Where's Rachel Amber?

“I bet she’s having a blast down in Hollywood, right now,” said Chloe, staring out the window at the sky. “Just like she always said she would. I’m probably wasting my time.”

“Oh, the posters couldn’t hurt, honey,” said Joyce from across the table. “Maybe she left her contact info with somebody.”

“If she was going to leave it with anybody,” replied Chloe, still staring out the window. “It would have been me.”

8,500 kilometres away, Rachel Amber was staring out a window as well, having coffee with her girlfriend. She’d been talking so enthusiastically that her cappuccino had gotten cold—but ah, you can always buy another coffee. Quality time with your loved ones is priceless.

“God, it must be so annoying, dealing with tourists all day. You know I worked as a waitress back in Arcadia Bay for a while, and the tips were decent, but fuck! What a pain in the ass, right?”

The café was fairly chic, and awfully touristy. It faced out along the Quai Branly, with a view of the Eiffel Tower from so close as to be almost uncomfortable, like having front-row seats at an IMAX theatre. But the hustle and bustle was nothing—barely a distraction!—because Rachel only had eyes for her girlfriend. A bomb could go off and she wouldn’t blink.

“I’m so excited for tonight,” she said, grinning like an idiot. “They don’t understand us, but they don’t have to. All I need is you. I need you. I need you so fucking bad, I can barely take it.”

Tonight, then, thought Max Caulfield, sitting two tables away. She’d been listening closely while pretending to read a book. Great book, by the looks of it, based on the one page she’d been staring at. She should read it for real one of these days. Anyway!—it was only 4 PM, so she had several hours at least. Plenty of time to bore a hole in the space-time fabric of Paris and reunite with her partner before the main event.

That night, two Maxes from different worlds sat snuggled up against each other, hidden in a bush in the gardens around the Eiffel Tower.

“Hey Max,” whispered Maxine. “Nobody can see us. Are you feeling… thirsty?”

“Shut up!” said Max, flushing bright red.

“I’m kinda leaking under my—”

“Ohmygodshutup we’re in public,” hissed Max.

“Public? Hardly! I bet I could take off my—ok stop fooling around Max, she’s here.”

“Look! I!! I wasn’t the one who was—”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Max swallowed her retort (Maxine would only have teased her about it anyway) and settled in to watch the show.

In the centre of the gardens, Rachel Amber was doing a terrible job sneaking up to the base of the Eiffel Tower. It looked like she was trying to tiptoe, but tiptoeing doesn’t do much good when you’re in the middle of a plaza. A late-night tourist gave her a funny look, and she responded with an awkward wave.

She “snuck” the rest of the way up to the tower, then scurried into the mess of struts that made up the southernmost leg. The Maxes pulled out two pairs of binoculars to get a closer look.

“Finally we can be alone, babe,” said Rachel as she pulled herself closer to one of the massive girders and unzipped her jeans. “Oh I want you so bad!” She rubbed herself against the cast-iron and started to moan.

“Chloe was right,” said Max. “Rachel Amber is a lot of fun. Damn.” She chuckled. “I don’t think I could get the Eiffel Tower to buy me dinner, let alone—wow she’s flexible.”

Maxine tore open a bag of popcorn and offered it to her girlfriend. “Lesbians are fucking crazy, Max,” she said, before taking a handful for herself. “Absolutely nuts.”