The Siren and the Samurai
by Mackenzie L.
Summary: A decade after the events at the Academy Awards, Rachel and Frank happen to cross paths while they are both in Pittsburgh three weeks before Christmas. The two must revisit unexpected feelings as their once forbidden relationship blossoms with the same intrigue, friction, and passion from their past.
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Disclaimer: I do not own the script, story, or characters of The Bodyguard. All fiction is written for love and fun.
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Chapter 1: From Hollywood to Hometown
"Sugarplums and Stars. Christ, the names for these shows get worse every year."
Bill Devaney shook his head tiredly as he passed in front of a giant mural advertising the Christmas concert that his employer would be singing for next weekend at the Benedum. A few steps behind him, Rachel Marron rolled her eyes at the gaudy illustration which included herself and seven of her singer-songwriter peers from the 90's.
It didn't take much convincing to get her to do these types of shows, as much as she hated them. As much as her own cult following still considered her a legend, Hollywood thought Rachel Marron was long overdue to take a back seat to the younger, fresher surge of females who were topping the charts. It was a bit of a hamster wheel that Rachel couldn't seem to get out of. Every time she thought it was a good time to quit, her own momentum would drive her forward again, and she would keep chasing that familiar high from her peak.
She was just too proud to quit, much to Devaney's dismay.
"You want to use the restrooms up here or wait and use the ones at baggage claim?"
Rachel turned to her bodyguard, smirking at how well he knew her. "I can wait."
Scott Pettigrew nodded and continued on ahead of the two, clearing a path as they went through the crowd.
Pittsburgh International Airport was bustling in mid December. Outside the huge industrial windows, snowflakes had begun to swirl against a backdrop of overcast sky. Rachel shivered, clutching her fur coat tighter around her body as she followed Devaney down the escalator and into the underground shuttle. She managed to steal a seat on the bench at the very end of the shuttle, away from all the prying eyes. She was quite aware that wearing shades indoors made her look even more conspicuous, but at least then people would question themselves before approaching her in a mad dash.
People recognized her more often in Pittsburgh. Having grown up in Squirrel Hill just east of the city, Rachel would always be something of a phenomenon here. She hadn't been back to Pittsburgh since her last concert tour which was several years ago. The people seemed the same. The weather still sucked. Even the airport looked as if it were frozen in time, she thought, watching the little illuminated red circle at the end of the tunnel grow bigger and bigger as they approached the baggage claim.
Pettigrew waited until she had gotten off the shuttle before following her, slightly to the side and behind. He stepped in front of her only to deter approaching fans that looked aggressive, or to open doors for her. Rachel was grateful for the older man who had decades of experience. He was kind, quiet, non-invasive, and one of the most chivalrous men she'd ever met in her life – second only to his predecessor.
Over the past ten years, Rachel had thought of Frank Farmer at least once per day. Her brain made a little tick mark at the wayward thought, and she repressed any thoughts that threatened to follow.
Their party managed to make it out of the airport mostly unscathed, save for one particularly incessant fan, a woman who had just turned forty and insisted Rachel sign the pair of sneakers she'd gotten for her birthday. Rachel couldn't help but cave. She pitied the woman; her own fortieth birthday was just around the corner.
By the time they'd arrived at the Sheraton Station Square Hotel, it was already dark outside. The sun went down so early this time of year. It was mildly depressing. Still, the hotel was nice enough. Nothing like the ones she used to stay at, but the accommodations were fine for her tastes. It seemed Rachel got easier and easier to please as the years went by. Bill had booked her a suite on the top floor, and it had a nice view of the city and rivers.
Rachel invited both Bill and Scott to join her at the hotel bar for a round of drinks before they turned in. On their way in, she saw a small group of fans had gathered by the lobby doors. Somehow it had gotten out that she was staying here. Nowadays, Rachel would normally find such an invasion of privacy annoying, but the people of Pittsburgh had her heart. She nodded to her bodyguard and they walked over together so that she could receive them warmly, signing whatever accessories, books, and photos they wanted her to.
