“Meow.”
Charlie went over to the desk and found an old piece of mail to get the name of the girl who lived there. He then took out his laptop, got online, and did a Facebook search to find a way to contact her.
Since everyone was asleep and knew less about cats than he did, maybe Molly Hill could tell him what to do to please this fat little gray one.
From: Charlie
To: Molly
Date: June 15, 2008 12:05 A.M. PST
Subject: In your room
* * *
Dear Molly:
My name is Charlie and I’m staying in your house for the summer. More precisely, I’m staying in your room.
Anyway, I’m writing because your cat showed up on the windowsill about ten minutes ago and hasn’t stopped meowing since. He won’t come in or drink or anything, so I figured you might be familiar with this behavior and know what to do. Or maybe he’s just freaking out because you’re gone. If you have any tips on what to do, that’d be great. Thanks. Hope you’re liking our house so far (if you’ve even arrived yet).
Charlie
From: Molly
To: Charlie
Date: June 15, 2008 9:00 A.M. MST
Subject: Re: In your room
* * *
Dear Charlie:
OMG! I forgot to leave a note about the cat! I hope he didn’t keep you up all night. He’s not even mine—he technically belongs to this old man down the street, but he spends most of his time outdoors, seducing suckers like me for attention, so he comes by a lot. You can just give him a piece of cheese to stop the meowing…. It always calms him down and seems to be the only thing he’ll eat. And don’t worry if you hate cats or anything—he’s totally harmless. I don’t know his real name so I just call him Cheese (not that original, I know) and he seems to respond, but I guess he’d respond to anything if it meant he got his chin scratched (and a piece of cheese). He’ll probably leave eventually if you close the window, but I can’t promise, since I always let him in. Hope that helps!
Molly
5
The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
—Carl Jung
“So how do you know the people who live here?” Molly hadn’t been curious enough to ask the question until she woke up to Charlie’s e-mail. It was weird knowing for certain that he was staying in her room, among the things that mattered most to her. Now that she was sure, she had to find out something about him.
“I went to graduate school with Lisa,” Ron explained, adjusting the rearview mirror. They were on their way into town, Molly in search of a decent cup of coffee, and Ron on a grocery run while Laura unpacked. “Her partner’s name is Sally and they have three kids. I think Charlie’s around your age, and the girls must be at least ten by now.”
Interesting, she thought. Charlie has two moms. “Do you see them a lot?”
“Usually just Lisa at conferences. I haven’t seen Sally and the kids since the last time I was here, which was probably four or five years ago now.”
So it was a dead end. Ron couldn’t know much about Charlie, since it had been so long. And he probably wouldn’t be able to tell her anything she hadn’t already discerned from his bedroom.
“Why don’t I drop you off to get your coffee and meet you back here in an hour?” he said, pulling over to the curb.
“Are you sure?” she asked, suddenly worried that she’d made her discomfort around him too obvious.
“You’ll have a much better time here than looking for frozen peas in aisle five. There are a bunch of shops and cafés down that way,” he said, pointing to a street that was blocked off to traffic. “It’s Boulder’s famous Pearl Street Mall.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks,” Molly said, getting out of the car. “I guess I’ll see you in an hour.”
Molly glanced around the mall. There was already quite a bit of activity on its brick-covered pedestrian walkway, even though it wasn’t yet eleven on a Sunday morning. Street performers were arriving to reserve their turf, and restaurants were setting up their outdoor tables.
A hundred feet down the block, Molly spotted a coffee shop, with a sign that read BUBBA’S on the awning. She could also smell the distinct espresso aroma from the sidewalk and started to get her fix the moment she walked through the door.
The café had a cool, mellow vibe, with overstuffed lounge chairs, communal wood tables, and a magazine rack. It seemed like the kind of place where people hung out for hours late into the night, which maybe explained why it was empty at present.
Molly approached the counter to place her order, finding it abandoned too. She looked around, spotting a large message board with various announcements and fliers tacked on, and walked over to check it out. Much of it was covered with postings about rooms for rent, with a handful of massage therapists offering their services. Molly wondered what kind of person would choose their roommate in such a random way, or worse, allow some stranger from the lost-and-found of advertising into their house to rub smelly lotions into their skin. Gross.
Almost three-quarters of the way through the board, Molly read a posting that actually seemed interesting: “Salesperson needed for Second Time Around secondhand clothing store. 178 Pearl Street. Ask for Penelope.”
Without thinking, Molly ripped the flier off the wall and stuffed it in her jeans pocket. Certain that she had broken the cardinal rule of public postings, she looked around to make sure no one had come in and seen her, then returned to the counter to wait. A few minutes later a redheaded girl around Molly’s age came swinging through the employees-only door in the back, carrying a box of napkins. She had a coffee-stained apron over her T-shirt and cutoff jean shorts.
“Oh, jeez, you scared me!” the girl said, dropping the box on the counter when she finally noticed Molly standing there.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I thought you were open.”
“We totally are. I just didn’t hear you come in.”
