Double dose, p.5
Double Dose, page 5
“I’ve heard,” Mollie said. “Hey, did Sherman and Jaime come by?”
Roberta groaned. “Thank God they pretended not to know me. The receptionist wouldn’t even let them into the office to talk to Aaron’s secretary, that’s how dumb they sounded.”
“Great,” Mollie said. “No harm done, though, I guess.”
“I’m going to give them a book called How to Be Subtle,” Roberta said. She checked her watch. “I should get back inside. It’s my first day and all.”
Mollie smiled. “Okay. Be careful. I’m going over to the Truth Club. Drop by later, if you have time.”
“I will,” Roberta said. “See you.” She went back into the agency, and Mollie walked down the hill to Fathead. Maybe DeDario had gone to New York for the shoot—but if he had, surely Amanda would have known that, and Kara would have, too. Maybe they knew where he was, and they just weren’t saying. Or maybe DeDario was just bombing around San Francisco Bay in his speedboat. Mollie thought about what Roberta had said, and flinched. DeDario in a swimsuit was a scary thought.
“This is the Truth Line. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m depressed.”
“What about?”
“I like this guy, and he totally blew me off last night.”
“You think that’s bad? I’ve been going out with the same guy for a year, and last night he dumped me for someone else.”
Mollie shook her head. So many of the calls to the Truth Line lately seemed to be about relationships. All of the couples that had gotten together at the beginning of the school year were breaking up. Like me and Jordan, she thought. She and Jordan weren’t officially over yet. They still dated on weekends and ate lunch together most days. She went to his football games. But ever since the earthquake—when she’d gotten to know Johnny Chelios—she hadn’t felt the same way toward J.B. He just seemed so boring, compared to Johnny. Especially when she compared the way they kissed.
“Being dumped isn’t all that bad,” Mollie told the caller. “Who knows? The next guy you go out with might be a lot better.”
“Or he might be a total creep,” someone else said.
“Thanks!” the girl said. “Remind me not to ask you for advice on my love life.”
“Hey, chill out, you guys,” someone else said. “Are you still taking a poll on whether or not Meredith Hughes is a dealer?”
Mollie was silent for a moment. Now the rumors were that Meredith was a dealer? “Yeah, go ahead,” she said, trying to sound neutral.
“Well, I think she’s been hanging out with a really bad crowd lately. You know those guys who got stuck under the Dead Mall in the earthquake?”
“Um … yeah,” Mollie said. “Kind of.”
“She’s been spending a lot of time with them, and some of them look like they’re into weird stuff.”
“Like what?” Mollie prompted. Eating tropical fish, maybe?
“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all into drugs. I mean, what did they do that whole time they were stuck underground? They looked so dazed when they came out and showed up at school. I bet they were all high,” the caller said.
Mollie was about to go off about how she hadn’t eaten for three days when they escaped, or seen natural light, or even known if she was going to survive, when the private line rang. Only Truth Club members had that number. “Keep talking, I’ll be back,” she told the callers. Then she picked up the other line.
“Took you long enough,” Johnny said.
“Sorry,” Mollie said. “I was just—never mind. What’s up?”
“I’ve been hanging out in Oakland, on Park Street.”
“What did you find out?”
“Number one, I found out that eight fifty Park Street is not a particularly nice neighborhood.” Johnny inhaled deeply; Mollie could tell he was smoking again.
“Working on your tough look?”
“I’d like to see you come down here,” he retorted. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Please,” Mollie said. “Do tell.”
“I parked across the street, and I waited for about an hour for someone to use the phone—just to see if anything interesting was going to happen.”
“Did it?” Mollie asked.
“Only when two guys tried to steal my hubcaps,” Johnny said. “So then I figured I’d go ahead and call you, but when I went over to the phone, there was no dial tone, nothing. The number’s still on the phone, but that’s about it. This phone looks like it’s been through a couple of heavy-duty shoot-outs.”
“Are you serious? Johnny, you should get out of there!”
“Nah, it’s not that bad, I just wanted to scare you.”
“Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot.” Mollie put her elbows on the desk and leaned forward.
“Okay, so I went across the street to this little grocery store and asked if I could use their phone. I’m there now,” Johnny continued. “And they told me the pay phone outside has been broken for over a year. People are always coming into their store to make calls.”
“Why doesn’t the phone company fix it?”
“You think they want to come down here?” Johnny said. “Not without a police escort. That reminds me, I’ve got to get outside before my car gets stripped.”
“Hey! If the phone’s not working, how could that number be Benjamin’s source?” Mollie asked.
“It couldn’t be,” Johnny said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Later.” There was a click, and then a dial tone.
Mollie hung up the phone and stared at the wall, only half listening to the conversations on the Truth Line. Benjamin’s source didn’t exist. But what did that mean?
Mollie waited to break the news to Jordan until lunch on Friday. She grabbed a fish sandwich and french fries in the cafeteria line, then slid into the seat beside him at what was known as “their” table. “Jordan, we have to talk.”
“I hope so,” Jordan said, oblivious. “We’re eating lunch together, aren’t we?”
