"Honestly, though," I said as we turned onto Stafford Terrace. "Who holds a dinner party on a Tuesday evening?"

A pause, then Rudy and I answered in unison, "Freddie." He laughed, and I just rolled my eyes.

My stomach was kneading itself again, and had been ever since we finished brunch. Supposing Freddie hadn't gone to Wessex, in order to prep for the little soiree tonight? Supposing he would be home? At this point I was still skittish, and I had no way of knowing for certain that anything Rudy had told me was the truth. I took it all on blind faith- except the potentially complicated parts, like a tearful Freddie or the idea that he...

No. Uh-uh. It didn't even bear thinking about.

In short, my nerves remained shot; I was in no mood for a second installment of last night. That's why I quietly asked Rudy to put the top of his convertible back up.

"Just in case," I explained. So, with an understanding nod, Rudy pushed the button, and by the time we reached his door our heads were covered, our identities better hidden. For a moment, I hesitated, staring at the shut blue door as the Jag idled.

"Rudy," I said, half-stalling, "why'd you do it?"

He frowned, confused.

"You know. Why did you follow me all the way out there just to bring me back? You didn't have to put yourself out like that."

"On the contrary," Rudy replied. "It was my pleasure."

"But you didn't have to. You could have just let me go-"

"Julia, you have to understand something," Rudy interrupted. "However you think he feels, however you even feel, you're very good for him. Wait." He held up his hand, for he could see me opening my mouth to argue. "You are. And however this pans out, I think it's safe to say... to say he's needed someone like you in his life for a long, long time. Why should I let something like that slip away so easily when I have the opportunity to act?"

"I, uh- don't know about that," I whispered, "but thank you for saying it anyway. It helps."

I glanced at my tracker, still glowing red. Yesterday morning I had looked down and seen it go blue for a couple of minutes. Whoever or whatever had my Nokia Relic must have had quite an interesting conversation had they answered it- assuming they even knew how.

Ah, C and K. They certainly hadn't planned on this. I wondered if they'd given up on me, it had been so long. If they had, I couldn't blame them. The chances were devastatingly slim that the Relic would just magically fall back into my lap, no matter if it was working and within a five mile radius. My family? They likely would be giving up the search fairly soon, accepting that I was gone forever- and I would go down as another unexplained mystery, the missing naive psych student who just had to have a stupid 4.0 in the gradebook.

Maybe if I can keep it together the next forty years, I can attend my own funeral. Wow, that would be trippy.

"Nervous?" Rudy asked.

"Can you blame me?" I replied. "I'm about to sneak into his flat and I don't even know if he's home."

"Would you like for me to see?" he offered.

I didn't answer, which he took for a resounding "yes." So he squeezed out of the car and marched up to the front door. I ducked down behind the window, leaving only the top of my head and my obvious eyes visible. My fingers were crossed. Rudy rapped sharply upon the door.

No answer.

He rang the bell.

No answer.

Rudy turned back around and shook his head. I was in the clear. But somehow that only made my heart pound harder. Oh, please let Freddie have left the Passport here. Please, oh, please, oh, please.

"I would stay and wait until you came out," Rudy said when I got out of the car, "but I've got a few housekeeping things to do- have to go feed Clarence."

"Clarence?" I repeated.

"My turtle."

I couldn't help smiling. "You have a turtle?"

He nodded, almost looking embarrassed.

"How long have you had him?"

"Ten years."

"Wow. You must be doing something right."

Rudy shrugged. "I just feed him mostly, he does the rest."

I arched my eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer. This is your day off after all."

So I shook his hand, decided that felt too impersonal for saying goodbye to a friend, and pulled him in for a hug, for which he almost had to bend down. "Thanks, Rudy. You've been fantastic."

With a small flush in his cheeks, Rudy nodded and patted my shoulder. As he climbed into the Jag, I called, "Give Clarence a kiss for me."

He grinned. "Now who does that sound like?"

I covered my eyes. "I can't help it, things rub off, okay?"

Putting the top back down, Rudy revved up the engine once more, waved, and away he went, leaving me and my backpack standing on the curb. I swallowed, then turned around.

I'm here for the Passport. That's all. I have nothing to fear, he's not here.

