As I fit the key in my front door, I tell Jennie, "I'll just need to let Buckley out. There's only so much pee the wee-wee mats can handle." It feels like an unnecessary bit of information, because she's lived in this house with a dog who stayed indoors while we were both at work all day. But I need to talk to cover the awkwardness.
"Sure, no problem." She's right behind me and as I unlock the door and disable the alarm, her fingers brush the back of my jacket as if she's afraid I'm going to race through the door, slam it, and leave her outside. Buckley rushes to greet me as he always does and when he spots Jennie, he freezes with a front leg hovering in midair and his tail straight up.
Laughing, I tell him, "S'okay, Buck, you big dork. Look closer."
I've barely finished speaking before Jennie exclaims, "Buckie! Hello, my guy! I've missed you!"
The moment she talks, Buckley rushes over and erupts into a frenzy of leaps and squirms and licks before starting zoomie laps around the house. I let him complete two and a quarter laps—mostly because the sound of Jennie's laughter is incredible—before I ask him to chill. He's too big to be cavorting around like this and has reached the body-tilting-sideways around corners stage and begun to skid out, and it's only a matter of time before he loses control and takes out a piece of furniture or pees in excitement.
Jennie drops to her knees and opens her arms, and Buckley almost knocks her down with the force of his approach. She hugs him tightly, scratches his back, kisses his face, rubs his ears, and laughingly pushes him away when he tries to lick her ear. Unlike cat-person me, Jennie has always been a dog person and when my brother, Shawn, dropped Buckley off out of the blue and asked me to watch him for a few days, Jennie had jumped in and said we'd love to watch Baby-Buckie before I'd been able to complain about what a pain it would be.
She'd loved taking care of the puppy, babying him and continuing the basic obedience training Shawn had started. She fed Buckley, worked on his house training, pouted at me when I insisted the puppy had a perfectly wonderful and comfortable dog bed and blankies in our room, and didn't need to sleep in our bed. When I'd received that phone call two days after Shawn's visit, Jennie had bundled up four-month-old Buckley and come with me to identify my brother's remains. And when we got home again, Jennie had Buckley squirmingly sitting on her feet as she'd snuggled into me, held my hand, and wiped my cheeks while I read Shaw's suicide note because I couldn't make myself do it alone.
Jennie had made sure Buckley was well-cared for when I was grief-stricken and trying to arrange things so that my parents didn't have to deal with it from afar. She took care of me and I'd never felt so loved and supported as I did in those months. After she left I kept thinking about that time and wondering if it was real, why she would bother putting so much of herself into our relationship if she wasn't even invested enough to put us before her career.
Buckie finally stops his eruption of excitement and settles into dopey adoration mode, leaning against Jennie, stretching his head up to rub against her hip with a goofy doggo smile firmly in place. Jennie pauses her ear rubbing and glances up at me, a smile of her own spreading across her mouth. "Sorry. I guess I didn't realize 'til now just how much I missed him."
Missed my dog but not me. I clear my throat and force a smile of my own. "Looks like he missed you too. I'll just let him out back then give him something to eat. Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to anything." It feels weird to be telling someone I used to share the house with to act like she lives there.
Buckley is both busting to get out and also apparently really wants to get back in to see Jennie, because after bolting out the door he makes two super-quick stops in the yard then sprints inside, leaving me to clean up after him. Normally he'd want to play fetch or tug of war for a while, but apparently Jennie is more important than a game or spending time with me.
Back inside, I'm not surprised to find Jennie crouching on the floor by the kitchen table, hugging my dog, kissing between his eyes, and generally fussing over him. Buckley seems more enthused about being with Jennie than being fed so I decide he'll be okay waiting a minute or two. "Gimme a sec to put my stuff away and clean up after Buck's day inside."
The pair of them are so engrossed in their reunion that they barely acknowledge I've spoken. It only takes me a few minutes to get rid of today's pee mat, move dog toys out of the thoroughfare and securely lock my work gun away. When I come back into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves on my shirt, I spot Jennie and Buckley still engaging in their "I'm so pleased to see you" ritual. The image makes me smile. "You hungry?"
