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Maryanne stood on the sidewalk and texted Glen: "Where are you?"

"Working," he texted back a moment later, "Where are you?"

"At a party," Maryanne replied, then added, "I think."

"Nice," Glen replied, "I'll see you later tonight."

Maryanne stuck the phone back in her pocket and looked around to confirm where she was. She'd lost track: of time, of place, and largely of reason. But she was sure she was no longer drunk. Because things that recently had seemed pleasantly fuzzy and undefined were becoming sharp and urgent.

Tiffany, for instance, was leaning uncomfortably close to Maryanne as she texted.

“Come on,” Tiffany hissed impatiently and grabbed Maryanne by the arm to leave.

“Come on where?” Maryanne asked.

“I’m getting out of this shithole,” Tiffany said, "Which means you’re getting out of this shithole too. Let’s go.”

Maryanne wanted to be done with Tiffany for the night, but one look at her face and Maryanne knew there was no point protesting. Giving in early just saved time for everyone.

They had only moments ago stepped out of the sweaty party and into the cool night air. The stark shift from laughter and pulsing music inside to car honks and cell phone shouting outside made Maryanne’s bourbon-and-dancing buzz immediately disappear. It was as though she had never been at the party at all--until a white Suburban screeched around the corner and lurched to a stop in front of Maryanne and Tiffany.

Italian Bob was at the wheel with Luca Domingo Domingo riding shotgun. Both were shouting, possibly laughing too, neither seeming to realize that they were no longer inside a party. Domingo Domingo stepped out of the SUV, opened the back door, and with an elaborate mock-bow and flourish of his arm, gestured for Tiffany and Maryanne to enter the vehicle.

"Check out this genius new app we just invested in!" Italian Bob shouted as he connected his phone to the car's bluetooth, "It plays the top 5 Billboard singles through your phone!"

"All at the exact same time!" Domingo Domingo said as he hopped back into his seat.

"Five songs! At once!" Italian Bob shouted, "Fucking brilliant!"

As they tore away from the party, Domingo Domingo cranked the volume on what sounded like an aggressive club music remix being played through a PA on an active jet runway.

It was loud enough that Tiffany could shout as she pleased and no one but Maryanne, now trapped with her in the back seat, could hear.

“What! Did! You! Do?!” Tiffany spat out at her. “Seriously, what the fuck are you up to?!”

“Um, can you clarify?!” Maryanne asked. She knew it was the wrong thing to say. Tiffany was never calm, but as they sped through the night, Maryanne wasn't sure if she was seeing the flicker of passing streetlights bouncing off of Tiffany's face or actual sparks flying out of her eyes.

“Are you kidding me?!” Tiffany shouted. “How about YOU clarify how one minute you were in the elevator with MY DATE and the next minute he’s practically tripping over himself to get away from me, telling me he’s so sorry, something suddenly came up and he’s GONE. In front of EVERYONE on the roof? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?”

Maryanne couldn’t help herself. She giggled, hearing Marcia Brady’s go-to excuse coming out of Tiffany’s mouth. She could see Tiffany stiffen up, getting ready to shout again.

But Italian Bob shouted first, turning back to them and saying, "You're in love, right?!"

Tiffany and Maryanne just looked at him, not sure how to reply.

"The app!" Italian Bob continued, "Melts your fucking mind, right?!"

"We still need a name," Domingo Domingo said, "Something that makes you think of the future."

"And oral sex! Naturally!" Italian Bob added.

"Let us know when something hits you," Domingo Domingo said, then turned back around.

"Will do!" Maryanne shouted back, then turned to Tiffany and said, “Look, I have fucked up almost literally everything I’ve tried to do in the past month! I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party. I only came because I thought it would save my stupid job. And now you’re accusing me of hitting on, and successfully stealing, your date? Do I look like the kind of woman Lee Johnson ditches you for? I’m a fucking mess!”

It wasn't until she heard her voice grind out the last few words that Maryanne realized she was crying.

After a moment Tiffany said, “Maryanne, you don’t have to take everything so personally! Jesus, okay, maybe you’re right and it’s just a coincidence. Fuck, just...just stop crying." She leaned toward the front seat and said, "Bob, let’s swing by Maryanne's and put her to bed. She’s had a rough day.”

"Oh we're going to her place," Italian Bob said, "But no one's going to bed. We need to see the scene of the robbery. Tonight."

Maryanne forgot that she'd been forced to share some (but not all) of the details surrounding the empty apartment while pitching her website and taking hits off the joint.

"Empty apartment party!" Domingo Domingo shouted

"I bet the app sounds amazing in there!" Italian Bob added.

