Chapter 8
Friday, cocktail hour, Justin’s house
I t was neighborhood cocktail night on Avocado Avenue. Every Friday, a different neighbor hosted. Thank god it wasn’t her turn. She’d been too busy with national security concerns to even pick up. Everyone’s dirty laundry was on the floor at her house.
“Have fun, kids!” she called out as they ran across the street to the Alvarez house. “Don’t make too big of a mess!” Who was she kidding? She didn’t care what they did as long as they came out alive.
Justin Casey was her neighborhood BFF and Beverly Hills’ go-to party planner. He moonlighted at a drag bar after hours as Betty Danger because, he said, “Deep down I’ve always wanted to be a housewife.” Where Gabby could neither lip-synch nor plan a party, Justin couldn’t stop. They balanced each other out.
Tonight, all Gabby wanted to do was chill with her BFF and tell him all about the EOD, but she couldn’t unless she wanted to end up “prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” How did EOD agents do it? Could she even have a therapist?
Like Gabby’s, Justin’s house was a Spanish-style two-story with a xeriscape yard and fruit trees. Unlike hers, Justin’s had imagination. It was all kitschy wallpaper and statues he’d picked up on trips to France or at flea markets in Arizona. Justin bought something everywhere he stopped. If he went in a gas station, he’d walk out with a monogrammed keychain, a charming air freshener, and a coconut water. He’d never spent less than twenty dollars at a stop in his life.
Gabby stepped through the door. “Honey, I’m home!” There were cocktails, and Justin was dressed in a onesie with a pinned-on tail, cat ears, and painted-on whiskers. God help her, but she couldn’t remember why. “What’s the theme tonight?”
“Broadway.” The look on his face said, “Duh.”
“Oh right.” She smiled. “I love Cats .”
Justin was always the only one dressed up. He would be in full makeup while everyone else stumbled in wearing wilted button-down shirts, jonesing for a beer after work. For once, that was her.
She wanted to scream, “THE EOD RECRUITED ME.” Instead, she stated the obvious. “Justin, no one else is going to dress up,” as if it was at the top of her mind.
“Just because they’re dull and boring doesn’t mean I have to be.”
She nodded before dipping a toe into what she actually wanted to say. “It was a day ! I ended up—” She paused. How was she supposed to describe this situation? With a frustrated sigh, she said, “I just ended up with some extra things to do, and I had to get one of Kyle’s friend’s moms to pick up the kids.”
He put his paw on her forearm. “Gabby, I would love nothing more than to babysit. I’ve been dying to watch Kyle and Lucas. Those kids need a strong male figure in their lives.”
She blurted out a laugh. “You’re in a cat costume!”
But he was right. Justin had been there. Since the divorce, and even before, Justin was always there. He’d offered to watch the kids so many times, and she’d never taken him up on it. She’d lost a lot of friends since the divorce—people just stopped calling or made excuses. Some people she hadn’t bothered calling because she didn’t want to have to rehash the last year of her life before they had coffee. Justin—painted-on whiskers and all—was her rock.
Gabby hugged him.
“Love you too, Gabs.” He tilted his chin up and leaned back. “But careful of the makeup.”
Phil might not have been, but Justin was there for her for better or worse, till death do us part.
He gestured for her to come outside to the garden. “Now I want to show you where I put Rocky.”
“Rocky?”
He smiled coyly. “You’ll remember. You met him on our last Starbucks run. I’m starting a collection. I already bought him a friend.”
She blurted out a laugh when the memory hit. Because his partner, Hugh, was worried about the credit card bill (someone had to be), Justin left most of his purchases in his SUV. The back seat was filled with fabulous knickknacks no one would ever need: figurines, random lampshades, and always a throw pillow or two. It was an International Rug on wheels. “The key is to sprinkle in the purchases so he never notices.” Last time they’d gone for coffee, there’d been a taxidermied raccoon in the back seat.
When Gabby had gasped, he’d put his hand on her forearm. “Don’t worry. I bought him from a vegan,” as if her first concern were morality.
The raccoon had been stuffed between a Costco-sized container of trail mix and a spangled throw pillow and had looked alive.
“I got him from this really lovely vegan lady who taxidermies roadkill.” He had readjusted the review mirror to get a good look at the animal. A smile of satisfaction spread across his face like butter. “Isn’t he marvelous? She found him just up the road, hit by a car. It’s amazing how wild animals have adapted to live in neighborhoods among us.”
Gabby didn’t point out that the animal was dead. Also, she was sure Hugh would notice a dead raccoon in the house. Taxidermy wasn’t something you could “sprinkle in.” But without Justin, Hugh would be bored out of his mind.
