time you were actually on a bus?” I asked.
“Can’t recall.”
“It’s been that long?”
“I’ll see you at four,” Rae quickly replied, as if she were trying to change the subject.
Resisting the urge to lecture Rae on the benefits of public transportation, I suddenly had a feeling that I had missed a key moment in Rae’s history.
“Did something happen to you?” I asked.
Rae ignored the question and jumped out of the car, but the look on her face after the query was all I needed to know. Something had happened.
I circled Rae’s school, searching for Logan’s car, just to be sure. I couldn’t locate the car, but Logan was easy to spot, in his preppy-boy clothes chatting with a carbon copy of himself (albeit with a sloppier haircut) around the corner of the school entrance. I pulled my car over to the side and grabbed my binoculars from the glove compartment and watched their exchange, hoping for some kind of vague insight. It never occurred to me that the insight I’d acquire would be so specific.
Logan’s counterpart handed over an envelope. Logan opened it and counted the cash. Logan then slipped something into the other guy’s pocket. They bumped fists and parted ways. My mind started wandering, which is never good for anyone.
THE BIG BLONDE
I didn’t want to investigate David and the big blonde, I swear. Sure, I wasn’t above spying on family members, but I saw a distinction between my underage sister, who could have been associating with a dangerous element, and snooping around behind the back of my perfectly respectable brother—whose back, I should mention, I had snooped behind and come up empty. If it were up to me, I would have liked to have shown David that people can change by doing nothing and letting this big-blonde business work itself out on its own.
Unfortunately, I had a blackmailing mother on my hands, and the mound of dirt she had on me could not be swept under any carpet I’ve ever seen. I suppose the honest thing to do would have been to come clean and erase her tool of manipulation, but after sixteen years I simply did not want the Prom Night episode to see the light of day.
And so I followed Mom’s orders. Since I was banned from the office and I had already inadvertently (yes, that’s what I call inadvertent) acquired some kind of dirt on one family member, I decided to keep that the theme of the day and deal with the David issue, which I figured was probably not an issue at all.
• • •
At two P.M . on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, I parked a few blocks from David’s residence and pulled out my laptop, mooching off his neighbor’s wireless. I forwarded the e-mail Robbie sent me about gathering e-mail headers on to Len and Christopher and hoped that one of them would see to it that the request was handled.
Then I decided that I had to take more control over my not-so-personal life. I found a website called www.litidate.com , which looked promising. It contained pictures and detailed profiles, and the members’ bar memberships were verified in case your mother thought you were pulling some kind of faux-lawyer con. Besides, at least with these guys I could pick the ones I was sure wouldn’t want a second date with me. Forty-five minutes later, just as I’d found a few promising candidates, David exited his residence and drove two miles up California, parked on the street, and entered an office building on the corner of Sacramento and Locust.
I parked my car, entered the building, and was delighted to find that there was a security checkpoint and a sign-in form. I saw my brother’s name and the associated suite number. I signed myself in and took the elevator to the fourth floor. When the elevator doors opened, I cautiously moved along the hallway until I reached Suite 405 and then I read the sign on the door:
Sharon Tudor, Therapist
As usual, David’s intrigue was hardly intrigue at all, and if the big blonde was David’s therapist,
“Can’t recall.”
“It’s been that long?”
“I’ll see you at four,” Rae quickly replied, as if she were trying to change the subject.
Resisting the urge to lecture Rae on the benefits of public transportation, I suddenly had a feeling that I had missed a key moment in Rae’s history.
“Did something happen to you?” I asked.
Rae ignored the question and jumped out of the car, but the look on her face after the query was all I needed to know. Something had happened.
I circled Rae’s school, searching for Logan’s car, just to be sure. I couldn’t locate the car, but Logan was easy to spot, in his preppy-boy clothes chatting with a carbon copy of himself (albeit with a sloppier haircut) around the corner of the school entrance. I pulled my car over to the side and grabbed my binoculars from the glove compartment and watched their exchange, hoping for some kind of vague insight. It never occurred to me that the insight I’d acquire would be so specific.
Logan’s counterpart handed over an envelope. Logan opened it and counted the cash. Logan then slipped something into the other guy’s pocket. They bumped fists and parted ways. My mind started wandering, which is never good for anyone.
THE BIG BLONDE
I didn’t want to investigate David and the big blonde, I swear. Sure, I wasn’t above spying on family members, but I saw a distinction between my underage sister, who could have been associating with a dangerous element, and snooping around behind the back of my perfectly respectable brother—whose back, I should mention, I had snooped behind and come up empty. If it were up to me, I would have liked to have shown David that people can change by doing nothing and letting this big-blonde business work itself out on its own.
Unfortunately, I had a blackmailing mother on my hands, and the mound of dirt she had on me could not be swept under any carpet I’ve ever seen. I suppose the honest thing to do would have been to come clean and erase her tool of manipulation, but after sixteen years I simply did not want the Prom Night episode to see the light of day.
And so I followed Mom’s orders. Since I was banned from the office and I had already inadvertently (yes, that’s what I call inadvertent) acquired some kind of dirt on one family member, I decided to keep that the theme of the day and deal with the David issue, which I figured was probably not an issue at all.
• • •
At two P.M . on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, I parked a few blocks from David’s residence and pulled out my laptop, mooching off his neighbor’s wireless. I forwarded the e-mail Robbie sent me about gathering e-mail headers on to Len and Christopher and hoped that one of them would see to it that the request was handled.
Then I decided that I had to take more control over my not-so-personal life. I found a website called www.litidate.com , which looked promising. It contained pictures and detailed profiles, and the members’ bar memberships were verified in case your mother thought you were pulling some kind of faux-lawyer con. Besides, at least with these guys I could pick the ones I was sure wouldn’t want a second date with me. Forty-five minutes later, just as I’d found a few promising candidates, David exited his residence and drove two miles up California, parked on the street, and entered an office building on the corner of Sacramento and Locust.
I parked my car, entered the building, and was delighted to find that there was a security checkpoint and a sign-in form. I saw my brother’s name and the associated suite number. I signed myself in and took the elevator to the fourth floor. When the elevator doors opened, I cautiously moved along the hallway until I reached Suite 405 and then I read the sign on the door:
Sharon Tudor, Therapist
As usual, David’s intrigue was hardly intrigue at all, and if the big blonde was David’s therapist,
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