by John Locke
After dinner, unlike Ben, Sophie makes a big production out of opening our fortune cookies.
“Omigod!” she squeals, after reading hers. “Check this out!” She holds it up to my face. It reads, You will find happiness with a close friend!
We look at each other and smile.
“Well done, Sofe!”
“Read yours!” she says.
I do, and laugh.
“What?” she says.
I hand it to her. She reads it out loud. “You will find happiness with a close friend!
She says, “Omigod! What are the chances we’d both get the same one?”
I say, “There are two more cookies in the bag. What are the chances they’ll say the same thing?”
“I don’t want to know what they say. I’m happy with these.”
I reach into the bag, open one of the others.
“Go ahead, Sophie says.”
I read, “Please send help! I’m being held prisoner in a Chinese bakery!”
“That is such an old joke!” she says, and grabs the other one and pretends to read “You will be hungry again in one hour!”
“That is so lame!” I say.
We laugh and exchange the fortunes and learn that, sure enough, all four offer happiness with a close friend.
“You still think this was an error in packaging?” Sophie says.
“I know it was. But I like it.”
“We’re going to have to work on this, you and me.”
“Work on what?”
“The fact you’re not romantic.”
“Not true,” I say.
“I love you, Dani, but you’re not even romantic.”
“Am too!”
“Give me one example,” Sophie says.
“I put your perfume on my hand.”
“Well…”
“I wear silly pajamas because you like them.”
“I thought you liked them!”
“I like them when I’m with you.”
“Okay, that’s romantic,” she says.
“And there’s more,” I say.
Before she responds, I head for her garage. When I come back in, I’m carrying a small ladder. I set it up next to her bookcase and climb three steps.
Using my best school girl voice, I say, “Miss Alexander? I can’t seem to find the blue book. What should I do?”
Sophie laughs.
I make a point to shake my butt while pretending to search for the book.
“Oh, my God,” she says, laughing even harder. “Those pajamas!”
I look down at her. “Which is better, plaid skirt or silly pajamas?”
“Plaid skirt.”
“Too bad I don’t have one.”
“I do,” she says.
“Sofe,” I say. “Seriously?”
She laughs. “I’ve got a closet full.”
“A closet full?”
“Well, a section of my closet, if we’re being technical.”
“All school girl uniforms?”
“Of course not! What do you think, I’m weird or something?”
I laugh. Doing my best to imitate her voice, I say, “I won’t even bother to dissect that comment.”
She frowns. “That’s twice. You really think I sound like that?”
“In my head? Yes, absolutely. But no matter who I’m imitating, what comes out my mouth always sounds like Meg, from Hercules.”
“Great heroine,” she says.
“Tough, classy lady,” I agree. “Meg’s my favorite cartoon character.”
“Interesting,” Sophie says, arching an eyebrow.
“What is?”
“In the movie, Meg was hired to seduce the powerful Hercules. In real life you’ve been hired to seduce powerful men. I wonder what a psychiatrist would make of that.”
She’s expecting me to make a defensive comment. For that reason alone, I decide not to say anything.
Sophie says, “So, do you want pleats or plain?”
I stare at her blankly.
“The school girl skirts,” she says. “Pleated or plain?”
“Hold that thought,” I say, climbing down the ladder. “We’ve still got some reading to do.”
Sophie sighs. “Like I said, no sense of romance.”
WHEN WE’VE BOTH finished reading the manuscript I ask Sophie what she thinks.
“It’s a snooze.”
“Why?”
“Too clinical. It reads like a police report.”
“I get that, too,” I say. “You think it’s because we know Ben’s an educator, not a writer?”
“I think it’s because he wasn’t there, and it shows.”
She pauses, then says, “You know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think you need to file an injunction against this book, and write your own.”
“What? Write my own book? Are you crazy?”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, I can barely spell. I’ve got a basic GED education, remember?”
“You’re witty and clever. And one of the smartest people I know.”
“That’s because you’re in show business.”
“See what I mean? You’re witty.”
“I can’t write a book. I wouldn’t even know how to start.”
