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I ignore that question too.
“Have you Facebook stalked him?” Ashley asks, apparently also onboard with the Ignore Becca’s Impatience plan.
“No,” I say wonderingly, “I haven’t. Let’s do that right now!” I dig back into my purse, my heart racing with excitement again. I cannot believe I didn’t think to do that before now. Leave it to Ashley to think of these sorts of things.
“Okay,” I say, hitting the search button to bring up the search screen, “let’s see what Facebook has to say on the topic.”
I type in Carlton Caldwell and even, I’ll admit, Diesel Caldwell. Do outlaws have last names?
But, nothing.
How is that even possible?? Who doesn’t have a Facebook page? I scrunch up my nose, suddenly unsure about Diesel the Outlaw. What the fuck could we have in common if he didn’t even bother to have a Facebook page? I bet he doesn’t even have an Instagram account. I pull up the Instagram app and check.
Nope.
Wow. It’s like he’s from the 1980s or something.
“You should google him,” Becca suggests, still staring up and down the street of vehicles whizzing by, car horns honking…and not an Uber in sight. “He has to be on Google.”
“Oh, I like that,” I say, switching apps. “C’moooonnnnn Google. What do you have?”
I start thumbing down the list of results, scanning as I go. “Caldwell Corporation,” I mumble to myself. “God, what a boring name.”
Becca waits for the Uber, staring at her screen willing it the car to come faster while Ashley and I stare at my screen, reading through the articles.
“He’s a real estate guy?” I ask, disappointed. I want a caveman. I want a Viking. I want a man. I don’t want some guy who makes real estate deals while sipping high-end Scotch with a bunch of old white guys.
Like, ugh.
“Oh my god, the Caldwell family?” Ashley asks and starts laughing. “They vacay with the Kennedys, for fuck’s sakes. Every time those two families go to Martha’s Vineyard together, it hits all the tabloids. That’s your outlaw?”
I swear to god, if she’s starts crying with laughter, I’m gonna punch her in the nose. Or at least order decaf the next time I buy her coffee. She did that once to me, and I almost died that day.
She’s still laughing.
And…wiping away tears.
Oh yeah, definitely decaf revenge time.
“Oh Lisa,” she finally says, getting her breath back enough to talk, “Diesel isn’t an outlaw any more than you are!”
The Uber pulls up then – finally – and we slide inside, giving directions to my place. We can clean up there and then go out somewhere to eat. I’m starving.
Becca, who’s missed like all of our conversation while fighting the Uber overlords, says, “So, is Diesel the real deal?”
Ashley shakes her head. “Not even close,” she says.
“Hold on, hold on,” I interrupt, holding up my hand as the car swerves in and out of traffic. Good thing I don’t get car sick. I’d be throwing up right about now. “I don’t know that we can say that for sure. Yet. Maybe, he’s like that one superhero dude who pretends one thing during the day and then does something else at night!”
“You mean Superman?” Becca asks dryly.
So I’m not a geek over comic books. Sue me.
“Yeah, him. So, how can we know for sure if Diesel the Outlaw really is tough and, you know, an outlaw?”
We sit back against the seat, swaying to the left and then to the right in unison as the Uber weaves down the road and around corners. Like a carnival ride, Uber style. I have to wonder if Becca threatened them with a lawsuit if they didn’t get us home in time or something.
“Dick pics!” Ashley announces.
