“Bye,” I said to dead air. She’d already hung up.

I flipped the phone closed and tried to flip off the switch that was making me feel welcome and safe and weirdly at home (the switch didn’t work).

I washed my face in order to prepare for my nighttime makeup regime and I was drying it when my phone rang. I looked at it on the vanity, certain that it would be Bil y, but instead it said it was Tod, Indy’s neighbor.

Holy cow. I knew that Daisy had programmed in Tod and Stevie when she was fiddling with my phone. How Tod got my number, I did not know.

I flipped it open. “Hel o?”

“Hey girlie. It’s Tod. Daisy cal ed, said you might need something to wear to her big bash. Come over, we’l go through my closet,” Tod invited.

Oh my God, that was so sweet.

“I’m not sure I’m going to be here,” I told him.

“You have to be here! It’s gonna be the party of the decade!” Tod screeched like I just told him I turned down a marriage proposal from Prince Wil iam.

“Um…” I said.

“Come over anyway. I’l get out a bottle of sparkling wine and the Yahtzee game.”

“I’m going on a date with Hank.”

Silence.

Then, “Shit, those boys don’t f**k around.” He could say that again.

Because I needed help, I took a deep breath and confided, “I’m not sure what to wear.”

Tod answered immediately, “Tel me what you’ve got.” I described the contents of my suitcases. The whole time I spoke, he muttered, “Mm hmm. Mm hmm.” Then, when I described my black top with the wide, scoop neck, he yel ed, “That! With jeans and heels and a rock ‘n’ rol scarf.

Do you have a good belt? Forget it. I’m coming over with belts… and scarves. Be there in ten.”

Then he disconnected.

I stared at the phone.

Was he serious?

Holy cow.

He couldn’t be serious.

I couldn’t worry about it. Time was ticking by and I’d only just begun my preparations. I started on my makeup and just got through the first phase of a five phase production when the phone went again.

My body didn’t tense this time, I could see the display saying “Al y Cal ing”.

I was no longer surprised by this bizarre string of phone cal s.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hey chickie, Daisy texted me your number. You got an outfit for your date with Hank?”

Good grief.

“No, but I think Tod’s coming over with belts and scarves.”

“Good to hear, Tod’l sort you out. How long you staying in Denver?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wel , it’s October and the Haunted Houses are opening and we’re going, al of us, Indy, Jet, Daisy and me. You gotta go. It’s hilarious.”

“I don’t do scary,” I informed her, thinking she’d understand.

She didn’t understand.

“Perfect. Don’t worry. The chainsaw man never has a chain on his saw. We’l keep you in the loop. Gotta go.

Later.”

Chainsaw man?

Before I could ask, she disconnected.

I was staring at the dead phone in my hand when the hotel phone rang. I walked over and picked it up, this time worried that Bil y’d found me too soon. Or worse, Hank had come early.

“Hel o?”

“It’s Tod, what room number are you?”

I was silent a second.

He was serious. How did he even know where I was?

I didn’t want to know.

“Three thirty-three,” I said.

Disconnect.

Good God.

Now I knew how Uncle Tex had been so wel , truly and quickly ensconced in the fold. These people acted as fast as lightening.

There was a knock on the door and I opened it. Tod walked in carrying enough scarves and belts to accessorize the entirety of the Purdue Boiler Babes Dance Team.

He charged in tossing everything on the bed.

I closed the door and walked back into the room.

“Tod, he’s going to be here in…” I looked at my watch.

Then I let out a little scream.

“Calm, calm,” Tod said, his hands out in front of him, palms down, pressing the air. “Let’s get crackin’. Finish your face, I’l sort through this.”

Then, without further ado, he started digging through my suitcases.

I didn’t have time to flip out that some guy I barely knew was digging through my suitcases. Hank was going to be there in twenty minutes and I hadn’t even moved to phase two of makeup.

I was shading and blending through phase four when Tod walked into the bathroom. “Outfit’s on the bed, I unpacked you because, girlie, you’re getting wrinkles in some of your fab-you-las blouses. So I hung them up, unmentionables and PJs in the drawers. You can return the belt and scarf to Indy and I’m borrowing those Manolo Mary Janes for my act this weekend if you’re stil in town. They fit like they were made for me.”

“Sure,” I said, even though it wasn’t a request.

We air-kissed and he took off.

I finished the makeup, fluffed out my hair and put on the black top, jeans, a black belt of Tod’s, the Manolo Mary Janes and looped once around my neck a thin, long rock ‘n’

rol scarf made entirely out of silver bugle beads stitched together. I put a wide silver cuff on my wrist, my Raymond Weil on my other wrist and some seriously long hoops dangling at my ears. I was spritzing with Boucheron at six twenty-nine and trying to breathe calmly and reach my zen zone (and failing) when my cel rang again.

It said, “Jet Cal ing.”

I flipped open the phone. “Hel o?”

“Hey Roxie, Daisy gave me your number.”

Daisy was a busy little beaver.

“How’s your Dad?” I asked.

Jet’s Dad had been shot, stabbed, beaten, then thrown out of a moving car on Broadway outside of Fortnum’s just days before. They moved him out of ICU that morning and Jet spent the day in the hospital with him.

“A lot better. Breathing, talking, conscious.” I smiled. “I’m glad.”

“I hear you’re going out with Hank tonight, you got something to wear?”

Cripes! I had four new best friends and I’d known them only a day. Next thing, Indy was going to be cal ing, asking me to a slumber party.

Before I could answer, the hotel phone rang.

I let out another little scream.

I heard Jet laugh.

“Hank’s there,” she surmised.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” I chanted.