“Can we sneak into a corner somewhere? I want to tell you something.” She wasn’t sure what she’d tell him. Maybe she could talk about her day in pig Latin. I am an ecret-say, py-say.
Before he had a chance to show her the rest of his taxidermy collection, Shelly flagged them down. “Justin, Gabby, over here!”
Gabby groaned. Shelly was the neighbor Gabby never wanted to talk to and the one person she always ran into. Shelly always had an opinion. Tonight was no different.
“Are these shrimp from Costco?” Shelly looked at the shrimp on her plate like she found it wanting. She hadn’t even tried to dress up.
“Uh, no. I got them at the market.”
“Oh.” Shelly looked like that explained it. “You might want to try Costco next time.”
Gabby and Justin exchanged a look. Shelly was insufferable. To hammer home her annoyance, she said, “Did you try that book I recommended, sweetie?”
The way she said “sweetie” made Gabby cringe.
“Yes, I did.” In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising Shelly had been behind an activity that involved cataloging all of Gabby’s flaws.
Shelly set her uneaten shrimp down and said, “Neither of you have seen Tarragon, have you?”
Gabby had been hearing about Shelly’s missing cat, Tarragon, for weeks. At one point, Shelly had implied that Mr. Bubbles had something to do with it.
Justin shook his head no—in full cat face. When Shelly looked down at her phone, he mouthed to Gabby, “Who is that?” and she loudly whispered back, “Her cat.”
“I try to keep him inside, but he always manages to sneak out.”
Justin waxed poetic, as if he hadn’t just realized that Tarragon existed. “Nothing is meant to be cooped up inside all day long. I’m sure Tarragon is living his best life.”
The pros and cons of a dangerous life versus a safe life trapped in a house—it was like they’d tapped into Gabby’s thoughts. If only she could sneak away and talk to Justin about it.
As Shelly and Justin got into a heated conversation about how much a house cat should be allowed to explore, Gabby’s thoughts turned to the EOD and Markus. She sent a quick text to calm her anxiety: R u OK? It was only polite to check after the pepper spray incident.
He responded almost immediately: At ER.
The look on her face must have been bad, because Justin rubbed her arm in a comforting way. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were passionate about cats.”
Before she could decide how to respond, Markus answered: JK. I’m fine.
“It’s something else.” Sharing personal info with Shelly was always risky, but she needed to download. “I started a new job today, and I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”
Shelly stopped short. “A job? I didn’t know you were looking.” She seemed offended for not being in the know.
For that matter, so did Justin. His expression was the same as if there’d been a dramatic reveal on Real Housewives that he hadn’t seen coming. He rejected all plot twists he didn’t predict.
“ What are you doing?” Justin looked ready to talk her down from a stripper pole.
“Just some… office work.”
“I suppose you had to because of the—” Shelly mouthed, “Divorce,” in an exaggerated whisper as if it were a secret, as if Gabby might have forgotten she was divorced.
Gabby nodded. It was easier than explaining that the EOD needed her because she was the only one on Facebook who looked like a dead secret agent.
Shelly started in with the condolences. “I’m sorry, honey. If you need anything, I’m here. I thought about going back to work once, but it’s just not worth it.” Shelly got so defensive about her choice not to work outside the house that she ended up attacking anyone who made a different choice.
Justin stood and motioned for Gabby to follow. “Can you excuse us for a minute, Shelly? I need Gabby to help with some kitchen duty.” He was clearly just helping her out of the conversation. Gabby was grateful, because she could have been there all night.
After they refreshed their cocktails, Justin said, “Back to my taxidermy collection. You are going to die!”
She said, “Great,” but she mostly wanted to talk about her job problem. “Justin, I’m just not sure I can do this job.”
“Hold that thought, babe.” He gestured to the raccoon and another animal next to him. “I picked this lynx up at the flea market yesterday.” He scratched under the stuffed cat’s chin. “Kitty kitty would have been lonely by himself.”
At the sight of the stuffed creature, Gabby started choking on her drink. In between gasping for air and coughing, she said, “That is not a lynx. That is Tarragon.”
“Tarragon?”
“You remember Shelly’s cat, the one that’s missing?”
“Noooo.” He rocked back on his heels and looked at the cat. “That’s not a house cat.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, that is Shelly’s cat. Maine coon cats look like lynx.” Shelly had always bragged about how Tarragon was twenty-five pounds. Mr. Bubbles was only ten. Shelly was off her rocker for blaming him for Tarragon’s disappearance in the first place.
For a moment, neither could say anything. Justin crossed himself. He looked to the heavens and said, “God forgive me for my shopping habit. I’ve gone too far.”
