Chapter 16

Shelby Carson wasn’t much of a drinker. Growing up as a teenager at the American embassy in Riyadh, alcohol had been a furtive business for adults and teens alike, available but not plentiful enough to trickle down to the merely curious. In Brownfield Mills, booze had been ridiculously plentiful, but by the time Shelby fully internalized that the BMPD were not the Mutawa, she hadn’t been tempted to do more than sip. She’d seen too many girls let alcohol lower their guard for them until they wound up flirting, fooling around, or even sleeping with people they normally would have known to avoid while sober.

“Straight girl, you’re not allergic to aspirin. Are you?” called Jennifer from the bathroom.

Shelby groaned and called out to her new friend, Case-In-Point, that she was not in fact allergic to aspirin. Then she took stock of her situation. She was in bed, naked with her head feeling swollen to about three times its original size. She didn’t see her clothes, but her purse rested on the side table. She groped it open and found her phone, then pried her eyelids open to see if she was remembering last night at all correctly. There were five unread messages from Lexi, ending with, “I guess you went to bed. Talk to you tomorrow.” Above that was the message, alleged to be from Shelby herself, encouraging Lexi to come into the city and share a little alone time together when they could get away from the guy they’d both slept with. Shelby was still debating how to handle the message when Jennifer placed a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the table next to Shelby’s purse.

She could go with a half-truth - say that she’d misplaced her phone and someone had sent that message to be funny. After all, Shelby never used exclamation points. Unfortunately, Lexi would catch the “little boots” reference, which really made it sound like Shelby had written it. She really wanted to kick Titus’s ass for giving her those Roman-inspired verbal tics.

She took three aspirin and washed them down with the water. Jennifer, as naked as Shelby, went into a suitcase laid on top of the chest of drawers and started pulling out clothes. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible. I don’t really drink.” said Shelby.

“It was a night for new experiences. Wasn’t it?” Jennifer asked.

Shelby closed her eyes and sighed. “I did have sex with you. Right?”

Jennifer pulled on her panties. “There’s a lot of room between yes and no on that question. Maybe you should pick the answer you like best and go with it.”

Shelby tried to reconstruct her memory of once they’d gotten to Jennifer’s room last night, but it was just a series of disjointed, out-of-sequence images. She looked around. “Where are my clothes?”

“Wet in the bottom of the shower,” said Jennifer. “The bathroom’s kind of a mess, too. I was thinking we could clear out and let the maids deal with the aftermath.”

Shelby still didn’t open her eyes. “My clean clothes are over in Simon’s apartment.”

“There’s a robe in the closet you can use.” Jennifer pulled on a t-shirt without a bra. “We should really get moving.”

“For the maids. Right.” Shelby rolled out of bed and walked around to the closet. “There are maids here?”

“That’s what you would call the people who are paid to clean up after you puke. Right?” Jennifer slid into a pair of jeans.

Shelby wrapped herself in the white, terry cloth, hotel-style robe she found in the closet and felt a little better for it.

Jennifer slid on a pair of white trainers and, instead of heading out like Shelby thought she would, flopped down in an armchair. “So, what’s the verdict? You think you might try playing softball and stickball.”

Shelby pushed her hair back, trying to make sense out of the last eight hours. “The verdict is inconclusive. But that text you sent doesn’t really leave me much choice about at least trying it again. Does it?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I just told her you had a room for her. You could just Netflix and chill.”

Shelby wanted to point out that ‘Netflix and chill’ was just code for hooking up, but she felt like Jennifer had left the line lying there for her to pick up, so she declined to pick it up. “Whatever. The fact is, from the short list of people I’ve slept with, Lexi’s actually my favorite. She may not turn out to stoke my fire, but nobody’s perfect.”

“And where do I fall on that short, but quickly-growing list?” Jennifer asked.

“Well, you got me drunk and took advantage of me, but you didn’t try to choke me out. If you don’t text your friends a play-by-play of what we did, that’ll put you pretty squarely in the middle.” Shelby said glumly, realizing it was true. Her choices were getting worse over time.

“If I’d known you were into the heavy stuff, I could have...”

“I’m not into the heavy stuff.” Shelby wasn’t sure if that was true or a lie. One man’s heavy stuff was another’s slap-and-tickle and she’d been shown plenty of sick shit on the Internet. “Beck, my probably ex-boyfriend is a graduate of the Pornhub School of Sexual Technique.”

