“There has to be a better way,” Liam says.
“You’re the guy with the skills.”
“You want me to call in a favor?”
“Would you?”
The distinctive sound of a well-hit ball draws Liam’s eyes back to the TV screen. The Phillies have loaded the bases.
“Goddammit.”
“Maybe you should switch to the Yankees?” I say. “I read this article recently about how they’re New York’s ‘real’ team now, based on fans.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Liam Davis. Patron Saint of Lost Causes.”
“And yet, you want my help.”
“Yes, please.”
He takes the laptop from me and concentrates on the screen. Liam’s built up a web of contacts over the years that can help him locate people, some of which he’s shared with me, and some of which he keeps to himself. I take a sip of my beer as I watch him.
Liam starts with a background-check website and enters some parameters. It chugs along and produces a report that says that there’s no one with a criminal record in the state with my name and birthday.
“I thought we were looking for other victims?” I ask.
“It was worth trying before I called in the favor.”
“Is it really that big?”
“They’ve been cracking down on leaks. Mario needs to be more cautious.”
“But you’ll ask?”
“I’ll call him tomorrow.”
I kiss him quickly on the cheek. “Thanks, Liam.”
“Well, now . . .”
“Relax. I’m not going to jump you or anything.”
I take the laptop away from him and sit on the opposite couch. It smells faintly of the cigars one of my roommates likes to smoke. He’s trying out for Douchebag of the Year, an award he’s going to win. Liam fiddles with his beer, looking uncomfortable, his concentration on the game now feigned.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“What’s that?”
I go back to Facebook and start a new post.
Is your name Jessica Williams? Were you born on July 10, 1990? Have you met another one just like you? Me too! DM me if you want to talk about it.
I make the post public, then pass the laptop to Liam.
“You think that’s going to work?” He leans back into the couch with his beer cradled in his hands. Another crack of the bat and the Mets are now down by six.
“You’d be surprised what works on here.”
“Please don’t tell me.”
“It’s not like Twitter . . . well, mostly not.”
“Didn’t you meet that Pete guy on Facebook?”
It was Tinder, not Facebook, but that wouldn’t make a difference to Liam. He’d taken an instant dislike to Pete when we met once for a drink last fall. It wasn’t anything serious, and we broke up months ago. Was Liam . . . jealous? No. I put the thought out of my head.
“Pete wasn’t so bad.”
“He didn’t steal all your money, if that’s what you mean.”
“Shut it.”
“Seriously, Jess. You can do better.”
“Maybe I like being alone.”
“I doubt it.” He takes another swig of his beer. “God, this is awful. And I’m about to turn off this game.”
“That would be a first.”
“Not these days.”
My computer pings! Someone’s tagged a Jessica Williams in the post. “We’ve got a hit.”
“So fast?” Liam says.
“Technology. It’s not all bad.”
“I don’t have anything against technology per se . . .”
“You sound like Todd.”
Liam stands abruptly. “It’s late, I should go.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that.” I stand up, knocking my beer over. “Shit.”
I rush to the kitchen to get a rag. There’s beer dripping down one of the leather couches, the only thing my roommates care anything about.
“Josh is going to kill me,” I say, but Liam’s already out the door.
Chapter 6
Connections
When I check the Facebook post the next morning after the guys have left for work in their noisy way, the post has gone semiviral, and thirty-five women named Jessica Williams have been tagged in the comments. A quick scan shows me that half the people who’ve commented on the message are the same trolls who were plaguing me before I left for Mexico, because anything I post online will forever be another opportunity to tell me I’m a piece of shit.
This much I know already.
Despite all the reactions, and the Jessicas, I have no direct messages. Added to that: Liam hasn’t returned the two texts I sent before I crawled into the cocoon of my bed and willed the day to disappear.
I resign myself to the silence and settle in on the couch. I go through the tagged Jessicas one by one. None of them were born on the same day as I was as far as I can tell, and there’s a string of conversations on the thread like Dude, what made you think that I was born on July 10? Or I’m not that old, bee-atch. So helpful.
It’s a weird exercise. These other Jessicas are like a series of doors I never walked through. If I hadn’t been born in the Land of Todd, or I’d never left, what might my life be like?
After an hour, I get sick of looking at all the Jessicas and waiting for a DM to appear or Liam to get back to me. It feels like I’m in a holding pattern, circling the city, waiting for the weather to clear.
To pass the time, I decide to reach out to The Twists, a group of misfits and weirdos Liam helped save from various cults over the years. We gave ourselves this title, mostly to piss Liam off, because it was part of our new freedom to poke fun at our savior.
I open the group-text thread we started years ago:
Anyone up for some trouble?
Covington replies first, as he always does. Next up is Daisy, then Miller. Everyone else begs off because of work, promising they might catch up with us later, though we know from previous experience that they won’t.
The only one who doesn’t reply is Liam.
But the word Read is right there under his name.
I smile to myself, knowing I can still get under his skin.
Feel free to join us, Liam! I write, then wait.
Have fun, he texts, but just to me, and I know that’s the last I’ll hear from him for a while.
We decide to meet at High Dive in Brooklyn. Miller and Daisy share an apartment nearby, so we go there often enough. With everything, it’s been a few months since I’ve seen them.
I take the B train from West 4th, and as we lurch along, I read through the comments that continue to appear on my Facebook post like popping kernels, only now, two people have tagged a Jessica who lives upstate, and she’s one of the Jessicas who turned up early in my name search yesterday. She’s got her privacy settings on high, nothing showing in her feed except a picture with her face half in shadow. She has mousy brown hair and pale skin that probably burns on impact with sunlight. She looks tiny, almost elfin, but pictures can be deceiving.
I take a screenshot of her profile and plunk it into a text to Liam as we pull into the station.
Can you ask your guy to investigate her?