I was substituted out of the game by Mr. Ruskin. Unable to continue playing due to wooziness and a nasty little cut on my forehead, Debbie tapped in for me while Mei Ling helped me into the Ladies’ Room to administer some First Aid. Which made me giggle since Mei Ling was an administrative assistant. When I told her the little joke I was laughing at, she indignantly corrected me: “I’m an Executive Assistant.” “Same difference,” I muttered.

The Ladies’ Room was a vision in pink, mauve, and turquoise. It reminded me of the seraglios depicted in those sword and sandal movies Italian studios produced by the truckload in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

Mei Ling sat me down in a comfy armchair facing the mirrors above the bank of sinks against the far wall. She began to clean the cut on my forehead with a cloth soaked in tap water, dabbing at it gently (it stung but I tried to smile through it), before applying some Neosporin.

“Before you ask, Evie, I’ll tell you. I passed a first aid course and I’ve handled all the minor scrapes and bruises that our office staff have suffered. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Mei Ling. Can I ask you a personal question?”

“If you’ll keep your head still while you ask…of course. Now please face forward and don’t move!” She began to wrap a bandage around my forehead. A lot of bandages. A whole lot.

“Your name is Mei Ling but you don’t appear to be Asian much less Chinese. How did you come about that name?”

“You have great powers of observation—”

“I did until you bandaged my eyes.”

“I told you not to move your head! Now look at what you’ve made me do.”

“Here’s an idea. Let’s forego the bandage and you just give me one of them there band-aids. I can put it on myself—”

“I shouldn’t let you, considering you’ve never taken a first aid course—”

“But I have. It’s noted in my resume—”

“Oh, yes, your resume. Look, Evelyn…you may have pulled the wool over Chuck’s eyes but I’ve got my eyes on you. Two to one odds your resume is a tissue of exaggerations and outright lies.”

“It’s passed muster with the HR department—”

“Ha! Your sister Debbie can doctor all the papers and no one would know. But don’t rest easy, Evelyn. I’m on your case. I’ll unearth whatever you’re hiding from everyone. Don’t think you can just shake your pretty ass at Chuck and Mr. Ruskin—”

“I have absolutely no interest in either of them. Maybe you do—”

“I’m just thinking of the welfare of the company. Your band-aid skills suck, by the way.”

“Never mind. You never answered my question. About your name—”

“Okay. Okay. Look, Miss Nosey Pants, someone must have told you I was raised by a single mother. An unwed mother! Sneer. Go ahead. I get that kind of attitude all the time. I’m past it. I’m not going to let you people win!” She broke down in tears. I reached out to her as she turned away, patting her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mei Ling. I swear I didn’t know. And I don’t look down on you at all.”

She swiveled her head around and there wasn’t a trace of tears on her face. Angrily, she slapped my hand away.

“I was a difficult birth. They had to give mom an epidural. When they asked her what she wanted to name me, she was so groggy that she couldn’t enunciate properly. She told them “Marilyn” but they wrote down “Mei Ling.” Mom was so scattered, being left to take care of a baby by herself at the age of 17, that she never bothered to correct my birth certificate. Later on, she even thought the name was quite “creative” on her part.”

“Oh, I can see why she wanted to name you Marilyn. Your blonde hair and fair skin. Marilyn Monroe—”

“No, she was a big Marilyn Manson fan. She wanted a boy too. You couldn’t possibly understand but I’ve always wished I could have been born a boy instead. Maybe then my mother would have actually loved me.” If only she knew. It’s safe to assume she doesn’t have a clue as to the real secret I’m harboring.

Sitting at a table in the cafeteria, I ate lunch with Debbie and Janet. Kyle, our company chef, had prepared a delicious and varied menu: caprese and Caesar salads, spicy sriracha fish wraps, chicken Caesar wraps, spinach tortilla wraps, and for vegan tastes, smoky grilled guacamole and grilled broccoli salad. I was kidding when I asked Kyle if I could get a doggie bag to take a little bit of everything home with me.

“Just drop by before you leave for the day. I’ll put together something special for you.” He winked at me before going back to the kitchen.

“My sister doesn’t realize her own girl strength. Just tamp it down a little, Evie. These men are bewitched by your charms,” Debbie said, with dramatic emphasis for Janet’s sake.

