Coco and I did, and a quote popped up. I read aloud.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road "Beautiful," Coco said, clearly drawn in.

"Agree," Blake added.

"See? What crazy murderer would quote Kerouac?" I asked.

"But what does it tell us?" Blake was thinking out loud. "What does it mean?"

"Uh, my future husband has the heart of a poet?" I answered. "I'll take that!"

"There's gotta be something more." Coco was squinting. She squints when she is thinking hard, like it will help push the thought out of her brain like taking a satisfying dump.

"All right," I muttered, getting back into a spy groove. "What's Jack Kerouac most famous for? Writing On the Road. Could that mean something?"

"That we're supposed to take a boozy road trip across the United States and Mexico to find this alleged guy that may not even exist?" Coco asked sarcastically.

Then something hit me. "Maybe we're trying to read too much into it. Maybe we need to just hit the road and go to Venice. Anyone coming with?" I asked as I closed my computer and put it into my backpack.

"Like I'm gonna let you go alone?" Coco put on her sweater and motioned to the waiter for the check.

"Like I'm gonna let you two go together?" Blake downed the rest of the sweet potato fries and guzzled his beer glass dry. "It all spells trouble."

Chapter 11.

DAY 2-NIGHT.

Since there was none of the daytime traffic of runners, skaters, cyclers, incense sellers, people as creepy statues springing to life for a quarter, hawkers, barkers, and glass eaters on the Venice boardwalk, it didn't take us long to find the Villa Seaside Apartments. We walked up to the front door.

"Mags, write these down," Coco ordered, and I happily obeyed, typing each resident into my phone notes as she read them off the intercom system.

"M. Adler #307, L. Astin #202, J. Bellingham #108, S. Finch...."

Even though there were only four floors, the process could have taken hours if she were to read them all. "Allow me," I said, gently moving her aside. I then took pictures of all that was on the intercom, and was done in seconds.

"Good thinking. Now just follow my lead." Coco rang the manager's buzzer.

"Yeah?" A high-pitched, cartoon characterish voice came through the intercom.

"Hi. Hope we didn't wake you. We're looking for a guy who lives here. He's got a brown dog with a spotted tongue."

Catching on, I chimed in further. "My dog got into a scuffle with his at the dog park, and I'd like to give the owner some money to cover the vet bill."

Coco shot me a look. I just shrugged. If cash didn't get the door open, nothing would.

"Be down in a minute."

Shit. Now what? Give the only money I had left to the woman? OH, WAIT-the MAN, I saw as he opened the door. And a BURLY man whose cartoon voice so did not match his body in any way! Before we could say anything else, he handed us a MiniDV tape. "Way better story than the other girl who came by here earlier looking for him."

WHAT?! "Uh, the other girl?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"Brunette. Tall drink of water. Looked like a Victoria's Secrets models."

Did he just say Victoria's SecretS modelS? What's that about? And great. Grand. Awesome. Someone else is on the hunt and is not only ahead of us, but looks like a freakin' lingerie modelS! I'm screwed. I took the tape, and thanked the guy. But Coco couldn't leave it at that.

"Who gave you this? Does he live here? What's really going on?"

The guy just shrugged. "I have orders to give these out to anyone mentioning a dog. That's all I can say." He closed the door with something less than a slam, but more than a "Later!"

"What's the point?" I asked, dejected, as we walked back to Coco's car.

"AGREE!" Coco replied. "And not because someone who might be more traditionally pretty than you is competition-you're way hotter in a way cooler way than any Victoria's SecretS modelS!"

So happy Coco caught the man's all plurals and brought 'em back. It made me laugh, which I needed big-time at that point.

"Any guy will see you're adorable, smart, artful and HEART-full. I just think you should stop the hunt and focus on REAL people who won't kill you," Coco said.

I was quiet on the whole ride home. Coco was right. And Blake was right, too. I had been too hard on Jason. That site was fckin' unbelievable. He obviously still loved me. And I still loved him. Did I keep saying no and pushing him away just out of fear I could get hurt again, when I was hurting even more not being with him?

Maybe now I fckedup.com, and it was time for an apology of my own.

Chapter 12.

DAY 2-NIGHT.

Midnight smelled of jasmine and carnitas. (Sounds like a law firm I could never be a receptionist at if I had to answer, "Jasmine and Carnitas, may I help you?") The fragrant air is one of the pluses of riding a scooter, especially late at night. That and the balmy, almost tropical L.A. breeze seductively massaging my face into a happy ending. Drawbacks of riding a scooter, especially during the day? People don't really need to be subjected to my ass-spread.

Like it had an internal homing device, I found Lola taking me somewhere quite familiar. Jason's apartment in Echo Park. I was finally ready to forgive him, and that couldn't be done in a text. Besides, makeup sex after one month, one week, five days was bound to be stellar.

I knocked on his door. It didn't occur to me that he might not be home. If that were the case, I'd sit on his stoop (why do they even call them "porches" in L.A.?!) till he came back. I knocked once more, and the door finally creaked open.

"Mags? What are you doing here?"

