Twenty
Thursday
Needing advice, I got Phoebe and Alice on the school bus in the morning and walked down to meet Layna for coffee at Dawson
Taylor. In Los Angeles, my go-to coffee shop was Intelligentsia on Abbot Kinney, which was always packed with stylish, relevant
people. In contrast, Dawson Taylor had zero people in line to order and a gaggle of grandpas having a coffee klatch under
a painting that looked like a Louis L’Amour novel cover. As I waited for Layna, I checked the ten-day weather forecast, hoping
there’d been a change. But the gods had not been so benevolent. In nine days, temps were still expected to shoot up to almost
seventy.
Layna’s outfit—a flouncy red skirt with tights and a black beret—distracted me from my panic. With her newly long hair, muscular
calves, and bright red fingernails and lipstick, she was pulling it off.
“I’m in my French era,” she said. “These extensions have given me a new lease on life!”
“Oui, oui,” I said.
The gaggle of grandpas sitting nearby were clearly eavesdropping.
“Bonjour, jolie demoiselle,” one of them called out.
“Bonjour,” Layna said, gamely. But as soon as we settled in at a table out of earshot of the men’s hearing aids, she moaned, “Oh my
god, I’m grandpa bait!”
“He was very into you,” I agreed.
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or depressed. I want a sexual adventure! But with someone who doesn’t need Viagra!”
“If you were wearing that beret and nothing else, that grandpa wouldn’t need Big Pharma.”
“Please,” she said, waving away the suggestion. “At that age they’re looking for a nurse or a purse. But I matched with a
hottie on Hinge! He’s old, but not grandpa old.” She held out her phone to display the Wikipedia page of a smiling man in
a puffy orange astronaut suit holding a helmet under one arm. “He’s been DMing me—from the space station!”
“Kendrick B. Johnson is an American engineer and retired NASA astronaut,” I read. But I had to stop because I was laughing
so hard.
“What?” Layna said.
Tears streamed from my eyes. “That guy’s retired. He is definitely not DMing you from outer space. You, my friend, are being
catfished.”
Layna dropped her head down into her arms. “Noooooo!”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault people are despicable.” I reached out and patted her hand. “This conversation does not
pass the Bechdel test, by the way.”
“What’s the Bechdel test?” she said, looking up at me.
Internal sigh. In my LA social circles, the Bechdel test had been a given for fifteen years. “For a movie—or in this case
a conversation—to pass the Bechdel test it has to have two women who talk to each other about something other than a man.”
She looked thoughtful. “If you give me an update on the mansicle, would that pass the Bechdel test? I mean, we’re still two
women talking about a man—but does it count if the man’s dead?”
I laughed and gave her the rundown on my trip to Idaho Connor’s house, how I’d gained a (temporary) dog, and the ingenious
way I’d figured out how to send voice memos that sounded like they were from Idaho Connor himself.
“I think you might have a knack for this shit,” Layna said.
“Someone with a knack wouldn’t’ve brought the dog home.
” The twins had taken it upon themselves to feed Little Sister a can of chili when I was in the laundry room, which had caused a bout of violent doggie diarrhea.
When I’d wailed we weren’t keeping the dog, I’d upset the twins so much I threw ten dollars in the Therapy Jar.
“But I was thinking . . .” I paused. “Isn’t my only real option to go meet with Errol’s girlfriend, Baylee, and get her smashed phone? ”
“But you know that in winter Burgdorf Hot Springs is only accessible by snowmobile, right?” Layna said.
I nodded. Of course I knew it. I’d always begged my mom to take me when the whole place was snowbound, but she’d tell me she
couldn’t blow our weekly grocery budget on a snowmobile rental. “Since Baylee is bringing”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“hand
grenades, maybe I could get the ATF to go out there.”
“You just want to see that hot ATF agent again,” Layna said.
I exhaled a “Puh!” of denial, accidentally blowing sugary donut dust all over the table. “I know about an impending attack
on the capitol! In nineteen days! Telling the authorities seems like the only right thing to do!”
Layna lifted one eyebrow. “How do you think that’s going to turn out for you?”
“Fair,” I said. “I need some evidence first—against someone that isn’t me. I think I might need to go out there. To Burgdorf.
On a snowmobile. To get that SIM card from Baylee. And maybe the plans for Day of the Rope. Maybe I could see what Baylee
knows. Errol’s clearly been abusive. She’s probably ready to talk.”
“Maybe! And either way, the SIM card, the plans—that’s hard evidence.” Layna took a pensive sip of her latte. “You don’t need
that agent to save you, Bechdel babe. You can clear this up yourself. You know, I always wanted to be a badass Bond girl.
This snowmobiling trip could fit the bill.”
My eyes pricked with tears. “You’d go with me?”
Layna smiled and gave the tiniest of nods.
“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that,” I said.
The flirty grandpa passed us on his way out, pausing to give a little bow to Layna. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
“Au revoir, mon prince,” Layna said.
I gave her a look as the beaming grandpa exited the coffee shop.
“What? I have to practice my game on someone,” Layna said. “So say we pop Baylee’s SIM into a working phone and see what Errol
actually texted her. It might be incriminating enough to hand over to the police. Especially if we have grenades and plans
for Day of the Rope too.”
“I don’t want to mess with grenades,” I said.
“Fine, we’ll leave the grenades.”
“Baylee won’t be happy to see us instead of Connor,” I said.
“We can tell her Connor’s scared of Errol. He got cold feet. He was too ashamed to tell her himself. Blah blah blah.” Layna
considered. “I think it could work.”
Burgdorf had always been such a safe happy place for me when I was a kid. Still, I sure as hell wouldn’t go out there to meet
some guy named Ralphie the Lizard. But if Layna and I were together, there couldn’t be much harm in meeting with one woman.
I took another bite of donut. “I really don’t want to go to the cops. Not unless it’s clear someone else killed Connor.”
“If we’ve got solid evidence Errol probably did it, I think you could get immunity for stashing a body in a residential neighborhood,”
Layna said. “The police won’t like that you went citizen rogue, but they’ll have to help you out if you’ve thwarted an attempt
by the IDIOTs to blow up the Idaho State Legislature. And you wouldn’t have to spend your life worrying you’re about to”—she
leaned in and whispered—“go to prison for killing someone who’s better off dead.”
I shook my head to clear it of Layna’s convincing argument. “I still think I better ask Agent Duran to help me. Maybe I should
have the girls join his soccer team.”
“Do not believe for one second that just because you want to bone a man, he’ll rescue you and make all your problems go away!
” she cried, so loudly the remaining grandpas turned to look.
Her tone softened. “I may not know whether or not I’m being DMed from the moon, but even I know better than that. ”
But Layna’s bossiness couldn’t change the fact I still hoped the ATF might go to Burgdorf and seize the evidence and explosives.
Which meant it was time for the twins to learn how to bend it like Beckham.