You find yourself in familiar territory: a booth at The Slice – your favorite pizza place all through college.
Panicked, you make a quick sweep of the room. The crowd is pretty thin (too early? too late?) and your booth is all the way in the back by the bathrooms, so no one seems to have noticed.
Someone giggles from across the table.
Satisfied, you turn your full attention on her. This woman is younger than the one you spoke with before – just barely out of her teens. She's still not the type of woman you find attractive – too skinny, too brunette – but there's a vigor in her face and the way she holds her body that's attractive all the same.
"Jesus Christ, Inez," you snap. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Relax – no one saw you."
"Whenever you bring someone with you on a trip –"
"Sure thing, Father." She leans forward across the table as she says it and your cheeks flush red. "It's 1 a.m. on a Wednesday – sorry, Thursday morning – and most of the people here are too blotto to have seen anything."
"Well, you lucked out, then," you tell her, fighting not to pout.
"The fact of the matter is I didn't think you'd come here."
"Really?" you ask through your chewing. "It wasn't that hard of a maze."
"I suppose not," she says absently. Then, with a sweep of her hand, she calls your attention to the half-eaten pizza sitting on the table between the two of you. "Go ahead: take a bite. You know you want to."
"Peace offering?" you ask, already reaching for a slice.
"If you want to think of it that way."
Slowly, reverently, you take your first bite. "Oh, I've missed this."
"Enjoy it while you can," Inez tells you. "The Slice closed down about ten years ago."
"You're kidding!"
"'Fraid so. The owner moved to Miami and the new owners turned it into an artisanal sandwich shop."
"And there it goes," you say, "the opening of the third seal of the Apocalypse."
Inez chuckles, and then the two of you laps into a comfortable silence. You eat, and she watches you with a contented look on her face.
"What sort of game are we playing here, Inez?" you venture, trying to keep your tone conversational.
"'Game,'" she muses. "Yes – we're playing a game here. 'Catch Me if You Can.'"
"Well, I win then – I caught you."
"I'm not the –"
"– Inez you're looking for," you finish for her. "How am I supposed to recognize you – her – when I see her?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "That's part of the game, lover."
The term of endearment takes you by surprise, and you find yourself mid-chew studying the expression on her face. But all you can read there is impish glee.
"You say you've got something to teach me," you tell her. Then you nod at the three slices of pizza left on the platter. "We've got the time. You could just tell me."
"Now where's the fun in that?"
. . . which is exactly what you knew she'd say. This woman may be a stranger to you, but you're getting to know her pretty well. This side of her, at least.
"You're the only one having fun here, Inez," you tell her steadily.
She shrugs. "Your problem, not mine, Father."
"Cut that out."
"I swear, sometimes you can be just like him. It's getting worse as you get older."
You refuse to take the bait on that one. You sit there eating your second slice in silence, eyes locked with Inez's. She just stares back at you with an over-exaggerated look of innocence on her face.
After your third slice, you sigh. You pull a paper napkin out of the metal dispenser sitting against the wall between the salt and pepper and pat the grease off your lips with satisfaction.
"All ready, then?" Inez asks.
"Does it matter?" you ask.
She folds her arms and leans forward conspiratorially. "So – which maze did you like better?"
"The second one, of course."
"Why 'of course?'"
"You said it yourself. A real maze forces you to make choices, and when you hit a dead end you go back and try the other path."
For the first time, Inez's smile disappears. She tilts her head to one side. "That sounds just like the House," she observes.
"I suppose so."
Inez sits back in her seat now, all business. "The trick is to know when you actually have a choice. Let me show you something." She pulls a paper napkin out of the dispenser on the table and a pen out of her pocket. With a few quick strokes, she draws up a tic-tac-toe board:
"I've taken the center square. That leaves you with eight options for your next move."
"Right."
"Wrong," she counters. "The center square is the only one of its kind on the grid. But the remaining 8 squares are actually 4 versions each of the same two options: a square diagonal to the center – Square a – or one next to it – Square b:
"So it isn't really eight options – only two. Now," she says, handing you the pen," make your move."
Put an O in Square a Put an O in Square b