“Did you just sniff me?” he asks, sounding somewhat amused but mostly concerned.
Guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought. “No, sorry.” I back away, embarrassed. “I had a sniffle. All that incense bothered my sinuses,” I lie, forgetting that he’s the leading Nolan Baker Bullshit Detector even after all these years. Thankfully, he doesn’t push me on it.
“Take some Sudafed and get some sleep,” he says sternly. “Text me and we can schedule our next plan of attack.”
“Will do.”
As I turn to go, I sense an acute connection to the crystals jangling around in my pockets. A light breeze blows over my shoulders, whispers hope into my ears, and I realize that I may be overwhelmed by this new reality, but I won’t, under any circumstance, let it beat me.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What were you doing canoodling with Drew Techler outside of a tarot shop?” Jessalynn asks, shoving their tablet in my face. On it is a trashy news site showcasing a picture of Drew and me hugging outside of Lucille’s place. Whimsical, light-up signs cast a purplish glow over our heads.
There I am. Midsniff. Damn. Can’t pass that off as allergy-related sniffling in the slightest.
“Uh, we ran into each other,” I lie, tucking the two crystals into the nearest drawer and closing out the browser tab where I was searching for nearby metaphysical shops so Jessalynn doesn’t see. They’ve already come in guns blazing, eyebrows cocked. I don’t need them asking questions about the store I’ve flagged for Drew and me to visit tonight.
My many searches for “manifesting your future” suspiciously turned up nothing of note, almost as if any helpful record had been wiped out. Not even the mind-reading blue light glasses Drew left behind were of use to me because my memory of the crystal collection is still watercolor-painting blurry, so they kept opening and closing new tabs without stopping for me to read anything.
I guess piecemeal is the only way we’re going to get this done, unless my mind snaps into clarity anytime soon.
“Right, so I’m to believe you’ve suddenly taken an interest in spirituality and warmly receiving former friends who’ve on more than one occasion sent you cease-and-desist letters?” Jessalynn asks.
“Cease-and-desist letters? More thanone?” The videos I watched when Drew came here must’ve only been the tip of the iceberg of my betrayal.
Jessalynn gapes at me. “Please, Nolan, for the love of all that is holy, your metaphorical marbles? Pick them up before I trip on them and crack my skull open, ’kay?” It’s a demand, not a question. I swivel away from my desk to face them. “I’m sure the stress of the special is getting to you,” they continue. “It’s weighing on me as well. But you can’t be sleeping with Harry and hugging Drew and visiting psychics. You just can’t.”
In a world filled with yeses, it seems Jessalynn is the hard-ass hoarding all the noes. But are they necessary? “What’s the big deal? It was a hug.”
“I wish it were that simple. It’s never just a hug with you, Nolan,” they say, clacking their fingernails together in apparent frustration. “I work day and night to ensure your brand is consistent, your fans are fed, and you arrive sober-ish and on time for all scheduled appearances and shows. When you do something that threatens one of those three things, I have to put my red-bottomed foot down. Do you understand?”
Feeling chided and childish, I intone, “Yeah.”
“Good. That means no more sleepovers without NDAs, no more surprise visits with card readers, and no more Drew Techler. Kapeesh?”
“Kapeesh,” I reply.
Except thekapeeshonly holds for about six hours.
After texting Drew a profuse apology involving the hug, the sniff, and the subsequent internet uproar over “raunchy comedianNolan Baker reconnecting with former flame Drew Techler,” I told Drew I had another lead on crystals.
I meet Drew in lower Manhattan on a Monday night standing outside a metaphysical supply store called Stop, Rock, and Roll. I know their name is a play on what to do if you ever catch on fire, but I wonder if they know how much like counterculture protestors they sound.Down with Elvis, their signage almost screams.
The spring air is brisk, reminding me of the night of CeeCee’s wedding. Drew wears a thin dark-blue cardigan that brings out his eyes, which are full up with confusion when they land on me.
“What exactly are you wearing?” he asks, pressing down the amusement that tickles the side of his lip.
I do a twirl and win that smile fully. “What, you don’t like it?” I combed through an image search of me for the last seven years, and I learned that during the day I usually wear upscale designer-casual in muted tones, and onstage, I’m always decked out in a tailored, colorful suit. Today, I’m donning a ratty, tie-dyed camp T-shirt I found at a secondhand store, a pair of distressed bell bottoms, and Jesus sandals with a broken strap. “It’s my disguise.”
“What are you disguised as? A cut ensemble member from a community theater production ofHair?” he asks, probably recalling the terrible musical production his college put on for freshman year parents’ weekend that we laughed about for weeks. So, so many flopping penises. And we went with hismom.
“Very funny. Do you remember those black hoodies we bought at the mall in high school so we could sneak out to smoke at the playground on school nights?” Drew nods, expression glazing over with what looks like nostalgia. “Well, after that photo of us hit a few headlines, Jessalynn has me on lockdown. Says us being seen together is bad for my brand. Hence the ridiculous getup.” My eyes sweep the street. Nobody is looking too long or hoisting a camera,so I’d say I’m in the clear. “Let’s get inside before I test my luck though.”
Beneath the magenta-and-yellow awning is a swath of greenery. Hanging plants rain down upon numerous tiered shelves of potted succulents in all shapes and sizes. We practically have to hatchet our way through the jungle just to step inside.
Past the terrariums, Buddha statues, and a dream-catcher display, we enter the crystal section. Rows and rows of buckets are lined up, crystals in every color of the rainbow gleam in disorganized piles, while the larger cuts are displayed on glass shelves along the walls. Some have even been fashioned into pieces of jewelry; necklaces are pinned up on white boards so you can see how low they hang, and bracelets are draped over mannequin wrists for a better view of the craftsmanship. Mom would love one of these.
I know it would make more sense if Drew and I split up to divide and conquer, but this place is such a maze, I could get lost in here. Besides, after Jessalynn told me about the cease-and-desist letters, I’m starting to think there’s more to the story than what I’ve seen on YouTube.