Wrapped around Jason's waist was the quilt I made for him in a bad attempt to be crafty. (It was at that time I clearly experienced the difference between art and craft and realized talent in one does not necessarily equate skillz in the other!) Seeing him in it made me melt even more.

"I'm here to accept your apology. HELL YEAH!" I quoted from his site. "And give you one of my own. I'm so sorry I've been so harsh, and I'm so sorry you kept asking for my forgiveness, and I just kept pushing you away. I'm ready to try again to make it work."

I leaned in and kissed him, giving him everything that I hadn't been able to in weeks.

He pulled away. "Seriously? After what you said last night? I mean, you left me there..."

"I know, I felt I had to protect myself. But I realized I don't need to do that with you anymore."

"Wow."

I think Jason was happy. Actually, he seemed more dumbfounded. In fact, a little freaked out. And then it hit me. A feeling of heat rising. Like I ordered a burrito with mild salsa, and they stuffed it with one hundred of the hottest jalapeos in all of Mexico.

Jason wasn't alone.

"Wait, really?! Are you kidding me?!?!" I pushed past him. He grabbed my arm and tried to stop me, which gave me extra Wonder Woman brute strength. Nothing could hold me back as I headed to what was once our bedroom. Was he at it with my neighbor again? Or some new, random girl who was taller, thinner, and prettier than me? Or worse, what if she was artier or quirkier??

I threw open the bedroom door. OH. MY. GOD. The breath was sucker punched out of me.

In OUR bed, on MY side... spilling out of MY tiny-cupped bra...

S.H.A.R.I.

Chapter 13.

DAY 3-MORNING.

My phone rang at 7:00 a.m., shocking me out of a dream where I was some young actress who acted all crazy in public, and my breakdown was caught on tape by TMZ. It didn't feel so far off, except maybe the actress, the public, and the TMZ part.

It was Jason's number. When I didn't answer, he texted.

You don't get to be mad at me you're the one who kept saying it was over.

The phone rang again. As I went to turn it off, I saw it wasn't Jason this time. It was my mom calling. I could really use my mom. Or at least the idea of what a mom should be. "Mommy?" I started crying as I answered. Sometimes just saying "Mommy" makes you feel five again.

"Hi, sweetie. You're not going to believe what happened."

Then in true Narcie fashion, she proceeded to launch into a tirade, going so fast and high-pitched, it sounded like she was sucking on a helium balloon. I managed to make out the important points: "Your brother Cooper was arrested."

"For selling pot."

"I have no money to post bail."

"He'll have to spend the night in juvy."

"Teach him a lesson."

"He's ruining my life."

WHAT?! Cooper selling pot? Fuck. If I had found a way to get him that $500.00 for whatever he needed it for, this wouldn't have happened. It was all my fault. I should find a way to go back to NY-even if I was totally broke. Even if I risked being fired. Even if it meant not finishing the hunt and potentially finding my future husband and breaking the Newman Curse.

But I suddenly felt like the Half-Ton Teen on the Discovery Channel. So overwhelmingly heavy that I couldn't lift one limb.

"Why would he do this to me?" my mother asked.

Like this was about her? Oh, Narcie, really?!?!

"I know I shouldn't dump this in your lap."

Uh... you mean like you have with everything else since I was seven?

"...I just don't know what to do..."

"How about calling Aunt Pam?" Since she lives only a block away from you, OH, and she's AN ADULT WITH MONEY.

"Good idea."

"Let me know when Cooper's back home so I can talk to him."

"Will do." And she hung up.

Fuck. I know my brother's a pothead. In fact, he wanted to move to California with me because medical marijuana is legal-but I assured him they wouldn't consider an old broken ankle injury from when he was nine and collided his skateboard into a hot dog cart as a valid medical excuse. But selling pot? What could he possibly need the money for?

I felt so lost and laden, I didn't know what to do except call my NY bestie (and ex), Liza. She always has something positive to say, some way of looking at the world that always makes me feel better. Her phone rang and rang, no answer. So I texted.

All hell has broken loose. CB ASAP!!!!

After I pressed SEND, I realized I was being selfish. So I texted again.

You ok? Kelly? Miss you so much!!!

I had been so caught up in the bullshit of work, the excitement of the hunt, and the drama of Jason, I hadn't even told Liza all that was going on, or heard anything about her life in way too long.

I willed my half-ton limbs to move, put on Toupee and Boo's leashes, and without bothering to change clothes, I hit the streets in just a long T-shirt and flip-flops, accompanied by my dried mascara-streaked face. I didn't care.

S.H.A.R.I.'s door was closed and I didn't know if that meant she had come home yet or not. It was just as well. It was too early for me to go ballistic. I needed at least two cups of coffee for that. I turned onto Sunset.

OH. MY. EFFING. G!!!!! What do I fucking see? LADY MACMETH. MAKING OUT! WITH AN EQUALLY TOOTHLESS DUDE!!!!!! Feeding each other the remains of a sandwich, excavated from the nearby dumpster, no doubt, and laughing and kissing between bites.