Page 101 of Love Is an Art
“I feel like I need a child to be here.” I unwrap my sandwich and take a bite.
“Maybe for our next escapade, I can arrange that.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”
“I don’t think my sister is going to lend me her baby for one of my escapades. But I’m glad you’re still in for another one.” Tessa drinks some water. “We should have left immediately. It was silly to wait around, especially because a photo from today won’t prove much.”
Tessa’s phone beeps and she checks it and exclaims.
“Something good?” I ask.
“Iris just texted me that Scammer Guy is showcasing my paintings on his Instagram account. Look.” She shows me his account on her phone, and indeed, there is her painting of what I think was supposed to be a tree in rain.
“I was wondering what was happening with him.” It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask ever since we started talking again, but I also didn’t want to raise what broke us up.
“Not much yet. I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve had to put him off, but he seems to think I’m an artist. He’s following the same course of action that he followed with the artist who alerted us about him. He should try his check fraud next.”
“I saw you guys once, meeting at a café in the village. I was out with some friends for dinner.”
“Really? That’s the last time I saw him. I pretended we were still together so he would think I had a boyfriend. Were you in the café?”
“Yes, behind you.”
“That was you?” she asks. “Were you wearing a wig?”
“Yes,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t want either of you to recognize me.”
“I thought that was you. I thought I was going crazy, hoping to see you.”
“Hoping to see me?” I ask.
She holds my glance.
“Yes,” she says.
I look away first.
“That wig.” She laughs.
“You’re definitely seeing that wig again,” I say. “I’ve told Sebastian I’m wearing it to his next party because he was so embarrassed by it.” I pause, realizing what I’ve just said. “You were good at helping out that woman with her plumbing problem.”
“It’s frustrating. When I worked on these types of cases as a legislative assistant for a New York City council member right after college, I thought it probably would be faster if I learned how to fix that kind of stuff, and they sent me out. Faster than my calling this city agency every day to see if they can send a plumber over. I finally did just that in a previous FLAFL case. I watched a YouTube video, and I fixed the running toilet.”
I finish my sandwich. Tessa calls Taylor to warn her and some neighbor woman that Howard saw her in his neighborhood. She’ll check the security footage on Monday. She practically does a little hop as she says that hekissedthe woman at the apartment. She hangs up.
“I can certainly cross-examine him now and ask him about this apartment and this woman. It will buttress Mrs. Humming’s testimony,” she says. “I wasn’t sure I had much of a case. Can I make dinner for you tonight as a thank-you?”
I want to say yes. Her lying about being an artist is not comparable to Paisley’s cheating.
It’s also clear that she’s absolutely devoted to getting justice for her pro bono client. We’ve just spent seven hours seeing if we can get some evidence for this case. And it doesn’t even count toward the bonus she wants. She goes all out for her clients. Even that fake pitch document. I’m not sure we would have discovered the kickbacks without it. And if we hadn’t discovered that Pamela was asking for kickbacks, we wouldn’t have been able to rectify the damage to Comidas en Canasta’s name. I was half-surprised Tessa didn’t pull out business cards when that manager asked for one.
It’s only 1 p.m. now. The sky darkens.
“We need to pick a recipe and go food shopping,” she says. “I think it’s about to rain, though.”
“Can you cook?” I do appreciate a home-cooked meal.
She sighs dramatically. “Yes. I take food very seriously. And to be fair, when I said I was an artist, I didn’t expect to have to demonstrate my artistic ability.”