So like a good soldier I held my head high and marched to the door. Taking my keys in hand, I rattled around till I found the one to his apartment, and put it into the lock.

I was just about to turn the knob when it moved all by itself. I almost expired right there on the stoop. Oh, no. NO NO NO-

And the door opened, and a familiar middle-aged woman peered out at me. "Ms. Dubroc?"

I collapsed into nervous laughter, clutching at my heart. "Oh, Ms. Cottage!" I gasped. "Thank God! I thought- Oh, thank God!"

If Ms. Cottage, his housekeeper, was confused at my elation, she didn't show it. She opened the door wider and let me in. "I was wondering where you were meself," she remarked. "It was so quiet this morning, I thought maybe you were still on your trip."

"Well, I'm not here to stay," I assured her. "I'm heading out, just need to pick up a few things that belong to me."

"Ah," Ms. Cottage nodded, knowing better than to pry. Taking her feather duster in hand, she went back to flicking the shelves. I rushed back up to my ro- the green bedroom, that is. I had to stop thinking of that room as mine.

I found the door shut when I came upon the bedroom. To be safe I knocked, and to my sheer relief, no one answered. When I opened the room, I found it in apple pie order. Ms. Cottage must have just fixed it up- not that she had to do too much, Freddie and I were not natural slobs. But the furniture was polished, the windows sparkling, the bed blankets so pristine they looked starched and pressed. I felt afraid to touch anything, as though one fingerprint would cause this image of perfection to wilt.

On the dresser, I saw it- the little dark green Passport, sitting on top of my journal which was almost the exact same shade. Quickly I rushed over and checked to make sure everything was still intact, especially in the case of my notes. I flipped through the pages a moment, feeling a little sick inside when I saw the entries to which Freddie had been referring, when he said I couldn't get enough of his body. It wouldn't have been hard to draw to that conclusion at all. Not that I had described in nauseatingly graphic detail how I'd imagined certain parts of his anatomy would look or feel, but still, the nature of my words was clear.

I looked around me one more time, then walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder I strode back down the stairs. Despite the fact that Freddie could materialize at any moment, I was in no hurry. I walked past the sofa and patted Tom's and Tiff's heads, noting one particular absence.

"What did you hooligans do with Oscar?" I whispered.

At that moment I heard a loud clatter in the kitchen. And Ms. Cottage shrieked, "OH- why, you cheeky rascal, give me such a fright!"

I rushed into the kitchen to see Ms. Cottage wrestling with my favorite orange tabby. Oscar had jumped from one of the shelves onto her back while she was busy regathering her equipment, knocking over a few of her things. Fortunately, nothing was broken.

"Here, take the little devil," she said with a smile, handing the fur ball to me. "I have to be on my way, anything else you would like for me to do?"

"Oh no, you've done enough," I told her, then realized I was not a part of this household any more (as if I had ever been) and added, "I mean, if Freddie needed you to do something extra, he probably would have let you know somehow."

"I simply assumed since you were here, he'd have you tell me or something," she replied. "But if not, that's splendid."

While she spoke, the phone began to ring. And for the briefest of moments I forgot that Freddie and I were currently arch-enemies. Setting Oscar on the floor, I walked over and answered it. As soon as I lifted the receiver to my ear, I remembered, and almost hung up, but the man on the other end spoke too quickly.

"Babe, was that you?" His lack of an English accent threw me. I didn't know what to say. Still, he went on, not waiting for an answer. "The phone kept ringing, I was in the john, sorry, was that you?"

I froze and remained utterly silent.

"Freddie, are you there?"

I blinked. And why I did this, I'll never know, but I cleared my throat, covered the mouthpiece and replied bouncily, Freddie-style, "Oh, yes, yes, of course, darling, I'm right here."

"Was that you who called?" he asked.

Oh, great, he thinks I'm Freddie. God, what a hole I'm standing in.

I proceeded to make that hole bigger by keeping up the act. "Perhaps," I cooed, twirling my finger around the phone cord.

"So what's so important? I got a few things to do today, but if you need me, you know I'll gladly-"

"Oh, no, darling, it's not that important," I said, waving my hand dismissively even though this New Yorker-sounding fellow couldn't see me. To mimic Freddie's voice, you have to put your whole body into it- hands, hips, face, everything. And listening to Freddie speak for eleven days meant I had his satiny voice down pretty pat, not to mention our voices were situated at similar ranges, and I had loved to imitate his fancy cadence way back in 2017 B.T.R. (Before T-Rod).

