I walk to the porch even though I want to run.
“Hi, Dot. Hi, Bette,” I say. “Thank you so much for inviting us here. I’m Emerson.” I offer my hand.
“I’m Nolan,” my best friend says.
Dot stands first, waves off my palm, then opens her arms wide. “I’m a hugger, sweetie pie. I come from a long line of huggers, and it cannot be stopped. So, forgive me,” she says, wrapping strong arms around me.
Yup. Insta-love, I am in you. “Nothing to forgive,” I say, a little choked up. “I’m a hug monster too.”
She lets go. “Then we’ll get along fine.”
Bette snares me in a tight embrace next. “You look like Audrey Hepburn,” she declares when she lets go.
I take that compliment and tuck it in my pocket for when I feel blue. “Thank you.”
“And you? Well, hello there, Clark Kent,” Bette says to Nolan.
Ever the gentleman, he takes her hand and kisses the knuckles. “Pleased to meet you. If you need anyone to leap a tall building in a single bound, I’m your man.”
Bette chuckles, warm and exuberant. “And I do believe I’ve died and gone to I’ve-been-charmed heaven.”
I’m giddy and alive with possibilities. I run a hand over the ladybug charm. Maybe I do believe in luck. Maybe it’s coming our way tonight.
“Come on inside and you can meet Evelyn,” Dot says, then drops her voice to a whisper. “Warning though—she’s kind of a hard-ass.”
“That’s what a business manager should be,” I say, picturing a stern woman in a pantsuit, protecting her clients like a shark.
Good on Dot and Bette for having a tough-as-nails manager.
Dot swings open the door, then leads us into the living room of a sun-drenched home. The couch is strewn with pillows declaring Bless this mess or bring me wine to accept it, and the walls boast sassy inspirational sayings like Give me the strength to deal with people.
Yup, I have found my soul mates.
I realize there’s a teenager perched in a chair, aimlessly swinging one foot in a black high-top. She’s clutching a purple phone that matches the fishnet stockings visible under her ripped jeans. Standard high-schooler attire. “Hey, there,” she says, too cool for school.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Is she their makeup artist? Her smoky lids are banging. “Nice eyelashes.”
“Thanks. Same.”
I smile my thanks as the girl flicks her thumb over the screen, then silence hangs between us for a few seconds.
Is she Dot’s granddaughter? Her coloring is similar to the Texan’s.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I say politely, expecting to follow Dot into another room, but when I turn, I bump into her where she stands.
“Oh, sweetie pie,” she says, “you need to talk to Evelyn first.”
“Anytime,” Nolan says with his easy charm. “Let us know when she arrives.”
Dot laughs. “You’re too cute.” Then she points. “That’s Evelyn.”
Ohhhhh.
“My granddaughter,” Dot adds. “She handles the YouTube and all the Twitters.”
“Don’t forget the tic-tac-toe,” Bette chimes.
A groan rolls off the teen. “Bette, please,” Evelyn says, her dignity mortally wounded.
“I just like to rile you up. You do your thing, Evelyn,” Bette adds with a bye-bye wave.
Evelyn nods at Dot, assuring her, “I’ll take care of everything.”
Take care of what?
Did we enter a deal with the devil? Are we about to get roofied? Should I run for cover? But Nolan seems chill about the whole thing.
Goth Girl points to the chairs across from her. “Sit, please. I have some items to review.” Her tone brooks no argument, and we sit like proper marionettes. “Let’s start from the top,” she says. “Have you ever had a DUI?”
I shake my head. Nolan does the same. “No,” we chime in unison.
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No,” I say emphatically.
Nolan says no as well. Obviously.
“Have you ever posted a shot of yourself guzzling a beer, wine, tequila, or other beverage and looking like a dumbass online?”
My brain quickly cycles back over the last ten years. God, I hope not. “No.”
Nolan lifts a hand sheepishly. “I once posted a picture of myself drinking a beer at a baseball game with my buddies,” he confesses.
Evelyn nods without giving anything away and seems to make a checkmark on her phone.
“Have you ever said anything inflammatory, derogatory, rude, stupid, idiotic, or insensitive about a marginalized group of people?”
“God, no,” I say.
“Of course not,” he seconds.
She rattles off a few more feet-to-the-fire questions, then nods a few more times as she takes notes on her phone. I glance at Nolan with a silent What the hell? He shrugs an I’m as surprised as you are.
Evelyn sets down her phone, steeples her fingers, and stares. Damn, she’d give Jack Donaghy on 30 Rock a run for his money. The kid is intense.
“Here’s the deal. I already ran a background check on the two of you. It looks like everything is solid. You don’t have any priors. And a thorough review of your social media indicates that you haven’t posted any nudes, any racist or inflammatory remarks, or any douchey comments about anyone.”