“We might have been classmates, then,” said Jennifer. “I try to avoid the heavy stuff too, though. You ready to head out?”

Shelby shook her head. “You go ahead. I need to figure out what I’m going to tell Simon about last night.”

“Which one is Simon? Is he the rock star?” asked Jennifer.

“That’s his brother Dennis,” said Shelby. “Simon is the one who immediately recognized you from porn.”

“Ah. He seemed nice,” said Jennifer. “You could just tell him we spent the night having hot girl-sex and that I asked about him. That usually works.”

“There’s no ‘nice’ in Simon and you probably don’t want to attract any more attention from him than you’ve already got,” said Shelby.

“Is he the choker?” asked Jennifer.

“No. He just ... doesn’t like women very much,” said Shelby.

“Tell him, then. I might as well keep all my self-destructive behavior under one roof this weekend,” said Jennifer. “I’m gone tomorrow. I have to get back to work. If he’s not going to murder me, he’s fine.”

Shelby considered the offer. She really wanted Simon’s attention off Lexi, even if she had to throw other women in his path all summer. Jennifer was volunteering to jump on that path. She shrugged. “I think you may have found a bar so low even Simon comes in above it.”

“Great.” Jennifer rose and grabbed her own purse. “You know where to find me, then.”

After she left, Shelby sat for a minute longer, staring at the in-room TV thinking she might check the weather or find some other excuse to delay leaving the room. But, there was a faintly acrid smell coming from the bathroom. Telling herself that Simon might not even be in his apartment, she squared her shoulders and headed out.

On the long walk from Apartment B to Apartment G, she managed to not run into anyone, but had no such luck in Simon’s apartment. He was sitting on his living room couch playing one of those hyperviolent murder simulators Beck liked so much - all thudding bullets and the cries of the dying. He looked Shelby up and down in her robe. “You hedging your bets, Shelby?”

She walked through the living room. If he was going to be a dick to her, he could do it in the bedroom. Maybe he’d even let her get dressed. “In a manner of speaking. You told me I was free to go last night.”

He followed her and stood in the doorway, watching her dress, arms crossed. “If you fucked another guy, I hope it was Nick.” The statement started out cocky and taunting, but lost steam halfway through before he rallied. “Or Max, I guess. That would be funny.”

Shelby didn’t know what she’d heard in Simon’s voice, but she really couldn’t deal with the idea of him having feels this morning. He’d come at her all hard edges and cutting remarks for the last two days and she’d met steel with steel. She could mold herself around angry Simon, but she needed a consistent medium to work with. “No, I wasn’t living out your ‘Shelby gets gangbanged by the nerds’ fantasy. I thought I’d try ‘Shelby gets drunk and sleeps with a porn star’ first.”

“You slept with Lin?” Simon sounded doubtful. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” said Shelby. Hating herself a little for it, she added, “She asked about you, but don’t worry. I didn’t tell her anything true.”

“Whatever,” Simon sounded like he still didn’t believe her. “I’m going to see if Dennis wants to hang out.”

Shelby wasn’t sure if there was an invitation or a trap to make her think there was an invitation in that statement, but she didn’t want to deal with either. “Do you mind if I catch a few more hours of sleep in here then?”

“Yeah, sure. Stay as long as you want.” Simon stood there like he wanted to say something else or was waiting for her to, but she wasn’t up to being engaged. After a minute, he turned and left. When he’d gone, Shelby pulled off the robe, retrieved a long t-shirt from the three-pack she’d bought yesterday, slid into it and climbed into bed. She’d found a KMart and put about a hundred dollars worth of clothing essentials on her father’s credit card. But, she was going to have to find some real clothes today or run home for some. At least in her primary goal for this weekend, she’d overachieved. Nobody was chasing her out of Nick’s building and it looked like she might still be here tonight. But, with great success came an awkwardly extended walk of shame. Maybe the girls she sometimes saw wandering around in ill-fitting no-name jeans like the pair she now owned were all secretly on two-night stands that they hadn’t packed for.

Before she could fall asleep, Shelby found her phone and read through the messages Lexi had sent the night before. They were like the five stages of YA lesbian romance - excitement, request for clarification, uncertainty, hedging, and resignation.