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! If you've got a few errands to run and things, then don't worry your pretty little head about me, I, er- just wanted to check on you, darling, haven't seen you in a while."

"We had dinner a couple of nights ago," he said.

"And that's far too long a time to not see you, my darling!" I crooned. But on the inside, I panicked. Two nights ago, he ate at Joe Fanelli's place. That's Liza! Sweet Jesus, I'm talking to LIZA!

"Well, you know, I'm free this evening, why don't I stop by tonight and we can do what we do best-"

"Oh, Liza, darling, I-uh, I'd love to, but, um- I know you're lonely, and I hope you'll be all right, but me and the boys are playing- all night," I stammered, resorting to Kiss lyrics because they were the first things that came to mind that made any sense. TMI, Joe. WTMI.

"Again?" he complained. "All these all-nighters, it's like you're avoiding me."

So is that what Freddie's told him has been going on? "Of course not-"

"And then the other night, you tell me you're just not in the mood- and I mean, that really didn't sound like you-"

"Ah, no, I imagine not," I mused, more to myself than to Joe.

"Are you feeling well?"

"Oh, smashing. And you?"

"Then w- Hey. Is it David?"

"Joe, darling, really! Now listen to me. I'll, um- how's this. This coming, uh, Friday, I'll make it all up to you, all right? Hopefully, we can get together before then, but things have just been so- hectic, I can't even explain to you how hectic..."

I trailed off, waiting anxiously for his response. Please eat it, Joe. Eat it! Put it in your mouth, chew it, savor it, swallow it! Come on, baby!

"Okay," he sighed at last. "I just miss you."

"And I miss you too, darling," I crooned, drumming my fingers against the counter. I needed to wrap it up, I had to be on my way. "Now, Joe, I've got to be heading off, I'll see you then, most definitely, all right?"

"All right, sweetie."

I winced, then muttered, "Bye."

I almost laid the phone down when Joe said, "No kiss?"

Biting my tongue, I pressed my lips to the receiver end and made a loud smooching sound. Then I hung up and took a deep breath. "Oy vey. That was close. Maybe one too many darlings, but who c-"

I stopped mid-sentence. Suddenly the big picture flashed before my eyes.

Freddie had called Joe because he needed a favor. Joe was a fantastic cook at least- at most, a full-blown chef. And since I had flown the coop, he needed Joe to fill in for me. Who knows how long he had been playing phone tag- and I just ruined everything by telling Joe it was nothing to worry about!

I had to return the call, explain everything to Mr. Fanelli- except I didn't know his phone number. What was more, I didn't want to ransack Freddie's neat, company-ready apartment for something as small as a phone book. And Joe would be out running errands for at least the rest of the afternoon, so I couldn't reach him any more than Freddie could!

"So he's having a dinner party, but without the dinner," I said aloud. "At this rate, Freddie may have to call it off, because he's not going to do it- and no sane person would ever eat anything Freddie prepared anyway."

What about Ms. Cottage?

My hopes rose, then faltered, in a single breath. What about her, indeed. She had walked out the door, supplies in hand, while I pretended to be Freddie over the phone. As of right this moment, Freddie was out of luck. And the blame was all mine. I stood accused, my verdict, guilty- my crime, unintentional sabotage.

I tried not to care.Ah well. Not my problem. That's life sometimes.

But no matter how I spun it, I kept coming back to the same conclusion: I had to stay and fix this. While I may not have been responsible for the reason I left in the first place, I couldn't just leave him hanging, especially after I'd exhausted all his Plan Bs, Cs, and et cetera, in one fell swoop. The whole first idea involved me cooking anyway. I'd simply be following through with what I had originally agreed to do.

I can't. It's too much of a risk, I said to myself, picking up my stuff. I took one step toward the front door, but I walked no further.

I sighed in defeat. Despite last night, I didn't want Freddie to fail. And I certainly didn't want to set him up to fail. On the contrary. I wanted to help him. My injured heart, it seemed, still had not received the memo.