Finding true fans was becoming a rarer event the older she got. It wasn't that people didn't know who she was. She would still be considered a household name, particularly by the generation who had watched her initial skyrocket to stardom. It was more of a controlled decline over the course of ten years, in which Rachel had elected not to star in any more movies. She never said it out loud to her team, but she was gun-shy – literally – after the events at the Oscars when Farmer had taken the bullet for her. No therapist on earth would have been qualified enough to help her overcome that day. As the years went by, she not only became frightened of stepping on stage to receive awards, but she started to get more selective about which concerts and cities she showed up at, too.
And so Rachel Marron assumed full responsibility for the steady fizzling of her career in Hollywood. She wasn't bothered by it as much as she should have been, considering how high and hot she had burned at one point in time. Her songs were the only thing that mattered to her now. She had insisted on writing more of them on her own. They may not have been as popular as some of the ones she'd collaborated on with more prolific writers, but they were important to her.
The hotel bar was quiet, but their conversation was lively for the late hour. Bill got tipsy so quickly at his age, she quite enjoyed watching the spectacle. All the while they joked and teased each other; Pettigrew was ever vigilant even when he was technically off duty. They'd grown to be a close-knit trio over the years.
"Lucky yinz got in tonight," the bartender said, leaning over on her elbow to collect the empty glass in front of Rachel. "I bet you we'll be out of liquor tomorrow."
"What makes you say that?" Rachel asked.
"Some political convention starts here tomorrow. Those bastards drink like fish."
Scott groaned in understanding. "That was my life for thirty years before I started working for this one," he said, pointing at Rachel.
The bartender smiled knowingly. "I'm a big fan by the way."
Rachel thanked her and agreed to pose for a cell phone picture before going back up to her room for the night.
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The next morning, Bill came knocking at Rachel's suite door at an hour she would have considered to still be the middle of the night. She reluctantly showered and made herself halfway presentable before trailing behind him into the elevator.
"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" she moaned petulantly, leaning against the elevator wall.
"Because every time I let you sleep in 'til noon, I gotta chase your butt around 'til midnight, and I'm too old for that now," Bill declared as the doors opened. The lobby was packed, especially for it being so early. "This must be that convention the bartender was talking about last night," Bill surmised.
From the looks of it, the bar would definitely be liquidated this evening. Rachel lazily looked around the room full of middle and upper aged white men wearing suits in varying shades of blue and gray. Poor Pettigrew would probably have an aneurysm if he came downstairs right now, she thought with a muffled chuckle.
"Brilliant," Rachel deadpanned to Bill, "Couldn't have picked a better hotel for us to hang out at this week."
She was about to eat her words.
It happened very quickly, to the point that Rachel felt it may have been an auditory hallucination. That was known to happen to singers from time to time; an unfortunate side effect of having their ears pinned up with microphones all of the time. But she had never heard his voice before. Not while awake, at least.
The room was even more crowded now than it had been when she first walked in. She glanced around in frustration whilst trying to appear like she wasn't searching.
"I want to talk to the valet before we do anything with the car."
It was the way he said 'I want.' She would have recognized the inflection even if she were listening from the very bottom of the Monongahela River.
About ten yards to her left stood Frank Farmer. He was holding his ear as he spoke, no doubt mumbling a string of ridiculous orders to some sorry bastard on the other end. Rachel bit down on a girlish grin and looked away in utter disbelief, heart racing.
He looked good for his age.
She glanced behind her shoulder.
No, he looked great.
He turned fully in her direction then, his piercing eyes focused on something in the distance behind her, and she whipped around again before he could see her.
Hell, no. He looked fucking fantastic.
Rachel moved about the room strategically, like a panther on the prowl, using all the willpower within herself not to pounce on him. She was eager to get a closer look, but also wary to get anywhere near him. It appeared that he was working, and she didn't want to be disrespectful.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Bill nudged her in the side. "Gonna grab myself a coffee. You want one?"
"Mm, yes please," Rachel gushed while peeking smoothly over her shoulder again. All she'd managed to get was a glimpse of his back this time. She pouted.
"Rachel!" An excited female voice called out from her left. Rachel grinned and mustered up all her energy as a familiar face approached.
"Hey, Tina! Haven't seen you since Easter! What are you doing here?"
The bubbly redhead was way too joyful for the hour. "I'm in town to see your Christmas show!"
Rachel fanned herself, "My Christmas show? Honey, I'm hardly the centerpiece."
