I've got to make a phone call.

Fortunately, my next-door neighbor Bob had an emergency key to my apartment. He'd also met my mother when she was visiting me a few months ago, which would help a lot, I thought. And, perhaps most importantly, I remembered his phone number.

All I had to do was look around for a piece of mail -- which I found pretty easily, in the form of a recent People magazine sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. I grinned in spite of myself as I looked at the printed address on the cover and saw Jessica Alba's name rendered as the unceremoniously computer-printed "MS J ALBA." Also next to the bed was a cordless phone in a charging base; I picked it up and muttered, "Please be home," as I dialed Bob's number.

Ring...ring...ring...

"Hello?"

Thank God. "Hi, is this Bob...Mason? This is Jane Bauman. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Chris's mother."

"Oh, yes, of course," he said. "I almost didn't pick up -- I didn't recognize the name or the number on my caller ID."

The name? Was Jessica Alba the one celebrity who didn't block her caller ID? Shit, better think fast. "Uh, I'm at my sister Jessica's in California." My mother didn't really have a sister, but I didn't think Bob knew that.

"Guess that explains it," he said, and I exhaled. Guess he bought it. "You know, your voice sounds a little weird -- is everything okay?"

Damn it, just shut up and let me talk. "I'm fine. Maybe this is a bad connection. You sound a little weird, too," I lied.

"Okay. What can I do for you?" he asked.

I explained, "This is going to sound a little strange, but Chris is out of town, and I know you have a key to his place. He's got something that he forgot to send to me before he left, so I was wondering if you could FedEx it to me so I get it tomorrow. I'll reimburse you, of course."

He chuckled. "Nah, it's more fun if I get the money from Chris. Sure, no problem. Just tell me what it is and where to send it."

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver," I said. I almost added "literally," but kept that to myself. "Uh, you might not believe this, but it looks a lot like a genie bottle, from 'I Dream of Jeannie.'"

"Really?" chortled Bob.

I rolled my eyes, wishing he would stop interrupting. "Yeah, it's a long story. Knowing my son, it's probably on the floor somewhere -- try his bedroom first, I think. And if you could send it so it gets here as early as possible tomorrow -- you got something to write with?"

"Sure do," he said.

"You'd better address it to my sister," I said, and read the address off the magazine: "Jessica Alba, 2190 Sherman Canyon Drive, Los Angeles, California, 90028."

"Jessica Alba? Really?"

I rolled my eyes again. "It's her married name. Yeah, we laugh about it. So you got the address? You'll go get the genie bottle right away?"

"I'm putting on my shoes right now to go over there," he said.

"Thank you so much," I said.

"No problem," he said. "You'll have it tomorrow morning."

"Okay, thanks again. Bye."

"Bye," he said. Click. I put the phone back in its charger and sat on the edge of the bed where I could see myself in the mirror once again. I was still Jessica Alba and wouldn't be able to change that for about 24 hours -- but, I thought, there are probably a lot worse things that could happen than to be stuck as Jessica Alba for a day.