Page 13 of Someone Just Like You

My fingernails dug into my palms. I read the text again only to confirm it said what I thought it said. The likelihood this was not pure and utter bullshit was probably too low to qualify for calculation. Rude was way off his game. It was laughable if not a little concerning.

I copied and pasted it into a text to Esther.

Molly:See below. Is he for real? Does he think I’ll just take him at his word without confirming with the restaurant? Especially given that’s how he outed me only a few days ago?

I called the main number for Sotto 13, and when a woman answered the phone said, “Hi. This is Molly Blum. I’m scheduled to meet there tonight about a possible party.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice upbeat. “It’s in the calendar. The Blum and Stark party.”

“Correct.”

“We’re all set.”

Just as I thought. Surely she’d volunteer the change in location if there was one. So much for “renovations.”

Oh, how Jude must have delighted at my naïveté at accepting our newfound peace at face value—together with all his similarly obnoxious friends. He might have even used it to show his “too nice” lawyer girlfriend what happened when you trusted someone with absolutely no good reason. I blamed him, but I was equally at fault. It was Jude we were talking about; I should have known better.

“Did someone tell you about the address change?” the woman from the restaurant asked.

“The address…” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat and tried again. “Address change?”

“The restaurant is temporarily closed for renovations…paint fumes don’t go well with pasta…but we have office space on Broome Street: 328 Broome.”

“Okay, 328 Broome. Got it.” We ended the call.Huh. I stared at my phone in a daze. I’d been so certain Jude calling a truce only to pull another prank right away was all part of his ongoing evil plan to drive me bananas. It wasn’t. Yet even while being earnest, he still managed to turn me inside out. It took a special kind of talent. I shook my head in wonder as my phone pinged an incoming text.

Esther:Wow. He really doesn’t think much of you, does he?

Way to sugarcoat it, Esther.

Molly:You should sit down for this. He was telling the truth. The meeting is at a different location!

I closed my eyes while I tried to make sense of what I was feeling. At the forefront was guilt for jumping to conclusions about Jude’s motives. But who wouldn’t be skeptical after years of being the most popular pawn in his game of tricks? There was, of course, happiness and relief that the change of address was legitimate. Now we could continue planning the party sans combat—a positive for sure!

But along with guilt, happiness, and relief was another pesky emotion I tried to dismiss but couldn’t.

Disappointment.

Chapter Seven

Weird.

I was standing in front of 328 Broome Street. But the only business name listed on the buzzer was Bang Bang Tattoos. I peeked inside the building through a set of glass doors. There were at least two male patrons with their shirts pushed over their shoulders ready to be inked, and one woman with her back to me mid-branding.Yup. Definitely a tattoo parlor.

I scratched my head with one hand and double-checked Jude’s text with the other. It confirmed I was at the right address. The woman on the phone at Sotto 13 had also said 328 Broome Street. Into my phone, I asked, “Siri. How many Broome Streets are there in Manhattan?”

There is one Broome Street in Manhattan.

I worried my lip. A tattoo parlor sharing space with an Italian restaurant in New York City wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, I guessed.

I stepped inside. It was a narrow space, but what it lacked in width, it made up for in length.That’s what she said.I chuckled to myself. The décor was minimalist with white walls and black workstations. A white man in a black baseball cap with stylized letters B.A.N.G., latex gloves, and a neck tattoo peeking out of a black t-shirt approached me. “What can I do for you?”

I kept my voice low to avoid disturbing the concentration of artists holding needles. “This is a weird question, but I was given this address to meet someone about planning a party.”

“A tattoo party?” His reply was delivered in a much louder tone than mine, drawing attention to our conversation.

My head jerked back. “No…an…uh…dinner party…anniversary party for my parents.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “You want to hold your party here?” He rubbed the patch of hair on his chin. “It’s not something we’ve done before, but I guess we can close to the public for a night. How many tattoos do you think you’d need?”

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