“Listen, Evie, I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to make you stumble and fall like that.”

“Janet, it’s nothing. You were just playing good defense. I’m not really hurt. Just a small cut. Anyway, it worked out well for Mr. Ruskin’s team. Debbie scored four touchdowns!”

“I was always the better athlete in the family. Sports just wasn’t my main obsession like it is for Evie.”

“Yeah, you were boy-crazy from the age of 11. Still are.” Turning to Janet, I asked her about Mei Ling.

“What’s the deal with Mei Ling? She seems a little off…know what I mean?”

“You better watch your p’s and q’s around her. She thinks she actually runs the company. Chuck’s really laid back and the sisters aren’t even around that much. They kind of leave day-to-day operations to her. She’s run some people out of here on a whim. Didn’t Debbie tell you?” I gave Debbie the side-eye. “The person you’re replacing was sort of dating Chuck for a while. Nothing really heavy but…she became Mei Ling’s “project” until she had her fired by Misty and Christy. She dug into her past, her present, and even read her future like a psychic. Like a bloodhound picking up a scent. But you’ve got nothing to hide, right?”

I nodded innocently and then threw myself into my salad, feeling beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I’m going to have to change my band-aid after lunch.

Most of the week through Wednesday was spent getting to know my staff of three (a manager, a junior associate, and an assistant) and being introduced to all the other people in all the other departments in the office. Chuck was mostly out of the office, meeting with current clients (the Big Ten College Basketball Conference and Major League Soccer) and prospective new clients (the LPGA and exploratory talks with MLB and the NBA). He told me on Wednesday morning, just before he headed out to meet with promotions people from The Lakers, that Misty and Christy would be in on Thursday morning to speak to both of us about my new marketing ideas, a few of which I discussed with Chuck in my interview. I gulped and told Chuck I’d give him a bullet-pointed memo with my list of ideas when he came back to the office at the end of the day. Kyle personally brought me a thermal carafe of coffee and two red velvet cupcakes when I was typing up the memo on my laptop.

“That’s so nice and thoughtful of you, Kyle. Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me, Evie. Chuck told me to do it before he left this morning. Of course, all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything your heart desires…Princess.”

“Princess? Why are you calling me that?”

“Well, whenever Chuck goes out of his way to make requests like that…for someone other than himself…it’s a sure sign that that someone is going to be a pretty, pretty important person in the company. And I like my job.”

“Oh, Chuck’s just being nice. I’m a newbie here.”

“That’s not what Mei Ling says—”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, gotta get back to the kitchen. Enjoy your coffee and the cupcakes!” He almost sprinted away.

Otis picked Debbie and me up after work and drove us back to our apartment on Eastlake Avenue. Debbie was babbling about her day and Otis was playing his favorite music from a thumb drive, ignoring her complaints about today’s lunch menu, her boss’ ripped jeans, and Mei Ling giving her odd looks every time she passed by her cubicle.

Debbie and I had just barely entered our apartment and dumped ourselves like 100-pound sacks of flour onto the couch when the doorbell rang.

Too tired to get up, Debbie yelled in the direction of the front door, “Come in! The door’s unlocked.”

“I can’t. I’ve got both hands full. It’s me, Otis!”

“I’ll let him in,” I told Debbie, who hadn’t given any hint she was about to move. Otis strode into the room, hidden behind a potted indoor plant that was almost four feet tall.

“I thought you girls could use a housewarming gift…like this aspidistra.”

“Two things, Otis,” began Debbie, as she rose to her feet from the couch. “First, I’ve been in this apartment for almost a year so it’s a little late for a “housewarming” gift—”

“Well, Evie only moved in last week—”

“Second, you’ve already filled the apartment with plants. None of which I actually asked you for. Thanks and everything but they’re giving off so much oxygen, I have to escape to the bedroom to clear my head.”

“With Evie sharing the bedroom, it’ll be perfect if I put this in there.” He took a step toward Debbie’s bedroom.

“Otis, I’m sleeping on the sofa here, not the bedroom.”

“I thought you sisters would be sharing a bed, just like you did when you were little munchkins in Disney Princess pj’s.”

“Get that image out of your head, Otis. You’re disgusting,” Debbie declared.

“As soon as I can save enough for a security deposit, I’ll be looking for a bigger place. Sleeping on a sofa is probably going to kill my back.”

