Phase one of 'Operation: Find Mr. Métro' had begun, and even with a few glasses of champagne in Neela's system, the first step of the plan was outside of the realm of anything she could've imagined.

She watched as Dante sketched with intensity, the contents of his drawing shielded by the cover of the giant sketchbook.

Phase one: a sketch.

"Okay now let's do the eyebrows," Dante said. "Are they thin like they're just growing back after a kitchen fire? Or generously medium? Or caterpillar unibrow?"

It was an important question that could very well determine if she'd ever see Antonio again. Or not. This was champagne-induced planning, after all.

Neela took a generous gulp of bubbly, as if somehow it would jog her memory. "I guess they were medium eyebrows? Like prominent, but not half his forehead or anything. Those eyes though..."

What had begun for Neela as a random métro encounter, was now teetering on the edge of something altogether forbidden. "His eyes were like... these chocolate pools that could envelop you in all the warmth in the entire world...but at the same time, could drown you in their endlessly intense abyss." She suddenly broke out of the obsessive trance. "You know what I mean?"

Tiff was skeptical, Chloe seemed confused, and Dante nodded in instant agreement. "I met a guy like that at a night market in Phuket," he said. "Patong Beach...hundred percent humidity...sand in my crack from earlier in the day..."

"Okay, I should go..." Chloe said, her confusion now replaced with a singular goal to make her way back inside.

Neela grabbed her arm. "Go where? You said you wanted to see where this would go."

"Yes, I did say that, and at the time it was true but now it is clear where this is going." She lowered her voice. "Neela, you know this is silly." She stood. "Now sorry everyone, but I must attend to my research." She inched closer to the window, but it only tightened Neela's grip on her arm.

"Research? When you're drunk? On a Sunday?" Neela laughed. "I don't think so. Just sit down, okay? He's almost done."

Chloe seemed uncomfortable. "I really don't think—"

"He just has to do the swoop of dark hair and the slightly elfish ears and the lips that have been up to no good!" Neela cried. Her detailed description was so intense that it started to make her swoon. She recovered when she noticed that Chloe still hadn't sat down. "Seriously it won't take long; all you have to do once he's done the sketch is tell me if, when, and where you've seen him. Exact time stamps would be best." Her smile was on the edge of psychotic. "Okay?"

Neela could barely register Chloe's peak discomfort. Not when all this champagne was bringing up the memory of how in just a few minutes, Antonio had managed to leave an unforgettable mark. It was illogical, sure, but emotions didn't exactly have a solid reputation for following the straight and narrow.

It all made sense in Neela's head, but Chloe along with every other human wasn't exactly a mind-reader. "I mean it Neela, this is silly." She managed to break free of Neela's grip. "I honestly thought his plan involved some sort of secret spy database that could bring us some information, but this?" She gestured to the sketchbook. "A drawing? Are you serious?"

"Composite sketches are very serious when they contribute to solving murders," stated Dante.

"And even if it doesn't help us find him," Neela added, "are you really going to tell me this is sillier than Operation Sunrise?"

Tiff shook her head. "Ohhh lord...she's bringing out the receipts."

Dante looked from Neela to Chloe and then back to Neela. "What's Operation Sunrise?" his asked, his curiosity spiking off the charts. He put down his sketchbook and chugged the rest of his champagne. "Okay; tell me everything."

Neela cleared her throat as Chloe visibly squirmed. "Hmm how did it go again?" wondered Neela aloud, faux innocence dripping from her voice. "Oh right, I remember." She cleared her throat. "So I will play the role of Chloe, without the delicate accent: 'Ohhh Neela, you'll never believe this; a cute sommelier invited me to watch the sunrise on an incredible terrasse in Montmartre that's owned by his art dealer friend; isn't it exciting?! But ohhhh it'll be weird if just the two of us show up there without anyone to keep the art dealer company, so can you come? And ohhhh I forgot to mention, the art dealer is sixty, and he likes to eat charcuterie at six a.m. as if that's somehow a normal thing, so can you sit over there and enjoy an assortment of meats? While I melt into the sommelier's sexy embrace as the sun comes up over Sacré-bloody-fucking-Coeur?'" Neela's smile was incredibly smug. "Did I miss anything in the no-good-case-of-wingwoman-torture-for-the-purposes-of-Chloe-getting-laid?"

