Tonight the Streets Are Ours

Lindsey got back on the phone. “Can I speak with Peter, please? He’s supposed to be working there this afternoon … Oh, sorry, I must have the wrong number. My bad.” After hanging up, she said to Arden, “Are you sure he never said the name of his bookstore?”


“Positive.” Arden had read every entry—and there were hundreds of them. Some she’d read more than once. She knew everything he’d ever put in there. “Anyway, I have no clue what I’m going to say to him if we do find him,” she went on. “‘Hey, I just drove a million miles to meet you’ sounds kind of stalkery.”

“Let’s role-play,” Lindsey suggested. “I’ll be Peter, and you can be you.”

“Sounds like a theater game,” Arden cautioned, making a face.

“Not really, because you’re pretending to be yourself.”

“Okay, fine.” Arden cleared her throat. “Hi, are you Peter?”

Lindsey put on a deep, fake-masculine voice. “Who’s asking?”

“Uh, my name is Arden. And I just wanted to … meet you, I guess.”

“Are you another one of those girls who heard Bianca and I broke up? And now you’re trying to make your move as soon as Bianca’s out of the picture? That’s very exploitative, Arden—is that what you said your name was? I’m still in mourning. I’m not looking to just move on to the next available girl.”

“You are a terrible role-player,” Arden said. “Do you know that?”

“I just want you to be prepared for the worst,” Lindsey said in her normal-pitched voice. “Actually, I just thought of an even worse scenario.”

“Fabulous,” Arden muttered.

“What if the whole thing is an elaborate ruse?” Lindsey went on. “Like ‘Peter’ is just a code name for a kidnapper or murderer who’s created this artsy, sensitive online persona so he can lure unsuspecting young girls into his clutches. And then he keeps them locked up in a penthouse somewhere. Where he forces them into lives of servitude. And drinks their blood.”

“You’re conflating approximately a dozen distinct paranoias there,” Arden told her. “Also, I think there has got to be a better way to kidnap girls than to create a fake online journal, update it every day for a year, and then wait for your readers to somehow piece together what bookstore you supposedly work at.”

“It’s not out of the question, though,” Lindsey said. “Admit that it’s not out of the question.”

“Do you want me to let you out right here?” Arden asked. “I’ll do it. You can hitchhike home.”

They drove past the turnoff for Hancock. Lindsey snorted. “What a dumb name for a town.”

“I assume it’s named after John Hancock,” Arden said. “You know? One of the signers of the Declaration of Independence? Famous old dude? Ring any bells?”

“It sounds like slang for something sexual. Like ‘hand cock.’” Lindsey made a jerk-off motion with her hand.

Arden rolled her eyes, then cracked up. “You have a filthy mind, Lindsey.”

Half an hour later, they stopped for gas. The Heart of Gold had been making a weird whump-whump-whump noise, so Arden walked around, inspecting it. She felt like a fraud, since she blatantly had no idea what she was looking for on her car, and she was still wearing her shimmery anniversary dress, which presumably was not what people wore when they were engaging in auto mechanics. She had considered changing back into her normal clothes while she was still at the hotel. But she had this dress. She had planned to wear it today, and she still wanted to wear it. And if Chris wasn’t going to appreciate it, maybe Peter would.