Jennie looks up, eyes creasing with amusement. "Me or the dog?"
"I know he probably is, but I meant you."
It takes her a few seconds to answer and it's a shy, musing, "I'm not sure."
"That means you are. Just let me feed Buckley and then I'll make you something to eat."
The moment I open the knee-high tub of kibble beside the fridge, Buckley abandons Jennie and rushes to sit beside the end of the counter where he gets fed. Jennie laughs and stands up, propping her elbows on the counter. "Nothing's changed."
"Not a bit. And you know, I still can't get him to eat anything except his special organic human-grade food. Thanks for introducing him to that super-expensive dog cuisine." I know she'll take it in the teasing tone I've intended, because we used to banter and fake-bicker back and forth about her bringing home the expensive stuff one day and how Buckie refused all brands of wet food except that one from that day forward.
"My pleasure." Grinning, Jennie indicates Buckley, who is intensely focused on me spooning his wet food onto his kibble. "Look how healthy and shiny he is though."
Smiling, I carry the bowl across the kitchen and set it down. There's no point in rebutting, as I used to, that he could be just as healthy and shiny for fifty bucks a week less. Buckie waits until I've stepped away and indicated he can go nuts before he digs in.
"Right. Food for humans now." I frown when I think about the contents of my fridge which, if Jennie's diet is the same as it was the last time she was in this house, would be boring and problematic. She's been a vegetarian since she was twelve. "Sorry, since you uh, left, we turned back into a house of omnivores. If I'd known you'd be around I would have prepared better. I mean there's food for you but nothing exciting."
She smiles fleetingly. "You couldn't have known I'd turn up on your doorstep. It's totally fine. Anything is fine."
"Grilled cheese and tomato it is." As I pull things from the fridge, I ask, "So, what did you want to talk about?"
There's a long pause before she murmurs, "I need a place to stay."
The quiet statement is so not what I expected, and I drop the tomato and package of cheese to the counter. The tomato rolls to the edge and I grab it before it splats onto the floor. "Oh." Carefully, I set the tomato back. My mouth has gone dry and I rub my tongue on the roof of my mouth until saliva flows. "I assume the place you want to stay is here."
Jennie's response is uncharacteristically shy. "Yes. Please. I'm so sorry, I just didn't know where else to go. After what happened today, I need to lie low for a while. Be somewhere that isn't my place because some people know where I live." Her words are running away from her. "Everyone I know is out of town for winter hiatus or working on other projects in other cities or countries. I really don't want to get on a plane right now to go hide out somewhere, and I can't go home. I'm sorry, I just couldn't think of anywhere else. Not anywhere private."
I fumble the handle of the knife in the block before I manage to get a grip. "Why can't you stay at a hotel?" Despite my effort to be neutral, the question sounds accusatory and sarcastically obvious.
"Because the moment some employee who thinks privacy rules are flexible and don't really need to be adhered to puts my picture on the Internet, there will be swarms of people there. Including those people I don't want around me." She leans down to pat Buckley who's finished dinner and has glued himself to her side.
I slice tomato thickly, just how she likes it. "Right. What about getting an Airbnb?" It's not that I don't want her staying with me, but I don't want her staying with me. I've only just started to get my life back in order after the mess she left it in when she walked out, and I don't need or want the confusion of having her around. I care about her and want her to be safe and to feel comfortable. Just not with me.
I thought about it and went to make an account while I was at the hospital. But then I saw the 'add a picture so your host will recognize you' thing. Kind of defeats the purpose of lying low."
"Right." I blow out a loud breath. "Well, this really is the perfect place for you to hide, isn't it? Nobody knows I exist, so they'll never look for you here." I mean for it to sting, to remind her of what she did, why she left, but I'm surprised to realize that it stings me too.
"Lisa—"
"No, it's fine, really." I'm sure she sees right through my lie. It's very late, I'm tired, today has been shit in every sense of the word and this has just topped it off. I try to gather slippery thoughts. "Why exactly do you need to hide? People really know where you live?"
