Easily Amused (2 page)

“I have some new photos,” she said, digging through her purse. She pulled out a fat envelope full of prints and dealt them out like playing cards. I took my time and politely gave each one the once over, even though they all looked the same to me. Judging by the multiple images, Brandon had a well-documented babyhood: Brandon happy, Brandon pensive, Brandon clapping, Brandon eating spaghetti, Brandon in the classic holding-a-book-upside-down pose. One picture would have sufficed as far as I was concerned. I could have imagined the different facial expressions on my own. “He’s adorable,” I said, which was true enough. Most toddlers are cute by virtue of being miniature, roly-poly grownups. The things that would make an adult ugly—disproportionate heads, rolls of fat, sparse hair—are appealing on little ones. Go figure.

“I have more,” Piper said, sweeping the photos off the bar and taking out another stack. Before I could say, “That’s OK,” they were arranged before me.

I picked one up to get a closer look. “Hubert was at your house?” Holding Brandon in the picture was our mutual friend from high school, Hubert Holmes. I hadn’t seen him in several months, but here he was grinning goofily with the baby on his lap. I’d tried to get together with Hubert recently, but every time I called or e-mailed he’d brushed me off, saying life was hectic, then promising we’d get together soon. Just last week he’d been too busy to meet for lunch, but he had time to go to Piper’s house and have Brandon smear biter biscuit on his shirt? What was up with that?

“He comes over now and then,” Piper said, scooping up the photos and then plucking the last one out of my hand and stuffing the stack into the envelope. “To see the baby.”

“I guess I’ll have to have a baby if I ever want to see him again.” I knew I sounded grumpy, but what the hell? The three of us had been the best of friends since high school. In our teenage years, Piper had always been the one ditching us. Whenever she was in the beginning stages of a romance, Hubert and I were on our own, but as soon as things cooled off, Piper was back in the fold. Now, for some reason, I was the odd woman out. “You know,” I said, “he hasn’t even seen my house yet, and I’ve been there four months.”

Piper took a sip of wine. I waited, but she didn’t say anything.

“And he said he’d help me move.” He’d called the day before and begged off, citing strep throat as the reason. I said I understood, and I did. I was only irritated in retrospect. “Did he mention me at all when he was over at your house? Ask how I was doing?”

She set down her wine glass and swiveled to face me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not always about you, Lola. Other people have problems too.”

Her words hit me with a wallop. “What are you talking about?”

“Hubert’s going through some tough times with Kelly, and let’s just say you haven’t been real sympathetic in the past.”

Oh, that again. Kelly was Hubert’s on-again, off-again, live-in girlfriend. I’d tried so hard to like her, but my loyalties were to Hubert. Still, I’d put on a good front around her, even going to their housewarming party and pretending to be interested in her stupid paper sculptures. Piper hadn’t come to the party, something about having just given birth, so I was basically on my own. All in all I felt I’d been a supportive friend. “What? Hubert knows I would do anything for him,” I said defensively. “I’m always willing to listen.”

“Listening is one thing,” Piper said. “It’s your little comments that put him off. Even when couples are in a fight, you’re not supposed to badmouth the other one.”

“I don’t badmouth Kelly.”

“He said you told him to ‘dump the bitch.’”

When she phrased it that way, it sounded really bad. “That was more like advice than badmouthing.”

“Uh huh,” Piper said. “Listen, Lola, I don’t like Kelly either, but for some reason Hubert loves her. If you want to keep him as a friend, you’ve got to learn to keep your advice to yourself.”

T
he evening didn’t go as planned. At ten o’clock, right in the middle of a dart game, Piper’s cell phone rang. Even above the din of the bar I could hear Brandon’s cry, an ugly howl, the kind that leads to a red face and snotty nose. “Mike is at his wit’s end,” Piper said, snapping her phone shut and gathering up her keys and purse. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go home. Brandon is going through this thing where he won’t go to bed for anyone but me, and he’s crying himself into hysteria. You understand, right?” She met my eyes, and I nodded. I understood all right. What I understood was that Mike was a complete imbecile. How was it he could manage other people’s vast fortunes but couldn’t put a one-year-old to bed? How hard could it be? He outweighed the kid by a hundred and sixty pounds.

I had Piper drop me off at the end of my block. The night air was still and a little clammy too, the moist air a promise of coming rain. I walked slowly and saw my street as a stranger would—the neat lawns, mature trees, and elegant older homes. Each house was two stories tall and most were brick, but no two were the same. Belinda had the only contemporary house on the block; southwestern in style, it also had the only attached garage. The garage had a flat roof, and in the evenings she often let her dogs exit a bedroom window onto the top. Two of them, a little ankle-nipper she called Baxter, and a larger husky mix whose name eluded me, were up there now. They barked as I walked by, a high-pitched yapping and a deeper howl. As I passed, I heard the window open and Belinda’s voice as she cooed to the dogs, “What’s all the fuss out here? What do you see? What do you see?”

