“Okay,” I say. My leg bounces. I’m anxious for this night to be over. I’m anxious to prove to Maggie the weight of my word.
“But more importantly…” Mrs. J. grabs my hand and squeezes.
This is one of those moments I’ll replay when I’m older. A piece of advice I’ll turn over in my head in the small hours of the morning when I can’t sleep. People who have lived as long as Mrs. J. know a thing or two.
She has my full attention. She holds my gaze and says, “You heard about the G-spot, right?”
* * *
We walkdown the red carpet for my premier to many oohs and ahhs. I tell the world Mrs. J. is a longtime family friend. They eat this up but that’s not why I do it. This is for Maggie. She keeps Mrs. J., Danny, and Russell all at arm’s length, but she cares about all three of them. Even Pepper, the poor demonic creature.
Maggie would never ask me for anything. She’d never let me worry about her or take care of her. That’s why I worry the most. She’s reckless. She has no concern for her own well-being. Where is she now? Who was that man she followed?
I trust that she’s been doing this for years and she’s competent. I’m not her keeper. But I do care. I wish she understood that. That you can be independent and strong and still have somebody to share with. Somebody to support you.
A flash grabs my attention followed by a question. “Is this the mysterious woman you rented out the theater for?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Mrs. J. snaps. She strikes a pose on my arm and we move on but it’s enough to get me focused.
Regardless of Maggie, of what happens, I need to focus. I have a career. I smile and wave and answer the mundane and repetitive questions. It’s all a game. I’m just playing it.
We go inside and the movie starts. Mrs. J. falls asleep before the opening credits have even started. I pull out my other phone, the one I use for Maggie, and wait for news.
* * *
Maggie
I trackthe little bastard as long as I can. He lost me a few blocks back. It’s crowded and he’s quick. Being visible is tricky; following without being seen. Tourists bump into me. My aura is shuffled. I need a better plan.
He turns around, probably sensing me, and I duck into a back alley.
When I peek out again, he’s gone.
“Argh.” I kick the wall and then regret it. The cinderblock is unforgiving and I’m wearing ballet flats.
Well. I suck. I had one job. One job. And I failed. I glance at my phone. And in less than half an hour even. I do have a text from Roe.
“Mrs. J. is drunk.”
“Watch those hands,” I respond.
“I would never!” he texts immediately.
“Wasn’t referring to you.”
The little dots show he’s typing. Asian Hipster is slipping away but I wait for Roe to write me back. All the while gnawing my lip and foot bouncing impatiently. Finally, his message appears.
“She asked if I can flex for her. Is she allowed to touch my abs?”
I keel over with silent laughter.
Another text pops up on my main phone. “If you’re done goofing off, I have a lead for you,” O.G. writes.
What. The. Fuck.
“Go ahead.” I send.
“Two blocks south. Go now.”
