Thursday
Needing advice, I got Phoebe and Alice on the school bus in the morning and walked down to meet Layna for coffee at Dawson Taylor. In Los Angeles, my go-to coffee shop was Intelligentsia on Abbot Kinney, which was always packed with stylish, relevant people. In contrast, Dawson Taylor had zero people in line to order and a gaggle of grandpas having a coffee klatch under a painting that looked like a Louis L’Amour novel cover. As I waited for Layna, I checked the ten-day weather forecast, hoping there’d been a change. But the gods had not been so benevolent. In nine days, temps were still expected to shoot up to almost seventy.
Layna’s outfit—a flouncy red skirt with tights and a black beret—distracted me from my panic. With her newly long hair, muscular calves, and bright red fingernails and lipstick, she was pulling it off.
“I’m in my French era,” she said. “These extensions have given me a new lease on life!”
“Oui,oui,” I said.
The gaggle of grandpas sitting nearby were clearly eavesdropping.
“Bonjour,joliedemoiselle,” one of them called out.
“Bonjour,” Layna said, gamely. But as soon as we settled in at a table out of earshot of the men’s hearing aids, she moaned, “Oh my god, I’m grandpa bait!”
“He was very into you,” I agreed.
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or depressed. I want a sexual adventure! But with someone who doesn’t need Viagra!”
“If you were wearing that beret and nothing else, that grandpa wouldn’t need Big Pharma.”
“Please,” she said, waving away the suggestion. “At that age they’re looking for a nurse or a purse. But I matched with a hottie on Hinge! He’s old, but not grandpa old.” She held out her phone to display the Wikipedia page of a smiling man in a puffy orange astronaut suit holding a helmet under one arm. “He’s been DMing me—from the space station!”
“Kendrick B. Johnson is an American engineer and retired NASA astronaut,” I read. But I had to stop because I was laughing so hard.
“What?” Layna said.
Tears streamed from my eyes. “That guy’s retired. He is definitely not DMing you from outer space. You, my friend, are being catfished.”
Layna dropped her head down into her arms. “Noooooo!”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault people are despicable.” I reached out and patted her hand. “This conversation does not pass the Bechdel test, by the way.”
“What’s the Bechdel test?” she said, looking up at me.
Internal sigh. In my LA social circles, the Bechdel test had been a given for fifteen years. “For a movie—or in this case a conversation—to pass the Bechdel test it has to have two women who talk to each other about something other than a man.”
She looked thoughtful. “If you give me an update on the mansicle, would that pass the Bechdel test? I mean, we’re still two women talking about a man—but does it count if the man’s dead?”
I laughed and gave her the rundown on my trip to Idaho Connor’s house, how I’d gained a (temporary) dog, and the ingenious way I’d figured out how to send voice memos that sounded like they were from Idaho Connor himself.
“I think you might have a knack for this shit,” Layna said.
“Someone with a knack wouldn’t’ve brought the dog home.” Thetwins had taken it upon themselves to feed Little Sister a can of chili when I was in the laundry room, which had caused a bout of violent doggie diarrhea. When I’d wailed we weren’t keeping the dog, I’d upset the twins so much I threw ten dollars in the Therapy Jar. “But I was thinking...” I paused. “Isn’t my only real option to go meet with Errol’s girlfriend, Baylee, and get her smashed phone?”
“But you know that in winter Burgdorf Hot Springs is only accessible by snowmobile, right?” Layna said.
I nodded. Of course I knew it. I’d always begged my mom to take me when the whole place was snowbound, but she’d tell me she couldn’t blow our weekly grocery budget on a snowmobile rental. “Since Baylee is bringing”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“hand grenades, maybe I could get the ATF to go out there.”
“You just want to see that hot ATF agent again,” Layna said.
I exhaled a “Puh!” of denial, accidentally blowing sugary donut dust all over the table. “I know about an impending attack on the capitol! In nineteen days! Telling the authorities seems like the only right thing to do!”
Layna lifted one eyebrow. “How do you think that’s going to turn out for you?”
“Fair,” I said. “I need some evidence first—against someone that isn’t me. I think I might need to go out there. To Burgdorf. On a snowmobile. To get that SIM card from Baylee. And maybe the plans for Day of the Rope. Maybe I could see what Baylee knows. Errol’s clearly been abusive. She’s probably ready to talk.”
“Maybe! And either way, the SIM card, the plans—that’s hard evidence.” Layna took a pensive sip of her latte. “You don’t need that agent to save you, Bechdel babe. You can clear this up yourself. You know, I always wanted to be a badass Bond girl. This snowmobiling trip could fit the bill.”
