The woman clicks her mouse, types something into the keyboard, glancing at me every once in a while. After a moment, I hear a printer whirring, and she stretches to grab the sheet of paper that spits out. She grabs a pen from a cup, and slides the pen and paper toward me; I take it, seeing that she’s printed out a promo shot of me from Fulcrum.
“What’s your grandson’s name?”
“Dan.”
I scrawl in the white border above the picture: Dan, you have an awesome grandma. Thanks for watching! And then I sign my name, large and messy, above my head. I hand her the picture, and she reads the note, and then gives me a look that is equal parts sour, amused, and flattered.
“Well, Mr. Trenton. Do you know Ruth Nicholson?”
“Yeah, I met her once.”
“Well, if you wait outside room A-one-thirteen, a class will be letting out in…fifteen minutes. Ruth might be able to help you.”
I thank her and leave the registration office. It takes me most of the next fifteen minutes just to find the room, and then I wait at the end of the hallway, my Chargers ball cap pulled low over my face, a pair of wide aviators over my eyes. It’s the look that I call “celebrity incognito”, meaning that it doesn’t actually ever fool anyone if they bother to look right at you, but it makes you feel like you’re at least trying to go unnoticed.
I only wait a few minutes, and then a door opens and students file out, most of them chatting in pairs or singly and staring at their cell phones. A few glance at me, and only one kid seems to recognize me. I give him a slight shake of my head, and he grins at me and keeps walking. And then I see Ruth. She’s walking beside a young, good-looking Asian guy wearing a Tigers cap, and neither of them notice me.
They’re about to pass by when I snag Ruth’s sleeve. “Ruth. Got a second?”
She halts and stares at me, and her eyes go wide, but she recovers quickly and turns to her friend. “Hoang, I’ll catch up to you, okay?” She inclines her head toward the exit leading outside. I follow her, and she pulls me around the corner into an alcove, lights up a cigarette, and stares at me. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Adam Trenton.”
“Hi, Ruth. How are you?”
“Peachy. What do you want?” She’s got her arms crossed over her chest, one hand lifting her cigarette every now and then. Her posture is closed and she’s either angry or suspicious or both.
“Des.”
She frowns at me and blows smoke past my face. “You let her go a month ago.”
“Not by choice. She…I don’t know how to even put it. She shut me out. Just closed down.” I shove a hand in my pocket and scan the area around us, making sure there’s no one taking pictures or noticing me. “I really like her. I wanted to…see where things could go, I guess, and she just wasn’t having it. I let her go because it’s what she seemed to want. But I can’t get her out of my head. I need to find her. Where is she?”
“Gone.”
I wait, but no more information is forthcoming. “Gone where?”
“Did you see the magazines?” She takes a drag and speaks around the smoke. “Reporters hit you guys up, hard. She was in a dozen different magazines.”
I shake my head. “I don’t read that shit. Never have, not before I got famous, and sure as hell not now. It’s all lies and bullshit. Ninety-nine percent of it’s as fictional as fucking Star Wars.”
“Yeah, well, they still had pics of you two. Not just at the dinner, either. After. One where she was wearing your clothes the next morning.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Did she get harassed or some shit?”
“No.” Ruth is definitely guarding her friend’s back. Good for her.
I step close to Ruth and uncurl my posture, standing straight and flexing to look bigger, more imposing. “Ruth. You’re avoiding my question.”
Her eyes widen and she tilts her head back, defiant and bold. “Yeah, I am. I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you.”
“I remember our conversation, before you let me in, you know. I didn’t hurt her. I was good to her. I took care of her.”
Ruth smirks, and then it’s gone, replaced by the same hardness. “Yeah, I’ll say.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean, goddammit. Where is she?”
She contemplates my question, taking three long drags of her cigarette, and then she tosses the butt to the ground and steps on it. “She moved to New York.”
“What? New York? Why?”
“Some modeling agency saw those photos of her and offered her a contract. She took it. She’s gone, dude.”
“Which agency?” My mind whirls. She’s modeling?
“Sam Weaver or something like that. I don’t know.” Ruth hikes her backpack higher on her shoulders. “I gotta go.”
“Hold on a second. What’s her new address? I have to find her, Ruth.”
She rubs at her lower lip with a thumb. “I don’t have her address. She still doesn’t have a phone either, to answer your next question. She calls me every couple days and we talk—and no, I don’t know that number, it’s unlisted. All I know is she’s staying with a couple other models somewhere in Manhattan.”
I think fast. I dig my Sharpie out of my pocket. “Have a scrap of paper?” Ruth pulls a notebook from her backpack and hands it to me. I write my name, phone number, and email address neatly on the top line and hand it back to her. “Next time she calls, tell her I’m looking for her. Give her that information.”
“Okay, I’ll let her know.”
“And Ruth, I just have to say this: do not share that information with anyone except her. If I find out that you’ve spread my shit around, it will not go well for you, okay? I’m not trying to threaten you, but this is serious to me.”
She nods. “I got it, dude. I wouldn’t do something like that.”
I lean in and give her a one-armed hug. “I know. You seem like a really cool chick, Ruth. Thanks.”
She goes stiff. “Cool. Now get off me.”
I back away. “See ya.”
“Yeah, probably not. But I’ll pass the message along. No promises though.”
The car I hired is waiting for me, and I slide in and ask him to take me to the Metro Airport. I have a first-class ticket on the next flight to London, which is for early the next morning, so I get a room at the airport hotel and wait.