“Oh, good. I don’t think I could last much longer without any caffeine.”
“Tell me about it,” the girl said. “I’ve had, like, three already. What can I get you?”
“Whatever’s biggest and strongest.”
“Late night?” she asked, pouring a cup.
“Something like that,” Molly said. “We drove here and got in around midnight.”
“Ah, a tourist. I’m surprised. I can usually spot them a mile away.”
Molly smiled. “Well, I’m glad I’m not too obvious. I’m not really the outdoors type and you probably get a lot of those around here.”
“So where you from?” the girl asked, handing Molly her coffee.
“Los Angeles,” Molly said, reaching for her wallet.
“Huh. I’m Sylvia, by the way,” the girl said, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Molly said, shaking it. “I’m Molly. So how much do I owe you?”
“On the house,” Sylvia insisted, waving away the money Molly was trying to hand her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” Molly said, stuffing two dollars in the tip jar instead.
“Totally unnecessary,” Sylvia said, walking Molly to the door. “How long are you here?”
“Until August.”
“Well, I’m here all the time, so come by if you ever want to hang out,” Sylvia offered. “Seriously, all the time.”
Molly laughed. “Cool,” she said on her way out. “Thanks. I will.”
The bell on the café door tinkled behind her. Molly looked down at her watch. There was still almost half an hour until Ron returned for her, so she strolled down the street in search of the thrift store. She loved the vintage shops in L.A. and often perused them for design ideas. But she definitely wasn’t looking for a job and had no idea what had compelled her to rip the flier off the wall. She could have just as easily memorized the address.
A couple of blocks down the stre
et she found number 178. Had she not been looking for it, she never would have noticed it, let alone guessed that there was a clothing store behind the smudged windows and chipped wooden front door. A plump, gray-haired woman pushing sixty exited the store and tacked a “back in ten” note to the door frame.
“Murphy’s law,” she said with a chuckle when she turned around and saw Molly standing there. She took down the note and unlocked the door.
“Don’t worry about it,” Molly said, starting to back away. “I can come back another time.”
“It’s not a problem. Come on in,” the woman said, opening the door. “Coffee can always wait.”
Molly followed the woman, hoping she could do a quick drive-by of the racks and then be on her way.
“First time here, right?” the woman asked, leading Molly down the center aisle toward a desk at the back, where she dropped her purse. Racks of clothes spilled out on either side, three rows deep.
Molly nodded.
“Thought so. I never forget a face. Owned this place going on twenty years now. Sometimes I think it’s what keeps my memory intact. My name’s Penelope and I also have a pretty good head for inventory. Looking for anything special?”
Before Molly could answer, Penelope noticed the yellow flier she had posted at Bubba’s peeking out of Molly’s pocket. “Ah, you’re here about the job.”
“Well,” Molly began, trying to think on her feet, “I guess I am.”
Great. That was just great. Her mouth had a mind of its own, apparently.
“Fantastic,” Penelope said, pulling an application from the desk. “As you can see, I’m short-staffed,” she said, holding up the “back in ten” note.
“Thanks,” Molly said, taking the application and tucking it in her back pocket next to the flier. “I’ll bring it back.”
“Nonsense! Fill it out here. It’ll only take a minute.” She reached behind her head and pulled a pen out of her hair, causing her bun to unravel, and handed it to Molly.
“Well, okay,” Molly conceded. “But I have to be quick. I’m late….” She was about to say what she was late for, but once again, she couldn’t think fast enough to come up with a reason, so she left it at that. She was late. Molly leaned over the desk, refusing to sit down, filled out the form, and handed it back to Penelope, who stood watching her. She didn’t look as old with her hair down, framing her face. “Here you go.”
“Three-two-three area code, huh? That’s…Los Angeles, correct?” Penelope muttered to herself while eyeballing the form. “No local number?” she asked, this time looking up at Molly.
“I just got here and don’t know it yet. We’re staying at a family friend’s place. That’s my cell, though,” Molly explained, fidgeting.
“Well, I’ll be in touch soon, Molly. I’d show you around the store, but I understand you’re late.”
“Yeah, thanks. I really do have to get going,” Molly said, backing down the aisle toward the door.
“Boulder takes some getting used to,” Penelope called out. “But once you do, you’ll never want to leave.”
Molly was about to explain that she hadn’t moved to Boulder; she was just there for the summer. But she decided against it and instead smiled at Penelope before closing the door behind her.
Molly checked her e-mail as soon as she got home and there was a response from Celeste.
From: Celeste
To: Molly
Date: June 15, 2008 8:48 A.M. PST
Subject: Re: Star Wars sheets??????!!
* * *
Molls!! I miss u sooo much already. What am I going to do all summer without you? My mom just promised to take me on a shopping trip to Paris in August. Jealous? She just feels guilty that my dad flaked on me (again, long story) and that she has to deal with me now. So, any pillow talk with Han Solo? Don’t worry, I’m going to march right on over (and ring the bell!) after Pilates and get you some decent sheets. I’ll get the skinny on the aliens too. Any dirt on your end? Knowing you, you haven’t done any snooping. Am I right? What are you waiting for? At the very least you deserve to rummage around the dork’s room. And he’s probably already peeked under your bed, so it’s only fair, right? So get to it, and I expect a FULL report by the time I get home. Miss ya tons. Luv ya lots. Mean it.