Rubbing her hands together, Debbie squealed with joy. “We should start house hunting this weekend. Everyone’s renting in Echo Park these days—”

“Who’s everyone?”

“You know, all the young professional types.”

Still holding the aspidistra in his two hands, Otis interjected, “I’m thinking about getting a place in Echo Park myself. If we pool our resources, we could rent a house with two…uh…three bedrooms and some sizeable acreage. I need room enough for a greenhouse.”

“Otis, just drop the plant over there by the bookcase. And thanks, but Evie and I have to go out in a few minutes so…could you leave now?” She winked at me. I just nodded at Otis and gave him a friendly smile.

“Where are you going? I can drive you—”

“In the van?”

“No, in my Acura—”

Pushing him toward the door, Debbie shook her head. “No, Otis, thanks but no thanks.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Night.” Debbie exhaled, her back against the front door.

“Add that to your list, Evie. House hunting. And a new car.”

On Thursday afternoon, Misty and Christy Connors and I were seated in a semi-circle facing Chuck, as he fidgeted in his chair behind his messy desk. We were listening to the sisters talking excitedly about the ESPN 30-for-30 profile of themselves they had just screened in the cable sports network’s headquarters in Bristol, Connecticut. The mini documentary traced their soccer careers from high school days in suburban Maywood, California through collegiate heroics at UCLA, two World Cup titles for the USA, professional seasons in Europe and North America, and, finally, owners of The California Surf and Sisters Sportswear.

They passed around pictures from the program, tittering as they pointed out how young and naïve they looked in their high school kits.

“When is this scheduled to premiere?” asked Chuck.

“Next month, they told us, right Christy?”

“The end of the month. The last Thursday. In primetime, unless the NBA finals are still going on. Then they’ll play it after the game ends. Which might work out better since we’ll have a dynamite lead-in—”

“We need to be able to exploit the free publicity that’ll give us. Front of mind awareness makes for the best kind of recency. That’s why I asked Evie to sit in. She’s got some new ideas for brand lines that I think could really help us increase market share by a factor of two, maybe even three.”

“Well, let’s hear these ideas, Evie. Christy, when are we supposed to be at practice?”

“Shit, sis, we’re supposed to be at the stadium in half an hour.”

“Evie, you’re on. Give us your best 10 minutes.”

I cleared my throat, looked down at the notes on my laptop screen, and tried not to rush my words, which I sometimes do when I’m nervous.

“From going over your current client list and what Chuck has told me you have on the front burner in terms of prospective new clients, it occurred to me that you haven’t really exploited the fact that you’re a female-operated business that could more intensively target your natural consumer base…women and their children.”

I took a swig from my water bottle before continuing.

“It’s fine what you’ve done with Women’s Soccer, Tennis, and Golf, but the real goldmine is in the four major men’s sports—football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. I propose we take advantage of servicing the promotional efforts of these sports with customized team logo shirts, jerseys, caps, what have you that are sized and designed for women and their children, both male and female. Male fans are obsessed with replicas of their teams’ uniforms but women and, especially, young girls want to express their fandom in a more, shall we say, fashionable manner. We can begin with t-shirt giveaways on Mother’s Day games in baseball and soccer. Iterations of these designs can then continue to be sold online, at the stadium, and brick and mortar stores—”

“It’ll set us apart from all the other sportswear companies. We’re targeting a specific, underexploited demographic. And the fact that the Connors sisters are the women behind this allows us to parlay your fame and notoriety into legitimacy with these sports entities.” Chuck crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned back in his chair, confident in his assessment of my proposal.

Misty and Christy exchanged looks of approval but were silent for a full two minutes. Finally, Misty stood up and addressed Chuck and me.

“We like it. Isn’t that right, Christy?” Christy nodded agreement and also stood up. “Let’s do this. Prepare a presentation on this, filling in more details, some projected costs, possible revenue streams, a preliminary game plan on how to approach the marketplace with these ideas, who to approach first, etc. I can get Clark to come to the office on Wednesday and we can all decide on whether it’s feasible. Okay? We have to book it to the stadium. See you next week.” They left Chuck’s office and I took another two swigs from my water bottle.

“You did good, Evie.”

