cumberbatch and the Bodyguard

The Bodyguard

I thought that once Ben drifted out of my life, that I would never see him again. I was wrong. Now, before everyone gets all excited, let me give you a little background as to what led up to me crossing his path once more. Well, we all know what Ben's been up to, however my life journey took a very different turn. I did the whole college thing, majored in music and history, realized I couldn't get a decent job, then I proceeded on to Grad School where I obtained an MBA. I hated my employment options, so I became a bodyguard.

I started out as a security lackey at the theatre where my mom works. It was basic stuff, man the door, make sure crazed fans don't get back stage, get coffee, man the door backstage, get coffee. It became this never-ending cycle until I went back to school once more and got my guard card and permit to carry a gun. Some of you may recall that I was a victim of an armed robbery. Well, just because I could carry a gun, didn't mean my PTSD diminished, however my training in stress management gave me the tools to get through it. It turns out that being paranoid and watchful of one's surroundings comes in handy when scanning crowds for potential nut jobs.

I didn't want to work at the theatre for the rest of my life, so I joined up with a temp agency. My break occurred on my second assignment and I was hired after about six months. I guess I'm still young enough to be naïve, because I truly thought I was going to advance and become a full-fledged body guard. Being a woman, I knew it would be difficult, however after a few weeks it became apparent that I hired to do the grunt jobs, getting coffee, working crowd control in the venues without shade, backstage parties. I've been shoved, puked on and on one occasion almost set on fire.

I drifted through each job, becoming more invisible with each, "Hey, security get over here and clean this up, keep those girls out, get coffee..."

The last straw came when someone stole my security jacket. I had to pay for it myself and when the boss called me into his office I was certain I would soon be walking down the hall of shame with my last paycheck in hand and my bankers box packed, except I didn't have a box. I knocked on the boss's door, dreading his next words.

He beckoned me in, then fixed me with a stare. I stared back. "Well, Anderson I supposed you're wondering why I called you in."

So, I could lower the whole I.Q. of the whole team? "It's because I lost my jacket sir."

He laughed. It was a chilling sound that grated on my nerves, like a cement mixer grinding away. "As usual, you got it wrong, Anderson. The jacket will come out of your pay. There's a job that's come our way and I thought you'd be the perfect candidate."

Great, what now, cleaning up elephant shit with a toy shovel? "Sir?"

"It's for a film company, you'd be hob knobbing with the stars. There's only one drawback."

Jesus, here it comes, they're filming O Calcutta on location in the summer, making a documentary about animal poaching in Africa, a movie about cannibalism, cheerleaders, snakes, cock fighting, ...

"Anderson, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fine, you will have to stay with the overseas firm for a year, but the pay is good and it's in London."

London...

Three weeks later.

Once again, I found myself on a plane to London, except this time things were different. I'm different. I've gained a little weight, not too much, but still, and I've let my hair go back to its natural color—dishwater blond. I hate that term, dishwater, so let's say dark blonde, or whatever, who cares? The security firm meets me at the airport. I'm driven to the place I will stay and after a brief introduction to my roommates, I sit on the edge of a twin bed—my bed, feeling as lonely as John Watson before he met Sherlock. Except there's no Northumberland fusiliers mug, no hope of Sherlock, just a gun—my gun. I've arrived at my boulevard of broken dreams. Determined not to feel sorry for myself, I calculate the approximate amount of my first check and smile. I'm going to save up for a motorcycle, yes, I have my M1 license, the Hot Toys 1/6 figure of Doctor Strange, all the episodes of the old Star Trek, The Fifth Element, ... I smile, becoming lost in nerd land. Then my phone rings. It's my mom, wanting to make sure I've arrived safely. After I end the call, I feel lonelier than ever. Why doesn't her voice sound that sweet at home?

I report to work the next day, ready for anything, or so I thought. A grim looking man stood in front of us. "We've called in extra security because one of the actors is being stalked by some nut job. He has his own personal body guard, but we thought it prudent to keep eyes on him at all times. I listened while he briefed our team. We were to assist in crowd control, and to keep an eye on the actor's trailers.

"Anderson?"

I stepped forward. "Yes, sir."

"We're going to need you to get..."

Though I knew I shouldn't do it, I answered for him, "get coffee, right?"

His ears flushed. "So, you're clairvoyant too, Anderson?"

I cringed. Anderson, why does my last name have to be Anderson? "Sorry, sir."

He nodded and by this time everyone was staring at us. "That's better, we don't need a smart ass. This actor has received some serious threats and I expect everyone to be on their toes, no matter how big or small the assignment, got it?"

"Yes, sir," we all answered in unison.

"Anderson, you're on crowd control, but first get us some coffee."

They all laughed and I stalked away. Bastards, I hate coffee.

One of our team, caught up to me. "Wow, that was rough."

I shrugged. "Whatever, who's the hot house orchid we're watching out for?"

"Umm, some guy with a really weird last name. Ben Cucumber..."

I felt sick. "Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Yeah, that's it."

Oh shit, he can't see me like this. I look fat, old—sad. What am I going to do?

"Hey, are you alright?"

I nodded. "Sure, let's go find the coffee."