Mollie looked into his blue gray eyes. He was definitely handsome. “I know, but this is important. I have to go out of town this weekend.”
“What for?” Jordan drank a carton of milk, and Mollie tried not to smile. Milk and Jordan went hand in hand: a wholesome drink for the perfect all-American boy.
“Meredith is going to her family’s summer house in the mountains for the long weekend and she wants some company,” Mollie said. “I told her I’d come along. She’s really miserable.”
Jordan nodded. “I can see why.”
Neither of them said anything for a minute.
“Mollie, is it me, or have you been sort of in another world for the last couple of weeks?” Jordan asked.
“Isn’t that a soap opera?” Mollie joked.
Jordan did not look amused. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it seems like you’ve broken almost half of our dates. I mean, I understand why you’re going away this weekend, but still … Every time I ask you to do something, you never have time, or you say yes and then you call it off.”
Mollie didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell Jordan that she’d been busy monitoring the Truth Line, which seemed more than a little ironic to her. In order to keep the Truth Line going, she had to lie. “I guess it’s just … adjusting to a new town and everything,” she said. “I have been pretty busy with school work, too.”
“Not that busy.” Jordan dragged a french fry back and forth through a pool of ketchup on his plate. “Are you avoiding me?”
“Avoiding you? No! It’s just—I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t go out with each other exclusively. Maybe you should date some other girls who could spend more time with you.”
Jordan stared at her. “Do you want to break up with me?”
Mollie looked around the crowded cafeteria. Some freshmen guys were having a food fight in the corner, and several girls were shrieking with laughter at another table. “Jordan, I don’t think we should have this conversation here.”
“Just tell me the truth,” Jordan said. “Do you want to go out with someone else?”
“No!” Mollie answered immediately, although the offer was tempting. “I just need a little more time to myself than you’re used to, I guess. I can’t guarantee that we’ll do stuff together every Friday and Saturday night.”
Jordan looked stunned. Apparently none of his previous girlfriends had ever told him they didn’t want to see him all the time. But Mollie had to have her own life. It wasn’t just wanting to see Johnny, although that was on her mind, too. “Well, if that’s the way you want it,” Jordan said. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it. I want to keep seeing you, though.”
“So we’ll still see each other,” Mollie said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Right.” Jordan kept drawing circles with the french fry. “Sure we will.”
Mollie didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t meant to break up with Jordan, but he seemed to be taking it that way. Maybe it is what I wanted to do all along, she thought, glancing up at the clock on the wall. In six hours, she would be on a plane to New York with Johnny. She wasn’t thinking of it as a romantic trip, though. They had too much work to do when they got there. Impersonating Bitsy Carlisle wasn’t going to be easy, for one thing. And Johnny had to convince the airline to let him on the plane in Kathy Carlisle’s place. Sherman had suggested a dress, some makeup, and shaving. Fortunately they’d discovered that the tickets were transferable. Roberta had called the airline from the Whistler Agency and made the switch.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Mollie turned to Jordan. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, okay?”
Jordan shrugged. Mollie felt terrible. She hated not being able to tell him what was really going on, but there was no way anyone outside the Mall Rats could know.
Mollie dragged her suitcase down to the kitchen at five o’clock. She could barely lift it, much less carry it down the stairs.
“I thought you were only going to the mountains for the long weekend,” her father commented when she banged her way into the kitchen. “It looks like you’ve got enough clothes in there to last a month. You’re not running away, are you?”
Mollie laughed nervously. “It might get cold, so I packed a lot of warm clothes.” Actually, she had packed all of her nicest things—dresses, jewelry, shoes—so that she could pass for Bitsy. Not that she had any idea how Bitsy dressed, but then, maybe no one else would, either.
“So how are you getting there?” asked her father.
“Roberta and I are going in her car. Meredith gave her a map.”
“I thought Roberta didn’t have a car,” her father said.
“Right, it’s her parents, but they … they said she could have it for the weekend,” Mollie said.
“Before you go, I want to tell you something. I got a call from Detective Benjamin today.”
Mollie felt her heart start to race. She casually glanced out the window to see if Roberta was coming.
“He said he didn’t want me to interfere in his cases,” her father went on.
“Interfere?” Mollie asked. “What do you mean?” Had Detective Benjamin discovered his computer file had been examined by modem from their house? Maybe she would be running away from home.
“I asked a few questions around the department to see if anyone knew anything,” her father said.
Mollie sighed with relief. “And did they?”
Eric Fox shook his head. “Nope. I wish they did. I’d like to help Meredith, too.”
“Thanks for trying.” Mollie smiled at her father. A horn honked outside, and she hugged him. “I’ll be back Monday night.”
“Is there a number where we can reach you?” he asked.
“No, it’s too rustic out there. They don’t have a phone,” Mollie said. “I’ll call you. I think there’s a general store with a phone in the closest town.”
“I guess that’ll have to do. Have fun!” her father called after her, as Mollie struggled down the sidewalk with her suitcase. That was one downside to having a father who thought you were completely independent—you had to carry your own bags.
“What’s in there? Your entire wardrobe?” Roberta asked. She opened the trunk to her family’s sedan and helped Mollie put the suitcase in it, where it landed with a thud.
