“But enough about me. I want to hear about you and all these strange stories? Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t think so,” I said regretfully. I didn’t want to bring anyone else into my crazy life, least of all Blake. Blake was my first friend in the history program, and everything had been great until he’d made a move on me. I just hadn’t liked him that way.
“Bianca, you know I’m here if you need to chat. I’m more than just my good looks. I’ve got a brain as well.”
“Yes, that’s true.” I stared at the Hudson River in front of me and decided to go with my gut. “I do need someone to talk to, if you’re up for that. Just trust me when I say it’s a whole heap of crazy.”
“I love crazy.” He laughed. “Napoléon is my hero.”
“And I’m guessing that’s not Napoleon Dynamite.”
“Bonaparte all the way, baby.” He laughed. “But seriously, I have a bit of a break now, if you want to meet up for a coffee.”
“I’m in Riverside Park.” I stood up and started walking. “I should really be getting home, though. I need to find a locksmith to change my locks.”
“Where in Riverside? I’m at One Hundred and Sixteenth Street. I could come meet you if you’re close.”
“What are you doing at One Hundred and Sixteenth Street?” I asked, curious.
“I had my interview at Columbia today.” He sounded excited. “They’re really thrilled about my research. I might even get a grant.”
“Wow.” I knew a hint of jealousy was in my voice. That could have been me, going to Columbia, teaching freshmen about the past, instead of writing articles about movies that got trolled by fans of actors who hated other actors.
“Who would have thought it, right? But I don’t want to get too excited. It’s not a sure thing. As the French say, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“The French say that?” I giggled, feeling lighthearted for the first time in a week.
“Not in front of me, but who knows what they say behind closed doors.”
“Oh, Blake, you always make me laugh.” I giggled again and started walking toward the closest entrance. “I’m coming out of the park. I’ll call you back with the cross street.”
“Great.”
After a few minutes I called Blake and said, “I’m at Ninety-Sixth Street.”
“That’s going to take me a bit.” He laughed. “But I’m on my way. I’m coming down Amsterdam and then will cross over.”
“I’ll met you halfway.” I headed out of the park, suddenly excited to see my old friend. Yes, things had ended awkwardly, but we’d always had a good relationship before that. I needed to speak to someone with no knowledge of everything that had been going on, someone who could offer me advice from a completely unbiased point of view—and I knew that person was Blake.
“So that’s about it, then.” I looked at Blake’s face to see if he thought I was crazy yet. “I don’t know who to trust or why any of this is happening or what to think, and I’m driving myself crazy.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” Blake’s brown eyes were warm and supportive as he sat across from me in Tom’s, the diner we loved to frequent on Broadway because the facade outside had been used in Seinfeld.
“What?” I sipped my coffee, perplexed at his question. “Like who? And that’s your response after everything I just told you? That’s the most important question after I just told you I was kidnapped?”
“It’s important, yes.” He nodded. “Not that your being kidnapped isn’t important, but I’ve never seen you like someone before.”
“Oh.” I blushed and looked down. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe he still wasn’t over me.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned over and touched my hand. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
“It’s fine.” I sighed. “I didn’t expect you to believe me anyway.”
“Oh, I believe every word you said.” He suddenly looked serious. “We need to find Larry or Steve.”
“We?” I looked up at him in surprise.
“I’m going to help you.” He grinned. “I’m a regular detective, you know. I don’t just piece together clues of the past. I piece together pieces of the future as well.”
“You’re a goof.” I grinned. “A goof I’ve missed. And to answer your earlier question, yes, I really like him.”
“Be still my beating heart.” He clutched his chest and made a face. “For once I saw your face, I knew you were destined for another. My heart was slow to catch up and now it’s hiding for cover.”
“Blake.” I rolled my eyes. “Did you pick up poetry as a side job in France?”
“No, but I did meet a nice French mademoiselle who taught me that to love and lose is the best experience one can go through in life.”
“Oh?” I frowned.
“She was dramatic.” He grinned. “She made my boring life more dramatic. She brought color and pain and poetry to my paltry life, and I’m grateful to her for it.”