"Are you kidding? You're the reason the tickets are so expensive. It's a good thing I still have my employee discount at this place so we didn't have to pay for a room here. We just drove in from Cleveland for this!"
"We?" Rachel repeated.
Tina didn't reply, but instead proffered her left hand to showcase an elegant engagement ring. "Devon proposed!"
"Girl, get outta here! Let me see that rock!" Rachel grabbed her friend's hand and gave the ring an appraising eye. "Gorgeous. Gorgeous."
"He did it on Halloween, the fucker."
"And well he should. Nothing scarier than marriage."
"Oh, Rach, you're full of it."
"Girl, you know I'm happy for you, from the bottom of my little heart. But marriage just isn't for me." Rachel glanced at her watch in annoyance and did a once-over of the room in search of Bill with her coffee. "Besides, I'm about to turn forty in February."
Tina ogled her friend from head to toe and exclaimed enviously, "You look delectable, sweetheart. You'd never guess it."
"Thanks, honey," Rachel murmured.
"How's Fletcher?"
"He's angelic, as usual. He's in college now, can you believe that?"
Tina's face fell. "God, when did we get so old?"
Rachel gently slapped her friend on the arm. "Hey, now! You're five years younger than me, don't you start with that shit."
At last, Bill briefly interrupted to hand Rachel her coffee, then promptly made himself scarce. Rachel took a large gulp of the sweet drink then wagged her finger in gesture for Tina to come closer.
"Tina, tell me something, sweetheart. You said you've worked at this hotel before, right?"
Tina nodded.
"If I wanted to, say, see the guest list for this convention going on, would you be able to pull some strings for me?"
Tina leaned in, immediately understanding her friend's implication. "Yes. . ." Her eyes began to wander languidly across the crowded room. "Who are we looking at?"
"Stop it. You got to promise me that you won't look at him until I say to."
"Okay, I promise."
"Pretend we're talking about my handbag here." Rachel presented her dark green Gucci handbag and guided Tina to run her hands over it as if she were inspecting it. "There's a tall man by the windows over to the left, standing behind a bunch of deadbeat-looking guys with suits."
"That doesn't narrow it down, Rach."
"Shut it, I haven't finished yet, have I?" Rachel stomped her foot then continued to mumble while facing the opposite direction. "He's wearing a dark blue suit, and he's standing kind of on the perimeter of the room. See him?"
"The bald guy?"
"No, he's not fucking bald, Tina."
"The big black guy?"
"No, he's white."
Tina's eyes widened marginally, then a delirious grin crossed her lips.
"The guy holding the orange juice?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Rachel's outburst gained some attention from those nearest to her. She turned on her heel, needing to see for herself if it was real.
There at the other end of the room by the windows was Frank Farmer, handsome and aloof, earpiece in, orange juice in hand. If he was trying to look casual, he was doing a piss-poor job of it. She laughed bitterly and dragged Tina out for a mad dash to the ladies room.
"How do you know him?" Tina asked once they had reached safety.
Rachel heaved a sigh and leaned heavily against the marble counter. "He was my bodyguard at the Oscars the year I won."
Tina paused for a few moments, until the realization dawned on her face. "That's the bodyguard who took the bullet for you?"
Rachel nodded.
Tina could hardly suppress the stars in her eyes. "Rachel!" she squealed, causing an older woman who was washing her hands to give them a dirty look. "You know how many times Mark and Janet tried to get an interview with him?"
"Frank swore he'd never do an interview about it." Rachel turned to look at herself in the mirror. "Even I only did the one for Sulley."
"Oh my God, Rachel, it's been what, ten years?"
"Don't remind me," Rachel groaned.
"But it's so romantic!"
"Ch'yeah." Rachel scoffed. "The guy's a stiff, Tina. He may be cute, but he can lead a girl down a path of psychosis."
"Oh, you're perfect for each other," Tina sighed dreamily.
Rachel snapped, "That's the second time today I've had to slap you. Don't make me do it again."
"Are you going to talk to him?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"It's kind of inevitable, isn't it?"
"I don't know if he's here for the entire week or not."
"Who did he come with?"
"I don't know." Rachel shook her head. "Some politician probably."
"I can find out!" Tina clapped her hands together in excitement. "Come on!"
