I tried to take my 'grounding' with grace. I tried to think of myself not as a prisoner of my hotel – which seemed to be crawling with security people... I wasn't sure whether they were from our corporate parent, the local authorities or the hotel's management, none of whom I presumed, would want a violent tragedy associated with their brands. I tried to pretend we were 'ultra-VIPs', so important that the world came to us and we merely 'held court'. That was how I tried to frame this, to keep myself from going stir crazy. It wasn't terribly effective.

I found myself in the hotel's fitness center at four something in the morning. Unable to sleep and insatiably restless, I finally gave up the struggle and surrendered to the urge to take a run. I knew this wasn't another dream. First, I was fully clothed. Even if it was my skin tight running gear, it wasn't the least bit sexy, at least not to me.... so I knew it was no somnambulist fantasy. There was no sexy hunk, just a small cluster of sleepy security folks who grudgingly accompanied me to the fitness center.

Since we were the only ones there at that ungodly hour, no one protested when the security folks insisted on turning the lights down to barely-able to see levels.

Well, no one but me.

I knew my protest was futile, yet I felt compelled to make it for the record anyway.

Although the fitness center was on a high floor of the hotel, it had huge glass walls that gave breathtaking views of the city below. I did not think the zealots out to punish Katherine for her 'harlotry' were likely to do it with a sniper rifle, yet the security folks were taking no chances.

The irony of this 'dim all the lights' approach was that the LED display on the treadmill bathed me in illumination like a spotlight – made all the more noticeable in the otherwise near-dark room.

The nice thing about this ungodly hour of the morning was that I had the fitness center to myself. Well, just me and my unshakable security brigade. I knew it was their job to be awake and alert at this hour anyway, so I vowed to make the terrible shift more tolerable by chatting and joking with them while I tortured myself on the treadmill.

While I loved running in the open air, I always felt like a hamster on a wheel while running the moving belt on an exercise machine. Instead of watching TV like most treadmill fans, I chose to chat with my security detail. It was a very un-Katherine like thing to do, yet I justified it by figuring it was no less out of character than a 24/7 bodyguard squad to guard against the deluge of death threats.

I was really surprised when my security detail bolted away to accost a small group of people entering the gym. Who on earth would visit a fitness center at 4 in the morning? I mean who else would?...

After a flurry of tense inquisition, the visitors – well at least one of the small group, proved to the satisfaction of the bodyguards that they were indeed a valid guest and here to use the facilities. Jan, the head of the security detail still didn't seem too keen on being hospitable, but I interceded and the security folks backed down.

“Wow.” The dimly lit stranger grinned as he walked with me back to my hamster wheel. “I've seen heads of state who didn't have the security you do.”

I grimaced. “It all seems a bit over the top to me.”

As I once again began my run, the stranger laughed. “I'm surprised they aren't flanking the treadmill jogging in place like in a motorcade.”

“Don't give them any ideas!” I stage whispered with a grin. “I know they're supposed to be bodyguards, but they're really beginning to feel like just plain guards.... and I'm feeling a bit like a prisoner.”

He smiled politely. “Still it's no surprise. The usual loudmouths are talking trash and calling for their followers to wreak vengeance on you.”

OK. He recognized Katherine. I guess it would be hard not to. Our tour, and my face in particular, were all over the news, and on badly photocopied flyers with the price on my head.

“I've seen the movie. There's nothing offensive. ...religiously... offensive.” He looked at me nervously.

“So you're saying the death threats should have been from art critics?” I deadpanned.

He blanched, then blushed. I simply laughed.

“Would it help if I said it was all deliberate?” I grinned. He shook his head. I don't think he was buying it.

“If you say so.” He responded diplomatically.

I smiled and nodded. “Consider that the official story.”

He nodded with a smile. I think we were both on the same page, but we couldn't acknowledge it aloud.

“So what brings you to the fitness center at this ungodly hour?”

“Just got back. Finished playing a gig and I like to unwind before crashing.”

I shot him a raised eyebrow. “A gig?”