I sped up before she could spot me and yell out greetings. It had happened once before, and I’d found it awkward carrying on a conversation with her disembodied head twenty feet above.

Next to Belinda’s house was a duplex rented out to college students. Out for the night, judging from the dark and silence. The next one, Crazy Myra’s house, was just as still. She was known as an early riser.

The house across the street from Crazy Myra’s belonged to the mystery man. I knew this because Belinda had filled me in on all the neighbors the first time we met. The buzz on King Street was that the mystery man was movie-star handsome, traveled frequently, and lived alone. “He says he’s a consultant,” Belinda said in a tone that conveyed skepticism. “But no one can quite figure out what it is he does, exactly. And get this,” she said, leaning in closer, “he never puts out garbage.”

“Never?” Even
I
found that curious.

“Not once in the two years he’s lived here. Tuesday comes and goes, and there’s never anything at the curb.”

“What does he do with it?”

She shrugged. “Nobody knows. And we’ve been watching, believe me.”

The mystery man’s house was dark. Next door, Brother Jasper’s was too, except for the glow of a cigarette on his front porch. Last smoke before bedtime, by my calculations. When I first moved in I’d watched his house from my front window, trying to figure out the origin of the weird light. Smoking was the only bad habit he had left, he said. I knew he could see me, so I waved a hand in greeting and saw the glow rise in response.

Just ahead, my porch light beamed—
Welcome home, Lola!
Inside, the dining room light shone brightly. I’d never realized how much of the room could be seen from the sidewalk when the drapes were open.

Except.

I stopped, puzzled. I hadn’t left the dining room light on. And I certainly hadn’t left the drapes wide open.

An odd mixture of fear and confusion crept over me as I tried to make sense of the situation. Sure I’d been in a hurry to leave the house after work, but there were certain things I always did no matter what, and they included locking the doors and making sure the blinds were down and the drapes were closed. It was a paranoid routine I carried with me no matter where I lived. I could almost believe I’d left the lights on in error, but I never would have left the drapes open. Never.

Someone had been in my house in the last four hours. I felt my underarms grow damp and reflexively clamped my elbows to my sides. I didn’t move. My feet felt as if they were caught on something sticky. I couldn’t go in the house—what if the intruder was still there? I glanced up and down the street but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Cho’s front lawn was littered with the bikes and skateboards belonging to the grandchildren who lived with her. The ceramic gnomes between the bushes in Crazy Myra’s yard were tacky, but not threatening.

Across the street Brother Jasper’s cigarette still glowed like an ember from the depths of his covered porch. Such a reassuring presence.

I took a deep breath and turned to cross the street. Brother Jasper was the go-to guy around the neighborhood. He’d know what to do. At that moment I thanked God for both Brother Jasper and the addictive property of nicotine.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Lola,” he said as I bounded up the porch steps. “Isn’t this a gorgeous night?” He leaned back in his rocking chair and rested his hand on what looked like a tall spittoon.

“I need help,” I said in response. “There’s something wrong at my house.”

He sat upright and listened while I babbled about the light and the drapes and my compulsive leaving-the-house routine. My voice became more high-pitched as I went along. I stopped to take a breath.

“Sounds to me like we need to call the police,” he said calmly, dropping the cigarette into the spittoon.

The police? “Do you think they’d come?” I asked. “I mean, I don’t have evidence that a crime was committed or anything.” I rested my hand on the porch railing and glanced across the street, suddenly filled with self-doubt. Maybe I
had
left the drapes open. Anything was possible.

“Of course they’ll come, Lola. That’s what they do.”

Ten minutes later a squad car pulled up to the curb. Brother Jasper and I stood on the sidewalk waiting. He was smoking another cigarette (
You don’t mind, do you?
) while I held a can of Dr. Pepper in my right hand. Brother Jasper had given it to me after calling the police on my behalf, but I’d been too rattled to drink from it. Both police officers knew Brother Jasper—I got the impression their quick response had more to do with their regard for him than my situation. The older of the two, Officer Stein, greeted my neighbor like a friend while his partner, the very young, slightly pudgy Officer Dodge, just nodded an acknowledgement. I somehow made my way into the circle of introductions; Brother Jasper held my elbow to steady my shaking.

Officer Stein whipped open a small notebook and jotted down notes: my name, address, the time I’d left for the evening, and when I’d returned. “You live alone?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Who else has a key to your house?”

“No one.”

Brother Jasper cleared his throat, voicing an objection. I turned to look at him. “Actually,” he said, “I have a key. Your aunt gave it to me for emergencies. I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but every time I see you you’re rushing off somewhere.”

A spare key. This was news to me. If it had been anyone else besides Brother Jasper it would have creeped me out completely.

“I’ll make sure to give it to you before the end of the night.” He looked sheepish.

I nodded in response. I didn’t find him the least bit threatening, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to have the locks changed.

I gave the officers my house key. When I started to follow them across the street, the younger one held up his arm like a crossing guard halting traffic and said, “Better stay here, miss, and let us check it out.”