Not to say I was giving myself back over to him. Far from it. I made up my mind to cook, set up the meal, and do the best damn job I could to act as the server or whatever he needed me to do, from a solely business perspective. But as soon as everyone was gone, I was taking my backpack and leaving for 'Murica.

It was the most honorable choice- but also the most dangerous. How would Freddie behave toward me? He might see it as some subtle means to get back in his good graces. Would he be smug? Indifferent? Gloating? Would he reject my efforts altogether? Though I had not forgotten Rudy's words, I told myself to expect the worst. I could take nothing for granted anymore.

Who even cares, I shrugged to myself. What do I really have to lose at this point? Let him be a jerk, let him be cold. I can be just as icy as he. Butter won't even melt in my mouth tonight. Once my job is done, I shall vamoose- and we shall be no more. Not that "we" ever really existed.

It was almost one now, and Freddie's guests would start arriving by four forty-five to five o'clock. By six the food had to be ready to go. There was not a moment to waste. I brushed imaginary dust off my hands and got to work.

***************************************************************************************

There's nothing like getting busy and being productive, to get one's mind off their personal troubles. It was only half past two, and already I was up to my elbows in cooking. The bread dough was rising in the oven, the rose veal marinating in the fridge. In about another hour I would began to braise it, slather it with a wine cream sauce, and serve it with linguine pasta this evening. It was the only veal recipe I knew by heart- the only veal recipe I knew at all, in fact- but it was a good one. Even Freddie had said it sounded scrumptious when we were on the plane, planning all this out.

I still had the salad to toss, and the little appetizer tray to arrange. Right now I was working on dessert. I had my earbuds half in, half out, leaving one ear listening for any telltale closing doors or footsteps. At least, it should have been. But I was having way too much fun bopping around the kitchen, doing this or that, with "I Am a Rock" playing into my ear. It was just a Simon and Garfunkel kind of situation. Please don't even ask me now what that means, but to me, back then, it made perfect sense.

The song changed to a Simon solo track, one that was much more up-tempo and much, much saucier- "Late in the Evening." I sang along as I pulled the risen loaves out of the oven to make room for the dessert I was baking. Funny, but I don't remember what the dessert was. I didn't have any.

And then I heard the door close. I felt my heart slip from my chest cavity and splatter right onto the floor. Quickly I clammed up. And then, a soft, tepid murmuring. So Freddie wasn't alone. Good! I wouldn't have to face him by myself.

The footsteps suddenly became much more brisk, drew closer to the kitchen. I kept my back straight, whistling to the melody, refusing to let him throw me off. Come for me, man! Do your worst!

But the voice I heard behind me was not Freddie's.

"Oh, it's- her."

I whirled. There stood Mary, cradling a couple of flower bouquets in her arms. I forced myself not to look surprised. With a wide, showy grin, I waved, but inwardly I snarked, Mary, could you please sound just a little more disappointed? I mean, that was good, but see if you can really convince me-

Within seconds another pair of feet rushed toward the kitchen, and as if by magic the selfsame man from whom I had run appeared, a bottle of -you guessed it- Moet et Chandon in each hand.

I didn't see his expression, because I couldn't look at it. Freddie's presence alone was a punch to the stomach. As soon as he came into view, I looked directly at Mary and spoke as though I addressed only her. For I could not look at his face. I didn't want to learn the hard way how weak I really was- how captive, was my very soul. That was set to happen later tonight anyway, unbeknownst to me.

"Hey, kids!" I chirped. "I was wondering when you two would make an appearance. Step into my office! I hope you like braised veal, Mary."

"So," Mary said slowly, "you're- cooking for us tonight?"

"Oh, yes," I crooned. "You and the others, of course."

She frowned. "But I- I thought that- Freddie, didn't you say that friend of yours would- I mean, Eve, you didn't really have to go to all this trouble-"

"Oh, don't be silly, I was glad to," I assured her. "What lovely roses! Are those for the table?"

"Um, yes," she said, with a sidelong glance at Freddie. "I think I'll put these in some water, actually- dear, is there anything I can help you with? I mean, there must be something I can do."

Mary didn't like me, but she still had a servant's heart. If she wanted to help, I decided I would let her. It was Freddie I was feuding with, after all, not she. "Well, I still need to start the sauce for the veal, but if you want to get the appetizer type thing situated, maybe the salad-"

"I'm on it," she announced, "just as soon as I put these in a vase."

