He nods and stands, then gestures for the falcon, gimme-gimme. When I hand it over, he turns to the two punks.
“You know this thing is worthless, right? If you ding-dongs would’ve just hustled a little faster, I suspect all you’d get for it on eBay would be ten lousy dollars, and we’d just order a new one online the next day. But now you’re going to start your teenage lives with criminal records.”
“Screw you,” Polo Shirt says. “My dad’s a lawyer. A hundred bucks says he’ll get you and the bitch fired.”
Porter laughs and tugs a thumb in my direction as Mr. Cavadini rushes toward us through the gift-shop exit. “Nice try. Her mom’s a lawyer too.”
Uh, divorce lawyer living all the way across the country, but who cares? We both share a secret smile. Who knew that my archnemesis could make such a good partner? A crime-solving partner—that’s all. No other kind of partner. I really need to wipe all those other thoughts out of my head, especially the confusing lusty thing that happened before we chased down these two kids. And the hand-holding. And the secret smiling.
Ugh.
Must rectify this tangled mess quickly, and I think I know how.
LUMIèRE FILM FANATICS COMMUNITY
PRIVATE MESSAGES>ALEX>NEW!
@mink: I have a horoscope for you.
@alex: Do you? Lay it on me, because I’ve had a REALLY confusing day, and I need some guidance.
@mink: Okay, here it is: If life suddenly gives you a choice to say yes to a new experience, you should accept.
@alex: What if that experience might be a pain in the ass?
@mink: Why would you assume that?
@alex: Instinct. I’ve been burned before, remember?
@mink: Instinct is no match for reason.
@alex: At this point, I’m not even sure I’ve got either one of them on my side.
“Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.”
—Marilyn Monroe, Some Like It Hot (1959)
10
* * *
I’m doing this. I’ve got the day off, and I’m heading toward the Killian’s Whale Tours booth. It’s eerily gray and foggy this morning. So foggy, it’s nearly noon and I still can’t see much of the ocean. This is okay by me. Fewer tourists running around. It’s like I have the boardwalk to myself.
So what if I’ve changed my mind twice? I’m really doing it this time. I mean, come on. It’s Alex. At least, I hope it’s Alex. And if it is, I’ll know, because I know him. I should, shouldn’t I? I’ve been talking to him online for months. We’re practically soul mates. Okay, maybe that’s a little much, but we’re at least friends of some sort or another. We have a bond that stretches beyond our common interest.
Then there’s the whole Porter situation. After the cops came and picked up the thieving kids yesterday—two run-of-the-mill officers, not my dad’s Sergeant Mendoza—Porter was involved in paperwork to do with all that, so I didn’t really see him again. Which is good, because all these crazy feelings I was feeling about him . . . they were just a byproduct of adrenaline and elation over capturing those two boys.
Anyway, I’m not thinking about Porter Roth right now. I’m especially not thinking about his fingers twined through mine after the victory high five. That’s banned from my brain. As if to underscore the matter, a low foghorn bellows offshore, making me jump. Here be dragons, Rydell. Keep away, if you know what’s good for you.
I clear Porter from my head and continue walking. The orange and blue of the Killian logo appears. We’ll show you a whale of a good time! Gee, if this really is Alex’s family, I already see why he hates working here. Lame-o. The business is situated between two others, Shoreline Bicycle Rentals, and the booth that sells tickets to the Ferris wheel. I hover by the bike rental place until I spot Patrick’s blond hair.
He’s working. And it looks like he’s alone.
I wait while he points someone down the boardwalk, giving them directions through the fog somewhere, then before I can lose my nerve again, I take three long strides and slow near the carved whale bench outside the ticketing window. A couple of seagulls scatter when I approach.
“Hi,” I say. “Remember me?”
“From the Shack,” he says. He’s wearing an orange Windbreaker and white shorts. His sideburns are cropped shorter than they were in the diner, and the morning breeze is blowing blond hair across his eyes. “I never forget a film buff. But I do forget names. Remind me . . . ?”
I’m sort of crushed. “Bailey.”
He snaps his fingers. “Bailey, that’s right. Patrick,” he says, extending his hand, and I pretend that I didn’t remember his name either as I shake it.
Now I’ve got to play it cooler than I planned, so I say, “I was just taking a walk, seeing if there were any used-DVD stores on the boardwalk.” I know there’s one. I’ve already been inside it three times. “And then I saw you, and I thought, Hey, maybe that guy would know.” Ugh. So awkward, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, there’s a little place called Video Ray-Gun, right in the middle of the promenade. Giant sci-fi ray gun outside. Hard to miss.”
Crap. This is going to be harder than I thought. Didn’t I give him a hint online last night? Unless this really isn’t Alex . . .
“So, do you get a break here any time soon? Maybe you’d want to go browse some DVDs with me?” I hear myself saying. “You mentioned getting coffee sometime, but, you know . . .” My voice is getting smaller and smaller.
Come on. If this is really Alex, surely he’ll remember me dropping the horoscope hint last night . . . won’t he? I mean, he’s always so attentive online. He remembers everything I say. Always gets my jokes, even remembers punch lines to gags from months back. But now he can’t even remember my actual name? Maybe it really was a good idea that I didn’t tell him I was moving out here, after all.
Hesitating, he leans over the counter and looks one way, then the other, peering into the fog. “All right. Yeah, sure. Why not. Business is slow. The current tour won’t be back for a bit, so I guess I can take thirty. Hold on, let me close the gate and put up the sign.”
I let out a long breath.
He jumps off his stool and reaches above his head to pull down a rolling metal shutter over the window, disappearing for a few seconds. When he reappears through a door on the side of the booth, he’s got a GONE WHALING! BE BACK IN A FEW MINUTES sign, which he hangs on the shuttered window.
“Okay, Bailey. Let’s go,” he says with an inviting smile.