By old times, she means years ago when we first met. Neither of us had a steady job and drank two-buck-chuck on the weekends to forget our problems or at least pretend they didn’t matter.
“This reminds me of the time you came back from that audition,” I say. “What was the movie? You remember.”
She laughs. “Oh, yeah that shitty-ass movie? I’m glad I didn’t get it. Would have typecast me for life.”
Wonder Woman, I remember. “For sure, bestie. You got lucky on that one.” Secretly loving the movie that broke my friend’s heart is tough, but it has to be done.
“Get your ass over here and don’t forget the peach wine-coolers.”
“I’ll be there shortly,” I say and then pause. “Bestie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Of course, what are best friends for?”
“See you in fifteen.”
I pull back onto the street and turn on my favorite eighties radio station. The stylings of Cyndi Lauper further work to soothe my frayed nerves. That’s when I run the stop sign. “Shit…sorry.” I wave to the car I’ve cut off. Poor guy has screeched to a stop and honked. I deserve that.
“Hold it together, Patrick.” If the damn killer doesn’t get me, my poor driving skills and inability to concentrate on two things at once, will.
The following morning,I rub my eyes and curse the cheap alcoholic drinks Tina and I downed in earnest the night before. Stretching my arms overhead, I yawn, turn over, and flinch.
“Why are you staring at me?” My heart races at the creepy look in Tina’s eyes.
“Oh, don’t clutch your pearls, my friend. I’ve been sending you extra sensory perception nudges to wake up since six o’clock.”
I rub the sleep from the corner of my eyes. “And what time is it now?”
“Eight.”
“You’ve been staring at me for two hours?”
“What’s important is you’re awake now.” Her whispered voice takes on a conspiratorial tone. “Guess who’s been texting you for the past couple of hours?”
Flopping back over, I frantically look for my phone. It’s not where I left it the night before. I shoot a glance over my shoulder only to find Tina waving the phone in the air.
“Patrick… I did not read your texts even though you gave me your passcode.”
“I’ve never given you my passcode.”
“Gave might be an inaccurate word for it, but I have it and that’s what really matters because I didn’t look.”
Arching my eyebrow, I cock my head to the side. “Then how do you know who’s been texting me?”
“ESP?” she says, making her voice small and innocent.
Right. And I’m a well-adjusted twenty-five-year-old with a fantastic love life and an award-worthy acting career. Without a word, I lock eyes with her until she cracks.
“Okay, fine. After the fourth text, I got curious and turned the screen on and saw the missed messages and calls notifications.” She hands me the phone. “But I didn’t read them… I would never invade your privacy like that.”
“Jake texted me,” I say. “But there’s a couple missed calls from another number here I don’t recognize.”
“Michael Borne. Or should I say, Detective Borne? Mister hot body with a gun called you… multiple times, bestie. You know what that means?” She wags her eyebrows and shakes her shoulders like she’s trying to jiggle her boobs at me.
“Wait? What? He’s a detective?” I say. Damn, that’s hot. “And how do you know his number?”