Shelby sighed and stared at the messages. Lexi had left the door open for her to back off and say she just wanted to hang out in a totally Platonic, heterosexual kind of way. She composed a half dozen responses in her head that ran the gamut from rejection to acceptance.

She stared at the screen, willing the right message to just reveal itself to her. The last time she’d been stuck like this, Case-In-Point had grabbed her phone and typed something for her. What would she type now?

As soon as she asked that question, the answer revealed itself. Shelby typed, “We had fun Friday night, Little Boots notwithstanding.” Before she could think too hard about it, she hit SEND. Jennifer probably would have used an exclamation point, but her inner Jennifer had better grammar.

Lexi must have been waiting for her text because Shelby’s phone rang almost immediately. She answered, “Hey, Lex.”

“Are you still in New York?” Alexis asked. “Beck called me because you’re not answering his texts.”

“If he calls again, tell him I’ll break up with him when I have time,” said Shelby. Whatever else happened this summer, she was over Becton Michaels. “My dance card is full.”

“But ... my name’s on that card. Right?” Alexis asked. “We did have fun on Friday.”

Shelby hadn’t expected such a direct question, but the nice thing about a rubicon was that, once you crossed it, the die was cast. “Not as much fun as we might have. Your name’s at the top of the card, Lex.”

It took Alexis a few seconds to answer and when she did, she sounded doubtful. “Really?”

Shelby smiled to herself. At least if she were going to keep surprising herself, she could surprise the people around her as well. “Really, Lex. You’re my best friend. Who would be better to dance with?”

When Emily emerged from the elevator into the basement gym, Connie called out, “You made it.”

Emily, moving pretty well on the crutches now, said, “I’ve made it every day I’ve been here.” She sat on the bench of a device Max thought might be called an arm press and twisted awkwardly to check that the weight stack was where she’d left it.

“So, how was last night with Dennis?” Connie asked. When Emily glanced at Max, she added, “Max, you don’t mind a little girl talk. Do you?”

“I ... no,” said Max. “Definitely no minding here.”

Connie laughed and turned back to Emily. “So, how was last night with Dennis?”

“Revelatory.” Emily started doing some upper body exercise. “Apparently, Clive was terrible at sex.”

“Or Dennis is just really good,” Connie suggested. “Any thoughts, Max?”

Max’s ears were burning and he was starting to get winded from doing crunches, but he managed a laugh. “I ... uh ... have no opinion on the subject. Just think of me as your friendly, neighborhood ethnographer.”

Connie looked blank, but Emily laughed. “An ethnographer is like a sociologist who goes into the Outback and lives with Aboriginal tribes to learn about their way of life. Right?”

“Right,” said Max. He looked at Connie, who was holding his ankles. “How many crunches is that?”

“I wasn’t counting,” said Connie. “Why don’t you do like ten more and call it a day?”

Max was starting to realize that Connie might not be a very good personal trainer. But in spite of her terrible bedside, he kind of enjoyed her company. She had a wicked sense of humor and had already started telling him some really scandalous stories about what the loft had been like in the early nineties. Including him in girl talk was just another step down a slippery slope that he couldn’t see the bottom of, but if it involved listening to Emily King speak frankly about her sex life, he intended to enjoy the ride - even if it involved hearing way too much information about his friend Dennis and doing an indeterminate number of crunches.

The next exercise Connie had him doing was a fast sidestep back and forth across the studio. It didn’t seem that hard, but it left him winded. Connie looked at him holding his knees and catching his breath. “Your stamina is terrible, Max. How much walking do you do?”

“Not enough, I don’t think,” admitted Max. “How much is enough?”

“Ten thousand steps a day at least,” said Connie. “You should meter so you know how many you’re taking.”

“Like with a FitBit?” Max asked.

“Or just a regular pedometer. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy or Bluetooth enabled or on the Internet,” said Connie. She looked at Emily. “Can you finish up without me?”

Emily nodded and Connie said, “Why don’t we start by walking up to EMS and I’ll show you a good one?”

“I’m uh ... meeting Paige at two,” said Max. “Will I have time to come back and change?”

“That depends on how fast you walk and if we need to stop and eat,” said Connie. “But, we should. It’s up on Eighteenth Street.”

Max wasn’t sure what to make of Connie’s comment about stopping and eating. It might be another dig at his weight. If it was, those were becoming easier to take. He’d just heard Connie tell Emily King that she should do some ab work because she was starting to develop a muffin top. If his body didn’t live up to Connie’s standards, at least he was in phenomenally good company.