“I almost had a heart attack. My heart was beating like a drum. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Well, you looked calm, cool, and collected. Now, we have less than a week to put this presentation together. You have the bright ideas but I can provide you with the ballpark numbers in terms of dollars and cents. I’m going to be traveling tomorrow so we’ll have to get together on Saturday. Let’s do it at my house. It’s a lot less antiseptic than the office and I’ve got a really nice ocean view.” He laughed. “Seriously, it’s a better environment for brainstorming. So, first thing, buy yourself a nice quality wetsuit and I’ll pick you up at 5:30 in the morning on Saturday—”

“I feel like Chico Marx in The Cocoanuts about to ask, ‘Why a Duck?’ So, here goes: Why a wetsuit?”

“Ha ha. I love the Marx Brothers. I think we have similar taste in comedy. I bet you’re a Monty Python girl. Eh?” I just blinked. “I live near Newport Beach and I try to surf most weekends. I’m a California kid, Evie. The lure of the ocean, you know?”

“I’ve never surfed before. Maybe I’ll just sit on the beach and watch you—”

“I’ll teach you to bodysurf. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“But 5:30 in the morning?”

“Best waves are right after sunrise. And they don’t allow surfing after 11AM. Anyway, ask Mei Ling to give you a corporate credit card. Charge it to the company. Right. See you Saturday morning, bright and very early.”

“You mean Marilyn?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

When I told Mei Ling that Chuck wanted her to give me a corporate credit card, she didn’t believe me (naturally). After confirming with Chuck over the phone, she reluctantly handed me a card and told me to put my John Hancock on the sign-out sheet.

“People think there’s no credit limit on that card but there really is. Any purchases you make will be closely scrutinized for legitimate company reasons—”

“By whom?”

“Me.” Her eyes burned into mine, her lips curling into a sneer.

“You need help,” I muttered as I walked back to my office.

“That looks nice on you,” Chuck said as I stumbled out of the darkness into the passenger side of his Honda Passport, still only half-awake at 5:30 in the morning. I was wearing a white full-length cardigan cover-up over my newly purchased wetsuit.

“What? This old thing? No, really, it’s my sister’s. She said it’s light but covers everything nicely.”

“Well, it fits you perfectly.”

“Fits?” I laughed. “I’m as flat as the surfboard you’ve got latched onto the roof rails of this car. My mother was small-breasted. As far as I can remember. She died when I was 12.”

“Sorry to hear that. It must have been tough for you and Debbie, growing up without a mother. Here,” he handed me a cup of hot coffee. “This’ll wake you up. We’ll eat after surfing. More like brunch than breakfast.” I yawned, my mouth an open chasm. Too late to stifle it.

“Sorry about that. Wasn’t too ladylike, was it?”

“You yawn beautifully. Just like everything else you do.”

“Chuck, just drive. How long will it take to get to the beach?”

“At this time of day, with no traffic? 40, 45 minutes at the most. What kind of music do you want?”

“Whatever you like. Surprise me.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” He pushed a thumb drive into the player.

“Surf rock? How predictable.”

“It gets me in the mood to ride the wild surf. You know, waves can reach 30 feet high at The Wedge—”

“You’re not going to get killed before I even finish a week on the job, are you?”

“There’re lifeguards on duty. And the biggest waves don’t happen until late September when they have the annual competitions. Waves are pretty tame this time of year.”

“Just wake me when we get there—”

There were only a handful of surfers there when we clambered down to the beach from where Chuck had parked behind the pavilion. The Wedge was at the very end of the Balboa Peninsula and at the mouth of Newport Harbor. The jetty and the harbor mouth produced the massive waves that made The Wedge one of the most revered locales for surfers and surfing aficionados. The sun had barely risen above the horizon when Chuck handed me the bag with all our towels and other beach paraphernalia and ran into the surf, his surfboard aimed at the waves. With both hands full, I found a spot and placed my bodyboard down on the sand, fins up as Chuck had advised, spread out a beach blanket, and gingerly sat down to watch Chuck’s water follies.

While I rummaged through the bag for some suntan lotion, one of the lifeguards walked over and started to chat me up.

“You’re new. I’ve never seen you with Chuck before—”

“I work with Chuck. We’re not, you know, seeing each other—”

“Nice work if you can get it. I’ve heard of working from home but working from the beach?”

“It’s not what it looks like. He said he has to surf before he can get down to work. What’s it to you anyway?”

