Find Me I'm Yours (33 page)

Coco smiled and started applying my makeup. With her magic touch, I was bound to at least look… semi-human. Then something hit me so damn hard, I gasped for air.

“Are you OK?” Coco was alarmed. “Don't tell me you're having an allergic reaction to an allergy pill!”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!!!! THE SHIRT!!!! I don't have the shirt. Everything has said I'd need it, and I bullshitted my way through the past two clues without it. What if I'm not allowed in where he is if I don't have it?”

“Where is it?” Blake asked.

“At my apartment. But we don't have time to turn back to get it.”

“What about the Hacktress?” Coco asked.

“She booked a job today. Fuck. There's only one thing I can think of.” I pulled out my phone and dialed.

“Jason? Hey, it's me. I need a huge favor and will owe you for the rest of my life if you do it for me.” At this point, it would be worth the debt.

“Go on,” he said.

“You still have a key to my apartment?”

THE DAY—SIX MINUTES LEFT

Twenty-nine minutes later, we exited the freeway, turned left and drove straight for a few blocks, then made a right on Figueroa. We passed a bank with a huge clock on it. 11:54. Just six freakin' minutes to solve one last clue that could lead me to, what? I wasn't even sure what the pot of gold at the end of this rainbow would be.

A car swerved into our lane. Blake pushed onto the horn. “Watch where you're going, jackass!!!”

Coco and I tried to stop him. You're not supposed to do that in L.A. Someone could get out of their car and shoot you. But if someone in a road rage came after us now, we could just use the quite effective disarming technique I had learned last night from Shari.
Simply hug our assailant.
Thankfully we didn't have a chance to try it out as the guy just flipped Blake off and continued driving.

Three blocks later, we found the address to the lock shop. We jumped out of the truck. “You check the front,” Coco said to me, taking charge, “I'll take the side, and Blake, you go to the back alley.” They ran off just as Jason pulled up and honked. Boo and Toupee were in the car. I kissed them all over then grabbed the shirt and put it on.

“I'll call you later and explain everything and pick up the kids. Thanks so much, Jason. You're awesome.” I think I actually meant it.

Jason waved and took off, leaving me at the front door of the lock shop. Only it wasn't a lock shop anymore. It was an abandoned storefront with broken, barred windows, and graffiti tagging all over it. Fuck. I looked at my phone. Only three more minutes. I banged on the door. Nothing. I heard both Blake and Coco banging on doors and windows and calling out. “Anyone in there? Hello????” Nothing.

I saw that the building next to the old lock company had an accordion metal fence that was partially open, enough to expose their door. I ran over and knocked and rang their bell and knocked again. And someone answered. Out of breath and totally freaking out, I said, “I'm looking for Clarke and Sons Co. It's a lock company, and I believe it used to be next door?”

A cute Asian pixie woman with short yellow-blonde hair and a halo of platinum ends circling her face opened her door farther. “Come in,” she said. “I'm Amy. I can tell you all about Clarke and Sons.”

“That's sweet of you,” I panted, “but I desperately have to find someone and I have, like, less than a minute left to do so. Any lock companies nearby? Anything in that space next door now?”

“Sorry,” she said. “It's been gone a long time, and there are no other lock companies around.”

Fuck. Now what? I just breathed heavily in a panic, paralyzed, not knowing my next move. And then, from inside the storefront where I still stood in the doorway, a grandfather clock started striking in an alto tone.
One. Two. Three.
And then a cuckoo clock joined in the chorus.
Four. Five. Six.
Another lighter bell was chiming, too.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
And they all played together. It felt like a scene in a movie—I was waiting for the town's church bells to start pealing.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

And then that was it. Silence.

Time up. Case closed. That's all folks. I lost. Clearly Mr. WTF was not my destiny. I was always prepared for the fact that this could happen—that I might not have found him, or I was Catfished after all. I had it worked out in my head. But apparently not in my heart. I started crying. Well, from the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

“Come on in,” Amy said, taking my hand and closing the front door. Through my tears I could see a studio full of paintings, sculptures, wood carvings, and odd knickknacks. An artist's studio. Maybe like one I could possibly have some day when I grow up, if that ever happened.

“Very cool,” I managed to get out.

“Want a tour?” she asked, not even bringing up the fact I was a stranger in her space, crying.

I just nodded and wiped my eye and nose on my sleeve.

She pointed out a few things as we passed doors to rooms painted royal blue with bright yellow trim. A giant Converse tennis shoe made entirely from plastic bag ties, created by a nineteen-year-old local artist, she explained; T-shirts, pens, postcards and mugs with a strange image plastered on each called Chicken Boy.

“My muse,” she explained.

She took me upstairs past a loft bedroom and kitchen, then pulled down a set of metal stairs from the ceiling. “The roof's pretty cool, too. I'll show you.”

I followed her in a daze and stepped onto the roof. The sun was beating down hard like it does in L.A. at high noon. I put my hand to my forehead and shielded my eyes. And then I saw something that had to be a dream. WTF?!?!?! It could not be real.
For real.
The lady disappeared back into the loft, leaving me alone. Well, sort of. I was standing face-to-face with this:

Chicken Boy. A giant, like twenty-five-foot-tall Chicken Boy. I started laughing. Laughing and crying and smiling. Maybe I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with him? I would certainly be endlessly amused and inspired. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea? Although sex might be a little rough.

