Naughtier than Nice (19 page)

From the front seat of the town car my chauffeur asked, “You okay back there, Miss McBroom?”

I snapped out of my trance, said, “Please, call me Frankie.”

“I prefer to call you Miss McBroom.”

“I'm as fine as I'm going to be until this is resolved with Franklin Carruthers.”

The desert air was crisp, the air conditioner was set at seventy-two degrees, but my palms sweated. As I was driven away from View Park, I evaluated myself. Should've worn a coat, but I didn't have on any heavy clothing, just a pair of skinny jeans, an LA Marathon T, a thin hoodie, and trainers.

I didn't want to put on makeup or dress up and give him the wrong impression. A woman wears a dress, short or long, and a man thinks he's going to be able to raise it up and pull her panties to the side.

This was a reunion, but there would be no uniting.

I held my small purse close to me. I was discontent, had been stalked and demoralized for too damn long. I had contacted a car service used by the movie stars, made what was known as a Dark Call.

That Dark Call connected me to a man known simply as Driver.

Soon Driver eased into the center lane, then turned left from Jefferson Boulevard onto Hetzler and cruised up the snaking hill to Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook. The park was closed, but the heavy metal barrier that swung across and stopped traffic from going up
to the top after-hours had been left open. We passed by a handful of homes situated halfway up the four-hundred-foot hill, all of those cribs on the left. Nothing but darkness was in front of us for the rest of the climb. The night was unsettling. In the distance was a view toward Santa Monica and the lights and traffic on streets and freeways.

I asked, “What would you do, Driver? In this situation? But you're a guy. It's different for men.”

“I'm six foot two, two hundred pounds, dark as an open road; people say that I have about as much fat on my body as a sea otter, so not many cross me, and those who have crossed me once have never crossed me twice. I'm paid to be nice and act accordingly. At times I'm paid to be mean. But crazy is crazy, and despite my build and size, once upon a time, a long time ago, I did have a situation like this.”

“You had a stalker?”

“Let's focus on you, Miss McBroom. Headlights are coming our way. It's showtime.”

My cellular rang and I jumped. It was Livvy calling. My headache magnified.

Driver said, “Ignore that call. Focus on the moment.”

“Call ignored. I'm focused.”

“Does your enemy have a gun, a rifle, any type of weapon you know about?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Why are you carrying a gun if there isn't that level of concern?”

“How did you know I have a gun?”

“You're angry and the way you keep touching your purse tells me that something extra is inside. Miss McBroom, don't play me. A breach in trust will create a breach in confidentiality.”

“I want to protect myself. I want to scare that fucker the way he has scared me.”

“Ever shot a man? Even when it felt justified, have you ever pulled the trigger and killed a man?”

“Have you?”

“Certain questions only go in one direction, Miss McBroom. Have you ever shot or killed someone?”

“No. I have never shot anybody.”

“If you think he has a weapon, we leave. You're afraid, and that's fine. If you are afraid and have that gun, you will make a major mistake. If we go to the next phase, you leave your gun on the backseat.”

“Fine. I'll hand it to you.”

“No you won't. My fingerprints will not be on your weapon, no matter what happens. If a weapon is involved and he gets shot, this meeting will look like a setup. You think the police will see it your way, but you're not a white woman in America, and dying your hair Marilyn Monroe blond wouldn't help.”

“
He's
the one stalking me.
He's
the villain. I'm not going to run from him.”

“I'm taking the kerchief from my suit pocket, so hand me the clip, drop it in the kerchief. I will lock your things in the glove box. If the police happen to pull up behind us, there is no law against a black woman having a registered and unloaded .380, and it could be from when she had contemplated going to the gun range on Florence earlier in the day.”

“Take it. That's the clip. Franklin is getting out of his car.”

“Drop your gun in the slot behind my seat, business end pointing down.”

“Business end?”

“The part of a weapon that does the damage. The barrel of the gun, point that toward the ground.”

“Okay. Business end is down. Dagnamit. My phone is ringing again. One of my sisters is probably—”

“That's me calling you. I want you to recognize the number I'm using. I'm going to ring your phone when time is up. Hate to do
this, because this triangulates you by the cell towers, meaning you can be placed here. So let's hope it goes smoothly.”

“You can be placed here too, Driver.”

