Mickey and Philippa were in her third-floor bedroom after school on Friday, though only Philippa had actually gone to school. They were in the middle of her bed and they were French-kissing so heavily that they kept running out of breath. Philippa had a grandfather clock in one corner that was ticking loudly, and they were listening to pre-fuse 73, because Philippa used to date a deejay and had developed a taste for arcane house music.
“I need to get over to the Floods,” Mickey said as he slowly pulled away from Philippa. “I promised Jonathan.”
“Come on,” Philippa said. “Forget him, can’t you?” She was wearing nothing except the red lingerie she’d bought at Le Petit Coquette on the way home from school. Mickey had to look away from her and close his eyes in order to form a sentence.
“Well, Patch has been missing for a while, and Jonathan needs us to help find him.”
“But what about us?” Philippa said, and laughed.
“The other thing I need to do is sneak out of here before your parents come.”
“That’s true,” Philippa said. “So you think you’re really kicked out of school?”
“Actually, I think my dad is supposed to talk with your dad about that,” Mickey said. He faced the wall, where there was a big painting by Randall Oddy; a beautiful green eye scrunched up and winking. Mickey stared at it. He thought it was pretty cool.
“Since my dad’s on the board at Talbot.”
“Right,” Mickey said.
Philippa was supposed to go with her parents to their place in Amagansett in an hour, which was part of the deal she’d made with them after getting in trouble last weekend—that she’d spend more time with them and treat them like human beings and not ATM machines.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Philippa said.
“Come over later,” Mickey said. He got up and pulled on his jumpsuit, and looked around on the floor for his boots.
“I can’t. Mickey, have you completely given up on underwear? Anyway, you know I’m going away.” He turned back around, and they fell onto the bed, and began to kiss again. But Mickey’s phone was ringing, and they both knew who it was.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Maybe I’ll come back on the Jitney and find you tomorrow night. My parents will be sick of me by then.”
“Sounds good. We’ll find Patch. And then you and I can hang out. And put in a good word for me with your parents, would you?”
“Maybe that’s not such a hot idea,” Philippa said. Mickey nodded, because she was right.
Then he ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He had to get out of there before the Fradys came home. He was now completely forbidden to go anywhere near their daughter. He got to the front door and tried the lock, but for some reason, it didn’t give. He pushed, and it seemed to pull. Then it moved on its own. A ghost? Mickey reared back as Jackson Frady pulled open the door.
“Ah, Mr. Pardo,” Mr. Frady said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Uh, I was just going to leave, actually.”
“No, Mr. Pardo, your plans have been changed. The six of us will dine tonight.”
“Six?”
“Our daughter, your parents, and of course my wife and I. And you. Six.”
Mickey looked around. He pointed at his chest. Me? Six? Shit.
“We’ll take this opportunity to straighten a few things out once and for all.”