More Than an Echo (Echo Branson Series) (20 page)

So, there we were, discussing the lack of love in our lives, when someone sent over an expensive bottle of champagne.

“I already waved you off once,” Danica said, annoyed.

“This one is not for you, miss,” he said, turning to me. “It is for you.”

“What? Who?” Men seldom gave me a second glance when Danica was in the room. I was a pale five foot eight brunette whose most outstanding feature was big brown eyes with yellow flakes in them. Of course, most men aren’t into eyes, yellow flakes or not.

I knew it was from a man because women never send champagne. Too pretentious.

“That gentleman at the bar sent it.”

Before I could say anything, Danica wheeled around. “Oh, Clark, he’s a cute one. Toss him over to me.”

“He’s the asshole,” I muttered under my breath as I handed the champagne bottle back to the waiter. “Tell him I’m not interested.”

Danica turned back to me. “
That’s
Carter?”

I nodded as I shooed the waiter away. “Send it back, please.”

I’m sure this waiter had not seen anyone turn down a hundred dollar bottle of champagne. “Send. It. Back.”

To my surprise, Danica plucked the bottle out of the waiter’s hand and poured herself some. “Never let a bottle of good Dom go to waste. Why not accept it and enjoy? Look at this as your last meal.” Danica turned her flute to Carter and tipped it toward him. “Besides, maybe it’s a peace offering.”

“Like an Indian with a tomahawk was a peace offering to the settlers?”

“Oh goodie! Here he comes.” She lowered her voice. “He’s hunky. I love cleft-chinned men. It’s so virile, so—”

“He is a jerk.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

I groaned. “Please don’t do this to me. Not now. Not tonight when I have already suffered humiliation at the hands of that jackass.”

“Do what? You better not be reading me.”

“I don’t have to read you to know when you’re up to no good. I can tell by that look in your—”

“Good evening, ladies.” Carter said ladies, but he was staring into Danica’s face. “Branson.”

“Are you following me?”

Carter turned to me, his eyes sparkling with every flicker of the candle in the middle of our table. “Isn’t that a tad self-absorbed? Believe it or not, Branson, I’m not the least bit interested in either you or your puny little life.” Then, he turned to Danica and grinned like the wolf from
Little Red Riding Hood.
“Unless of course you would like me to be.”

Now I just felt plain foolish.

“Introduce me to your lovely dinner companion, Branson.”

Lovely
? What man ever uses the word lovely? “Carter Ellsworth, the Grand Pooh-Bah of Assholes, this is my best friend, Danica Johnson. There. You’ve met. Now go away.”

He was unmoved and unmoving. “It’s a pleasure.” Carter extended his hand, but Danica merely looked at it in that way many black women have that says
you’re kidding me, right
?  Danica and some of her friends had tried to teach me
the look
, but I had never been able to master the moment. I
had
managed to pick up the five-minute French braid, but other than that I was an utter failure as a black woman.

Retracting his hand, Carter was undaunted. “Don’t believe everything Branson says about me. She’s biased.”

Danica sipped her champagne and gave me
the signal
. The signal was something we invented our first year at Mills when she wanted to be read. We had started it as something fun to do at a party. Guys hit on her a lot. A lot. Lots of guys. All the time. Even weird guys who were out of their league. She has these exotic green eyes and this beautiful caramel-colored complexion that draws men like moths to the proverbial flame. Although I’m pretty sure moths have a better chance against the flame than most men have against Danica. She was brutal where men were concerned. Anyway, to prevent any unnecessary lingerers from hanging on too long, she would signal me with the twitch of her left eyebrow. Then I would read her and either swoop in for the save or find my own way home. With Danica, it was six of one, a half dozen of the other.

She wanted me to read her now because she was obviously feeling one way while acting another. A quick shield lower and I could see she didn’t care for Carter at all. She was just enjoying toying with him and sizing him up. You don’t embarrass the friend of a black woman and expect to walk away unscathed. Black women have this unique ability to knock people off their pedestals like no other. Carter was now dangling from his.

“Mr. Ellsworth.” Danica started in her polished ghetto girl voice. “Echo’s best friend is half black. She belongs to every environmental group on the West Coast, and she volunteers at the shelter. She doesn’t have a biased bone in her body; tad or otherwise, but since I decided for myself that you are worthy of her disdain, it was a decision I made all by herself.”

Carter looked at me. “Are all of your friends this fiery?”

“You have fiery and loyal confused,” Danica retorted. “For a man who makes a living using and abusing words, I’d say you just abused that one. Thank you for the Dom and for allowing me to meet the jerk-off who talks shit about someone as good as Echo behind her back. Now, be off with you. You’re blocking my light.” She made a shooing motion with her hands.

Carter was unfazed. “Talking shit implies I wasn’t telling the truth about her, and I was. It was a funny story. Branson simply didn’t think so.”

“Know what I think?” Danica leaned forward. “I think you are a bully with an undeserved superiority complex. And if I were a man half your size, I would kick your balls so hard they would fly out the top of your head. Now move along before you piss off the ghetto side of this girl.”

Carter laughed. He actually laughed! “That might be interesting to see. You met me and came to this conclusion in what? Thirty seconds?”

“It takes less than two seconds to call a dog a dog.” Danica finished her champagne and handed Carter the flute. “And I’ll tell you this much, Mr. Ellsworth: Echo is going to kick your sorry ass all over the place. You might want to wear protection.”

“Oh, really? Would
you
like to make a friendly wager on that?”

“Friendly wagers are for friends, Mr. Ellsworth, and
we
are most definitely not that.”

“Then how about an unfriendly one?”