C.
Celeste was right. Molly hadn’t even thought about snooping around the room. She couldn’t imagine violating someone else’s privacy like that. No, she wasn’t going to do it. Besides, it didn’t seem like there was anything all that interesting to discover among the posters, maps, and trophies anyway.
Instead, she decided to reread Charlie’s message, which for some reason she hadn’t deleted. He had sent it through Facebook but was one of those people who used an icon instead of a real profile picture, so she had no idea what he looked like. She clicked on his page, but since they weren’t officially “friends” as far as Facebook was concerned, she had limited access to his profile and could only find out the basic stuff like where he lived. But she could peruse his friend list and clicked “view all friends” to find out a little more about him. She didn’t fully subscribe to the theory that your friends defined you, but she sat up a little straighter when she saw the literally dozens of cute girls on his list.
Now that she was starting to piece his life together, she had a sudden desire to know more. She was also starting to consider that she might have been wrong and that perhaps Charlie wasn’t so boring after all. For all she knew, he was the bold, daring type and had already done a clean sweep of her room. She shuddered to think of what embarrassing thing she might have left behind for him to find, like a stray pair of underwear (the decidedly unsexy kind she bought at Rite Aid for $3.99) or one of the “goals” lists she sometimes made.
Maybe she was the dorky one.
She got on her hands and knees to peek under the bed. Large piles of mostly dirty clothes (the signs of a last-minute cleanup), random sports equipment, and a few dust bunnies covered the floor. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find, but she was relieved not to stumble on anything X-rated.
She looked in the dresser next, expecting it to be empty, but it was crammed with T-shirts, boxer shorts, and various other items of clothing. Typical guy, she thought, leaving her nowhere to put her clothes. There was no way she was going to live out of a suitcase for the next two months, so she dumped his stuff out on the floor and then transferred it all to her empty bags once she had unpacked. Since she’d never had a boyfriend, there was something weirdly exciting about touching his clothes. She wasn’t used to the way they felt, or how they smelled close up.
Celeste’s voice echoed through her head as she noticed a drawer that ran flush with the desk, making it easy to miss. Any lingering guilt over invading his privacy subsided and was replaced with the thrill of finding out what was inside.
Molly sat back down and convinced herself that as a snooper she had the right, nay, the obligation, to open it.
She tucked her fingers beneath the drawer and pulled, but nothing happened. She tugged harder, thinking that it was probably so jammed with forgotten notes and mail and pens that something had gotten stuck in the back. But no matter how much she tried, it wouldn’t budge. She looked closer and realized that it wasn’t stuck at all.
It was locked.
How very, very interesting.
• • •
Before Charlie was awake enough to remember where he was, he felt the soft lavender sheets rubbing against his skin, wrapped around his body like a cocoon. He breathed in their smell, a blend of spring flowers and fresh air, like they’d been hung outside to dry.
He opened his eyes and adjusted to the brightness of the room, which was what had eventually woken him up. He’d left the window and curtain open so that the cat could come in, but it appeared that he’d taken off at some point after Charlie had fallen asleep. It had been kind of soothing drifting off to the sound of his meows.
The mattress was so comfortable it was hard to ge
t up. He lay there for a few minutes, gazing at the collage of photos on the wall facing him. He still didn’t know which one was Molly, since her Facebook picture featured three girls, a pretty blonde, an Indian girl, and another girl whose face was partially covered by her dark hair. The same three girls were plastered all over the corkboard.
He got up and walked over to get a closer look, pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he went. There were a few fashion magazine cutouts pinned up too, but they seemed long forgotten, buried beneath the photographs. Each of the girls seemed so different that if it hadn’t been for the dozens of snapshots of them together, Charlie would never have pegged them as friends.
The blonde stood out most; not because there were more pictures of her than anyone else, but she was as close to objectively hot as anyone could get, with her long, wavy hair, tall, slim build, pronounced features, and smooth, tanned skin. She seemed to know it too, the way she mugged for the camera with her pouty lips and visible cleavage, like she just might get discovered in her own room. He figured she must be Molly, since she seemed like the type to assemble her own wall of fame.
The Indian girl was also pretty, but in a more subdued way, and the girl with dark hair seemed just as elusive up on the wall as she did in the profile picture, like she didn’t want to be fully seen. In almost every picture she looked off to the side or wore sunglasses, which only added to her mystery.
“Charlieeeeee,” Mia squealed, followed by the familiar rumbling of four galloping footsteps and the twins’ thunderous entrance into his room. Mia, chased by Heather, stormed in first, crashing right into him.
“How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t come in unless you knock first,” he snapped on impact. “Out! Same rules apply in L.A.”
In Your Room Page 4
