The Limo Driver and His Wife, Part 2

Chapter Three: Anonymity

The next morning, Maggie is up before me, as usual. She works at the New York Times, which means that her wardrobe is more casual than most office jobs, reserving her pant-suits for more formal interviews or conferences. Today was like any other day—jeans and a loose blouse with the sleeves rolled up.

Still, the jeans are tight enough to warrant a thong—and while the seamless, beige panties are as practical as they can be, they’re still a thong.

“Come back to bed,” I say. The glow from the sex last night hasn’t worn away, though, and watching her get dressed is working me up again.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She chuckles, but doesn't come over as requested. “So you’ll be back late tonight?”

“Yeah, how did you…?”

She finishes cuffing up her sleeves. “He’s hosting SNL.”

“Not the musical guest? Also, how do you know this stuff?”

“I mean, it’s not too secret information.” She fastens her earrings on. “You know what would be really amazing? If you could score me some tickets for his show at the Garden tomorrow. I tried, but it sold out in like ten minutes.”

“Not after being rejected just now,” I say, feigning a pout.

Now she does come, climbing up onto the bed. “So all it takes to get some tickets is to suck your cock?”

I’m hard, and for a moment, I think she’s actually going to do it. Insead, she pecks me on the lips. “Payment after delivery. Get me the goods and I’ll make it worth your while, stud.” She steps away. “I’ll be out late, too. Meeting up with the girls at Bar 9.”

“Don’t tell them who I’m driving, Mags. I could get into real trouble.”

“Don’t worry, I can be discreet.”

*

I pick Chase Morris up at noon. His vixen of a personal assistant isn’t with him as he climbs into the back and looks around. Today, he’s wearing a suit, but between the cowboy hat, the lack of a tie, and his swagger, he makes it all look casual.

“Hey, man. Didn’t catch your name last night.” Chase has a deep, resonate voice that, like his music and his vibe, is a little rough around the edges.

“I’m Brendan.”

“Pleased to meet ya, Brendan. I’ve been told that when I’m in New York City, I should try some dim sum. You ever had that?”

I tell him that I have, and know of a few good places. When I do, he just sits back and tips his hat to me. “Then let’s go. My treat.”

I take him to a hole-in-the-wall place in Chinatown where they barely speak English and all the clientele is Chinese. Remarkably, no one recognizes the country music star. Chase loves it.

“This kind of anonymity is priceless, man.”

“Keeping the cowboy hat in the car probably helps with that,” I point out.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t believe how much paparazzi I sometimes get.” He holds out his hands. “I don’t mean that in some vain way or anything. I kind of hate it.”

Kind of, I note. Part of him loves it. “Hard to have a personal life?”

“Impossible.” We take some dim sum off a passing cart. Chase is surprisingly good with chopsticks. “Damn, that’s good stuff,” he says. “Not gonna ask what it is, though.”

I just smile and nod. I get past the star-struck haze. Chase is a man, like me or any other. He’s famous, he’s rich, and he’s got the ego to go with it, but underneath it all, he’s human. Sounds obvious, but the epiphany still feels good.

“So you’re married,” he says at one point, nodding to my wedding band.

“Yup. Coming up on our fifteenth year.”

“Goddamn.” Chase chuckles. “Got kids?”

“Nope, no kids,” I say, adding, “By choice.” Most people just figure that a couple together for so long without kids meant some kind of medical issue. “I love kids, just, you know, other people’s kids.”

Chase grins. “I hear that.”

“How about you?” I ask. “Anyone special in your life?”

He looks mildly surprised that I don’t know one way or another. “You don’t read the gossip sites, do you? I like that.” He sits back. “I had a thing with a certain celebrity who's moved on to a football player, but that didn’t work out. Single life suits me better, anyhow. I like… variety. No offense.”

“None taken. I’d probably feel the same way if I was you.”

He says, “Old lady not treating you nicely?” I think about last night and can’t hold back the smile. Chase sees it, too. “Looks like she is. Lucky you.”

“Yeah, she’s special,” I say. I consider telling him that she’s a fan, but wonder if that crosses some line. I did sign an NDA, so I hold back. “So what’s the plan for today? I wasn’t given an itinerary.”

“Sorry about that. Veronica’s paranoid about the press getting hold of something like that. Sometimes I think she’s a little too cautious.” That tracks with my idea of the blond PA.

“You pay her to be cautious,” I say.

He nods, looking thoughtful. He glances about the place again. “I like this. Tell you what, Brendan. Today, I’ve got a whole lot of bullshit stuff to do. Stage check for the show tomorrow. Dress rehearsal for SNL tonight—”

“I did hear about that.”