At least Connie let Max set the pace of their walking. As they turned onto Mercer Street, Connie said, “So, it sounds like you and Paige are getting along pretty well.”

“She might be the best thing in a very long list of good things in my life right now,” said Max. “I really like her.”

When Connie didn’t say anything, he added, “I’m not supposed to give details like Emily did now. Am I?”

Connie laughed. “Not unless you want to, but I doubt you can shock me if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I just want to be respectful. I don’t really know how to talk about relationships. This is vir...” He stopped himself and blushed. “This is uncharted territory for me.”

Connie’s laugh this time was more raucous and didn’t seem to match the sophisticated one-time movie star it came out of any more than the words that followed. “Are you saying she took your cherry, Max?”

“I, uh ... yeah.” Max gave her a sideways glance as they continued to walk. “You know, you’re not at all like I would have expected from the way Mr. Coyle talks about you.”

Connie shook her head. “Eddie Coyle is a very sweet man who’s been carrying a torch for me for a long time, but I think I might be able to shave down the pedestal he’s built me until I don’t risk breaking my neck every time I fall off of it. I’m no Audrey Hepburn. I’m more like Katherine.” “Katherine was pretty classy too. Wasn’t she?” Max asked.

“On-screen, she was classy. In person, she was a hard-drinking, foul-mouthed virago and a predatory lesbian who wore pants because she didn’t give a fuck what people thought,” said Connie. “I wish I’d had her balls with my own career.”

“Oh,” said Max, not in response to anything Connie had said, but because the Washington Square arch had just come into view and he suddenly had his bearings. He stopped for a moment to look around and Connie lit a cigarette. “Did Katherine Hepburn smoke, too?”

Connie rolled her eyes. “You millennials hate smoking. Don’t you?”

Max decided to let the crack about millennials slide right by him. “I don’t care. I just ... isn’t it against the law to smoke in parks or something?”

That got a smirk. “Maybe one of the drug dealers will make a citizen’s arrest.” Connie’s eyes got a faraway look. “I’ve done worse in this park than light a cigarette.”

Max was both afraid to ask and not to know. “Like what?”

“I had sex here in nineteen ninety ... three, I think ... maybe nineteen ninety four. Somebody on Wikipedia could probably correct me if I’m getting the date wrong.”

Max looked at her, trying to determine if she was joking. If she was, she was a good enough actress not to let on. For some reason, he believed her, “How?”

“It was some time around five in the morning. Colin and Lauren and I and some friends were coming downtown from some party up on University or, I don’t know, south of Union Square. Anyway, it was pretty quiet and we stopped somewhere along there.” She pointed to the rows of benches lining the path just south of the fountain. “Colin pulled me into his lap and like five or six of our friends stood around trying to look casual while they watched out for cops or creeps.”

“You paint a ... very vivid picture,” said Max.

“It’s a very vivid memory - one of the really good times before Colin started to get into heavier drugs that he could handle.” Connie looked wistful. “I could probably pick out the exact bench - maybe donate a plaque.”

Before Max could think of anything to say to that, Connie’s phone rang. She glanced at her caller ID, mouthed that she had to take the call, and stepped away. When she came back, Max still hadn’t thought of anything to say about Connie’s early-nineties late-night adventure. So, he asked, “Business.”

Connie tucked her hair behind her ear. “Actually, that was an all-expense-paid, Transatlantic booty call. Eddie sure knows how to turn a girl’s head, but honestly ... I wasn’t even getting those when I was young.”

Max translated. “So ... Nick’s father wants you to join him in Paris. Are you going to go?”

“I suppose I can climb up on that pedestal for a few more days,” said Connie. “But, I really need to tarnish that man’s impression of me before he goes completely overboard. Maybe I should sleep with one of Nick’s friends before I go.”

Mas just stood and waited for her to indicate she was joking or didn’t mean him, but she didn’t, so he offered, “But not the fat one. Right?”

Connie laughed and wrapped herself around Max’s arm. “I don’t know. I like a little heft on my men.”

Simon was saying something, but Dennis got distracted. When his brother cleared his throat, Dennis said, “Sorry. What?”

“Did you see something shiny?” Simon asked. They were sitting on a bench near the arch at the top of Washington Square Park.