“I have to look like I could be a model,” Mollie said. “I need lots of clothes.”
“I guess, but good luck carting that thing all over Manhattan.” They got into the car and Roberta started to drive away. “So is everything cool with your ‘rents?”
“Yeah. I’m going to call them a couple of times so they don’t get suspicious.”
“Good plan. I’m going to worry about you, you know?” Roberta made a right turn and headed toward Artie’s. Mollie and Johnny had decided to meet there to drive to the airport. “Can you call me, too?”
“Most definitely,” Mollie said.
“Hey, what do you really think about Johnny?”
Mollie stared out the window as they passed the identical houses in the Division section of town.
“I’m waiting,” Roberta said.
“I don’t know. I like him,” Mollie admitted.
“Like him as a friend, the way you like Sherman, or like him as in like him,” Roberta said. “Maybe you should substitute someone else for Sherman. I’m not sure that was a good example.”
Mollie shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“Well, you’re going to find out this weekend,” Roberta predicted. “All alone together in a strange place? You’ll come back in love, I know it.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. And we’re going to be busy anyway,” Mollie said.
“Right.” Roberta turned to Mollie and rolled her eyes. “And I’m going to be president someday.”
“You could be,” Mollie said.
“Yeah, in another country!” Roberta burst out laughing. “What am I laughing for, it’s not funny. Oh well, we’re here.” She turned into the parking lot at Artie’s. “Look, Johnny dressed up for the big trip.”
Mollie smiled as she looked at Johnny. He was wearing clean blue jeans, a shirt, and a black blazer. When she got out of the car, she saw he had a large suitcase, too.
“My leather jacket took up a lot of space,” he explained.
“You guys better hurry,” Roberta said. She shoved Mollie’s suitcase into the backseat of Johnny’s car.
Mollie had just opened the passenger door to get in, when a car she recognized pulled into the lot. It was Jordan’s Range Rover. He kept driving until he spotted Mollie and saw who she was with. Then he put the truck in reverse and roared off.
“Somebody’s bumming,” Johnny said. He almost looked pleased. He and Jordan had been athletic rivals in junior high school.
“Look on the bright side,” Roberta called from her car. “At least he didn’t see your suitcase. Maybe he just thinks you’re going out for a pizza together.”
“I told him I was going away for the whole weekend,” Mollie said.
“Then you are in serious trouble,” Johnny said, getting into the car.
“Don’t worry, I’ll smooth it over with him,” Roberta said. “Now take off already, before the plane does!”
“Don’t worry?” Mollie muttered as she got into the car beside Johnny. “Don’t worry?”
“You’d better not start biting your lip,” Johnny said. “I heard that doesn’t go over very well with those high-fashion babes.”
Mollie glared at him. “Thanks for the beauty tip.”
CHAPTER 7
“I knew New York was going to be crowded, but this is ridiculous.” Mollie shoved her way out of the subway car, pushing aside a group of rowdy grade-school kids, two old ladies, and a tall man carrying a tape deck.
“Did you say something?” Johnny asked as the subway doors closed and the train pulled out of the station.
Mollie put her hands over her ears to block out the screeching of the wheels on the track. “Let’s get out of here!” She and Johnny walked up to street level, and Mollie took a breath of fresh—well, not exactly fresh—air. “Which direction is the Whistler Agency?”
“It’s a block uptown from here.” Johnny started walking up the street, and Mollie followed him. It was hard, walking around in high heels, but she’d wanted to make sure she looked nice enough to pass for Bitsy. She’d spent an extra half hour doing her makeup that morning—she usually only wore eyeliner, and she felt like a clown. “Here it is,” Johnny said as they stepped into the fancy lobby of a skyscraper.
“It looks deserted,” Mollie said, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
“It’s Saturday,” Johnny reminded her.
“Excuse me,” said a security guard sitting at a desk covered with miniature television screens. “Where are you going?”
“The Whistler Agency,” Mollie said, giving him her biggest smile. “I’m here for the photo shoot they’re having this weekend.”
The guard nodded. “Sixteenth floor. Sign in here.” He handed her a clipboard.
Mollie wrote her name down, Bitsy Carlisle, then handed the pen to Johnny. She watched as he wrote Arthur Smith. “Arthur?” she whispered as they waited for the elevator. “Where did you come up with a name like that?”
Johnny frowned. “It’s my middle name, but if you tell anyone, you’re dead.”
“Arthur?” Mollie smiled. “So am I supposed to call you Art? Artie?”
The elevator door opened and they stepped in. “Call me whatever you want, just don’t use my real name,” Johnny said.
“Okay, Prince. Don’t forget—everything we say in this elevator is being taped,” Mollie said, barely moving her lips.
“Nice trick. You’ll have to do your ventriloquist act for the school talent show,” Johnny said. “What’s your middle name?”
“Never mind,” Mollie said. It was Snow, and she hated how flaky it made her sound, even though her parents said it had been the maiden name of her great-great-grandmother. The elevator stopped and the doors opened, revealing a massive office suite with large indoor trees, black leather furniture, and brightly colored paintings on the walls.