He laughed. “Yeah. I'm frontman for a group called satan's sideshow. We're kind of a mash-up of Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Sleep Chamber, 9 Inch Nails... with a bit of macabre Alice Cooper burlesque thrown in. We bill ourselves as 'your parent's worst nightmare'. I do a very Marilyn inspired character named Shreckus Maximus.”

I smiled and nodded. “Nosferatu. I like it.”

“We do a kind of goth burlesque to industrial music. Lots of beheading, impaling, disembowling... very theatrical. Lots of acrobats, contortionists, interesting looking performers.... we really play up the old style side show aspect of it, with a very campy Svengalie horror movie vibe.” He laughed. “We even used to do a human centipede conga line number. Now we just end it with a musical parody of a black mass.”

“And I'm the one getting death threats?” I laughed. He smiled and nodded.

“Price of fame I guess. We're very niche. We're kind of the stand in for everyone who wishes the real Manson and Zombie and others would tour their cities and countries.... It's a living.” He smiled.

“So, Max?” I ventured.

“Brad actually. Brad Mitchell.” He extended a hand.

I smiled. “No offense but you really do look more like a Brad than a Max.”

“None taken.” he smiled. “Back when I was living in the states and trying to make it as a country singer, I never thought about a stage name.... but now... well, there was really no choice.”

“No. I suppose not.” I smiled. “Still how did you go from country singer to....”

“Marilyn Manson impersonator?” he smiled. “I was an aspiring country singer. Not getting anywhere. One Halloween I decided to go to a party someone I knew was throwing. There would be lots of music people there and lots of bands volunteering to play just to perform in front of some industry folks. I had already been typecast and dismissed by everyone in town, so some friends and I decided to mess with perceptions. I did the whole Marilyn Manson thing and my friends who were trying to get noticed as Alphonse Ballou's Bayou Boys got done up like extras from a George Romero movie and became my industrial back up band. We turned some heads that night!” he laughed. “Yeah, there were industry people there as I hoped, and we really sucker punched them. They had no idea how to react! We really pranked them. Afterward, I was approached by an agent who never would return my calls. He thought this idea had potential.... overseas. His exact words were 'big in Japan'.” He smiled. “My bandmates still wanted to try making it as a cajun blues band, but I thought 'it's a gig. It could be fun.' So we started working on what ended up as Satan's Sideshow revue.” He grinned.

“And I took a gig on a Dez Lehmann musical about a humble sheep herder and end up getting death threats. I must admit I envy you your freedom.” I sighed.

“Well, it helps that I don't remotely look like my stage persona” he smiled. “In your movie, you basically looked ….like you.”

“Yeah...” I nodded. “Gotta work on that....” I grinned.

“So...” Brad said, looking around at my security entourage, “You really are, in effect a prisoner in your own hotel?”

“Unless you can sneak me out as one of your sideshow troupe” I snarked.

He didn't laugh. Instead, he gave me a long hard stare for a good long time.

“That won't work. …..But maybe.... what's your room number?”

I told him. Knowing my security detail would not let him get near the front door.

“I have a germ of an idea” he grinned. “If there's anything to it, maybe we can get together and see the town.”

Reflexively I made a dismissive 'pfffft' sound.

We wrapped up our polite conversation and Brad went to the bench press to 'let off some steam'. A quick circuit of the leg press and rowing machine and he came over to bid me goodnight.

“I get so wound up onstage I would never sleep after a show. So instead of trolling for groupies or hunting down …chemical means.... I just work off the adrenaline at the nautilus and sleep like a baby.” He smiled.

I nodded. “Sounds like you have it licked. You should do a celebrity relaxation video. ….I mean a video for celebrities.... on how to relax without ending up in the tabloids, jail or rehab.” I laughed.

He laughed too. “That may be my next career, when being a 2-bit Marilyn Manson impersonator runs its course. …..More chance of becoming a fitness guru than a country star.” He flashed a laconic grin.

“The career chooses you” I nodded. “But only the lucky ones figure that out and are pragmatic enough to grab on tight.”

He gave me a long, appraising look. Finally nodding.