“Sorry. I thought I saw Max go by with a woman,” said Dennis.

“Was that woman Paige?” Simon asked. When Dennis shook his head, Simon said, “Then, it wasn’t Max. Lightning’s not going to strike that spot twice.”

“It looked like ... that actress Nick’s dad is really into,” said Dennis.

“Connie Carlyle?” Simon asked. “She’s been hanging around the loft. I don’t know what she would want with Max, though.”

Dennis knew better than to let himself be baited by his brother. He tried to recall the last thing Simon had said. It had been in the form of a question. He thought back and remembered a name. “You were asking something about Emily?”

“I asked if you should really be sleeping with Emily,” said Simon. “I’m pretty sure Nick was lining her up for the kill.”

Dennis shrugged. He didn’t think Nick operated that way, but he wouldn’t convince Simon of that. So, he focused on what his brother would understand. “Even if he was, would you let that stop you?”

Simon made a dismissive noise. “No. But, I have a terrible attitude towards women.” To Dennis’s questioning look, he added, “Nick reminded me of that yesterday just in case I’d forgotten. He was kind of pissed about Shelby.”

“Yeah, Shelby,” said Dennis. When Simon had suggested they go hang out in the park, Dennis had hoped his brother would be willing to talk about that subject. “So, how’s that going?”

“Not like I thought,” admitted Simon. “I think I actually like her better now than I did when we were all in school together.”

“That’s what usually happens when you have sex with somebody.” Dennis glanced sideways at his brother. “Well, maybe not you personally, but in general. It’s chemical or something.”

“Yeah. I think this happened before any chemicals were involved. Shel’s cooler than I remember and way sexier.” Simon made an uncertain gesture with his hands. “I mean, I wanted to fuck her. That’s why I brought her here. But, I figured I’d do it once, maybe let her stick around a few days in case you guys wanted a shot, then get on with being masters of the universe.”

Dennis ran his fingers through his hair. He usually tried to give his brother a wide berth on his attitude towards a lot of things - partly because he felt bad about Simon’s bad luck. A broken ankle and pneumonia when he was eight, both of which Dennis avoided, had left Simon two inches shorter than Dennis and not as healthy. Even more than that, Dennis knew trying to correct Simon was a losing battle, like banging his head against a mathematically brilliant brick wall. Still, this time he had to say, “That is so many different kinds of fucked up, I don’t know...”

“I know.” Simon interrupted him. “It was all pretty much a fantasy. I didn’t really think she’d go for any of this. But she’s here, asleep in my room, like right now. And I kind of like the idea of her sticking around.”

“And you don’t think she will?” Dennis prompted.

“No. I think she will. She seems pretty dedicated to spending as much time as possible out here this summer as she could. She knew why I asked her to the party and she came anyway.” Dennis shook his head. “That ... really took a lot of fun out of the original fantasy. But, she didn’t take any shit from me. She didn’t pretend she liked me. She just said ‘You want to fuck me. I want to be in the city this summer. Let’s do this.’”

“I’m sure it’s more complicated than that,” said Dennis, trying to stay focused. But, he heard music nearby and was trying to echolocate its source.

“Dude, that’s a word-for-word recitation. She said it point-blank to my face. And I really don’t think she was blowing smoke...” Simon snapped a finger by Dennis’s ear. “Shinies again?”

“Music,” said Dennis. “Can we go find that guitarist? He’s really good.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “I guess we’d better. You’re not going to hear a word I say until we do.”

“I heard every word. Shelby literally said she was fucking you to come stay in the city. But, I still think there had to be more to it than that.” Dennis rose and followed the music. “I mean ... her dad’s loaded. Right? If she wanted to come to the city, couldn’t she just come to the city?”

“I guess, but why would she sleep with me if she didn’t have to?” asked Simon.

“Maybe she likes you,” Dennis had spotted the guitarist and it wasn’t a he. It was a pale-skinned red-haired girl with a sharp, asymmetrical haircut, jamming out to “Bang Bang Boom Boom.” She had her guitar case open with a few coins in it, but was paying absolutely no attention as the twins walked up. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be communing with the music.

After they’d listened for a while, Simon asked, “Is she any good? I can’t tell.” The girl’s eyes slitted open at them.

“She’s really good,” said Dennis quickly before Simon could add anything else.