“My phone is a throwaway, untraceable. As far as I'm concerned, I'm on the other side of town, listening to the blues and sipping on Jack and Coke.”

“Understood. Wish you had let me keep my gun and given me a throwaway. All I want to do is shoot him twice and start singing ‘He had it coming.' I'll even crank up ‘Cell Block Tango' and dance like My´a while I scream the tune.”

“No need to bust a cap and make it a Broadway musical. Don't get nervous. I'm looking out for you.”

“I'm used to being independent; reaching out for assistance, asking for help—this is hard.”

“Should Franklin Carruthers be allowed to touch you?”

Memories came in a flash. I answered, “No. Never again.”

“You hesitated. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I don't want his hands, not one finger, to touch me ever again.”

“He will be advised.”

Driver opened the car door, eased out one solid muscle at a time. In his black suit, with his midnight complexion, he was ominous. He glowered toward Franklin Carruthers. Franklin started coming his way but stopped. Unmoving, Driver let seconds pass, measured the threat, and came to a conclusion before he opened my door. I did as he told me, stood next to the car and waited in the chilling breeze, the desert's dry air like naked ice on my skin. Driver adjusted his gloves, headed toward Franklin, marched at an unrushed, antagonistic pace, his wing-tip shoes crunching over gravel, those dark hands in black leather mitts that now looked like fighting gloves, hands in fists that looked like iron boulders ready to demolish a building made of lies and disrespect.

Franklin's anxious-yet-troubled voice came through my phone. “Who are you?”

“If I wanted you to know who I am, I would have introduced myself. All you need to know is this, Carruthers: Miss McBroom is under my watch. Here are the ground rules for the way this meeting will go.”

Franklin grunted, listened to the rules. A weekend warrior faced a real warrior.

Driver stepped back and reached inside his pocket. Franklin jumped back and his hands went up. He expected a gun. Driver pulled out a cellular, took a dozen photos of Franklin, flashes like lightning. Franklin didn't make a move. No backchat. He didn't tug on Superman's cape.

Driver patted Franklin down, made sure he was unarmed, then took a half dozen steps backward before he turned, came back across the lot, walked up to me as if he had been civilized from the womb.

“If you want me to monitor the conversation, Miss McBroom, leave the phone on.”

“I will turn the phone off, Driver. It might get too personal.”

“Three minutes start when you're six feet from him.”

“Six feet.”

“Don't get any closer to Carruthers than a dead man in his grave is to the people still living.”

I took slow steps, moved across the lot, and confronted Franklin. As I moved closer, as my heart raced, the way he stood, Franklin Carruthers was just as handsome as he had been the day I had met him, still had a body that looked like it was chiseled from stone, and his dreadlocks were as perfect now as they had been then, only down the middle of his back. I remembered that first moment I looked up and saw him in my field of vision, still remembered the jeans, a T-shirt that had 205 across the front, and a silver earring dangling from his ear. That day he had on running shoes. He was pretty much dressed the same way.

He was angry to the fiftieth power. Then he had a clear view of me, of the new me.

This relationship hadn't been about sex. He wasn't just a random guy I had used as a booty call, or vice versa. This relationship had been about love. Now it was about betrayal and heartbreak. You break up with someone, and they know too many of your goddamn secrets to make you feel safe.

He frowned and said, “What's this all about, Frankie? Who is that guy?”

“What he is to me, that's none of your business.”

“You had him search me? Do you think I'd harm you?”

I said, “Catch.”

He saw the small box I tossed toward him. He caught the package, opened it. Inside was the engagement ring he'd given me. I wished I could throw all of the memories back to him, every last
one. I wished I could give him back every kiss, hug, laugh, smile, and lie. Wished I hadn't been so gullible.

He said, “I want you to keep this. This will blow over and you'll want to have it on your finger.”

“Three minutes, Franklin. Then I start to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne' as I moonwalk back to my ride.”

“Can't believe you cut your dreadlocks.”

“Two minutes, fifty-seven seconds, Franklin.”

He dropped the ring into his shirt pocket, nodded. “So, now I'm back to being Franklin.”

“I wanted to see you and tell you face-to-face, for the last time, that this shit is done.”

“
We're not done.
I love you too much not to find a way to make this work. You are extraordinary. Do you not understand that? How can I be with you and then go back to dancing with ordinary women?”

