She did it again. Just as the main courses were arriving Celeste abruptly excused herself and buggered off. She always manages to have a good excuse, and because I dig her so much, I buy it and ask her out again.

Celeste’s disappearances are always the same. We’re out and about, having a great time, and then bam, she get’s this strange look on her face. ‘Is everything alright?’ I ask. And then the excuse: ‘Oh, I just remembered that my sister’s husband’s sister is coming to stay with me and I forgot to leave the key under the flower pot. I’ll just dash off and be back in a tick.’

I’m left thinking, ‘Really? Your sister’s husband’s sister. That’s the best you can do?’ And then, a mere tick later, Celeste is back and guess who’s with her? Her sister’s husband’s sister, Maria. It seems that no matter how far fetched the excuse, she manages to have proof.

We’ve been going out for six months now and when our time is uninterrupted, it’s wonderful. We take long walks under the stars talking about her work as a life coach and my latest case. We cook meals together at my house, and my dog Max loves her. Maybe I do too. But I know she’s keeping some sort of secret. I’m actually starting to wonder if she’s Diva Girl.

Tonight her excuse was she thinks she left the oven on. Original, right? While I was on my second bite of steak, she returned with a sweet potato pie and was wearing lashes that caused a wind storm when she blinked. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing those before.

‘I did turn off the oven, but forgot to take the pie out. Thankfully, it turned out perfect,’ Celeste said as she put the pie on the table and sat down. ‘When did you have time to put those lashes on?’ I asked. Clearly spooking her, because she reflexively reached up to touch her right lash and then jumped up, knocking over her chair, and headed for the loo. Before I could get up, the waiter was sorting out the chair and looking sideways at the pie.

Diva Girl is known for those ginormous lashes and for blinging up the dullest of affairs. Celeste, however, is, well, a bit plain. A minimalist. She doesn’t wear much makeup and always looks elegant and well put together, but never flashy. Diva Girl on the other hand is totally outrageous with long, purple hair, at least 10 earrings in each ear, gold chains that would be the envy of Mr. T, claw-like fingernails, wearing a skin-tight, leopard print cat suit highlighting every curve, with thigh high stiletto boots and a diamanté encrusted cape. She is fabulous.

The eyelashes wasn’t the first giveaway, so after each date I started looking for news stories involving Diva Girl, and it just so happened that more often than not somewhere near us was some social event that was going down in flames until Diva Girl showed up and brought the bling. It’s as though Diva Girl can sense within a 50-mile radius when a wedding, anniversary party or bat mitzvah is losing steam, and boom, she’s there turning the event into the talk of the town. That’s her superpower. Bringing the bling!

Even with her constant disappearing acts, Celeste and I are somehow forging a relationship. We’re getting closer and I’m pretty sure she’s falling for me. If we’re going to have a chance at something real, we must know everything about it each other. That settles it. When she gets back, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.

Here she comes. I can do this.

I jump up to pull the chair out for her and as she’s sitting down she says, ‘David, we need to talk.’

That’s never good. I take a sip of water to hid the awkwardness I’m feeling.

‘We can’t go on like this.’ Celeste continues. ‘Well, I can’t anyway. I really like you. I might even love you, which is why I must tell you the truth.’

I take her hand in mine, smiling like the cheshire cat because I am sure I’ve already figured out her little secret. ‘You’re Diva Girl, aren’t you?’ I say, feeling pretty pleased with my self. Celeste laughs so hard snot shoots from her nose. Grabbing a napkin she says, ‘No, I’m not Diva Girl!’ I’m Lady Bourgeois, her nemesis.’