“We’ll hire a ghost writer.”
“Hire? As in pay someone?”
“Why not? I’ll call Charlie Yang, see what he says.”
“Charlie Yang?”
“My agent. He’ll know someone we can contact.”
“No offense, Sofe, but I think my first contact should be an attorney, not a talent agent. Do you have an attorney?”
“Paul Small.”
“Is he any good?”
“I wouldn’t know the difference, but according to Charlie, he’s the best.”
Sophie calls Paul, and puts me on the phone. I tell him my story, and he agrees to represent me. When he tells me his rate is two hundred fifty an hour, I repeat it out loud in disbelief.
Sophie says, “I’ll take care of the legal fees till your royalties come in.”
She takes the phone and tells the attorney to bill her instead of me, and asks about filing an injunction against Ben’s book. I don’t hear what he says, but there’s a lot of discussion back and forth.
“Ask if he can recommend a ghost writer,” I say.
She does, and they talk about that. While doing so she pulls a paper towel from the rack and writes something on it with a felt-tip pen. After hanging up she says, “He wants to talk to someone in his office before advising you about the injunction.”
“What did he say about a ghostwriter?”
“As it turns out, Paul’s got a client who’s an author.”
“What’s his name?”
“Her name is...”
She picks up the paper towel and squints to make out her handwriting. “Janie Ramirez.”
“How does it work?”
“She interviews you, records the conversation, then writes the book. Her name won’t even appear on the cover.”
“Janie should get credit if she’s doing the writing.”
“She’s getting paid to edit your transcript. But if it makes you feel better you can thank her in the Acknowledgements.”
“What’s that?”
She laughs.
“What?”
“You’re hopeless.”
“Do we call her?”
“Paul’s calling her right now. He said she’ll probably call us in a few minutes.”
“This was your idea,” I say.
“So?”
“When she calls, will you talk to her?”
“Sure. I’ll tell her my story.”
“What story is that?”
“The one where I have to drag my girlfriend kicking and screaming all the way to the New York Times Best Seller List.”
“Your girlfriend?”
Sophie smiles.
WHILE WAITIN
G FOR Janie’s call, Sophie and I check out her website and learn she’s ghosted a dozen best-sellers. When the call comes in it comes to my cell phone instead of Sophie’s house phone.
We look at each other, thinking the same thing. I forgot to remove the battery after hanging up with Ben.
I check the caller ID. “Unknown,” I say.
“It’s got to be Janie,” she says.
“We didn’t give Paul Small my cell phone number,” I say.
The phone keeps ringing.
“I’m not going to answer it,” I say. “This is too creepy. How would Janie get my personal cell phone number?”
“Ask her.”
“No. I’m not dealing with anyone who can do that. If this is Janie, we’re finding a different ghostwriter.”
Just then, Sophie’s house phone rings. It’s suddenly noisy, both phones ringing at the same time.
“I’ll answer mine if you’ll answer yours!” she says, dashing to the kitchen.
“Too late,” I holler. “Mine just went to voice mail.”
Sophie answers her phone. Though I’m still on the couch in the den, I can hear enough to know she’s talking to Janie Ramirez. While she’s doing that, I check my voice mail.
And slide off the couch to the floor.
And nearly pass out.
When Sophie comes back to check on me, I’m sitting on the floor, shaking. She sees the tears streaming down my face.
“What on earth happened?”
I shudder, and point to my cell phone.
“It’s him!” I say.
“Who, Ben?”
I shake my head.
She says, “Roy?”
I shake my head again.
“Who, Dani?”
“ManChild.”
SOPHIE PICKS UP my cell phone and puts it on speaker. Then replays the message:
“Hi Dani, this is ManChild. You don’t know me yet, but we’ll meet soon, you can count on that! I’ve been camped out in your yard all this time, waiting for you to call your husband, and you finally did! Call the police if you want, but I left after grabbing your signal. I know you think you’re too old for me, but I like to think there’s a bit of child in all of us. With that in mind, I’m going to capture you, Dani, just like Colin Tyler Hicks captured you years ago. And when I do, I’m going to strap you down and probe every orifice of your body until I find the little child that’s hiding in you. Where do you think I’ll find her?”
