Naughtier than Nice (24 page)

By eight in the morning, Dodger Stadium was a madhouse of music and half-naked weekend road warriors. Despite the rainy weather, more than a few people wore outrageous costumes that made this yearly event look like Bay to Breakers and Halloween combined. I adjusted my cheap, disposable rain poncho, then looked down at the plastic bags covering my Nikes. Needed to keep my feet dry. My Lycra shorts stopped midthigh, so my legs were getting cold. I bounced up and down on my toes to keep the body warm and circulation going. Tommie was next to me covered in black garbage bags. She had a finger up to her left ear to muffle the noise, her cell phone up to the right, arguing and breaking up with Blue one curse at a time. Roses and faxes were on my mind, as were Fitz, Jake, and Idris. So were a totaled Audi and a broken storefront window. That stolen GoPro was on my mind too. In the back of my mind I was waiting on Franklin to let his anger get the best of him and post what we had done when we were on the road to marriage; expected to see a very personal part of my existence on as many websites as would allow, then to have people recognize me before I had any idea what was going on.

He hated me now. I could feel that.

I hated him. He knew that.

On little sleep and a small cup of green tea, I faked the funk and kept it moving.

The guy I'd met not long ago, Daniel, pushed his way through the crowd. He was on his cellular.

When he was near me he put his phone away and said, “Long time no see, Frankie McBroom.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

“I called you a few times.”

“Meant to call you back.”

“Did the police find out who that hater was who poured acid on your car?”

I shook my head before I changed the topic. “Which group are you in, the seven-minute-milers?”

He nodded. “If you want, maybe we can chat after the race, Frankie McBroom.”

“After the race, Daniel, the only thing I will chat with is a sports drink and Tylenol.”

“You're a hard one to read. Even when we were at Sy's performance, it was hard to read you. You were jamming, dancing, but your body language was telling me not to try and get too close.”

“We kissed on the date before that one. I think we got ahead of ourselves.”

“I wasn't going to bring that up. We kissed on the first date, after we had talked about childhoods, favorite sports teams, music we liked, music we hated, religion, politics, and how you valued your family and friends, how you want to have kids one day. We kissed. Then you went cold on the second.”

“What happened at Sy's shindig, my totaled car, well, I guess I have a few unresolved issues, without getting specific. And because of that, I guess it's a bad time to try and get serious with me.”

“We can be friends.”

“Bad time to look for a good time too. Despite how that kiss went, and it was a very nice tongue dance, I'm not emotionally available or physically willing to do anything that goes beyond my front porch.”

“You're cute, and I am interested in you, but you're not the only girl in town.”

I laughed a little. “Nice meeting you, Daniel.”

“Look for you after the race?”

“Sure. If my car has been set on fire, I might need you to give us a ride home.”

We laughed at my tragedy. I didn't think it was funny, it was too soon, but I laughed to keep from crying. He finally eased his plastic-covered body away from mine. His plastic crinkled against mine. All of the wet plastic rubbing plastic sounded like lubricated condoms rubbing up against each other.

He glanced back, smiled with his eyes, gave me the thumbs-up as a sign of encouragement.

I motioned and said, “Daniel. Yo. Come back here a second. Come back. Hurry.”

He did. My plastic rubbed against his as I kissed him on the lips, then encouraged him closer, tongued him for two seconds. A few people around us applauded. The world loved romance.

I said, “That's all I wanted to say.”

“Wow.”

As the crowd rumbled and rain fell on plastic coverings, I wished him both speed and luck.

He smiled with his heart, looked surprised, then backed away, pretty much floated away.

Celebrities were on a stand making announcements, cheering us idiots on, telling us we could do it, and thousands of colorful umbrellas filled the sidelines. Nothing in the world was like this moment.

I took my mind off Daniel, same for Driver, roses, forgot Franklin and happy faces on faxes, forgot his wife, and took in the crowd up there at Echo Park, the weather, focused on my purpose for being there. I wasn't going to let someone scare me into abandoning my own goddamn life and personal goals.

