"We? What do you mean 'We've got a plane to catch'?"
Through the diluted light of a streetlamp, Lance surveyed the exhausted woman who was halfway into the cab with one foot on the back floorboard and one hand on the top of the car. There were a couple of ways he could force her into the car from that] position, none of which he would try in front of a police station, j
He held out his hands. "Julia, I'm a bartender. I work nights and, as you can tell, I didn't show up tonight, so I'm probably fired. I don't have an agent, not one that I'm proud of anyway. I'm not scheduled for any auditions. And yet my picture is on every newsstand in America. You don't know me, but you have to believe me when I say that I am a good actor and I don't want to get ahead this way. Believe it or not, I'm an honorable guy. But honorable or not, I've still got to make rent. If I stay here, I'm gonna stumble, and then you're going to go down with me. I don't want to do that. Remove the temptation, please. Just get me away from this town for a while. Let's regroup. Let's put our heads together. Let's do it in Tulsa."
She shifted. He saw her start to budge. She shifted again, and he wished she'd just get in the stupid cab. He wasn't wearing a heavy coat, and it was freezing out. He tried one more piece of truth. "You're here with me, or you're there with me. It's your call, but the clock is ticking. And you said I could name my price."
She slid into the backseat and said, "Let's go."
Chapter Seven
WAY #47: Get out of town.
If there's a place you've always wanted to see—go there. If there's an adventure you've always wanted to experience —do it. Traveling isn't just for couples anymore.
—from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
Julia hated to call so early, but the flight was boarding soon and she didn't know when she'd get another? chance. Caroline's greeting was groggy but to the point. "How's it going, slugger?" "You heard?" Julia asked, cringing.
"Oh, I saw. There was news footage. What were you think-
"Please, C, please don't start. I've been sitting in a police nation hallway all night. So, please, if we can do this conversation later, I would really appreciate it."
"Sure," her sister said. "We'll do it when you get home."
"Well. . . see . . ." Just spit it out, Julia, she told herself. "I won't be alone."
"I knew it!" Caroline cried. "As soon as I saw that picture, I just knew in my gut! He looks just like—"
"Caroline!" Julia cut her off.
"What? Can't I say it? Doesn't he know he's the spitting image of—"
"Caroline, cut it out. We're not 'together' together. Making the flight was kind of iffy, and there was a price attached. I've got to take him with me. But it's okay. I can keep an eye on him this way, keep things from escalating. So, please, just brief the troops."
"Whatever you say," Caroline said. "Whatever you say," she repeated, not trying to disguise her skepticism.
Julia looked across the terminal at the man waiting for her by the glass and told herself that everything was for the best. Then Lance yawned and stretched, and she saw half the women in the airport drop their purses and their jaws at the sight of him. Oh, well, she thought, that which does not kill us makes us stronger. She said good-bye to her sister and snapped her phone shut.
Lance took this as his cue to make a call himself.
"Everything okay?" he asked as he walked past.
She cut her eyes up at him and said, "Fine."
He slid a quarter into a pay phone and dialed a familiar number. He told the operator that the call would be collect, something he no longer felt guilty about. The guilt he did have came from calling at what was essentially the middle of the night in
California. But knowing his mother and her chronic insomnia, Lance half suspected she might be repotting petunias or vacuuming the oven instead of in the middle of a dream. Whatever the case, he was sure she'd want to know what was going on.
"They're not true," he said instead of hello as soon as he heard his mother's voice.
"Well, I knew that," she said, her voice utterly awake, her response to the point. Lance realized then how much he'd missed his mother's shorthand. With other people, things needed to be explained, sentences needed to be finished. When he was talking to the woman who'd raised him, all adjectives and most verbs became virtually useless.
"So," she said, "are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Not really. As long as you're okay."