Both of my parents’ faces went blank. “A spy?” my dad said.
“Yes. Is that okay?” Maybe I should have checked first.
My mom was the first one to burst out laughing. “Is that how people think spies dress?” she howled. “Oh my goodness, this is hysterical!”
“The fedora!” my dad cried, collapsing in laughter next to her. “Are those binoculars? Tell me you’re not wearing night-vision goggles, too!”
“Stop! My sides hurt!” My mom was laughing so hard that tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“I hope you realize how damaging this is for a teenager’s self-esteem.” I glared at them. “But no, go ahead and laugh at me. It’s cool.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” my mom said, now wiping her eyes. “You look adorable.”
In a world of push-up bras, garter belts, and potential belly-dancing costumes, “adorable” wasn’t exactly what I was going for. “So do I look like a spy or not?”
“You look like someone who has never been a spy, trying to dress as a spy.” My dad’s face was red, a sure sign that he was trying not to laugh any more than he already had. He’s terrible at hiding his emotions. That’s why he always does the behind-the-scenes work.
“Well, good, that’s what I wanted.” I belted my trench coat, then made sure that people could still see my binoculars.
“You’re like a cuter version of Kojak,” my dad told me.
“Who-jack?”
He just shook his head. “You have no appreciation for the classics.”
“Can I go now, please? Roux’s meeting me on the corner and I’m going to be late.”
“What time is the party?”
“Roux said that parties just sort of start. There’s no time.” I left out the part where I asked Roux if I should RSVP to the party for both of us or for just me, and she stared at me for a full minute before asking if I had been raised in a barn.
“And where’s the safe again?” My mom straightened my hat and I pushed it back.
“Fourth-floor bedroom. Have a little faith in my memory skills.”
“Fine. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And tell Angelo to stay away!”
Roux and I had agreed to meet on the corner at eight thirty, and the streets were already full of people in costumes. I knew there was a parade over in the West Village, but it seemed like the parade was everywhere in the city. I even passed another trench-coated and fedora’d “spy,” and he tipped his hat to me as we passed each other.
Roux was in front of the Dean & Deluca on Broadway, wearing sparkly devil horns and looking a little wobbly. She seemed small surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the street, but when she saw me, she lit up and gave me the biggest smile that I’ve ever seen her give.
“I’m the devil!” she cried. “Look! Horns! Like a bull!” She mimed trying to stampede me.
Oh no.
“Are you drunk?” I whispered. “Seriously?”
“I’m happy,” she said. “Drunks are sloppy. I’m happy. And why are you whispering? Hey, are those binoculars?” She grabbed them from around my neck and looked through the larger lens. “Whoooa, you’re so far away! Hi, Maggie!” She waved in front of my face as I grabbed them back from her.
“Are you crazy?” I snapped. “You could get arrested for public drunkenness.”
“On Halloween in New York? C’mon. And there is no way that I was going to this party sober. If I’m lucky, I won’t remember anything.” She wobbled in her platform heels, which sent her devil horns a bit askew.
“Just stand here.” I propped her up against the wall and left her ogling the Dean & Deluca cheese display in the window while I recalculated. Sober Roux would already be enough work, but drunk Roux? I would have to keep my eye on her the entire night, which meant that I couldn’t get into the office and look for the safe.
“If I ever have a daughter, I’m going to name her Brie.” Roux sounded dreamy about it.
If I didn’t act fast, then this was going to be worse than the hotel room in Buenos Aires.
“Okay, look at me,” I said, then grabbed Roux by the shoulders so we could make eye contact. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to sober up right now.”
She started giggling. “It doesn’t work that way, silly!”
She had a point.
“Listen. We’re going to get you some coffee and some water. We’re going to Poland Spring you back to sobriety, and then? We are going to the party.”
Her eyes sort of looked like whirligigs. “Can we get some cheese, too?”
Thirty minutes, two bottles of water, a double espresso, and a wedge of Brie later, we were standing in front of Jesse Oliver’s townhouse on Warren Street. “I might have to puke up all these cheesy calories later,” she said as she continued to eat the cheese with her fingers. “Kidding,” she said quickly when I narrowed my eyes at her. “Upper East Side humor.”
“Not funny,” I told her. I had been nervous before, sure, but never like this. Not only did I have to sneak into an office, find a safe, and figure out how to break into it, but I also had to make sure that Roux didn’t end up with alcohol poisoning and that Jesse Oliver never noticed I was snooping through his dad’s stuff.
“Mmm, cheese,” Roux slurred next to me.