She nods slowly. "There's been a few uncomfortable fan incidents recently. Some creepy letters and emails and social media posts. Then after today..." Jennie trails off, her expression turning distant. She shakes her head, as if trying to shake out the thoughts stuck in there. "I need to hide from the public eye for a few weeks, for my own sake. And Roseanne and Jisoo are a little spooked." Her mouth quirks as she gestures at the sandwich press on the counter behind me. "You need to turn that on."
I do as she says. "Who are Roseanne and Jisoo?" I'd already gathered some of what she's said from my conversation with Roland about FBI involvement, but I set that knowledge and anger aside to get some facts.
"My new manager and agent. I fired Sarah and Bert about nine months ago. Sarah fled to Barbados to avoid a stack of lawsuits and Bert died of a heart attack three months ago."
"Good," I say before I can stop myself. "I mean, not the dying and the lawsuits but that they're no longer part of your team. They were fucking toxic." For her career and her personal life.
"I know," Jennie murmurs. "I wish I'd realized that sooner. For both our sakes." She says the last part so quietly that I'm not sure I heard her correctly. The look she gives me tells me I did.
I force my brain back on track as I slice cheese thinly, again, just the way I know she loves it. "What are you going to tell your team about where you are?" I offer her some cheese.
"Thanks." She folds the slice in half and eats it. "I'll tell them I'm staying with a friend until things settle."
"You've probably had plenty of practice at that, telling them you're just staying with a friend, right?" The moment I say it I want to take back those hurtful words that just fell from my mouth, but I can't retract them. Still, she deserves an apology because it's ruder than I should have been. "Sorry. That was cruel."
"It's fine," she murmurs. "I know what you're saying. Or not saying." The edge of her mouth twitches.
"Do you think those things you mentioned are related to what happened today?" As much as I want to, I can't let on what I know and that I also know the FBI is getting involved.
She nods, shivers, then catches herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her midsection. "Mmm. The cop guy I talked to tonight said it seems likely."
Her obvious anxiety melts some of my frustration. "What is it?" I only just hold on to my love.
"Today was the first incident like...that, but the cops think there's going to be more. I mean there's more fan guys obviously, but they think it's going to uh, escalate to more events like today. If they don't figure out who and where they are and get a handle on it, that is."
My burrito asks if it can come back up and I have to take some slow breaths to calm myself. What she's alluding to is more than what Roland said. "What do you mean exactly? Don't dance around it, Jen. Tell me everything." My words sound so personal and I turn them about to try to bring it back to neutral, uncaring. "I might be able to help out if there's some sort of investigation." It's not true, but it makes me sound less desperately caring.
"There's a whole group of them, like some sick stalker fan club. They call themselves the Kim Horde." Though her expression is neutral, all her emotion is in her voice—fear, upset, disgust.
"Why haven't the cops or FBI been involved before now?" A slow boil of fury simmers in my gut. This should never have gone this far, to the point of a fan attacking her, especially not if Jennie's management team were aware of these guys and what they've been doing.
"They have been. But the guys haven't done anything really serious or big before today. Just the usual creepy fan stuff, sporadic things but nothing that ever felt too significant. Just enough to feel gross. We report the ones that cross a line to the police and they said to keep files and records, and they're keeping a file too."
"Stuff like what?"
"Letters, emails, a couple of lewd photoshopped pictures, vague kind of blackmail threats but nothing that's concrete. We block all the emails and Roseanne dutifully reports the ones that should be reported, but—" She shrugs. "It hasn't felt truly scary until now." Her lips tremble. "Now...now I feel like I don't want to go out."
I wonder what she's not telling me or maybe even what she doesn't know. "I'm so sorry this is happening, Nini. And that stuff is illegal. You have a right to feel safe wherever you are and not harassed in any form, over the Internet or through mail or in person." It sounds so ineffectual. "I heard from my supervisor that you pressed charges against him. Did they talk to you about restraining orders tonight?"
"Mhmm. The cop called a judge tonight and got me an emergency protective order against—" She pauses and inhales slowly, deeply. "Against Vince Markle that'll last for a week, I think? He did explain it to me, but I couldn't take it all in."