“Hmmph.... I never.... ….interesting point.” He went quiet, just gazing at me for a 'Keller long' time. Fortunately I was used to that by now and paid it no mind. He would speak when he had something to say. Finally he broke the silence, extending a hand, which I took and shook by the fingertips.

“A pleasure to meet you Ms Keller.” He smiled politely.

“Those who've seen me sweat get to call me Katherine.” I grinned.

He grinned back and nodded. “....Katherine.” He made a slight bow and backed away, still grinning.

“I'm serious about helping you escape. Now more than ever.” And with that he spun on his heels and strode out of the fitness center.

I shrugged it off and returned my attention to my running. If this treadmill was to be believed, I'd be halfway to Quezon if I were actually running in the real world.

I tried to tire myself out on the treadmill. Since my days were spent holding court with the visiting press and sitting still in a chair while various interviewers were shuffled in and out, I found myself struggling to deal with all the pent-up energy.

It didn't help that my cousin Mikey was constantly coming to me, sharing all the terrible violent things trolls were saying online about how they would deal with 'the whore of hollywood'. I tried to laugh it off.

“So I'm the whore of Hollywood? THE whore? Have these people MET Hollywood? Should I be flattered? Am I like Highlander? There can BE only one – and through extraordinary talent and determination, I'm it?”

Mikey laughed. “I think that should be your new branding statement. 'Putting the HO in Hollywood'”

I laughed politely. Under other circumstances I probably would have found it genuinely funny. If strangers all over the internet were not threatening to kill me in lurid, gruesome ways.

I wondered for a moment what Katherine's thoughts were about this. Probably relief that she was sheltered in sleepy Connecticut while I was drawing the ire and fire of the zealots and haters.

With all these thoughts, and nothing but time to sit around and let them stew, actual rest was becoming a problem. I had a passing thought that trying to stay out of harms way as Katherine was at least taking my mind off my inevitable meeting with my family when we wound down our tour with a swing through Australia. I still had no idea how I was going to break it to them. Or what I was going to do when the rest of the road company headed back to Hollywood and Mikey and I were left behind to return to our homes. I knew I was not going home. Even as L.C. I would have tried to come up with an alternative to moving back in with my mum and dad. Now there was absolutely no thought of that. But what I was going to do instead, I had yet to work out. I barked a bitter laugh at the thought that if one of the internet crazies did in fact succeed in slaying the Hollywood Harlot, at least I wouldn't have to worry about explaining to my folks. Then I wondered what Katherine would do, stuck in hiding in her safe house, as her public persona was quite publicly killed or even worse, maimed. Would she be stuck in hiding? Doomed to live out her days as a recluse? She might actually be fine with that. She seemed in no great hurry to regain her celebrity life. I had the sense she was more resigned to the fact that her respite was ending and my stint of 'doing her chores' would come to an end after the Asia tour.

Or sooner if the internet haters got their way.

So, with all these thoughts bouncing around in my head while I sat for unctuous celebrity press, is it any wonder I wasn't sleeping well? Maybe running myself ragged on the treadmill until dawn broke would help tire me out enough to sleep.

Apparently it worked, because Dennis had to wake me in his own passive-aggressive way. In this case, by waving a cupful of strong coffee under my nose like an ampule of ammonia to rouse someone who fainted.

“Come on lazy bones....” he cooed. “Say goodbye to dreamland and drag open those big green eyes.”

“Hnnnhh??” was the most I could muster.

“C'mon sweetie.” he gently purred. Then I felt wet droplets of ….something... tickle my face.

I finally forced my eyes open and struggled to focus on a mirthful Dennis, his mouth puckered with mock disapproval. “Time to wake up and smell the coffee.” He said flatly. “Or if you insist.... wear it.” and he flicked his fingers, again flecking my face with drops from the cup.

“Hey! I'm up. I'm up!” I insisted. Though I suspect I probably sounded barely conscious.

“Trust me babe, it's much better sipped. If you insist on wearing 'Rude Awakening by Juan Valdez' far be it from me to criticize your choices.” he grinned.