“Holy shit!” Sophie says.
She yanks the battery out of my cell phone, runs through the house, locking doors, checking windows. Then sits by my side on the floor and holds me, and strokes my hair.
“What’s with the creepy voice?” she says. “It sounds like he’s talking through some sort of voice-altering device.”
“He’s gonna get me,” I say.
“No. We’ll get through this.”
I say, “Sofe, I can’t involve you in this. He’ll kill you.”
“You’ll go back into witness protection,” she says. “You’ll change your name again, and move away. And I’ll come with you. We’ll start a new life.”
Some time goes by, then I give her a weak smile. “Okay, so you’re more romantic than me,” I say. “But no, you can’t run off and change your name. That’s insane. You’ve got a life, a career. And anyway, you’re well-known. People could track us down easily.”
“We could cut and dye our hair and get a plastic surgeon to give us new faces.”
“Watch a lot of TV, do you?” I say.
“I’m not going to lose you, Dani. If he gets you, he gets both of us.”
“I won’t put you in that kind of danger.”
“I’ll call Uncle Sal. He’ll give us bodyguards.”
“Is that how you want to live?”
“Hell yeah! Long as I’m with you.”
Some more time passes.
“You’d resent me before long,” I say.
“I’ll resent you more if you leave me. And don’t tell me we can’t be together because you’re married, because that marriage of yours is bullshit!”
I look at her and say, “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
She gives me a defiant look and says, “I’m not taking it back. Your marriage is a sham! It’s bullshit. I said it, and I’ll stand by it.”
A moment passes, and suddenly Sophie and I burst into laughter. Then she says, “Seriously, what are we going to do about ManChild?”
“Fuck ManChild!” I say. “And fuck the witness protection program!”
“And fuck Ben Davis!” Sophie says.
I grin at her.
“Figure of speech,” she says. Then adds, “What made you so bold all of a sudden? Ten minutes ago you were shaking like a leaf.”
“Ten minutes ago I was in shock. That stupid message took me by surprise. Now I realize it’s a hoax.”
“The phone call?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
“Someone’s fucking with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“In real life, kidnappers don’t call to warn you.”
“They don’t?”
“No. They have to rely on the element of surprise. Not only that, but ManChild is too smart to leave a voice message. And even if he did, he’d have no reason to disguise his voice.”
“Unless you knew him.”
“Exactly. And even if he knows how to steal a cell signal, he couldn’t blend in with the reporters all this time, with signal-stealing equipment set up, hour after hour.”
“So the person who called has to be someone you know.”
“And it has to be someone who knows my cell phone number. Someone who enjoys seeing me squirm. Someone who threatened me recently, just to see me sweat.”
“Roy?”
“Roy.”
“You’re positive?”
“One hundred percent.”
She nods. “But just for safety’s sake, let’s don’t power up your cell phone, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Should you warn Ben?”
“Ben will be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Roy and ManChild have no reason to hurt Ben. Not to mention there are a hundred people surrounding the house. There’s no way anyone could get to him.”
“In the movies, the killer always finds a way to get in the house.”
“Ben will be fine.”
“You really think that was Roy?”
“I do.”
“That’s harassment, Dani. You should call your police boyfriend and report him.”
“You mean Patrick Aub?”
Sophie laughs.
“What?”
“Just thinking a funny thought,” she says.
“What?”
“Dani Aub!”
“Don’t even!” I say, laughing.
AN HOUR LATER we’re lying on opposite ends of Sophie’s couch, painting each other’s toe nails.
“This is Ben’s idea of what women would do when they’re alone together,” I say.
“He’s right.”
“This one time, maybe.”
“Speaking of Ben, you’re not going back to him.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then ask, “What did Janie Ramirez say about the book?”
“Change the subject all you want. But just so you know, we’re definitely going to talk about this. Because you absolutely cannot go back to Ben’s house.”