I watched them approach my front door, weapons drawn. I took a swig of Dr. Pepper and shivered, suddenly cold and tired.

Crazy Myra came out of her house and crossed the street to where we stood. “What’s going on over there?” she called out.

Never one to worry about propriety, she wore a housecoat with buttons the size of coasters and a shower cap.

“Evening, Myra,” Brother Jasper said. “Sorry if we disturbed your sleep, but it looks like someone’s over at Lola’s house uninvited.”

Uninvited. That was an understatement.

I kept my gaze across the street as Brother Jasper explained the situation to Crazy Myra. At the exact moment the police officers entered my house, the light in the upstairs bathroom went on.

I gulped. “He’s upstairs,” I said.

“Who’s upstairs?” Brother Jasper asked, interrupting Myra, who was going on about the importance of deadbolts. She herself had several.

I lifted my arm and pointed. “Upstairs. The bathroom light just went on.” I felt a surge of dread, like witnessing a victim in a horror movie opening the wrong door. I stepped forward and stumbled off the curb, my Dr. Pepper sloshing onto the back of my hand. “We should warn them.”

“Wait a minute, Lola.” Brother Jasper pulled me back. “Let them do their job. Trust me, they can handle this.”

“They’re police officers,” Myra said, as if imparting new information. “They’ve been trained.”

I could hear the officers yelling inside my house. The words were muffled, but it sounded like they were warning the intruder. Or maybe ordering him to come out. My forehead throbbed with the onset of a headache. My neck and shoulders tensed as tight as a tug-of-war rope. The bathroom light went off, and then all was silent.

Oh great. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Belinda being pulled down the sidewalk by two of her larger mutts, the husky mix and some big wooly thing. How she’d managed to cross the street without me noticing was a mystery, but here she was.

“I saw the police car,” she said as she approached, the dogs straining to join us as if they too wanted to know what was going on. “I thought you might need some help. What happened?” The wooly dog panted and drooled close to my feet. I took a step back.

“Someone’s in Lola’s house that’s not supposed to be there,” Brother Jasper said. “But I think the police have it covered.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” She patted my arm. “Did someone break in?”

“We don’t know yet,” Crazy Myra said before I could open my mouth. “She just came home and the lights were on and the drapes were open. And she
never
leaves the drapes open, you know that.”

“I could tell someone was inside when I came home,” I said. “I didn’t risk going in.”

“You really should get a dog,” Belinda said. “For safety reasons. And they’re also good company.” She leaned over and rubbed behind the husky’s ears. “Then you wouldn’t have to go out at night at all.”

“That’s a thought,” I said. Both dogs sat suddenly, as if knowing they would be there awhile. I took another sip of the soda and glanced down at my feet. The strappy sandals that had seemed sexy earlier in the evening were now slicing my toes and digging into my heels. I yearned to take them off and sink my feet into my fuzzy slippers. I looked toward my house for signs of new developments, but it was still quiet and I couldn’t see anyone through the windows. “They’ve been in there a long time.”

“It’s only been a few minutes,” Brother Jasper said. “It just feels long when you’re waiting.”

“I’m sure they’re being very thorough,” Belinda said, wrapping the slack from the leashes around her wrist. “The police in our district are top notch. And committed to helping the homeowners keep the neighborhood safe, too. Did you know we have a neighborhood watch committee? We’re always looking for new people to help out, if you’re interested.”

“Hmmm.” Where was the neighborhood watch committee this evening? They could have prevented my break-in, and I could be home in bed by now.

Our lapse in conversation was punctuated by the slamming of my screen door. Officer Stein came down the steps and called out, “Miss Watson?” He motioned for me, his fingertips scooping toward his chin. “Could you come here please?”

I crossed the street with Brother Jasper at my side. I was aware that Myra, Belinda, and the two dogs followed, but for once I didn’t feel like swatting them away.

“He says he knows you,” Officer Stein said as we joined him on the sidewalk. “He says he’s a friend of yours.”

The screen door creaked open, and I looked up to see Officer Dodge pushing a tall, familiar-looking man through the doorframe.

“Hubert?”

He stood barefoot on my porch wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt; the younger policeman gripped his arm to prevent escape. He blinked a few times, looking like he’d just walked out of a dark movie theatre into daylight.

“Please tell them we’re friends, Lola. They wouldn’t believe me.”

“You know him?” Officer Stein asked.

“Yes.” My brain was having trouble with the idea of Hubert and my house occupying the same space. After my talk with Piper, I’d assumed he never wanted to see me again. Seeing him on my porch without shoes was as startling as bumping into your minister in the red-light district in Amsterdam.

“Hubert, what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t think you’d mind. You said to stop over anytime,” he said.

“Yes, but I assumed you’d call first.” OK, my voice was kind of pissy, but jeez—I hadn’t seen the guy for months and suddenly he’s inside my house? “And how’d you get in, anyway? I had the door locked.”