“Most people would just say 'Good Morning'” I grumbled.

“Alright then” Dennis grinned. “Let's compromise. Good AFTERNOON.”

“What time IS it?” I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“12:37”

“Couldn't you at least have let me sleep until 12:40?” I mock pouted, hoping to hide my surprise that everyone let me sleep so long.

“I've been trying to wake you since 12:30” Dennis grinned.

Finally my brain began to function and a jolt of adrenaline startled me awake. I sat bold upright causing Dennis to jump back, nearly splashing the rest of my morning macchiato on me.

“Ohmigod! Don't we.... didn't we.... have interviews?”

“Since 8:45.” he smiled. “Eoin, Colleen and Cyril handled them. The press was told you were conferring with security personnel over the whole death-threat thing.” he gestured dismissively. “Your being in too much danger to talk to the press will probably get you even more press.” he laughed.

“Thank you for that. And especially for letting me sleep.” I shot him a grateful smile.

Dennis waved it off. “Girl, you needed it. Glad you finally got some solid rest.”

I nodded. “So what's on for this afternoon? More interviews?”

Dennis shook his head. “No more interviews. There was a…. um...”

“What happened?” I reached out and placed a hand on his forearm.

He shook his head. “One of the TV crews with a reporter....” he seemed to be thinking how to say it. “I'm not sure of all the details, but according to Colleen, one of the sound guys was acting weird. Most of the reporters were annoyed that Katherine was unavailable, but this crew.... this guy... was really worked up about it. Someone tipped off security, then things got tense and weird. Rumour is they found some kind of weapon on him. Knife or something. Hearing different things. He was apparently a freelancer, the reporter and camera guy didn't know him, but he dropped the right names and said he was assigned to the gig so they didn't question it. The police are still sorting everything out. Now aren't you glad you slept in?”

“I probably could have taken him in a knife fight.” I scoffed. “Do you know how many times Mikey made me sit through West Side Story?”

Dennis laughed. “Singing and Dancing and shark wrestling have already done irreparable things to Katherine's reputation. I draw the line at knife duels.”

“Oh come on.” I protested with a grin. “Imagine the press if Katherine protected her cast and crew from a knife wielding assailant. I could put the 'shiv' in 'chivalry'!”

Dennis just rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was suppressing a smile. “Will you please shower and dress before the day is over already?”

I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast ….OK... I guess it was more a brunch, and feeling like a kid in quarantine while she got over the measles.

Yeah, that happened, and I never ever think about it, but suddenly being secluded in my hotel room reminded me of that. Even my mum seemed a little stand-off-ish, which kind of annoyed me as a kid, but which I fully understand now. That's being a parent. Standing by your sick child even when there's a fair chance that they could get you sick, and at your age it would be much worse. Unconditional love. It gave me pause and I kind of got clobbered by a wave of emotion thinking of the countless little things my mom did for me as a kid. Then the wave receded and I nearly got caught in the undertow when I thought of meeting up with her in a few weeks when we got to Brisbane.

I forced my mind elsewhere and realized why this felt like quarantine but worse, was that when I was sick I had been preoccupied by being sick ….and usually exhausted. But this time I was not sick. I was full of restless energy and just sitting around was making me stir crazy. Can you get cabin fever in an ultra posh hotel suite? I was beginning to think so.

The monotony was interrupted by one of the security people.

“Ms Keller. ….You have a visitor?”

Upon my raised eyebrow, she expounded.

“Another hotel guest. He says you met in the fitness center last night?”

The lightbulb went on in the thought bubble over my head as I smiled. “Actually I think it was this morning. Yes. Please, send him in.”

The security people flanked Brad as he was ushered into my suite. I flashed him a smile & motioned the security team to leave us. They did not seem enthusiastic about it, but our apparent familiarity seemed to lower their apprehension just enough to grudgingly leave us some privacy.

As soon as they left, Brad broke into a grin.

"Are you still serious about breaking out?" he whispered.

I nodded with a smile.

His grin grew wider. "I think I have a plan."