“I’m Everett. That’s Willie up on the tower over there.” He pointed behind his left shoulder. “The two of us handle this end of the beach. And you’re…”

“Evie. Nice to meet you, Everett.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but when I was in elementary school, they’d make fun of me by calling me Evie…like a girl’s name. Like your name. I mean, it’s a nice name…for a girl.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching out for drowning victims?”

“Willie’s got me covered. I’m on a short break. Need some help with the lotion? There are places it’s hard to reach.”

“I’m wearing a wetsuit. I was going to put some lotion on my face. I think I’m fully capable of reaching my nose.”

Chuck emerged from the water, climbing onto the beach with his board under one arm, trotting toward us.

“Hey, Everett, how’s it hanging?”

“Hey, Chuck, just chatting with Evie here. She a virgin?”

“What?” I spluttered, almost poking my eye out with a lotion covered finger.

“He means new to surfing, Evie. Not that…other thing.”

“Yeah, I mean, the way you look, I wouldn’t think you were, you know, that kind of virgin.”

“Keep digging.”

“Oh, hey, my break’s over. Back to the tower. Be careful kids, water’s kind of choppy today.”

“Evie, want some bodysurfing lessons?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Chuck shook his head and held his free hand out to me. I slipped swim fins onto my feet and picking up my bodyboard, I waddled after him into the shallows.

For the next hour or so, I had my first surfing experience. Chuck showed me how to place my prone body onto the board in the most hydrodynamic arrangement: both hands gripping the nose of the board, elbows on the board not off in space, my lower belly right on top of the tail, and my legs and feet remaining together like a mermaid’s tailfin. We paddled out to where we could stand in the water up to a little above our waists and sat on our boards, waiting for one of the subsiding waves to push us toward the beach.

I’m a fairly good swimmer, unlike Debbie, who only goes to the beach to model skimpy bikinis and get ogled by boys, never getting wet. So, it didn’t faze me when half of the time in the beginning, I would be tossed off my board by the force of the waves crashing into the shallows. Each time, I’d get up, wade into the water up to my waist, get back in the saddle on my board, and anticipate the next wave coming in. I started getting pretty good at riding the surf. I wondered if I’d ever dare to try doing what Chuck did, attacking 20-foot waves while balancing himself on his surfboard with the stoicism of The Silver Surfer from Marvel Comics. I looked to my left and Chuck was smiling at me, giving me a thumbs up.

We took a breather around 9AM, toweling off and laughing at some silly Monty Python skit Chuck had memorized word for word.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise…surprise and fear—”

“Excuse me for interrupting your delightful rehearsal. I take it you’re Torquemada, the notorious Grand Inquisitor—”

“No, Cardinal Ximenez—”

“Cardinal Ximenez? Of course, Francisco Ximenez de Cisneros. He’s a later Grand Inquisitor. He’s barely mentioned in Sabatini’s history of the Inquisition. Perhaps there’s been some recent scholarship. After all, it’s been decades since my college course in—”

“It’s a Monty Python sketch.”

“Sorry, I’ve never heard of this Monty Python. Intriguing name for a history scholar, though.”

I had stopped laughing at Chuck’s spot-on Michael Palin impression. Long enough to take a good look at our pedantic interloper. He was a bald man in his late 40s with a full beard, wearing an incongruous ensemble of a pinstriped blazer, faded jeans, a light blue button-down shirt, and moccasin slippers. Strange outfit for beachcombing. Rather, he looked like he’d stepped out of his room in the Hyatt Hotel just up the peninsula and gotten lost on his way back.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Daniel Dantley, the film director.” We gave him blank looks. “Well, I’m in pre-production for a new series on GlobalNet. You’ve heard of GlobalNet? Good. It’s a sequel to a movie I directed almost a decade ago, Newport’s a Beach. It was nominated for a Golden Globe.” More blank looks. “The new series is going to pick up the lives of the main characters ten years down the road. So I’m doing a little location scouting. Things haven’t changed that much in ten years. But I’m looking to cast new faces, new talent. Besides the original actors are asking for the moon in salary. GlobalNet’s got a tight budget on this one. TV is downscale from theatrical, you know? Guess you don’t. To get to the point, I couldn’t help but watch the two of you for the better part of an hour, frolicking in the water. Such a cute couple you make. Are you together?”

