Home Free (35 page)

“Well, he has to go for all those manicures
and massages and shopping expeditions. That’s awfully time
consuming,” Avie reminded me.

“Right. And he has to look at internet porn
and whack off, too, and the poor guy’s gotta eat, so I guess his
days are actually pretty full. But since his lawyer’s on retainer,
he can make that poor schmuck work on the pre-nup problem
twenty-four/seven if he wants to. Eventually, even a retarded
monkey with a typewriter can write a play, or something.”
“His lawyer’s a retarded monkey?”

“He’ll probably make a big production of
presenting me with divorce papers and a whopping two dollar
settlement and call it a birthday present.” I had an ugly thought.
“He’s not coming to my party, is he?”

“You know about the party?”

Crap, I’d forgotten it was a ‘surprise.’ “No,
not really. I just guessed. There’s a party?”

“Jesus, you’re the worst liar in the
universe. Of course he’s not coming to your party.”

“Great. He can spring his surprise on me in
private. Now, are we done with the putting-me-out-of-my-misery
talk?”

Avie shrugged, plucking onions off her pizza.
“Fine. But I told you you should’ve left him after the car lady,”
she said, referring to the BMW leasing agent I found naked under
Dickhead’s desk a week after we got home from our honeymoon.

“Yes, I seem to recall you mentioning that.”
Hard to forget, considering she brought it up on a weekly basis. If
she inadvertently missed a week, my mom eagerly took up the
slack.

“Or after the grieving widows’ ‘support
group’ meeting, or definitely after the neighbor, her poodle and
your stilettos.”

After the car lady, I rationalized that
everyone was entitled to one mistake. Dickhead was contrite, and I
accepted his apology and the charming house he bought me as a token
of his love and sincerity. But there’s no rationalizing away a
Poodle Incident. I tried to kick him out, but it turned out the
bastard had only put half the house in my name. So much for his
sincerity. Since neither of us could evict the other, I banished
him to the guestroom, burned the stilettos and called a lawyer. I
didn’t give a damn about his stupid money; I just wanted to be rid
of him. The sooner, the better.

“There’s no point in rehashing this yet
again,” I moaned.

Avie munched on crust, looking thoughtful,
and switched to a new strategy. “Des, I know a divorce was too much
to deal with when Dad had the stroke. I’m not criticizing you for
not filing while he was so sick.” It was a kinder, gentler
strategy, probably in honor of my birthday, but still I had the
distinct impression I was about to be criticized. Again. “But he’s
been gone for over two years. Not divorcing Dickhead won’t bring
Dad back.”

“Duh.”

The kinder, gentler strategy was abandoned.
“Goddammit, Thor, you’re thirty. Plenty young enough to find a guy
and have a nice life together. Or find a guy and wantonly use him
for sex. Or a girl, you know, whatever floats your boat. Or live
alone with a dozen cats. But you’re not getting any younger, and
you’re wasting time with a guy you can’t stand because you’re so
friggin’ stubborn. Pretty soon, you’ll be forty. Then fifty. How
much of your life are you going to give him?”

“He cheated on me, he humiliated me, and I
was willing to file and not take a dime. But he didn’t even have
the decency to stop his fooling around while Dad was dying, and
when I found him in the bathtub with the twins after the funeral --
”

“Jesus, I know all that. And I don’t blame
you for wanting to get even with him. But not this way. You don’t
care about the money, and this is hurting you at least as much as
it’s hurting him. More, probably, since you’re actually human.”

I sighed. “I know you’re worried about me,
Avie, but don’t be. I’m fine.” I really was. Avie was right about
me wanting to get even with Dickhead for all the lousy things he’d
done, but that was only part of the reason I hadn’t divorced him.
The part I was too embarrassed to admit to her was that I had
simply gotten comfortable with the routine of it all. I loved my
house and my garden and I really couldn’t imagine living anyplace
else. Besides, most of my time was taken up with my job, Avie, my
friends. Maybe my life wasn’t exciting, but I liked most of it most
of the time, and it wasn’t that hard to ignore the rest. Anyway,
it’s not like my life had ever been all that exciting.

I guess you could say I was in a rut.

Unfortunately, between Dickhead’s
stubbornness and greed and my stubbornness and complacence, two
years, eight months and six days had passed since the Poodle
Incident, and here we were.

