“He was attending LA Actors Academy. It’s a college in West Hollywood, but I think he’s quit or is taking some time off, at least. He used to work at a café near the campus, but he hasn’t been in for a shift since he left me.”
“You’ve tried to track him down?”
“Only at school and work,” he admitted. “Where his family wouldn’t find out.”
“What makes you think I will be even able to find him? I’m not a private eye. I don’t typically find missing people.”
“Gerard said you were very good. And Yanni’s not missing, he’s just gone quiet because his family are homophobes. God only knows what they threatened him with. I don’t want to involve the police, and God, private detectives are worse than real cops. It could put him in an even worse position than he is now if they go sticking their noses into his family, know what I mean?”
I took a deep breath and weighed up my options. Sure, Lance was a wanker, but if this kid was in some trouble, then maybe I should help. Or, at the very least, maybe if I could track him down and assess the whole crazy situation for myself, then I could decide what to do. And that was if I could find him.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my small notepad and handed it to him. “Write down his name, date of birth, the college he went to, classes he took, the café he worked at, places he hung out, names of friends. Anything you can think of. I’ll also need your email address and other contact details.”
He scribbled furiously, and when he gave it back to me, I said, “No promises. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to find him.”
Lance smiled. “I have every faith.”
I relayed my meeting to Lola and Emilio. Emilio agreed that something sounded off about the whole thing, and Lola cautioned me to follow my gut. “I know, I know,” I agreed. “Lance Nader is a tosser, but what if this ex-boyfriend needs some help? It can’t hurt to look into it.”
“So, if you met this Tosser-Guy in a bar…?” Lola trailed off suggestively.
“I’d run a mile,” I said without hesitating. “He pinged my arsehole-o-meter before he even sat down.”
Lola made that face that told me I was being an idiot. “You’re saying all the things I’d expect you to say if you turned the job down,” she said.
“I know.” I sighed loudly. “I might not even be able to find the guy.”
She rubbed my arm. “I trust your judgement, Spence. If something doesn’t feel right, just tell Tosser-guy it’s no bueno.”
I finally gave her a smile. “I will.”
“You look good today,” she said, dropping the subject of my new client, who had not-so-subtly been given the nickname of Tosser-Guy. Because that’s what he was.
I looked down at my shirt and pants. I’d worn this before. “Um, thanks?”
She laughed. “It’s not your clothes. It’s you. Look at you being all happy and shit.”
“Oh.” I knew what she was referring to. She was about to tell me I had some inner glow from love or sex or something equally embarrassing. “I like your dress. Is that new?”
She wasn’t fooled. “Nice try.”
“I’m serious. Is that sunshine yellow?”
She narrowed her eyes at me but went back to unpacking a box of new jewellery for Daniela. “Are those new Prince Albert designs?”
“Yep. Want one?”
My dick shrank back inside my body at the thought. “Ah, no thanks.”
She laughed. “Andrew might like it.”
I ignored her. “The yellow of your dress really suits your pink hair,” I added. “Same tone. And the thin black belt and matching black high heels is a great combination.”
Lola laughed and shook her head at me. “You’re not deflecting anything with me, Spencer Cohen. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” I lied.
She tugged on my beard. “I’m happy for you and Andrew. Even if you don’t want to talk about it.”
I laughed incredulously. “I have talked about it. I’ve told you as much as I can about me and Andrew without divulging our favourite lube.”
Someone laughed outside the cubicle.
“On that note,” I said, walking to the cubicle curtain. I spoke to whoever the hell was listening. “I will see you good people tomorrow.” I stuck my head out to see Emilio. “Need anything, man?”
He looked up from where he was inking a customer. “Nah.”
“Dinner later?”
“No hot date tonight?”
I groaned. “No.”
“That’s tomorrow night,” Lola yelled out from her cubicle.
I took a deep breath, but it did little to stem the traitorous blush that heated my stupid cheeks.
Emilio laughed. “Nah, I’m finishing up early tonight. Shop’ll be shut by seven.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. And tell Daniela I said thank you for yesterday. And the night before for helping me with my Academy Award winning Maker’s Mark performance.” I cringed as the memory of bourbon burned in my throat. “Any night this week you guys want dinner, it’s on me.”
Emilio grinned at me. “Any night, but not tomorrow night.”