“We’re co-workers,” Chuck answered.

“You know where I can get a job like yours? Just joking. I love filmmaking. It’s my raison d’etre…” He was silent for a few second. “Have you ever considered acting? I have an eye for talent and you two would be naturals to play Rick and Suzy, ten years after.”

“Believe me, Dan, I’ve no desire to act. I’m quite happy doing what I’m doing.”

Turning to me, Dantley asks “And what about you? You’re definitely pretty enough.”

“I’m flattered but I’ve never even thought about acting. I probably wouldn’t be very good at it. I get nervous in large groups of people. I don’t like people staring at me.”

“That surprises me but whatever. How could I get in touch with you should I insist on getting you to change your mind?” He laughed. “Your business number is fine.”

“Go ahead, Evie. It might be a good opportunity for you. Can’t hurt to look into it.”

“Really, Chuck? You wouldn’t mind?”

“A lot of people have a side hustle these days.”

I dipped into my purse to find the CAA card Juan Moskowitz had given me at the dog park. I figured this Dantley character is never going to call me anyway. He’ll forget about me between now and tonight’s cocktail hour. Just in case he does pursue this, he can speak to Juan. People at CAA will know if this guy is the real deal or a nutjob.

“He’s my agent.” I gave Dantley the card. “Juan Moskowitz. CAA. You’ve heard of them?”

“Of course. I see you’ve been playing coy with me, Miss…uh…what’s your last name?”

“Rivers. Evie Rivers.”

“Oh, I’m meeting someone at 10 back at the hotel. Please excuse me but I better make my way back. I’ll be in touch, Evie.” He hurried away.

“I think the CAA card scared him off. He can’t be who he says he is, right? Is there a sanitarium near here?”

“Yeah, probably an escapee. Ha ha. But how’d you get an agent at CAA?”

“I didn’t. Debbie and I were hanging out at a dog park in the arts district when this young guy tried to pick us up. He gave me this card. I haven’t heard from him and I hope I don’t. Debbie likes him though. Thinks he’s cute.”

“Let’s get some more surfing in before they shut it down at 11. Ready?”

We picked up our boards and, as before, I waddled after Chuck into the water.

We washed the sand and sea salt off our wetsuits and out of our hair, standing underneath the outdoor showers by the pier. Then we changed clothes in the public restrooms. I almost followed Chuck into the men’s rooms before correcting myself and going in the opposite direction. Chuck smirked at me. He thought I was worn out from bodysurfing and a little dizzy.

By this time in the morning, the beach was pretty crowded and I had to wait for an available stall. I did get a few compliments on my wetsuit. Two girls asked me where I bought it. Another asked me how long I’d been dating Chuck. I was starting to turn red with all the attention and me being an ersatz female in their midst. Although, I had to admit I’d become very convincing as a woman over the last two weeks. Maybe dad and Consuela are right. I’m a girl. I’ve always been a girl it seems.

Chuck recommended having brunch at the Hyatt Regency up the peninsula.

“I’ve eaten there a few times. The Huevos Rancheros is pretty good. If you like seafood, you could try the ceviche—”

“That’s raw fish!”

“Or not. You can always order a burger.”

Out of the corner of my eye as I climbed into Chuck’s car, I thought I saw Mei Ling sitting in a dark blue Honda Civic, parked in a corner of the lot. I poked Chuck in the shoulder and directed his eyes toward what I’d seen.

“Is that Mei Ling? In the blue Honda. Does she live around here? Is she an heiress or something? What’s the average rental around these parts?”

“There’s no one in the car.” I looked and he was right. I could swear she was sitting there just 30 seconds ago. “And, as far as I know, she lives in North Hollywood. That’s a long way from here.”

“I guess I really am wasted from surfing all morning.”

“You need some food. A little caloric intake at the hotel will get you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again. You’ll need some energy for the work we’ll be doing in the afternoon.”

I leaned back in my seat and exhaled. Chuck maneuvered out of the crowded parking lot and turned right onto East Balboa Boulevard. In the rearview mirror I saw the blue Honda following us a hundred yards or so behind. The driver hid their eyes behind sunglasses but the cornsilk blonde hair made me certain it was Mei Ling. Isn’t this usually when the Bernard Herrmann score creeps in, with its foreboding half-diminished minor 7th chords?