***

Ava sat on her bed and watched the video on her laptop. There was a large suitcase next to her, generously packed for the trip she'd just booked. A car was waiting for her downstairs, had been waiting for about 25 minutes. But the car could keep waiting. She'd already watched the video eight times, but she needed to see it again.

The video was of Glen and Ava, recorded in the bar where they'd met only a few hours ago. There had been two cameras set on them, recording their entire exchange, one from his point of view. The other from hers.

Her phone rang again, her driver again, she assumed. But glancing at her phone, this time she saw it was Glen.

"I got the video you sent," Ava said as she answered.

"What do you think?" Glen replied.

"I didn't really watch that closely," Ava replied, "It's a little basic, but I'm assuming that's what you were going for?"

"I didn't make it," Glen replied, "I found it by looking at some IP addresses associated with the camera components I use. That he seems to be using too."

"He recorded us talking at the bar?" Ava asked.

"It didn't occur to me until you'd mentioned Brad being there," Glen said, "You can have cameras anywhere and capture video. But if you want to hear what's going on, especially in a public place, someone has to place a mic near the subjects. Someone like Brad."

"Gotcha. Okay, obviously I wasn't clear enough before," Ava said, and snapped her suitcase shut, "I'm done with this. Done with you. Done with whoever he is. I forgave myself for all of it a long time ago. So once more, so I'm really clear: I'm leaving town for a while. I don't want to hear from you while I'm gone. And...yeah, not ever again."

"I understand," Glen replied, "Whatever you want, but just ask yourself for a moment, why would he want to record video of the two of us talking?"

Ava packed the biggest suitcase she had because she didn’t know how long she'd be gone for. Normally she left it to an assistant to either get it to the airport or ship it directly to her destination. She was on her own this time though. As she was taking her bag down the stairs, she lost her grip halfway down, causing it to clatter loudly down a few steps.

"He did it to fuck with us, obviously!" Ava shouted as she reclaimed the bag and humped it down to the landing, "Like everything else he's been doing!"

"Yes," Glen replied, "But not necessarily. He's been gathering footage. Initially, I agree, it seemed like just a way to either entrap us or at least intimidate us. But he'd already done all of that before he had us meet at the bar. Why would he want us to meet at the bar at all? And why send someone out to make sure he could hear what we would say to each other?"

"I don't know!" Ava said as she got the suitcase out to the sidewalk. She flagged the driver to grab it, then continued, "It's a little invasive, demented, whatever, but I mean, what kid doesn't spy on his parents?"

"But he's not just spying. He's recording." Glen said, then continued, "What if he's making--I know it's not the right phrase, but when you watch a moving image of your parents together..."

Ava laughed and said, "What? He's making a home movie?!"

"I said it's not the right phrase," Glen replied, "But it's worth considering the reasons why someone creates a video like that."

Ava followed the driver to the car and said, "What do you hope to accomplish here Glen?"

After a moment, Glen replied, "I'm working on that."

"There. Right there, that's it. That was always your charm. The work you do. The way you talk. You're 'mysterious, enigmatic.' Even to yourself, right? But when you walked out on me, walked out on him, I finally realized you weren't any of that. You're just...empty."

Glen didn't reply.

"Anyway, good luck with all that Glen," Ava said as the driver heaved mightily to swing her suitcase into his trunk, "Stalk to you later."

As she hung up the phone, the driver lost his grip on Ava's suitcase, causing it to crash down to the asphalt and snap open. The contents immediately began to pour out and into the street.

***

Maryanne pulled out her phone to see if Glen had texted her. But as she did, the condensation that had gathered on her fingers from holding a champagne bottle caused the phone to slip out of her hand and fall to the floor.

When she finally picked it up, she saw what she thought was their last exchange. But a moment later, she realized it wasn't. They'd had more or less the same exchange a few weeks ago, and as she scrolled, she saw a similar exchange a few weeks before that: He was working with his cameras, maybe for a job, maybe not. She was networking at a party, trying to generate some interest in her site.

"Put down your phone," Tiffany said. She was grinning widely, which instantly made Maryanne nervous.

"Is that a real smile or a fake smile," Maryanne said.

"It's real," Tiffany said, looking a little surprised by her answer, "I think."

They'd been drinking champagne in Maryanne's apartment, each from their own bottle because Maryanne still had no glasses, and blaring non-music from Bob and Domingo Domingo's app, and in general doing their best to convince themselves that they were still partying.

Much as Maryanne had wanted to shoo them all out, only a day ago she would have done anything to get even 30 minutes alone with the three of them.