Chase nods. “Veronica packs it tight. But after, I’m going to need a drink in a space that I can unwind. Someplace where I can be…” He twirls his fingers around, indicating this restaurant. “You know what I mean?”

“I do. I’m not sure I can find you a bar where no one’s going to recognize you, but I know a few where they’ll leave you alone.”

“Well, if she’s pretty enough, I don’t mind being bothered, but yes sounds perfect. Most important thing is no press and no paparazzi.”

Chapter Four: Setup

Driving for Chase is great. I can see what Maggie and the rest of the world sees in him. He really is that guy you want to have a beer with. He’s down-to-earth without being self-effacing. He’s confident without being arrogant.

Veronica Larrson, on the other hand, treats me like just another member of the help. I’m used to that—I’ve driven for many years, and while I may own my business now, it hasn’t always been that way.

“So how long have you been working for Chase Morris?” We’re hanging out in the Escalade, outside of 30 Rockefeller, where Chase is rehearsing for tonight’s Saturday Night Live show.

We make eye-contact in the rearview mirror. Veronica’s on her phone, as always, scanning media feeds or whatever. She looks annoyed that I interrupted her. Clearly she doesn’t see herself as one of the help.

“Mr. Morris and I go back long before he became Chase Morris.”

I try to read something into that, but it’s hard. I could have believed that they had a D/s kind of thing going on, like from The Secretary, had I not met the man. After our lunch together, though, Chase Morris just seems too laid back for that kind of relationship.

That didn’t stop me from imagining the blond minx in the back seat all tied up and getting spanked. I love my wife and would never dream of fooling around with anyone else, but she isn’t the only one with fantasies.

Veronica, who’s gone back to her phone, seems to sense my lurid thoughts. She glances up into the rearview mirror again. I avert my eyes, but not before I catch her knowing smile. She doesn’t say a word.

We go to Madison Square Garden for a sound check. I wait outside. This time, Veronica goes in with Chase, so I’m left alone, scrolling through Facebook. A few friends mention having tickets for tomorrow night’s performance. If only they knew who I am driving around now. Only one person I could tell, though.

[Brenden]:
Nothing crazy to report.

My wife responds a moment later.

[Maggie]:
Not yet. It’s coming. Take him to a strip club tonight.

I chuckle at that. She’s heard all my stories about taking clients to strip clubs, and while most of those evenings end quietly, driving some drunk guys back to their hotel room, hoping they don’t vomit all over the seats, there have been a few, very exciting exceptions.

[Brenden]:
Only if you join us.

[Maggie]:
Half tempted if you actually can get your rider there.

“Your rider.” She’s so good, remembering discretion even in text.

[Brenden]:
Let me see if I can find a place with an amateur night.

[Maggie]:
Now you’re pushing it.

[Brenden]:
Only trying to help you out with your list.

[Maggie]:
Don’t tell me you found out your next client is Margot Robbie…

Margot is on my list, just beneath ScarJo.

[Brenden]:
Sydney Sweeney, actually.

[Maggie]:
You need a brunette on that list, husband.

[Brenden]:
How about a hot reporter for the Times?

[Maggie]:
Financial reporters don’t typically get famous. Plus, you can have me any night. But thanks for the compliment. x0x0 

Maggie works at the New York Times and she’s being modest. Many know her name—and even her voice from her guest appearances on NPR and The Daily, but she’s right. Any claim to fame she has isn’t the same as a guy like Chase Morris.

[Maggie]:
Have fun tonight. I may even be up when you get back. You know how it goes.

When she went “out with the girls” and started drinking and gossiping—particularly with April, who’s single and has a wild side—she always comes home horny.

[Brenden]:
Oh, I’m counting on it. I’m waking you up regardless now.

[Maggie]:
I’ll make sure to sleep naked.

I love this woman. I have the shit-eating grin even as Chase and Veronica emerge from the arena and make their way to the car. “You look happy,” Chase says as he ducks in. I’m not sure Veronica even sees me as she follows.

I take them back to the hotel, where the paparazzi await—although it’s not as thick as it was when I first picked him up. I gas up, but don’t have enough time to go home before I need to be back here to take Chase to dinner, and then to the Saturday Night Live filming.

I enjoy driving. It’s nice to get back to that. What I don’t love is all the time in between. It’s boring. I listen to podcasts and read my social media feeds, I park and take walks around the block, but it all gets tedious.

Maggie helps, as usual, knowing how bored I can get.

[Maggie]:
Getting ready to head out to dinner. Do you approve?

Along with the text comes a photo of herself in a green sundress that epitomizes her casual sexiness. It’s short enough to show off her long legs, with short sleeves and a bodice that wraps around her, hinting at cleavage without highlighting it. All of it was paired with black, ankle-high boots. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail.