“
We're done.
It was all one big lie.”

“If I had told you everything at the start, would you have wanted to know me? To travel with me? Or would you have seen me as a loser?”

“I would not have seen you as a liar. When a woman sees a man as a liar, then he is a loser.”

“I love you, Frankie.”

I took a deep breath, my voice unsteady. “If you love me so damn much, why did you lie?”

“Fear of losing someone makes you afraid of being judged by the truth.”

“Here is my truth. Take me out of your love triangle. I am no longer your damn sidepiece.”

“You were never my sidepiece. I never had sex with her while I was with you.”

“
While I was with you.
Of course not. It's impossible for one dick to fill two orifices at the same time.
While you weren't with me,
who knows what the hell you was doing or whose orifice you filled.”

“Did you hear what I just told you? I haven't slept with her in two years.”

“Don't contact me ever again, and advise your bitch to do the same. I had printed the book of e-mails to show you, but I left them on my dining room table. The bitch has sent me over five hundred messages. I have never responded.”

“I'm sorry. I'm two hundred levels of sorry, and I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. I will do whatever it takes to make this relationship work, Frankie. Just tell me what to do to get you back.”

“Today the bitch went too far and made negative comments about Monica being biracial.”

“She said something offensive about Monica?”

“That bitch's disgusting comments about Mo being biracial was what led me here, Franklin.”

“Did you tell Blue and Tommie?”

“No. Your wife is overseas and I'm telling you to contact the military, speak to her commanding officer, write a letter to the president, do whatever you have to do to make her cease and desist. You caused this drama. I don't need my family tripping over this bull. Man up and squash it.”

“Ignore her. With any luck, she'll finally get what's coming to her while she's overseas.”

“You played me. You got me in bed. You won. If it makes you happy, I will make you a plaque and give you a trophy to honor the way you got over on me. I will take out a full-page ad in the
Times
and say I should have known better and acknowledge that you won the get-the-pussy game you played.”

“
This wasn't a game.
I met you. I fell in love. I am
not
going to lose you over this shit.”

“Stop texting, stop calling me, stop sending e-mails, or I will take this to the police, Franklin.”

He paused, stunned. “Wow. The police. Because I love you and send you love letters?”

“Look up
stalker
in the dictionary and you will see you and your wife's wedding photo.”

“You'd go to the police and say I'm a stalker? You know what that would do to my business?”

“I should've done that from day one. I will go file a report tonight if I have to.”

“Sure you want to do that, Frankie? I've worked hard to get where I am. Don't go and lie.”

“I just need you to leave me and my family the fuck alone.”

“You have sent me a lot of mail too. I guess you've been stalking me as well.”

“I sent you mail when we were together, before I found out about the secret wife. I have not sent you one letter, other than the cease-and-desist e-mail from months ago, which you obviously ignored.”

“When we were happy, you sent me a lot of mail. Lots of photos to get me through the night.”

“Oh, what, now that your feelings are hurt and the rejection has set in, a little blackmail?”

“I have the photos we never wanted anyone to see but us. I have more than that.”

“You stole the GoPro from my bedroom. That didn't belong to you.”

“Yeah, I have it. Was wondering if you had missed it and why you hadn't called for it.”

“You stole it. You broke into my house and stole it.”

“I took it the last night I was at your house. When you locked yourself in the bathroom, I put it in my car. I wasn't going to leave that with you, not with you being angry. You could have blackmailed me.”

“I want it back.”

“Would be a shame if everything on the GoPro, if all of those hours of you and me traveling the world and making love in those
foreign countries, if that intense night with us in Africa, ended up online.”

“I have personal things that you sent me as well, Franklin. I'm sure everyone would love to see a picture of your dick and see how you had it altered in South America. Your dick is ugly, by the way.”

“You didn't complain when it was inside you.”

“It will never win a Pretty Dick contest, that's for damn sure.”

He nodded. “You're a tough one. You fight. You are like no other woman I've ever met.”

“Thought you were different. I was in love with you. Felt comfortable with you. Trusted you.”

“Frankie, I can't get you out of my system, and I know you feel the same way.”

“Have you tried three or four coffee enemas back-to-back? Worked for me. Got rid of candida, flushed out parasites, and finally detoxified feelings for your lying ass out of my system at the same time.”

