“What do you think you’re going to do?” Lola asked softly.
There was a sharp knock, and once again, Spencer broke in just as this question was floating in the air. It was like he knew on some level that she needed rescuing from her own deep confusion. He had worked a full shift on no sleep, after a very long day, and it was showing in his face. Despite the comment she had just made about his past relationships, Lola gave him a look of respect as he yanked off his sopping T-shirt. Evidently, the punching thing had made a good impression.
“Any news?” he asked. “Anything online? Why aren’t you looking this up?”
Scarlett pulled the computer over from her bedside stand while Spencer wrung his shirt out into their wicker wastebasket.
“Nothing, nothing…wait…Something titled ‘Hotel Elsinore.’ It says…”
She skimmed down the part that explained the strange circumstances of the play in the hotel, blah, blah…
“Here we go. ‘Eric Hall and Spencer Martin performed some of the best physical comedy I’ve seen on stage in years. Martin, in particular, is spectacularly gifted in everything from combat to clown, with razor-sharp timing. He is certain to be an actor to watch.’ That’s good!”
“Spectacularly gifted,” Spencer said, pulling his damp shirt back on. “Razor-sharp timing? Actor to watch? Was that The New York Times? The Village Voice?”
“It was some guy named Ed,” Scarlett said.
“Ed?” Spencer repeated.
“On a blog called Treading the Boards with Ed Mordes.”
Spencer came over and took the computer to read the article for himself. Lola started messing around inside her special drawer again. She stared at something inside of it very intently, and then closed it.
“I think it’s great, whoever he is,” she said, turning around. “It’s a great review. I’m going to take a bath—I’ve been cleaning all morning. Let me know if you find anything else.”
When she had taken her robe and gone next door and started running water, Scarlett got up and quietly slid the drawer open.
“What are you doing?” Spencer asked.
Scarlett shh-ed him and pointed at the wall. Spencer nodded in understanding of the fact that Lola could hear them—but still looked puzzled by her actions. Scarlett carefully pushed aside the pack of fabulous wipes and some mysterious tubes of cream. She knew what she was looking for the moment she laid eyes on it. It was a dark red box marked “Cartier.” She removed it carefully from the drawer and brought it over to Spencer.
Inside the box was a white-gold watch with a single diamond on the face.
“Holy…” Spencer said under his breath as he took the box. “This thing even smells expensive. This is probably a few grand worth of watch.”
“She’s not wearing it,” Scarlett said.
“But she took it. She accepted it. I have a bad feeling that Number Ninety-eight is going to…”
Scarlett elbowed him.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re not allowed to call him that anymore,” she said, taking the watch and carefully replacing it in the drawer.
“In front of Lola.”
“He saved you yesterday,” Scarlett said. “You have to be nice to him now. We both have to try. We have to practice.”
“But…”
“You made Lola cry,” Scarlett said, dropping her voice even lower. “Remember?”
Spencer looked like he felt a little betrayed by this remark, and then held up his hands, admitting his shame.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I will be nice about the watch that Chip spent many thousands of dollars on to impress my sister, who he isn’t even dating right now. And should she decide to date him again, I will never call him Ninety-eight or ask him whether his major is Letters or Numbers.”
“Thank you,” said a voice from the doorway.
Lola stepped around Scarlett, removed some product that she had forgotten to bring to the bathroom, and pushed the Drawer of Mysteries closed. She didn’t appear to care too much that Scarlett and Spencer had been going through her things.
“And no,” she said, “I haven’t made up my mind yet about what to do about Chip or the watch. It is worth about eight thousand dollars—I know you’ll just look it up online later. But I did just see Dad on his way down to their room, and they want to talk to you about the plans for tomorrow night. You know, when you give them tickets to a show and perform Hamlet for them, and they can see that you have an acting job?”
“This is where I take a long, long nap,” Spencer said. “And in my happy, happy dreams, this problem goes away. And those Dutch twins who love tall and weedy New York actors come and offer to help me prepare for my role. And we all put on the fuzzy squirrel outfits and get big bags of nuts…I’m revealing too much about my internal life, aren’t I? It’s weird between us now, isn’t it?”
He yawned hugely.