She disappeared around the corner, off to find a suitable vessel to hold the white roses. Freddie hadn't moved a muscle, still clenching the necks of the champagne bottles. I turned around, still not so much as favoring him with a glance.

"Can I just say," I remarked over my shoulder, "you two make the cutest couple ever. Like light and dark, you complement each other so nicely."

I received no response. As the seconds ticked by, even Paul Simon and the Latin salsa beat of the music couldn't ease the tension. At last I turned around and looked at his collar; it took all my strength not to meet his eyes.

"Oh, sir," I sighed, "you're getting the champagne all warm just holding it like that. Here, let me, I'll put it on some ice."

So I held out my hands, waited for him to put the bottles into them.

That's when he spoke in a strange, strained voice.

"What are you doing?"

My heart started pounding, but outwardly I frowned, pretended to be oblivious. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear-"

"Then take those f---ing things out of your ears," he hissed.

I did so. "It was just the one-"

"What are you doing?" he said again.

"I'm- cooking," I replied. "Like I said I would. Don't worry, I'm not staying, I've mooched off of you long enough."

"I thought you were gone."

"I am. Mentally, and spiritually, I am so gone. And once the party's over, I will physically be gone as well."

"Why did you come back?"

"Hey, man, if you want me to vanish now, I can-"

"Did I say that?"

"No."

"Then don't f---ing put words in my mouth. I asked a simple question. Why are you here?"

"I agreed to. Cook, I mean, and I didn't want to leave you hanging. Honor's a bitch, I swear." I grinned, feeling my back teeth grind together in mute frustration. "May I have the champagne, please?"

At last, he handed me the bubbly wine, which I put in the fridge. "Now, where are the wine buckets, sir? Do you have one?"

"There's one in the back," he murmured.

"Cool. I'll go get it."

So I went into the "back"- basically the laundry room with a few shelves where dishes and accoutrements that didn't really have a place in the kitchen were stacked. On the very top shelf, rising well above my head, sat a gleaming silver bucket. I stretched up my arm, but the bucket was just the tiniest bit out of reach. I jumped up, thinking that would help somehow, but I couldn't get a grip on it.

With a sigh, I looked at the shelves, pondering whether they were too flimsy to support me. To be on the safe side, I decided they were. One last time, I ducked down, bending my knees, and leapt. But yet again, I missed.

That's when someone put a large hand on my shoulder and stood beside me. My skin prickled and broke out in gooseflesh. It startled me; I didn't remember his mere nearness causing this kind of reaction. Walking up to the shelf, Freddie reached up, slid his fingers under the down-turned brim of the bucket, and pulled it forward. When it had come forth enough, Freddie took it in his hands and brought it down.

"Thank you," I mumbled. But when I moved to take it from him, he simply stood there, arms wrapped tightly round it.

"Thank you," I said again, louder. I glanced up at Freddie, exasperated. All he did was stare back. There were so many emotions circulating within those dark eyes that I didn't know how to classify this look in any other way except "scary."

"Ah," he murmured at last. "There they are."

"What are?" I asked.

He whispered, "Your eyes."

At that moment Mary walked past, a glass vase in her hands. It woke me up to reality, and I realized how silly this was, Freddie and I just standing here staring at each other in the laundry room. Not even touching, just staring.

I snorted, eyes drifting away from his. "Sir, would you please hand me the bucket so I can put some ice in it so you don't have to drink warm champagne later?"

Finally, he complied, and I fluttered away. I didn't have to put ice in the bucket yet, not for another two hours at least. I just needed an excuse to get out of there.

"So helpless," I heard him remark behind me.

For a moment I stopped, almost turned around and popped back. But I had to keep my emotions reined in tonight. I just worked here. I couldn't let him prod an explosion of any sort out of me- even if it meant he squeezed in the last word every time.

Let's make a game of it, I told myself as I walked away. Let's see how long we both can go without blowing our covers. I'll wear my mask, he'll wear his. Who can keep it together longest? The Joker versus Harley Quinn. Yes, sir, should be one heck of a showdown.

I rubbed my hands together. Let the fun and games begin.