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Tina, bless her heart, was quite the try-hard when it came to trying to impress others, and Rachel wasn't ashamed to be taking advantage of it. She'd managed to bring Rachel into the hotel offices with little trouble, and before she knew it, they were both seated in front of a computer, casually reading through some very confidential records.
"This isn't the guest list?" Rachel asked.
"Security is on a separate list." Tina explained.
They both leaned in closer to the monitor, blinking at the fluorescent screen with bated breath.
"Girl, can't you load that any faster?" Rachel questioned bossily.
"I'm sorry, this thing's ancient!" Tina clicked desperately on the mouse button several times, then knocked the computer monitor with her knuckles.
"Watch the ring!" Rachel reminded.
Tina pulled her hand away as if it'd caught fire.
"Oh, here! Here it is!" she yelped, then slowly ran her index finger down the screen full of names. "Farmer . . . Farmer . . Farmer comma Frank."
"That's him." Rachel confirmed.
Tina's jaw dropped. "Holy shit, he's here on Knox's security team."
"Benjamin Knox? The senator?"
"Yup."
Rachel slumped back in her seat and played with her hair. "Yeah, I'm definitely not going to get the chance to talk to him."
"Maybe you could pretend to faint, and he'll catch you," Tina suggested with sparkles in her eyes.
Rachel absolutely hated herself for the secret thrill she felt at the suggestion.
"No," Rachel stated, sitting up straight. "I'm grown now, honey. That is not how we behave."
Tina scrunched up her cheery round face. "You're really obsessed with this 'turning forty' thing, aren't you?"
Rachel rolled her eyes and poked the power button on the monitor. "This is so silly. Knowing how observant that man is, he's already seen me and is counting down the minutes that I've been gone. I bet he thinks I'm a secret terrorist and I'm about to set off a bomb in the bathroom."
Tina laughed loudly which drew the attention of another office acquaintance. "You girls seem to be having a bit too much fun."
"Oh, hi, Diane. This is my old friend, Rachel."
Rachel frowned. "Old friend?"
"Sorry! 39-year-old friend," Tina corrected, to which Rachel clicked her tongue.
"Nice to meet you, dear." The woman named Diane shakily reached out her hand, and Rachel took it kindly, recognizing that the woman definitely knew who she was.
"Pleasure's mine."
"Diane," Tina began, "you've helped run these conventions out here for a while, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have." Diane wheeled over a computer chair and added herself to the group.
"Well, Rachel and I were wondering if you knew about a fellow named Frank Farmer."
"Farmer? You mean Knox's guard?" She looked surprised. "I know him. I've known him for about two years now."
Rachel and Tina exchanged a look. "What can you share?"
It didn't take any coaxing to get Diane to talk. She was a stereotypical gossipy office lady if Rachel ever had seen one. But her information was more than valuable, and Rachel couldn't stop herself from gobbling it up.
Frank was recently divorced. His ex-wife's name was Leah. After a few years of marriage they realized she couldn't get pregnant, and they had many disagreements about fertility treatments. Leah wanted to go the IVF route, and Frank wanted to adopt. Leah was upset that Frank was against IVF, as it was a non-negotiable for her.
"I don't know who left who in the end," Diane concluded. "That man is a vault. His ex really liked to run her tongue, though."
Rachel thanked the woman and got up out of her chair, a bit perturbed by all of the information. It would likely take her some time to digest it all.
Tina clung to her like putty the rest of that day, so Rachel never had a chance to confirm if the gossip was true or not. She wondered why Frank would marry a woman like that. Though Rachel had never been in a divorce herself, she'd had many friends who told her all about what it was like. From what she'd gathered, it was a shit show she never wanted to experience.
To Devaney's delight, Rachel decided to turn in early that night. She sat for a while in front of the giant mirror in her hotel bathroom, inspecting the subtle signs of aging in her face. She didn't have quite the same vibrancy as she'd had back when Frank first knew her. If they were to speak face to face again, her wrinkles would have no hope of escaping his notoriously attentive gaze. Would he feel the same attraction for her as he had back then? Would he even admit it if he did? Frank was a man of duty, and not of desire. As a newly divorced man, he probably wouldn't even think to be romantic with Rachel again.
Resigned, Rachel turned off the lights and tucked herself into bed. Her dreams were haunted by his calm, familiar voice, echoing her name.
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To be continued...