[Brenden]: Acceptable.

It’s not true. Tonight, she’s gorgeous in a way that makes me wonder how I could ever have taken her for granted. She’s accentuated her large eyes and applied makeup in a way reserved for dates and her nights out with the girls, and it slays me every time.

[Maggie]: How about this? This just acceptable?

The following photo must have been taken earlier, before she put the dress on. She stands before the mirror, dressed in nothing but a bra and thong, gossamer green and thin enough that I can see her nipples through the cups, and her trimmed up landing strip. 

[Brenden]: You make me want to blow off this job and come home.

[Maggie]: Don’t do that. My Uber is here. You’ll have to wait for me, anyway. See you later!

I wouldn’t say that I married out of my league. We were both playing the field when we met. At a bar. For what we both figured was a one night stand. Turned out we had a few mutual friends and a whole lot of chemistry.

I think back on those fond memories as I drive Chase to dinner, and then to the SNL set. This is the longest amount of waiting around. I park and hangout with some of the other drivers in the garage when Veronica comes and finds me.

“There’s an extra spot in the audience if you would like to watch.” She doesn’t wait for my response, but turns and heads back. I follow, as I’m sure this woman is used to.

*

The experience is amazing. For a country music rockstar, Chase’s acting isn’t half bad, and he’s pretty funny, too. I find myself genuinely clapping at the end of the show, along with the rest of the audience. It’s one o’clock before I know it, and I’m back out at the car, waiting to pick up my two charges.

I text Maggie, letting her know that I got to watch.

[Maggie]: Sounds amazing! You are living my dream!

[Brenden]: Still out?

It’s not unusual for these outings to last well into the early hours of the morning. I’m usually asleep when she gets back, waking me up because booze makes her horny.

[Maggie]: You know it. Woo!

I chuckle. Chase and Veronica arrive. Chase is amped up, throwing himself into the back seat and pulling off his cowboy hat. “That was fucking amazing. You get to watch, Brenden?”

“I did. Thanks for hooking me up.”

“It was actually Veronica’s idea, but sure, I’ll take the credit.” He grins and looks at his assistant. 

I’m surprised by her generosity. I meet her eyes. “Thank you.”

“The audience looks better when it’s full,” she says. But I’m beginning to suspect that there’s more to her than the cool, PR-focused exterior, despite her words. Her platinum blond hair is down now. She looks more relaxed. “And you’re also welcome, Mr. Hume. We like to reward discretion.”

“Sure.” I turn the Escalade on. “Back to the hotel?”

“Yes—” Veronica says.

“Not yet,” Chase speaks over her. “I’m too revved up, man. It’s like after a show, I can never go right to bed.”

“You really should go some rest tonight, Mr. Morris,” Veronica says.

“And you need to stop worrying about me, V.” He takes her hand tenderly. “I have all day tomorrow to sleep in.”

She purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything. Chase glances up at me. “I want to go somewhere low-key. Where I can be myself, without all the…” He waves about him. I get what he’s saying.

“The media,” I say.

He points at me. “Bingo. Like earlier, for lunch.”

“You want to go to a bar in New York City where no one will recognize you?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “You’ll have to lose the hat,” I say.

“Naturally.”

“And I can’t guarantee that you won’t be recognized, but how about we settle on not being harrassed?”

“Seems like a fair compromise.”

I know exactly the place. I can see Veronica Larrson’s expression, too, and know that all of this is a bad idea. But I want it to work. And this’ll be fun.

“I know a bar, kind of a dive, but at this time of night, everyone’s probably going to be drunk already. You should be fine.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“What’s the name?” Veronica asks, her phone poised so she can do her research.

“Bar 9.”

Chapter Five: Hypothetically…

“If it’s as important to be seen at a bar as it is to drink at the bar, then Bar 9 is not for you,” Veronica reads. “No fancy cocktails or craft beers here. No fancy people, either. Instead, as you descend into this friendly, neighborhood bar, you’ll find an authentic atmosphere with authentic people.” She looks up at me. “You’ve been here?”

“A few times.”

“Sounds perfect,” Chase says, looking out the window as the city lights pass by. “We lucked out with this guy, Veronica.”

“I still don’t think that this is a good idea,” she says, but she knows her boss well enough that she’s not trying to change his mind. Instead, she straightens the lapels of his crisp, white button-down, the way a mother would a wayward child. “Remember, Mr. Morris, you need to be discreet.”

I pull up to the bar on a quieter street in Midtown. Most of the restaurants here are closed at this time of night, although a few other bars have their windows open and people milling about.

The sign for Bar 9 is printed on a faded, vinyl awning that may have looked nice at one point, but epitomizes the bar today. 

