moment, but I didn’t respond, even with the normal platitudes. I didn’t understand Daisy’s life—that’s why I needed to meet with her. I heard paper rustling before he continued. “I suppose we have a few hours tomorrow afternoon. How’s that sound?”
“That’s just fine,” I replied, nodding like an idiot as though he could see me through the phone.
“Great, we’ll see you then, Hols.” And then he hung up.
While I really liked the Dixson ladies, I wasn’t altogether soldon Jameson. Maybe I was judging him too harshly, but to me, he seemed like one weird dude. He’d hung up on me after five sentences without telling me where to meet them or at what time. I assumed he meant the house, but how could I possibly know that? I was waiting for him to tell me that he’d been sending me messages telepathically since our first phone call, and that it was my fault I hadn’t received them.
Hey, in this town, you never know.
• • •
A t six the next morning, there was a loud knock at my door. I briefly thought it was the first and my landlord had come screaming for the rent, but then remembered it was the middle of the month. While it always seemed like I just wrote my rent check and it was still miraculously time for the next, for once, I was off the hook for another couple of weeks.
I sat up, groggy and confused, and tried to decide if I should answer the door or just pretend I wasn’t home. But the knocker didn’t give me much of a choice; the banging just went on and on. I got up and threw on a sweatshirt, knowing the Vietnamese woman who lived two doors down would come out swinging a rolling pin in a matter of seconds.
I was surprised to find Jameson’s messenger on the other side of the door. Especially since my building has a security door that someone had clearly forgotten to close—again.
“Hi,” I said, bewildered.
“Man, sorry I’m late,” the kid told me, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand. The other was occupied with a large manila envelope that I guessed he was coming to deliver to me. “The traffic coming out of Bev Hills is already a real bitch.”
He held up the envelope and shook it before passing it to me. I stared at him for a second, trying to make sense of the weirdness that seemed to be taking over my life in the last few weeks. He was late coming over here? Unless he was supposed to show up last night or at 2:00 A.M . , I wasn’t sure how that was even possible.
The kid looked me up and down quickly. “You’re going like that?”
Clearly, I was missing a major part of this equation. “The only place I’m going is back to bed, and I assure you, it’s a really relaxed dress code.”
He looked at his watch, then up at me, smirking. “You do know your flight leaves at nine A.M. , right?”
The kid was joking. He had to be joking. “Flight?”
He nodded toward the envelope. “Mr. Lloyd said you’d need the tickets by five A.M. , but I forgot you lived in the tenth level of hell.” He yawned loudly. “It took me over an hour to get here.”
I’d been awake for three and a half minutes and today already sucked.
“Dante’s Inferno only has nine levels.”
“Who’s Dante?” he asked.
Confused and a little irritated, I closed the door in his face. Then I promptly ripped open the top of the envelope and shook the ticket into my outstretched hand. I felt like I was playing some strange lottery where I switched places with a crazy person and took over their life for a few days. I inhaled deeply to restore my inner calm before I could dare look down at the ticket.
And the winning city was . . . I squinted at the small print—Miami? I was flying to Miami and Jameson hadn’t bothered to tell me? I was shocked enough by the realization that I had to fly to my meeting with Daisy, but I assumed I was going someplace like Vegas or San Francisco, only a few hours away, where it just happened to be more convenient to fly than drive. But no, I was
“That’s just fine,” I replied, nodding like an idiot as though he could see me through the phone.
“Great, we’ll see you then, Hols.” And then he hung up.
While I really liked the Dixson ladies, I wasn’t altogether soldon Jameson. Maybe I was judging him too harshly, but to me, he seemed like one weird dude. He’d hung up on me after five sentences without telling me where to meet them or at what time. I assumed he meant the house, but how could I possibly know that? I was waiting for him to tell me that he’d been sending me messages telepathically since our first phone call, and that it was my fault I hadn’t received them.
Hey, in this town, you never know.
• • •
A t six the next morning, there was a loud knock at my door. I briefly thought it was the first and my landlord had come screaming for the rent, but then remembered it was the middle of the month. While it always seemed like I just wrote my rent check and it was still miraculously time for the next, for once, I was off the hook for another couple of weeks.
I sat up, groggy and confused, and tried to decide if I should answer the door or just pretend I wasn’t home. But the knocker didn’t give me much of a choice; the banging just went on and on. I got up and threw on a sweatshirt, knowing the Vietnamese woman who lived two doors down would come out swinging a rolling pin in a matter of seconds.
I was surprised to find Jameson’s messenger on the other side of the door. Especially since my building has a security door that someone had clearly forgotten to close—again.
“Hi,” I said, bewildered.
“Man, sorry I’m late,” the kid told me, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand. The other was occupied with a large manila envelope that I guessed he was coming to deliver to me. “The traffic coming out of Bev Hills is already a real bitch.”
He held up the envelope and shook it before passing it to me. I stared at him for a second, trying to make sense of the weirdness that seemed to be taking over my life in the last few weeks. He was late coming over here? Unless he was supposed to show up last night or at 2:00 A.M . , I wasn’t sure how that was even possible.
The kid looked me up and down quickly. “You’re going like that?”
Clearly, I was missing a major part of this equation. “The only place I’m going is back to bed, and I assure you, it’s a really relaxed dress code.”
He looked at his watch, then up at me, smirking. “You do know your flight leaves at nine A.M. , right?”
The kid was joking. He had to be joking. “Flight?”
He nodded toward the envelope. “Mr. Lloyd said you’d need the tickets by five A.M. , but I forgot you lived in the tenth level of hell.” He yawned loudly. “It took me over an hour to get here.”
I’d been awake for three and a half minutes and today already sucked.
“Dante’s Inferno only has nine levels.”
“Who’s Dante?” he asked.
Confused and a little irritated, I closed the door in his face. Then I promptly ripped open the top of the envelope and shook the ticket into my outstretched hand. I felt like I was playing some strange lottery where I switched places with a crazy person and took over their life for a few days. I inhaled deeply to restore my inner calm before I could dare look down at the ticket.
And the winning city was . . . I squinted at the small print—Miami? I was flying to Miami and Jameson hadn’t bothered to tell me? I was shocked enough by the realization that I had to fly to my meeting with Daisy, but I assumed I was going someplace like Vegas or San Francisco, only a few hours away, where it just happened to be more convenient to fly than drive. But no, I was
Similar Books