Gabby asked, “How much did you pay for him?”
“Five hundred dollars, which was a bargain. You can’t find a taxidermied lynx anywhere, especially ones that have died of natural causes.”
“You didn’t find a lynx!” Because she hadn’t lost her senses, she said, “We have to get him out of here before Shelly sees.”
Justin picked up the cat and started carrying it under his arm toward the back. “I don’t understand how this happened.”
“People are always driving too fast down this street. If your taxidermist was finding roadkill in the area…” It stood to reason, even if it was preposterous.
“I’m putting him at your house, Gabs.”
Gabby didn’t want Shelly’s stuffed cat at her house, but this was an emergency. She needed to save Justin. They hustled out the side gate. Gabby held the cocktails. Justin held Tarragon. Halfway across the yard, he paused to reflect. “This is almost the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.” He looked behind her, dead serious, and said, “Don’t tell Hugh.”
She made a zipping motion across her lips.
“I know I’m the fun one, but I’ve been a little too fun lately, if you know what I mean.”
She did. This was what happened when you tested your limits—you ended up displaying your neighbor’s dead cat in the garden and inviting them over for cocktails.
“I got you, Justin. We got each other.” They were trying at least.
Out on the empty street at night, the music and the conversation gone, it was just her and Justin. The smell of magnolia blossoms from Justin’s tree filled the air. Justin inspected his cat and frowned. “Goddamn it, Shelly.”
“How did you not know her cat? She bragged about it constantly.” She was always telling everyone how much better her cat was than any other cat—glamorous, hypoallergenic, looked just like a lynx.
“I don’t pay attention to cats!” he exclaimed.
He was dressed as a cat. She would have pointed it out except her phone buzzed. It was Markus. I know I said Monday, but need to meet tomorrow. Start training ASAP.
“Damn it.” She scowled at her phone. “They want me to come in tomorrow.”
Can’t I call in sick for a few more days?
Nope. Boss said you’re fired unless you show up Monday.
She wanted the weekend to lose ten pounds and get in shape. At the very least, she’d wanted to buy some of those yoga pants that would force her butt into the shape of what she expected a butt to look like. Fabletics assured her that “there are no bad butts,” and she was ready to be convinced.
Justin must have sensed her rising stress level. “Tell me about this job, honey.”
“It just came up, yesterday. They needed me to start immediately.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I can do it, though. I haven’t worked outside the house for ages.” Look how much she’d fucked it up in just one day. She’d pepper sprayed Markus ten minutes after meeting him.
And she didn’t know anything about money laundering. She could barely handle actual laundry. Her shoulders slumped, the voices of all the haters, her own the loudest, echoing in her mind.
“I’m going to text them and say I’m out.” She typed a quick note to Markus: I can’t do this. I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s not you, it’s me. Xoxo Gabby
Her finger hovered over her text breakup with the EOD. This was the first time “it’s not you, it’s me” really applied. She would love to be a superspy, but how could she be? Valentina was right. She’d just get herself killed or, worse, someone else. She hit SEND .
Dressed like a cat and holding Tarragon, Justin looked at her with the energy of one of Oprah’s hand-selected lifestyle experts, someone who was about to start inspiring change. “Gabby, don’t even joke with me. You can do an office job. Make coffee, file, book appointments. How hard can it possibly be?”
If only he knew.
“Throw your shoulders back. Booty in, chest out. Whatever they want you to do, you can do it.” His right hand in the air and his other hand on his hip, he did some sort of Fosse dance move. “You can do it backwards in high heels!”
She smiled weakly. Justin could but not her.
“Give me that phone right now.”
He took the phone from her: Nvm last text. See you tomorrow!
He picked up his tail, walked over the threshold into her house, and with major attitude, announced, “You’re welcome.” Not a beat later and in a casual tone, he asked, “Where do you want to keep this cat?”
“I don’t want to keep it, Justin. What if Shelly comes over?”
He shrugged and set the cat down. “It’ll do for tonight, right? We can figure something else out soon.”
She nodded. What was one more thing to gloss over with a half-truth? “No, Shelly, I haven’t seen Tarragon.” “No, I’m not a spy. I have a normal office job. All I do is make coffee.”
Gabby was going to be a pro at lying in no time, at least if she was going to succeed. “It’ll be fine,” she said, looking at her cluttered dining room, where she was now displaying the neighbor’s dead cat and piles of unopened mail, her main support standing nearby dressed as a cat. She said it again, “It’s fine, right?”
“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be fine?” Justin twirled his tail.
So many reasons, none of which she could say.