Not that I was counting.

“You’re hopeless,” Avie muttered over her
peach gelato.

“I have to pee,” I countered, and made my way
to the ladies’ room. I double-checked the mirror after washing my
hands, concluding that Jake had been generous in his estimation of
my age. A manicure wasn’t going to cut it. The black circles
demanded a facial at the least.

“I know you’re probably right,” Avie said,
apropos of nothing, when I returned to the table, “but I’ll feel
better if you take this.” She shoved her napkin across the table
towards me. It covered something hard and lumpy.

I peeked underneath and screamed a girlie
scream. “Eeeek!”

“Sssshhhh!” Avie snapped, darting her eyes
from side to side surreptitiously. “I cannot believe you just said
eeeek. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with me? What the
hell is wrong with you? You’re passing me a cannon in the middle of
Sal’s.” I peeked under the napkin again. “Since when do you have a
gun?” It was actually a little gun, not a big macho gun, certainly
not a cannon. But it was still a friggin’ gun.

“Since forever. I try not to advertise it,
considering it’s a teensy bit illegal to carry it in my purse.”

“Really? Where are you supposed to carry it?”
I asked.

She shrugged. “I guess in a holster on my
hip.” I squinted, doubtful, as she went on. “But that seems a bit
aggressive. And it really ruins the look of my outfits.” I nodded.
Avie had a thing for Ann Taylor. I couldn’t remember the last time
I went shopping at Ann Taylor and thought, “Hey, that dress would
go great with a hip-holster.”

“Okay, let’s start over,” I said slowly,
shoving the lumpy napkin back to Avie. “Why do you have a gun? And
do you find it comes in handy in your line of work?” Avie teaches
ballet to seven year olds. I bet her class does the best darn plies
in the entire dance academy.

“Funny. Charles was worried about me coming
home alone at night when he was on the road, so he got it for me. I
have a permit for it, and I learned to shoot it and everything.”
She gave me an earnest look. “Listen, Oprah had this show on once,
about husbands who kill their wives. Lots of them had been married
way longer than you, with no history of violence or anything. They
just went along, quietly miserable, until the guy snapped. And then
it was too late.” Avie shoved the lumpy napkin back to me. “You
should take it, at least till we’re positive Dickhead isn’t
planning to OJ you.”

I cringed. “I don’t want it, I don’t need it,
I don’t even know how to use it. I’d probably shoot my foot
off.”

“Don’t point it at your foot,” she said
reasonably, “or at any other part of your body. Don’t point it at
anybody else’s body parts, either, unless you plan to shoot them.
If you do want to shoot somebody’s body parts, aim and squeeze the
trigger. That’s it.”

“Avie -- ”

“Take it, and I’ll shut up.”

“Aim and squeeze the trigger?”

“That’s it.”

Okie-dokie, then.

We’d made it as far as the convention center
when the sky cracked open, pelting us with big fat droplets that
were soon replaced by driving sheets of rain. Since it simply
doesn’t rain in southern California in October, neither of us had
an umbrella and we were soaked in under ten seconds. The office was
still two blocks away, so we ducked into the convention center to
wait out the cloudburst. The outside of the arena is covered with
the world’s largest mural, Planet Ocean, by the famous marine
artist Wyland. Inside, however, it’s a plain old convention center.
Crowded, smelly and damp. And for some reason, filled to the gills
with cops.

And me with an illegal weapon in my purse.
Swell.

I turned to leave. Avie stopped me. “Just
wait’ll it lets up. We can be late to the party. You’re the guest
of honor, for pete’s sake.”

“I don’t care about the damn party,” I
hissed, and she looked hurt, so I apologized and went on. “I’m
worried about every cop in California milling around while I’m
carrying a gun I don’t have a permit for and don’t have a clue how
to use.”

“I told you, aim and squeeze the
trigger.”

“Don’t tempt me, Av,” I snarled.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Thor, stop being
such a baby. We’re standing in the lobby of a convention center,
not trying to board a plane. I don’t think a cavity search is in
your future.” Avie paused and looked past me for a second, then
looked back at me with a huge grin. “But if you play your cards
right...”

“Excuse me?

“There’s a gorgeous guy over by the
registration table checking you out.”

