Naughty Or Nice Part 5

It was bedtime for this Bonzo, so I used the remote to turn everything off, put one fluffy pillow under my head, another between my legs, pulled the covers up to my neck, and welcomed the Sandman.

In my dream I saw Momma. We were in our old house in Inglewood.

She sat on the edge of her bed, called me over to her, "Frankie."

"Yeah, Momma."

"Come here. Feel this."

"Momma . . . you have a lump in your breast. It's hard."

"It doesn't hurt."

"Your skin . . . these veins . . . How long have you had this?"

The skin on her breast and underarm looked swollen. Veins were prominent on one breast. Her nipple looked funny, almost inverted. And she had a rash.

Her voice trembled, sounded like I'd never heard her sound before. Momma was afraid.

She said, "I've been having some discharge."

The phone rang and woke me up, took Momma away. I was crying when I answered.

My blurry eyes looked at the caller ID. I cleared my throat, answered, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Frankie?"

"Yeah."

"It's Nick."

"I know."

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DISSONANCE.

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Livvy.

San Diego was less than a two-hour drive from my life in Los Angeles. The same for him. If things didn't work out for either of us, or if there was simply a change of heart, if I didn't like the way he looked, or if for whatever reason he didn't like my hair, or if I wasn't thin enough for his taste, we agreed to be honest and go our separate ways, as if we never met.

My cellular rang. It wasn't the man I was planning to meet. Frankie's number was on my caller ID. She'd called at least ten times and wasn't going to stop until I answered.

I answered, "Hey."

"Don't make me put your picture on the side of a milk carton."

"Where are you?"

The first voice was Frankie. The second was Tommie. They had me on a three-way.

I adjusted the bags in my hand, said, "At Fashion Valley Mall. Stress shopping."

I loved them, but hearing them did nothing for me right now.

Tommie asked, "How many pairs of shoes you buy?"

"Who said I bought shoes?"

Frankie tisked. "Oh, please."

Via Spiga. Pliner. Pelle Moda. I had done some serious damage to my charge card, all in the name of therapy. My bookends knew me better than I knew myself. Still, I denied every single pair of shoes I had in these bags, and the three pair I had already taken to the truck.

They let me know that Tony had been calling all over looking for me. He had been home, my husband had seen the pictures. After I'd left Ladera, I'd gone by Frankie's place.

I said, "Frankie, you really should close your livingroom windows at night."

"What are you talking about?"

Last night I was going to stay with her. I'd called and there was no answer. As I was heading down her walkway, the sweet sounds of a McBroom woman living in pleasure, on the edge of ecstasy, came to me. And unless Sharper Image made talking vibrators, I heard Frankie's lover too, their pa.s.sion slipping out into the night.

I said, "You sounded like a d.a.m.n cat with its tail caught in the door."

Frankie cursed me for busting her out like that.

Tommie laughed. "Frankie, you know your b.u.t.t be woo woo wooing."

I said, "She didn't make it to the bedroom, Tommie. She was in the living room with the d.a.m.n windows open."

"Whatever," Frankie snapped. "All you had to do was knock, Livvy."

"And your friend would've thought he was getting a two-for-one."

"h.e.l.l, I could've used some help."

I asked, "Who was over there riding you like the Lone Ranger?"

Frankie wouldn't reveal the ident.i.ty of her o.r.g.a.s.m donor.

Tommie asked, "Was it the fugly man?"

Frankie cursed Tommie out, then Tommie tried to tell me about Frankie's blind date, about her running into some guy she used to be crazy about. The phone wasn't even up to my ear, all of their words going out into the wind. I wasn't up for this kind of conversation.

I looked at my watch, then lied to them, "Gotta go. Teaching a cla.s.s."

Frankie said, "Kind of late in the day to have a cla.s.s."

"Look, I'm working so . . . guess I'll call you back when I get some free time."

Frankie asked, "What do you want me to tell Tony if he calls again?"

"Tell him it's not your problem. That's goes for you too, Tommie."

Tommie responded, "Okay, okay."

"Tell Tony it's not your problem."

"I understood it the first time."

I let them go, took a few deep breaths, then headed outside.

I stopped underneath the sign for the JCPenney package pickup, a few feet away from the Salvation Army people who were ringing bells at every entrance. My eyes went to the sky. Darkness was sitting on the city. I looked at my watch and waited a few more minutes. I was dressed in all black, a dozen bags at my feet. First a Mexican lady pa.s.sed by, her child in a stroller. Then a man pa.s.sed by with his child on his shoulders. This time last year I had baby fever so bad, it was ridiculous. I knew it was my time. They were all over the mall. Some of them were pretty cute. p.i.s.ses me off to think I was sitting up with Tony, having that "let's get pregnant" conversation and he already had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d on the way.

A black Nissan pulled up and slowed down. He waved. I waved back. It was him. Had to be. Not many black people were down this way.

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail, like I had told him.

He said, "Bird?"

I smiled. "Carpe?"

He laughed. "Let me park."

"Okay."

I rocked from foot to foot, bounced my Gap and Banana Republic bags against my leg. He vanished down at the end of the lot, near the golf course. Right after he disappeared, a red Miata slowed down by me, another shopper looking for parking. The back window had been torn, maybe slashed, then repaired with duct tape. Convertibles always made me smile and imagine riding down the coast, music up, and my hair dancing in the breeze. When you wanted something, you saw it everywhere. Dream homes. Good relationships.

My dream car sped down the aisle, mixed with the rest of the people looking for parking.

Minutes went by.

When I thought Carpe might've had a change of heart and driven away, he appeared between the cars at the end of the lot, hurrying my way.

He said, "Parking sucks."

"I know."

Like we had agreed, he was dressed in blacks too. He was tall, around six-four, his hair short with a goatee, and he had told me that he weighed around 185.

One look at him and I doubt if he had ten percent fat on his body.

I shook his hand. Our first touch. Our first time hearing each other's voices. My first time smelling the sweet patchouli on his skin. His first time smelling the soft perfume on mine.

He said, "Getting your Christmas shopping done?"

I held onto my smile. "Got a couple of presents . . . for my sisters."

"Wow. Talk about shoes."

"My fetish."

"I see. You must've shut down the mall."

"I know, I know. Women and shopping. Strange thing about Christmas shopping is that, well, call me selfish, but somehow I always end up buying more stuff for me than for other people."

He chuckled. "Must be crowded in there."

"Kinda weird. Lot of cars, but n.o.body's really lining up for the cash register."

"It's like that all over."

"Yep. Economy is really bad. People are losing jobs and holding onto their chips."

He nodded. "How was your drive?"

In Southern Cali, when people felt awkward and didn't know what to talk about, they always talked about two things: traffic and weather.

"Easy," I said. "Came down the 405 then took the toll road to the 5."

"I've never taken the toll road."

"Three bucks saves you thirty minutes."

He motioned at the bags sitting at my feet. "How long have you been here?"

"Came down late last night. Needed to get away from L.A."

"I feel you."

There were things we could do to get comfortable, places we could walk and talk: Seaport Village, Fashion Valley Mall, or take the 5 across the border and hang out in Tijuana.

He said, "Hungry?"

"People on a diet are always hungry."

"What do you want?"