Read A Dangerous Dress for Free Online

something, or pretending to, and he didn’t look up. I knew from experience that if I waited for him to look up, I could be standing there a very long time.
    “I’m taking a vacation,” I said.
    “No you’re not,” he said. He still didn’t look up.
    “Yes I am,” I said. “I have been working here almost three years, and the most I’ve taken off in a row is three days when cousin Mikey got married in Bloomington.”
    “You took off four days in January.”
    “I had the flu,” I said. Boy, was I sick. I should have gotten a flu shot. This year I am definitely getting a flu shot.
    “When are you going?” he asked. Still not looking up.
    “Tonight,” I said.
    Uncle John looked up at that. “No you’re not.”
    “Yes I am. I have a plane ticket.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since five minutes from now. They’re e-mailing me the ticket.” Uncle John tolerates the computer as a necessary evil. I hoped that things like e-tickets would intimidate him.
    “You can’t go,” he said.
    “Sure I can,” I said. Now this probably sounds very bold on my part, especially considering that Uncle John can be a pretty tough guy. But he is also my uncle, and one of the relatively few advantages to working for a family member who you’ve known forever is that you have a pretty good sense of where you can push them and where you can’t. Besides, it was a really slow time, and I knew that and he knew that. “Plus I’ll just be gone a couple of days,” I said. Which was completely true when I said it, because that was what I believed at the time.
    Reluctantly, Uncle John said okay. Woohoo!
    I went back to my desk. An e-mail came in from Elliot, with the script as an attachment. I printed it out. Here is what the cover page said:
     
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEATING ERNEST
    an original screenplay
     
The bottom of the page said Copyright J. Thomas, and there was an address on King Street in New York, NY.
    I was about to start reading, when another e-mail came in. I opened it, and woohoo turned into ohmygod. I immediately called Elliot Schiffter. “There’s a problem,” I said.
    “Didn’t you get the e-mail?” he asked.
    “Yes, I got the e-mail,” I said.
    “You don’t like the seat? You’re in First Class. You want a window instead of an aisle?”
    “The seat is fine,” I said.
    “Then what’s the problem?”
    “You’re sending me to Paris,” I said.
    “And?”
    “Paris, France, ” I said.
    “I already told you that,” Elliot said. “That’s where they’re making the movie. So?”
    “So I just realized: I don’t have a passport.”
    There was a prolonged silence. So long, I thought we might have been cut off. Finally Elliot said, “Sure you do. Everybody has a passport.”
    “I don’t. I live in Kirland, Indiana. I’m twenty-five. I never needed a passport.”
    “I’ll call you right back,” Elliot said. Then he hung up on me.
    Thirty seconds later, the phone rang again. Forty-five seconds, max.
    “We’re putting you on a later flight,” Elliot said. “Go home. Pack. Be ready to leave in half an hour. A car will take you to the passport office in Chicago. They will process your passport on an emergency expedited basis. Then the car will take you to O’Hare Airport. Your flight will leave at . . .” I could just picture some little assistant whispering information into his ear—“six-oh-five,” he said. “Any questions?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Then why are you still talking to me?” Elliot asked. Before I could answer, he hung up again.
    Two thoughts immediately collided in my head. The first was, I am going to Paris. I. Am. Going. To Paris. Paris, France. Which was amazing. Incredible. Unbelievable.
    The second thought was, I have to leave in twenty-nine minutes. Which was impossible.
    I am not speaking figuratively. I am not the very fastest person in the world when it comes to picking clothes. And, as you probably know, picking clothes is a fairly important part of packing a