Italian Bob and Domingo Domingo were seated on Maryanne's floor and watched with a grin as Tiffany walked her toward them.

"They're smiling too. Why is everyone smiling?" Maryanne asked Tiffany.

"Because we're about to talk business, dear," Tiffany replied.

"Looks more like ritual sacrifice," Maryanne said.

"Just shut up and sit down”, Tiffany replied through her smile.

As they sat, Italian Bob switched off the blare of their awful app and said, "Maryanne, it's time to talk."

"Okay," Maryanne replied, "What's up?

"What was Lee's offer?" Domingo Domingo asked.

Maryanne frowned at the question, not sure what was being asked.

"Yes, absolutely," Italian Bob said, then turned to Domingo Domingo and continued, "You are a tacky asshole."

"I agree with you fully," Domingo Domingo replied.

"Let's not talk numbers," Italian Bob said, turning back to Maryanne, "There's no way we're going to beat Lee Johnson on numbers anyway."

"Our balls though. Much, much bigger." Domingo Domingo, said.

"Tacky again," Italian Bob said, "But totally, completely fucking on point. Okay, here's the idea: This apartment isn't an apartment anymore. It's now a stage."

"And you getting robbed," Domingo Domingo continued, "Isn't a theft. It's a gift."

"Because it gives you a chance to outfit the place all over again," Italian Bob added, "Like on all those home improvement shows. Except you don't really do any work.

"You just buy shit!" Domingo Domingo said with an 'ah-ha' grin.

"It's perfect, right?" Tiffany said.

"That's just the pilot though," Italian Bob continued, "After that, we keep bringing in a new couple for every episode -- of roommates, lovers, drag queens, whatever."

"A new couple for every episode...," Maryanne said, trying to keep up, "...Of the show."

"Anchored by your site as the content and e-commerce hub," Italian Bob said, "Tiffany's celebrity drives influencer outreach. We deliver the app, because of course there's a fucking app. But it starts with you though, with this," Italian Bob, continued, gesturing at the empty apartment, "This little upper middle class tragedy, that two best friends turn into a triumph -- through a shared love of shopping."

"Two best friends." Maryanne said.

"We certainly didn't start out that way," Tiffany said, putting her arm around Maryanne. "But look at us now."

***

"Hey man," Glen's taxi driver said, "I gotta go."

The driver had been leaning on the car and nursing a coffee for the better part of an hour while Glen worked.

"What's that?" Glen asked without looking up from the mess of tools he'd strewn across the hood of the taxi. There were screwdrivers atop keyboards atop drills, with his laptop somewhere in the center.

"I gotta go," the driver repeated.

"Understood," Glen said, reaching into his wallet to pull out more cash, "But I need to stay plugged into your car lighter for about 30 more minutes.”

The driver waved off the cash and said, "Dispatch is gonna radio me any minute, and I gotta be heavy with a new passenger. And not to be nosy, but whatever you're installing..."

"They're just cameras," Glen replied.

"My cousin installs security cameras," the driver said, "Those aren't security cameras."

"I didn't say they were," Glen replied.

"Then what are they for?" the driver asked.

Glen pulled out twice as much cash as he'd given the driver last time, and said, "You'll know as soon as I do."

The driver reluctantly took the money and got back into his car.

Glen sat down on the curb and glanced up at the seven cameras he'd installed throughout the intersection, one for every point of vulnerability. As late as it was, there were no cars, no people, no sounds. But with the cameras in, pushing their feed out to their prior IP address, Glen knew he and the driver weren't alone.

He'd been sitting there for only 10 minutes when a black SUV pulled up next to them and parked. The front seat passenger got out and faced Glen. It was Baldo.

Glen signaled to the driver, who immediately drove away.

Once they were alone, Baldo said, "Why would you come back here Glen?"

"Because I want to talk to him," Glen replied.

"Putting those cameras back in," Baldo said with a shake of the head, "That's in very bad taste, Glen."

"I'm sorry," Glen replied, "But I wanted to make sure I got someone's attention.

"And here I am," Baldo replied.

"I want to talk to him," Glen said.

"You're assuming Lee will want to talk to you," Baldo replied.

"He's been making an effort to get my attention," Glen said," I figured maybe he'd want to talk as well."

"Or maybe he'd prefer to continue unspooling your life," Baldo said, "Or worse."

"He's succeeded," Glen said, "Now it's time for me to talk to him."

Baldo sighed, "No, Glen," he gestured at the SUV and someone in the back seat opened the door, "Now it's time for you to get into this car."