Simon pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and dropped a twenty into her case. “Ok. Can we get back to talking about my sex life now?” To Dennis’s eye-roll, he added. “What? Am I supposed to say ‘love life?’ This is clearly not about love.”

Dennis started to suggest that Simon shouldn’t rule anything out, but the girl abruptly switched into a new song he didn’t recognize. The lyrics addressed “Mr. Wall Street” and the chorus excoriated him with the line “Jump, you fuckers.” To Simon, sporting his characteristic suit and tie to go along with his notoriously poor impulse control, it would be like waving a red cape in front of a bull while eating a burger and announcing, “Mmmm. Your mom sure is delicious.”

But, Simon just smirked. “Nice song. Did you write it?”

The girl ignored him and kept playing and singing. Simon tossed another twenty in the case and spoke more loudly, “I said, ‘Nice song. Did you write it?’” Again, the girl ignored him.

Simon peeled off another twenty, but before he could drop it, the girl kicked her guitar case closed and sang a little louder, looking him right in the eyes as she enunciated the words, “Jump you fucker.” Dennis was pretty sure she’d dropped the plural.

“You see? This is what I’m talking about.” Simon turned to Dennis. “Shelby’s totally like this girl. I push. She pushes back. I escalate. She escalates. It’s so hot.”

Dennis groaned. “Simon...”

Simon was undeterred. “I bet if I opened her guitar case and threw another twenty in, she’d kick me in the balls.”

The guitarist finally stopped playing, either because she’d run out of song or patience, Dennis wasn’t sure which. “Can we do it the other way around? If I kick you in the balls, will you give me another twenty?”

“Ah, good. We’re negotiating.” Simon held out his hand to shake. “Simon Anderson. My brother says you’re good.”

She looked at Dennis as she shook Simon’s hand, “Morrigan.”

Dennis raised his hands in a “keep me out of this” gesture, but then said, “Like the Irish war goddess?” When Simon looked surprised, he added, “Don’t you remember when Arwen went through her cleric phase?”

“What do you want, Simon Anderson?” Morrigan asked.

“I want you to meet my friend, Nick. He would love you.”

“Wait. What?” Dennis asked. “Why?”

“Is your friend a pimp?” Morrigan asked.

Simon shook his head. “He has a lot of money, but he’s not really a pimp. He’s just...”

“She meant that literally,” said Dennis quietly.

“Oh, no. He’s not a pimp. He’s a philanthropist ... sort of. He’s going to be a philanthropist as soon as he figures out how to do that. We’re helping him.” Simon said. Dennis wasn’t sure why he was babbling or why he thought Nick would want to meet Morrigan, but as first meetings between Simon and women went, this one was pretty good so far. Maybe Shelby was a civilizing influence.

Morrigan strummed her guitar. “Why would Nick the philanthropist want to meet me?”

“Well, you’re obviously a hard luck case,” said Simon. “Playing with an empty guitar case, openly hostile to your audience. You’ve clearly got a giant chip on your shoulder...”

Dennis tried to warn him again. “Simon...”

“What? I have excellent chipdar,” said Simon. “Anyway, Nick likes surrounding himself with hard luck cases, particularly pretty ones. You should meet him.”

Dennis groaned. “You know, you’re not doing a great job of representing the whole ‘not a pimp’ angle.”

Simon seemed to finally get the message. “Fine, then. You explain it. I’m the numbers guy. Words are squishy.”

Dennis sighed. He didn’t want to admit that he understood his brother’s reasoning, but maybe their twin telepathy was finally starting to work. Nick had been surrounding himself with very attractive women he could help in some way. Dennis was pretty sure Nick was getting around to helping ordinary-looking people as well, but he’d definitely shown some early preferences. “My brother and I just moved to town to help our friend Nick set up a philanthropic foundation. We’re trying to meet new people and do some neighborhood outreach. He’d probably like to meet you and hear your perspective on some issues involving the neighborhood and the city.” He felt like he was using more words than he did in entire days to explain this. “I know this is insanely weird, but we’re on the level. If Nick is as interested as Simon thinks, I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you somewhere public to talk.”

Morrigan looked at him, then looked at Simon, who was still holding a twenty dollar bill between his index and middle finger like she couldn’t decide from a wide array of choices. Finally, she said, “Keep your money. I’ll let you buy me lunch and tell me more about Nick and his philanthropic foundation.”