Danica cut her eyes over to me. I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. Ghetto girl needed no help from me. “What do you have in mind?”

Carter grinned. “You really think she’s going to find a better story than anything I write? Get real. Or are you living in the same alternate universe as she is?”

“I am and I do.”

“Then make your wager.”

Danica’s aura fairly glowed. “When she smokes you, and she will, I want my company on the front page of the business section on a Sunday.”

“The company you work for?”

“Come out of your cave once in a while, paperboy. The company I
own
. I’ve been trying to get on that cover section of yours forever.”

“What’s the company?”

“Savvy Software.”

Carter looked surprised. “You
own
Savvy Software?”

She didn’t even twitch. “Is it because I’m black or because I’m a woman that surprises you so much?” Danica snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know...it’s because I’m a black woman.”

“I’m not surprised...I just—”

“That’s what
I
want when I win, paperboy. Now, what’s your wager? What do you want if a miracle occurs?”

He chuckled. “A miracle, huh? You have that much faith in the nubile Branson?”

A slight grin formed on her lips. “Absolutely.”

“Enough to risk going on a six-hour date including dinner, dancing and delicious dessert with me?”

“Six hours? That’s not a date. That’s a marriage.”

Shrugging, Carter grinned. “You want the cover, I want six hours to change your mind about me. It’s your call.”

Danica held her hand out and shook his. “It’s a deal.”

Carter took her hand and stepped closer. Like most men who looked into her eyes, Carter was riveted. If it wasn’t so pathetic it might have been enjoyable. Little did he know he was looking into the eyes of a woman who could and would eat him for lunch.

Danica held her hand up and backed him off her. “Don’t underestimate my best friend, paperboy. The last guy who did that...” Danica shrugged as she looked away and pulled her hand from his.

“I will look forward to our date, then.”

Danica gave him a look she usually saved for the ghettos of Oakland. “You’ll be looking a long time. Thanks again for the bubbly. Now, if you don’t mind.”

As Carter turned away, she called him back.  “Yo, paperboy!”

“Yes?”

“And the word is
neophyte
, not nubile. If you’re going to toss out sixty-four-cent words, at least know what the hell they mean.”

Once Carter was gone, Danica leaned back and poured herself more champagne in my glass. “I want that front page, Clark.”

“I know you do.”

“Can you do it?”

I swallowed hard, thinking of the pages and pages of computer printouts back at my place. “In a week? I don’t know. I think so.”

“Excellent. I want you to kick his ass all over the court leaving body parts behind.”

I grinned and tinked her flute with my water glass. “I’m pretty sure you just did.”

After dinner, I pored over every printout the boys had given to me. I was astounded by the depth of the information they had managed to come by in such a short amount of time. I had it all. Now, it was up to me to put it all together and see if I could find a story that would captivate the minds of every San Franciscan.

With paper strewn everywhere, I rose and stretched. Maybe I was going at this the wrong way. Maybe what I needed was an inside angle; someone who could give me a hint or point me in the right direction.

Picking up the phone, I called Sergeant Finn.

“Hello there, Ms. Branson. What can I do for you?”

“Echo. Please call me Echo.”

“Okay, Echo, before you get started with the million and one questions you reporters are so fond of, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s my dinnertime.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I looked at the clock. It was almost eleven thirty. Cops’ hours must suck if they have to eat dinner at midnight. “Would you mind if I met you for dinner? I promise I won’t bother you after that...it’s just...I need a break. I bet Carter Ellsworth I could get a better story than he can. I sort of bet my car and my job on it.”

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Carter Ellsworth, eh? Do you have any idea how much we
hate
that guy’s guts?”

I grinned. “Who doesn’t?”

She chuckled. “Look, I’ll be eating at the Del Mar Cafe in about fifteen minutes. I can’t promise I have any scoop for you, but I’d hate to see you go down without a fight. That guy’s a grade A jerk.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Excellent. See you there.”

Snatching the rest of the catnip out of the paws of my stoner cat, I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs.

Did I mention that Sergeant Marist Finn is really cute?

Eleven minutes later, I walked into the Del Mar and waved to Sergeant Finn who was sitting alone in a booth. She rose as I neared the table, a huge grin on her face as if we were old friends. I had seen her on several of my Police Beat runs and always thought she was remarkably cute in a studly sort of way. She was a rectangle of a woman with broad shoulders, a flat stomach and long legs. Her tight-fitting dark blue uniform shirt looked painted on, and her wavy brown hair begged to be stroked. She was smoking hot. I glanced down in search of a ring, but she wore none.

“Sergeant Finn.”

“If I call you Echo, would you call me Finn? I hate Sergeant from civilians almost as much as I hate my first name. Marist is my mom’s name, my grandmother’s name, my great-grandmother’s name, and—”

“Your daughter’s?” I sat down when she motioned at the booth.

“Oh hell no. I made a promise to myself in high school that I would be the last in a long line of Marists. There are so many great names to choose from, like yours.”

I fished around a little bit more. “And what does your wife think about this?” Okay, so I read her before I sat down. Not that I needed to. Every fiber of her being screamed lesbian. All she was missing was a truck, a dog and a big watch.

“My—” she stopped and smiled softly. “I don’t have one of those. Would you like something to eat? I know it’s late and all...” Her smile was disarming and warmed up the room.

“How’s the pie here?”

“I like that in a woman. Nowadays when you go out to dinner with someone, they order a crouton with a glass of water. They have excellent pie here. I recommend apple.”

I ordered apple pie à la mode before looking over at Finn. She was still grinning. “What?”

“I’m not used to a woman eating like a normal person. Bless you.”