Chase immediately loves it. He gets out himself before I can circle the car. “This is perfect.” He shuts the door and waves at a drunk guy ambling along the sidewalk. The guy gives him the finger and moves past. Chase repeats, “This is perfect.”

“You’ve got Mr. Hume’s number?” Veronica asks him. She hasn’t gotten out of the car, but is speaking to him through an open window.

“I do, yes.”

“Call him when you’re ready to come back.”

“You’re not joining me?” he asks, like he finally hears her fully.

“I’m not. I think I would… call too much attention. Besides, I’m sober.”

“We could fix that in a jiffy,” he says.

“Good night, Chase. Remember: discretion. I better not read anything about you tomorrow in the tabloids.” She looks at me. “Take me back to the hotel. He’ll be fine.”

“Of course.” To him, I point to a spot across the street. “I’ll be parked somewhere over there, in case you lose your phone or something.”

Chase chuckles. “Man, it’s like you two don’t see me as a grown man.”

I start to apologize, but Veronica doesn’t let me. She just says, “Have fun,” and rolls up her window.

*

My intention was to text Maggie and say something cute to her, like, “Hope you’re having fun. Bringing you a little chaser,” or something. But since making the decision to drive Chase Morris to Bar 9, I haven’t been able to touch my phone. I’m the driver. I drive, not text.

As we pull away, I watch Chase descend into the basement bar, nod at the bouncer, and head inside. I don’t even know if she’s still there. Well, if she is, she’ll be in for a nice surprise.

I decide to make small talk with Veronica as I drive her back. “So I take it he’s gotten into trouble before?”

Her phone is away and she stares out the window. She must actually be exhausted. “Not normally. Sometimes he picks up someone crazy and the paparazzi makes a bigger deal out of it than is necessary.” She fingers the light without turning it on. “But it always blows over. I just like giving him a hard time.”

“That make you jealous?” I ask. I’m not sure why. Feels dangerous, though, like provoking a lioness.

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Mr. Hume.” But there’s an edge there. I hear it, and know she’s trying to hide it. “Even if I did… get jealous…” She says the word like it’s a virus. “…these women never last more than a night or two.”

And you are his constant, I definitely do not say.

My phone buzzes in my pants pocket. It’s Maggie. Must be her. She’s either letting me know that she’s home, or that holy shit you brought Chase here!

I can’t check, even as we seemingly hit every light on the way back to the hotel. More texts arrive. It feels like an eternity before I finally drop Veronica off at the hotel. A couple of guys smoking cigarettes with telephoto cameras stand up, but when they see it’s just Veronica getting out, they go back to their smokes.

“Do you have another vehicle?” she asks before leaving me.

“Of course.”

“Switch this one out for that one.”

“That’ll add about an hour to my return trip. I park them in Jersey.”

“Bars close at 4?” She checks the time on an expensive-looking watch. “You probably have until then. But hey, drop him off in the parking garage. Especially if he’s got someone with him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She doesn’t seem to mind being called ma’am, and in fact seems to take a little pleasure in it. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. I think Mr. ‘Mitchell’ is going to get a late start.”

I watch her go, still unsure what her deal is. Stoic, realistic, but like it’s all a facade. I pull away, wave at the paparazzi, and start on the long journey to my garage. But not before finally checking my messages.

[Maggie]: You brought him here! OMG! This is nuts.

[Maggie]: So glad I stayed out. Everyone but Tony left. So glad I stayed!

Tony, a gay man, despite still being a man, is always included in their girls’ night.

[Maggie]: Where are you? You coming in? Or is this like… what I think it is?

What she thinks it is? That one puzzles me for all of one second. All night, I’ve been so caught up in the thrill of delivering a celebrity idol to her that I’ve forgotten all about The List. But that’s just a silly hypothetical. She isn’t going to actually sleep with anyone else, celebrity stud or not.

“It’s not,” I say. Trying out the words before my phone buzzes again and another text slides into view.

[Maggie]: He bought me a drink! OMG, this is insane.

And then:

[Maggie]: I love you so much!

I erase my own text. I know what a thrill this must be for her. She’s just having fun, getting chatted up by a celebrity crush. That’s all this is. At the end of the night, she’ll come back home and we’ll fuck all night. It’s no different than any other evening.

[Brenden]: Love you, too. Driving right now, so I’ll be out of communication. Glad you appreciate my little surprise.

[Maggie]: I promise I’ll make it up to you. If I ever interview ScarJo or Margot Robbie on their savvy investment plans, I’ll make sure to engineer something. Xoxo

I chuckle. That’s the Maggie I know and love. It’s fine. It’s all fine. She loves me, and nothing is actually going to happen because the list is just a list.

Find out what happens next Tuesday!