"Smart cop. The EPO is basically an immediate restraining order, like a buffer to give you time to get to the courts and get a temporary restraining order which will last until a court date where you'll get a permanent restraining order. Assuming that's what you want to do." I stop myself from telling her that it's what she should do. She's not mine to give advice to anymore.
Her breath is shaky. "Good. I'll take a look at what I need to do for that." She bites her lower lip, then softens to nibble the skin. "I don't want him anywhere near me. Ever again."
"I know. And I think it's the right way to proceed." I want to caress her lips gently, to stop her from nibbling. But I can't. I turn slightly away. "How long has this sort of stuff been happening?"
"Started not long after Greed first aired. But the Kim Horde specifically? Seven months or so. It's just the usual delusional fan messages from them, always signed with their name and KH. After today, Roseanne said she's going to make sure there's extra security for me when I'm back on set. If it keeps going then I'll have to think about hiring a bodyguard." She makes herself smile. "I'll be a regular A-List celeb with my big, beefy bodyguard."
I can't make myself return the smile. "If it's gone this far then I think that's a very good idea." I hate that she might have to go that extreme just because some delusional basement dwellers won't leave her alone.
She shrugs, like she's trying to seem nonchalant but I know she's very chalant. "As much as I hate it, I agree. They seem to know what I'm doing and where I'm going to be. Today being the perfect example."
That pulls me up. "What do you mean? He knew you were going to be on today's flight?"
"Yes," she says instantly.
"How the hell did he know that?" It's not like she's the President and has her daily schedule put up online for one and all to look up.
"I have no idea, but the best guess from the law enforcement I talked to before I drove here is someone hacked into Roseanne's computer and has been taking note of my travel plans. Along with other things." Jennie looks like she's about to vomit again. "When he had me—" She stops abruptly, then swallows and licks her lips. "When he had me on the plane, he said he's been sending me letters and emails and asked if I liked the pictures he'd sent and that he wanted to take some of me, real ones, not just pretend."
"Oh, Nini. Fuck. I'm so sorry." I reach over and take her hand, and she grips mine like it's a tether.
She pauses to inhale slowly. "He got so angry, he said I've been ignoring him, that it's my fault, that he's been following me for months, and finally, he managed to get near me."
"That must feel horrible and scary." My statement is so weakly ineffectual but I just don't know how to comfort her in this ex-girlfriends dynamic.
"Yeah." She gives me a smile, along with some trademark Jennie Kim optimism. "It could be worse, really."
I decide to play along, though my brain's already run all the scenarios of how exactly it could be worse. "That's true. When's hiatus finish?"
"I'm back on set eleventh of January."
Given that it's only the first week in December I try to sound casual when I ask, "How long do you think you'll need to stay here?"
"A few weeks maybe. At least until I'm back at work and I'm settled into that routine. If that's all right?"
"Sure." Even with everything lingering between us, knowing now that she's in actual danger, I'd never make her leave. I've dealt with awkwardness and discomfort before and I can do it again for a few weeks. An unsettling thought intrudes. It's unlikely, but maybe this guy somehow knows about me and Jennie from before and might guess she's come here to hide. I push the thought aside. Jennie wasn't a big-name star when she was with me, and she was so careful to keep her private life private. The chance of someone knowing she's here is tiny and with Markle currently enjoying some of the state's hospitality, he couldn't have followed her.
"I'll need to get food," I say inanely.
"It's fine. I'll do an online grocery order in the morning for some things to tide me over." She gestures to the steaming, sizzling sandwich press. "That's ready."
I take my time assembling the sandwich, shake salt and pepper over it, and close the press. "The wi-fi password is the same and the gym and everything else is the same as last time you were here. Just...make yourself at home, eat and drink whatever you want, of course."
"Thanks. I will."
I turn away and pretend the sandwich press needs monitoring, just so I don't have to look at her. Once her dinner's done, I pass it across the counter to her, along with a glass of sparkling water. "I'll leave you to eat that. I really need a shower." A glance at my watch tells me it's well past midnight and though I'm desperate to go to bed, I can't just leave her.
The sandwich is already halfway to her mouth. "Sure." After a beat, she adds a quiet, "Thank you."
~~~~~~
A/N:
Hello! How do you find this story so far? 🤔🤗