Dante could only slow clap at the perfect execution of this juicy takedown.

As for Chloe, she could only sit back down for however long it was required. "Fuck," she whispered.

Dante immediately resumed the sketch, his artistic flourishes more dramatic than before. "Just finishing up the lips and elfish ears."

"You surprise me, you know." These cold and simple words came from Tiff, a woman for whom champagne had the effect of even more realness.

"Why?" Neela said, ever so casually, while also avoiding Tiff's stare.

"Because you actually cashed in your 'Chloe receipt' on...whatever the hell all this is." Tiff gestured to Dante's sketchbook and sighed.

"I don't see what the problem is," Neela said, already bracing for the impact of Tiff's inevitable truth bomb.

"You don't see what the problem is? You just got engaged. Which aside from being romantic..." she could barely even stomach the word, "...well, being engaged means twenty-five fewer logistical hoops to getting permanent residency in France. But instead of focusing on how much easier your life is going to be, you're tracking down some guy who can't even walk down the métro stairs without falling." Disapproval dripped from Tiff's invisible pores. "I mean seriously? That's not hot."

"Done!" Dante cried, a declaration that spared Neela from having to explain her actions for another few moments at least.

"Show me!" Neela pleaded, eagerness and avoidance blending into one. "I need to see him now."

Dante held her off and clutched the sketchbook against his chest. "So here's the plan: we'll pass out some copies of the sketch and say it's one of those 'kidnapped as a child but this is what he could look like now' situations. Then we'll put a headline at the top that says: 'Have you seen this rendering of a man?'" He took a moment to catch a breath before continuing with the outline of his foolproof plan. "On Twitter we'll play up the 'missed connection' vibe, because A: Twitter lives for getting up in people's business, and B: Twitter can find people, even if it's just to get them fired from their job for being racist in a strip mall parking lot."

The illogical excitement was evident on Neela's face. "Yesss...mobilize the Twitter army."

"Wait," Tiff said, a single word that gained their instant undivided attention. She focused her gaze on Neela. "You really, really don't think this is a waste of time?"

Neela excitement faded, but she still couldn't bring herself to meet Tiff's eyes. "I just need to check; okay?"

Tiff frowned. "Check for what?"

Neela sighed. "For all the...possible possibilities, or whatever. I mean you don't get married before clearing all that out of the way, right?"

"Fine," Tiff said, finally relenting when she noticed the hint of sadness in Neela's eyes. "As long as you're sure."

Neela nodded and immediately shifted her focus to Dante. "How will we find him if he's not on Twitter and his friends aren't on Twitter either? "

"Well if that's the case he'll just get recognized from the flyer that includes my sketch," Dante said, the most confident 'I do composite sketches in his free time' human that had ever lived. "We'll put a 'Contact Us' email on the flyer, and maybe we can even use the Craigslist 'Missed Connections' feature!" He was suddenly unsure. "Do serial killers still use Craigslist as their strangulation playground?"

"Ah merde!" Chloe cried. All eyes were on Chloe now, curious for where her foul-mouthed outburst would lead. "Can we just see the goddamn sketch?"

"Okay," Dante said, taking a deep breath as he prepared to reveal his prize-worthy creation. "It's time."

He flipped the notebook over to reveal his work of art.

And after that there were simply no words.

It was like...if a man's face had been exposed to nuclear waste contaminants.

A frog man. A frog man that was sort of...melting.

"What?" He shrugged. "I'm a graphic designer, not fucking Renoir."

Neela managed to conjure up a smile. "Wow I can't believe you did that so quickly!" Her empty encouragement was partly due to her inability to admit that Tiff was right, and partly from her inability to face the reality that based on this sketch and their harebrained social media plan...she would probably never see Antonio again.

And then there was the third part. The third part was the slow realization that the likely reality of never seeing Antonio ever again...made her really, really sad.

And it wasn't just because of the champagne.