“Right.” I rolled my eyes and looked down at
myself. Soaked cargo pants with too many pockets, a soaked white
V-neck tee from Old Navy and a soaked pale blue cardigan I’d had
since the turn of the millennium. Not exactly a come-hither outfit.
Plus, I’m a little too tall and a little too gangly. With the
exception of my husband, whose standards consisted solely of
conscious, gorgeous guys were not in the habit of checking me out.
I wouldn’t say I’m ugly, but compared to my five-foot, two-inch
perfectly proportioned swan of a sister, I’m a giant five-foot,
ten-inch duck. Still, hope springs eternal I guess, and I ran my
tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn’t have any pizza remnants
lurking anywhere, then popped a breath mint just for good
measure.

“Here he comes,” Avie whispered. “Give me
your ring.” I grimaced, thinking how tacky that seemed, but I
yanked it off and she slipped it on, suddenly “remembering” an
urgent call she had to make. She punched a number into her cell
phone and turned to look out at the rain.

I spun around to see who merited all this
excitement, and I smashed right into a broad, hard-muscled chest. I
bounced backwards, lost my balance, dropped my bag and watched as
the contents spilled out – in slow motion, naturally – and came to
rest at Officer Biceps’ feet. I stood staring open-mouthed at the
mess, wondering how on earth I was going to scoop up seven tampons
with any shred of dignity. Jake seemed a little more interested in
the gun than in my feminine hygiene products.

“Must be Destiny,” Jake said with a lazy,
sexy smile that lit up those cool gray eyes, and I swear, my knees
went weak. Didn’t matter that I’d heard that stupid line a thousand
times before. I told myself the knee wobble had as much to do with
the fear of imminent incarceration as it did animal lust.

Yeah, right.

I muttered a string of random syllables and
bent to retrieve my belongings. Avie had sidled off, keeping an eye
on the proceedings but leaving me to fend for myself in the
carrying-a-concealed-weapon department. I never did understand why
my parents insisted on having her. I got my wallet and pens and
tampons and breath mints back into the purse and was studiously
ignoring the gun. Jake had squatted down next to me and seemed to
be enjoying my embarrassment.

“Good birthday so far?”

Oh, sure. Extreme Makeover wouldn’t be able
to get rid of the circles under my eyes. I’m drenched all the way
down to my underwear. I’m going to go to jail for an illegal
weapons violation, and I’ll probably be Big Bertha’s bitch by
morning. Doesn’t get much better than that.

“Swell. You?”

“Yeah, cop conventions are a real blast.
Thank god it’s finally over.” He glanced at his watch. “I am
officially on vacation for the next eighty-six hours. You work here
at the convention center?” he asked, brushing a damp curl off my
forehead and sending a tremor down my spine and through my belly.
Holy crap.

I angled my head in the direction of the
office and tried not to hyperventilate. “Couple blocks down. Just
stopped to get out of the downpour.”

Jake followed my gaze, absently picking up
the gun. “Guess you were right about the rain. Doesn’t look like
it’s going to stop any time soon, either.” He emptied all the
bullets out – I’m not sure how he did that – then he pocketed the
ammo and slipped the gun back into my purse with a wry smile. Then
he zipped the purse closed. Dammit! Why hadn’t I thought of
that?

“You can’t be sure with these freak storms.
It’ll probably let up any minute.”

“Nah,” he said, giving me a horny grin and a
bedroom voice. “It could easily last all night.”

I groaned. “That’s the lamest line I’ve heard
all day.”

“What?” He made a who, me? face, and I rolled
my eyes. “I was talking about the storm. You big-city girls
evidently have dirty minds. Either that, or you really want
me.”

“Wow, you’re onto me. Actually, I’ve been
stalking you all day, waiting for the perfect moment to make my
move.”

“Yeah, I have that effect on women.” He
smirked. “Most of them don’t hurl loaded weapons or personal
products at me, though. That was original. And very smooth.”

Darn. I was hoping he hadn’t noticed the
tampons.

“Hi, I’m Avie, Destiny’s sister,” Avie said
then, extending her hand, and I got ready to feel invisible. It’s
not her fault. Besides having the petite dancer body, she has
exotic green eyes and wavy auburn tresses. I have the damn black
circles and rain-induced frizz.