Page 22 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“Why are we so sure it’s a man?”

“Intriguing point,” said Tuesday. “It could be anyone. ’Cause if a man’s spending thousands, he’s not sending an assistant. No matter how busy men are, if they’re feeling you, they show up. Look, B2K was in the middle of a world tour, and yet every member attended the premiere of my ABC Family Halloween film,Witch Way to Heaven.”

“The entire band? Even Omarion?”

“Well… no. Just Lil’ Fizz.”

“Make it the whole band in your memoir.”

“Bet,” she agreed, jotting down notes in her phone. Then abruptly she shot up to a sitting position, knocking three pillows onto the floor. “WAIT. Ricki, what’s their phone number? Like, the area code?”

Ricki grabbed her phone off the piano top, scrolling through contacts. “It’s 212. Why?”

“That’s a New York City landline.A landline!Do you know what this means?”

Ricki gasped. “The person didn’t pick up because they’re probably just not home! Maybe they’re on a business trip or something? Who even has a landline in 2024?”

“The point,” said Tuesday patiently, “is that we can trace a landline. To an actual location.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Chile, I used to be so toxic. Gimme your phone.”

A mere twelve minutes later, Tuesday landed on an address.

“592 West 152nd Street. That’s Sugar Hill, expensive as hell. There’s no apartment number, so the person lives in the whole townhouse. MysteriousMillionaireBenefactor.”

Every instinct, every impulse, was telling Ricki to go to theaddress. But wasn’t that the old her? Hadn’t she uprooted her entire life to start a new chapter?

Her mom always told this story about how on the first day of Ricki’s tadpole swim class, all the other two-year-olds were terrified and clinging to their babysitters, but Ricki was outraged that she wasn’t allowed to swim on her own. Later, at home, when no one was watching, she sprinted outside to their backyard pool and belly flopped into the deep end. Absolutely no hesitation. Luckily, seventeen-year-old Rae saw this play out from her upstairs bedroom window, but by the time she’d frantically fished out her baby sister, Ricki was losing consciousness. After Rae’s frantic mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Ricki came to, sputtering and coughing like crazy. And then, maddeningly, she fell over on the grass, giggling with delight. It was an adventure!

Ricki still got yearly ear infections from that adventure. She couldn’t afford to risk more consequences. Especially since she had no health insurance.

“Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t go,” she said, backtracking. “Really, Tuesday, what will I gain from finding out who Mysterious Benefactor is? I know my true crime podcasts—what if it’s an elaborate ruse for some sick fuck to lure me out there to my death? Honestly, none of this matters anyway. We’re all just specks stuck to a floating rock hurtling through space.”

“Mysterious Benefactor might, in fact, kill you. But we all die of something.”

Incredulous, Ricki stared at her friend. “See, what I really need right now is a sane person to discourage me from these antics.”

“Your vibe attracts your tribe, babe.” Tuesday shrugged. “I didn’t invent science.”

As badly as Ricki needed to solve this mystery, she recognized this feeling of attraction to a man with an impossible situation. She was battling with herself. That was the old her, and she’dmoved a zillion miles from home to rebrand her personality. To be more disciplined, focused.

Ricki looked at Tuesday. Tuesday looked at Ricki. They hopped up and snatched their coats from her closet.

It was 7:30 p.m., Ricki and Tuesday were still camped outside of 592 West 152nd Street, and Mysterious Benefactor had not appeared. From behind the massive oak across the street, they’d surveilled the elegant limestone townhouse for the better part of two hours. Every twenty minutes or so, they’d circle the block to avoid looking like the creepers they were. The shades were drawn, and their only hope was that they’d catch Mysterious Benefactor entering or exiting the house.

The sun had gone down, and now they were freezing, stomping their feet to stay warm.

“Should we just come back another time?” asked Ricki, warming her gloved hands on her third to-go cup of steaming coffee from a nearby bodega. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d asked the lady behind the bodega counter if she knew who lived at the address, and received a stony glare.

“You wearin’ a wire?”

“No! I’d never work with cops,” insisted Ricki. “Abolish and defund, am I right? Fuck the police.”

The woman cracked her gum, bored. “Where you from?”

“Georgia.”

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