#Book 1 - Page 14 (2/2)

I quickly looked onto my bedside table and saw the piece of paper with his name and number scrawled on it. It was definitely no dream then. Dex was real; the proposition was real. And I knew in the deepest recesses of my being I had to be a part of it, no matter what.

Grabbing my phone, I quickly dialed his number, ignoring the fact that it was early in the morning and he might be sleeping. I was afraid that the longer I waited, the more likely he would be to change his mind.

With each unanswered ring my nerves tightened sharply. All these doubts started to flood my brain: What if he doesn’t remember? What if he had changed his mind? What if his boss, Jimmy Kwan, changed his mind? What if I’m waking him up and it’ll p.i.s.s him off so much that he’ll cancel?

That last thought scared me most of all. I was entertaining the idea of hanging up when he answered.

“h.e.l.lo?” Though it sounded groggy, there was no mistaking that voice. My heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, hi, Dex. This is Perry calling,” I said as brightly as possible. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Who?”

My insides swirled. “Perry. Palomino. We spoke yesterday about my blog. The potential webcast. I met you in the lighthouse…”

“I’m sorry, I was absolutely wasted yesterday. I don’t remember talking to anyone about anything. What did you say your name was again?”

I could not breathe. “Um, Perry.”

I was pretty sure he could hear the sadness in my voice.

“Perry,” he repeated. I could almost hear him running my name through his head. “That’s an unusual name. I guess you would know that. Most people think of Matthew Perry, I bet. Or Perry Mason.”

“Yeah…” I trailed off.

“But there’s always Peri Gilpin. You know, Roz from Frasier. She was a real firecracker, that Roz. I would have married that woman, you know, if she was real and didn’t have that horrible ‘90s hair.”

My head started to reel.

“It’s Swedish,” I managed to say.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “That would explain your mother’s accent.”

“You remember talking to my mother?”

“Of course I do. Do you think I’m a tard?”

Yes, I thought. Big time.

“Oh,” he continued, “you must not get that I’m pulling your leg. You know, about being wasted last night. And the whole not remembering thing.”

What the h.e.l.l was this guy on and so early at that?

“Oh kiddo, you really shouldn’t be so gullible.”

“I’m not gullible,” I said defensively. “I’m just not used to dealing with crazy people.”

Silence. Then a small, awkward laugh from his end. “Well, I am sorry if I misled you, Miss Palomino. I have, in fact, been waiting for your call.”

“I thought I woke you up.”

“I’ve been awake for hours. Already showered, cut my toenails, had pancakes and ten cups of coffee. Now what say you, Miss Palomino?”

I pushed the mental image of toenail cutting out of my head.

“Yes. Yes, I would love to do this,” I said, hoping I projected absolute certainty in my voice.

“Fantastic,” he said in a terrible French accent. “Now, what I need from you is to make sure we can have access to the lighthouse for tomorrow night. Might as well ask if you can stay over as well.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’d be able stay there too, if I am.” Uncle Albert would probably welcome the company.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m set to stay at the motel. Either way, just pack light-colored clothing. Black doesn’t show up so well on film. Perhaps bring some makeup, too, in case I need to doll myself up. I’ll be bringing the equipment in the car and yeah...what’s your address?”

I told him.

“See you tomorrow at ten a.m., sharp. Be sure to have your game face on.”

“Oh, I will,” I said. Nervous p.r.i.c.kles (the good kind) s.h.i.+mmered along my spine. The excitement was almost too much.

We hung up. My alarm started blaring. I turned it off inattentively.

You know those times in your life when you feel like you’re in a movie? I have those moments often, usually due to the music I am listening to. Maybe I’m walking down the street in the rain, wind whipping my hair around my head, people pa.s.sing me by in a quick, faceless blur and I’m listening to something moody (like Ma.s.sive Attack) and just like that, it feels like I’m being observed by an outside source. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience and watching myself go about my life. Only it’s my life turned infinitely more interesting, like every step I take, every puddle I splash or pair of eyes I meet has more meaning than normal.

<script>