I crossed the roof to get a better look, and to see if anything, or
anyone
, else was there.

And there he was.
Mr. WTF. Or the
alleged
Mr. WTF.

And he wasn't alone. Right there next to him was Whitney, the Victoria's Secret
S
model
S
. Well, she beat me to him, winner take all.

“Hey,” they called out to me in unison.

“I'm Rob.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet you. It's awesome that you're here.”

Fuck. In the past two weeks it felt like I had fallen in love with this guy. But did I fall for him, or all he was doing that was somebody else?!?! Was I ever even going to meet the real Mr. WTF? Or was it too late because Whitney had beaten me to him?

“Amazing job, Mags,” Whitney said.

“Well, clearly not amazing enough if you're here first. You know this guy isn't really the one we've been looking for?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “I do. Rob's my boyfriend. We've been together five years.”

“WHAT?! Is someone gonna tell me what's going on?” I asked.

“Of course,” Rob said. “We were both in on the hunt—just playing parts. Like I told you on the last tape, I—well, we—were doing it for our good friend, Clyde. Are you ready to meet him?”

“I guess.”

Then, like on all those TV shows where they're about to announce who is going home and who the winner is, there was an interminably long pause. I could even hear the dramatic, swelling wait music, and someone might as well have said, “Dim the lights.”

After what felt like forever, finally, from the very tall shadows of Chicken Boy's giant blue pants, appeared a less tall boy. Without a chicken head.

He was actually kind of nerdy cute, and even seemed sort of familiar. Who was he? Did I know him? Had we met before? And then I saw his arm—on it was the connect-the-dots tattoo.
The guy from Runyon Canyon.

Rob continued. “Clyde's the genius behind the hunt. We were just helping him out.”

“Including my grandma, Sylvia,” Clyde added. “Remember the Stripping Psychic?”

“Um, I think she'll be burned into my brain for several lifetimes. She's your grandma?”

“Yeah. Oh, and here's your ten bucks back from her reading,” he said, handing me the cash. “I got ya covered.”

“Wait, so it was you the whole time?” I asked. “I actually found you early in Runyon Canyon?”

“You don't even know how blown away I was by that. By this…” He handed me the fake LOST DOG poster I had given to him when looking for HIS freakin' dog!

“By you.” Clyde turned close to me. “So nice to meet you, Mags.”

“You, too—I think.” And then I had to ask, “Why'd you do it?”

He shrugged. “I always felt like I was a mismatched sock,” he answered. “You know that the mate has to be somewhere even though you've searched every place it could possibly be.”

Well, I certainly could relate to that.

“Like I said, well,
Rob said
, on the first tape—I believe in destiny. But I also believe we make our own. So I put it to the test.” He looked at me and smiled. “Now I'm even more of a believer.”

I didn't know what to do with any of it.

“The weird MiniDV camera and using Rob for the tapes was Grandma Sylvia's idea. How could I not follow her psychic advice?”

“Yeah,” Rob added, “She's usually spot-on. Which means she's undressed a lot!”

“Look,” Clyde said, seeing my discomfort. “It's not like I'm gonna give you a rose and we'll get engaged right away,
The Bachelor
–style. And,” he added, “don't worry, I've never even watched that show.”

Then, as if he already knew me so well and knew what would put me at ease, Clyde looked at me and said, “You have beautiful… eye.”

I started laughing. We all started laughing. It had been so damn long since I'd laughed.

Then Clyde took a red Sharpie out of his pocket. “You asked about my tattoo in Runyon. Well, let me connect the dots.”

Like he was playing the game from childhood, or doodling on a children's place mat at a diner, he drew lines from one number to the next until he was done. He held out his arm.

I guess my key found a match.

And then just in case I needed further convincing or confirmation that this was indeed meant to be, he called out, “LILABELLE!”

And from the other side of the roof she came running, like in slow motion, toward us. Toward me.

The dog with the polka-dot tongue.

“The evil twin and good twin unite in one body,” Clyde teased. I leaned over to pet Lilabelle, and she covered my face in polka-dot kisses. If that wasn't enough for me, nothing ever would be.

I stopped wondering.

SIX MONTHS LATER

It's amazing what can happen if we believe in destiny, or are at least willing to consider it. Everything that feels fucked up, tragic, or wrong could all be part of the choreography leading us to what's beautiful, happy, and right.

If Jason hadn't slept with my neighbor, if I hadn't broken up with him, if Coco hadn't convinced me to make a tape for the dating site, if I hadn't decided to buy a camera instead of using my iPhone, if I hadn't been betrayed by my roommate, if I hadn't been drugged, if my mom hadn't come to L.A. and told me the fucked-up truth about my past, if I hadn't spent time reconciling with my dad in San Francisco, and if he hadn't convinced me to stay on the hunt, or if I had decided to quit like I've done with everything else in my life, I would not have found, yep, it's true…
my soul mate
.