My phone rang. I looked down at the number and pushed ignore, then waved at Driver.

I said, “I'm not stupid. I know what's going on. How much money will it take to end this? How much do I have to pay you to have you return my stolen GoPro? Tell me your price, Franklin.”

“Don't make me laugh. I don't need your money. I've never wanted your money.”

“How much to have my life back? How much to be able to sleep at night? Give me a number.”

“Don't forget all we did together, all the conversations we had as we stood over your mother and father's grave site. You took me to meet them. I stood there at your side when you told your mother you had finally found your Bernard. Your and Livvy's mom met Tommie's dad, and y'all became McBrooms.”

“Leave my parents out of this. Don't you
dare
speak their names.”

“I went to Inglewood Cemetery to see them today.”

“You went to my parents' grave site?”

“I did. I took lunch and sat down with Mister Bernard Lee and Miss Betty Jean McBroom. I told them the whole story. I told them the truth. I told them I had married the wrong woman a few years ago and had been trying to get that undone. I told them that I love you, Frankie. Then I fell to my knees and asked them to please forgive me, and to ask you to do the same. See the grass stains on my pants?”

“You have the audacity to take this shit to my parents' grave site?”

Angry beyond belief, I reached into my purse, but what I was reaching for wasn't there.

Driver was right. I would have started shooting and this would have ended up on
Snapped
.

My phone rang again. Driver. He'd called a moment ago, was calling again.

I stormed away, city lights in the distance, trainers crunching dirt and gravel.

Franklin shouted, “Where are you going?”

I stopped walking, turned hard enough to make dust rise from my feet, and yelled, “Make Mrs. Carruthers stand down. You'd better do the same. I've had enough. This ends now.”

“So it's like that? After all we did, after my confession, you just walk away from me?”

I marched back toward him, my finger pointing toward his face, jabbing the air for emphasis. “You should have been honest when you first met me. You should've spoken to me, said you were married, and kept on stepping when I told you I had too much integrity to deal with a married man. I have too much dignity for this shit. You had many chances to tell me that before we were intimate.”

“The Bajan twins. You were with two men at the same goddamn
time. One was married. Where was all of that integrity then, Frankie McBroom? Stop acting like you're a brand-new virgin or some shit.”

Again I turned around, again I stormed away, middle fingers saluting his arrogance. “Fuck you, Franklin. Fucking fuck you, you lying fucker.”

Gravel crunched as he followed. “Walk away from me, Frankie McBroom. . . . I love you, but you will regret it.”

Rage made me turn around again. I went and stopped six feet from him and spoke to him in a harsh whisper. “You know what? I don't care. If you're going to post it, tweet it, put it on a Goodyear balloon, hire a skywriter, go by the Junior Blind of America and pay to have it cast in braille, do what you have to do. The world has seen where Dwyane Wades, they know where Meagan keeps her Goods, so if you want to add me to the list, do what you fucking have to do. Just remember that when you do, I have money, I know attorneys, I have resources, and more importantly I have Blue and Tony. Plus I can take this down to the hood level if need be. I have Ray-Ray and a lot of crazy Crip- and Blood-worshipping relatives on the Eastside, and I will call them from the top of this hill and put a contract out on your pathetic ass.”

“Is that a threat, Frankie?”

“I am tired of this. I'll do whatever I have to do to show you that I am the wrong sister to fuck with.”

“Is that how it's going to be, Frankie?”

I walked away again, for the last time. “This is how you made it, Franklin. All you had to do was leave me alone. This is the war you started.”

“War? We're going to become enemies now?”

“We've been enemies ever since my phone rang and your wife was on the other end, you moron. You created all of this mess. You have my secrets. Whoopty-motherfucking-do. I have yours too,
you ugly-dick sonofabitch. Remember that when all of this comes back at you.
I'm done being nice.
”

Franklin ran behind me. He was too close.

I cringed when I felt his hand touch my shoulder. I yelled for him to get his hand off me. He broke the law that had been laid down. That was when circumstances became inflamed to a point where control was lost and the excrement made physical contact with a hydroelectric-powered oscillating air current distribution device. In other words, Franklin put his paws on me and that was when the shit hit the goddamn fan.

Driver moved so fast he passed me like he was part of the chilly night breeze. He was ready to kick ass and take names.