I don't bother to argue—would there even be a point with Megs? But I am curious about this mysterious order, so I obey. Megs gave me black, white, and red plaid pants and a loose white blouse that opens at the back. I shiver at the thought and pull on a nude cami for underneath. The shoes are red ankle boots with high heels, I do not put these on but carry them with me to Megs's room.
"What are you doing?" Megs says, staring at the shoes.
"Detectives don't wear heals."
Megs crosses her arms. "Detectives blend in Zia. You live in Greenwich Village. We've finally discovered you're hot. Play the part!"
I'm so flabbergasted I don't know what to say. She's got a point about the blending in thing, but I'm highly uncomfortable and at the same time flattered at the idea that I could possibly be hot.
"Sit." Megs points to the chair in front of her vanity set-up. I notice she's dressed to match me, but in blue, white, and purple plaid and no undershirt.
Adding some nice smelling products to my hair she smoothes it out and twists it up into a voluminous bun on top of my head. Then she gives me long, black lashes and red lips. Backing up to analyze her work, her studious expression turns into a smile, "O-M-Goodness, you are gorgeous!"
At her words, there is no need to add blush. "You're saying that a lot lately."
"What?" She caps her lipstick, hands me a black jacket, and leads the way to the door.
"O-M-Goodness."
"Oh, it's my new thing." We reach the sidewalk outside our building, Megs lets out a high-pitched squeal. "I'm so excited!"
I jumped and gasped when she squealed, now I stare at her with my hand pressed over my heart.
"Okay." She shakes off the excitement and takes a few deep breaths. "We're private detectives hired to track down suspected cream cheese terrorists. What do we do first?"
Slipping out my phone, I enter the address into Google Maps and show it to her.
"Washington Street North... That's not very far." Megs hooks her arm in mine. "Let's nab these bad guys."
Not long later, though my throbbing feet would disagree, we arrive outside a townhouse across from the park.
Megs's brow pulls together.
"What?"
"This looks like the block Jason and Teddy lived on when we were kids." Megs squints at the front door of the building we're staking out. Her eyes scan to the houses on either side. "I can't remember which one... But they still own it—Jason works there. Hey, you don't think he ordered the cream cheese? For Bagels?"
I snort, but an unidentified object stirs in my gut. "Jason hates me."
"Jason does not hate you. You'll see when Sarah's gone. "
"He's got more reasons not to order from me than to."
"Not really. Zooks is amazing cream cheese," she holds up one finger, "Leah and Patrick are both raving about it," two fingers, "and—whatever else you two may disagree on—Jason is a good business man," three fingers.
I hold up one finger, "Jason would have to admit I was right to order from me," second finger, "He would have sent the cream cheese to Bagels."
"Not if he did it in secret."
"If this is his house, he's not James Bond material." Or Batman—okay, maybe Batman, but he'd better be working from the basement or something.
Megs stomps her foot awakening me from imagining Jason dressed in a bullet-proof, black leather suit. "I wish I could remember where he lived, but it's been so long..."
"Should we knock?" I ask, staring at the green door. That mysterious object in my gut fluttering.
Megs gasps. "Are you crazy?" Lowering her voice, "You don't just go knocking on terrorists' doors."
"Why?"
"They could blow us up!"
"In their own house?"
Megs scowls but seems to be considering what I have to say. "Okay, but we need secret names. You be Watson, I'll be Sherlock."
"Aren't those names a bit...suspicious?"
"They're terrorists, Zia. They don't read!" Megs leads the way to the door, grabs the gold knocker, and raps it hard three times. Then we wait. And wait. And wait.
"I don't think they're home."
"They have to be. All these places have maids and stuff." She knocks again.
We wait three entire minutes—no answer. For the first time, I wonder if we are actually dealing with sinister forces.
"Maybe terrorists don't have maids," Megs says, then shrugs. "We gave it a try, and we know one thing—this is not Jason's house."
"How's that?'
"Jason has a maid and a butler—Albert and Robin. One of them would have answered."
Albert and Robin? Are you kidding me?
"I'm tired of being a detective, let's go eat." She rubs her belly, but then her hand drops and she lets out an extended groan.
"What?"
"Grandma is making dinner."
"I'll grab a pizza."
"You're invited."
I groan.
"Come on." Megs drags me away from the doorstep. "Grandma hates tardiness."
"Do I have to go?" I whine as I stumble after her.
"I just knocked on a terrorist's door for you, you can face my grandmother."
"I'll take the—"
Megs halts. We're at the corner of the block.
"What are you two doing here?" Sarah, wearing black leather pants that show off how long her legs are, stands in our path.
"Walking," Megs says. "You?"
"I belong here." Sarah's eyes flick to me. "And you do not."
"She belongs wherever she wants to be."
Sarah purses her glossy lips. "Just because you dress her up, doesn't change who she is on the inside."
"You should know," Megs snaps.
"Excuse me? I don't have panic attacks at the sight of a balloon. Or have to call ahead because someone might have the audacity close a door without leaving a widow open," sarcasm drips from each syllable.
"That doesn't make you any better for Jason."
"Oh?" She lowers her sunglasses down her nose, using the hand with the extra-large diamond perched on it so that the rock catches the light and blinds us. "I don't have to pop a pill every time he takes me on a date."
"Jason doesn't care about that stuff." Megs glowers at her. "His eyes lit up when he saw her in my costume."
Sarah slides the glasses back into place. "I lit him up when I took mine off."
My jaw drops, but Megs lets out a loud snort. "You wish. And you made sure everyone knew it before you left." She presses the back of her hand to her forehead as if swooning, "Why won't Mr. Darcy sleep with me?"
Sarah's lips press in a thin line. I wonder if she's going to cry. Instead, her nostrils flare, and she speaks her next words as if breathing fire. "But he has," she thrusts her clenched fist up so the ring is in Megs's face, "and he will over and over and over again for the rest of his life!"
Megs's grip tightens around my wrist.
Sarah lowers her fist, spares me a mere glance, then walks past us making sure to knock Megs's shoulder on the way.
I wait for Megs to flip out on her, but instead her body relaxes and a smirk spreads across her face.
"Am I missing something?"
Megs giggles. "My plan is soooo working."
"Gah!" I wrench my arm from her grip.
"You could be more appreciative."
"Megs, could you please just stop?" My voice trembles with a mixture of rage and sorrow. I'm in no position to be set-up with anyone with him on my mind every other thought, my insides in a constant war of numbness and pain. Right now, I'd trade twelve Jason's for one John.
The name hits me like a sharpened key, stabbing itself into me, twisting, and unlocking a Pandora's box of shoved away emotions. But I can't let myself lose it here. I take three deep breaths, twist the key again, and yank it out of my flesh. He'll have to wait until tonight to rip me to shreds once again. That's the thing with Pandora's box, once it is opened things escape. They sneak out and start to attack in ways and places you think are completely healed. I'll have to round them up tonight and shove them back in before they can cause too much damage.
"I don't get you. He's hot, you're hot. Why not go for it?"
"Because," I say through gritted teeth, "I'm in love with someone else."