Tommie snapped, told Blue to get their house disinfected. She had been too preoccupied to notice Daniel. She told him that she was
coming to get all of her things, as much as she could, when the race was done, ended her blasted call, cursed, put her phone on its shoulder strap, shook her head, scowled up at the dark sky. I felt the same way. This was a bad day to have problems at home.

My phone buzzed. I touched the answer button on the earphones.

“Miss McBroom?”

“Driver? You're going to have to speak up. Real rambunctious out here.”

“Mrs. Carruthers left Afghanistan. My contact said she finished up her last tour and ended up in North Carolina after a little time was spent at Walter Reed. After that she was at a base in Texas.”

“Was?”

Driver said, “She went AWOL.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she's absent without leave.”

“I know, but what does that have to do with me? What does it mean in that sense?”

“It has to do with Franklin, as far as I can tell. A service member cannot be served for divorce while they are in the Middle East, but the process can begin. Franklin started the process three or four years ago, but it's not like it is for civilians, and the courts will not give an unfair advantage to a spouse whose partner is deployed and can't show up for the proceedings. Back in World War II a lot of women divorced their husbands while they were in combat. A lot of Dear John letters were sent out, but they passed a law that shut that down. A distraught soldier with a gun might not be a reliable soldier.”

“He tried to divorce her before he met me.”

Driver said, “Seems that way.”

“Not because of me.”

“Maybe he assumed it had been processed, then found out it wasn't.”

I said, “He knew he was still married. He didn't dispute it when she called.”

“He had plenty of time away from her. Basically, it was like he wasn't married.”

I said, “So he had time to gallivant around the world and plan a wedding.”

“Easy to do when the wife is away dodging bombs.”

“Well, she dropped a bomb on me, that's for sure.”

Driver said, “His divorce was in limbo, his marriage was in suspended animation, and the paperwork could not be finalized until she returned and was served properly.

“I'm surprised she made it out of there alive.

“When Mrs. Carruthers made it back on American soil, before she could slip away, this time they caught up with her and she was served with divorce papers.”

“Come home from war, get slapped with divorce papers.”

“I assume she didn't take too kindly to that.”

“I guess that was right after she found out he was engaged to me. She was hit with one thing after the next.”

“So, if that was the case, she'd think the divorce was all about you. If a man is trying to divorce, and the current wife finds out he's about to remarry, the one put out to pasture would see it that way.”

I said, “You were right.”

“About what, Miss McBroom?”

“I should have contacted the police a long time ago.”

“We can do that now.”

“After the race.”

“Call me when you're finished.”

“What about my home?”

“Panther will sit in front of your house until you return.”

“How long has Mrs. Carruthers been AWOL? She's ruining her life, wrecking her career over Franklin?”

“Not sure exactly, but it's been at least a couple of weeks.”

“What's her first name? I've never heard him say her first name.”

“Her name is Phyllis R. Carruthers.”

“Do you have her maiden name?”

“I'll work on that right now. Panther is on the phone with my contact.”

“Okay, but don't do anything to get the information that can have you arrested.”

“Just letting you know. I'm using a hacker, so all of this information does not come cheap.”

I took a deep breath and looked around at thousands of women who could be my enemy.

I asked, “Can you get a photo of Mrs. Phyllis Carruthers?”

“Will see what I can do.”

“Get it and text it to me.”

We ended the call just as Rosemary Paige came up behind me. She had on bright pink spandex shorts and a sports bra under a bright yellow poncho. She was dressed minimalist, like a true runner.

She said, “Frankie McBroom.”

“Hey, you. You ready to do this?”

My new friend waved at Tommie. “Frankie, I'm going to wiggle by and move up a section.”

“Have a good run, Rosemary Paige. Represent the women and beat the Kenyans.”

“See you when you're done, Frankie. Will look for you at the finish line.”

“I didn't get your preapproval letter.”

“I thought that it was sent to your office two days ago.”

“It could be there but was overlooked. Things have been hectic in my world.”

She hugged me, kissed me on my cheek, then wiggled her way through the rain and the crowd.

The gun went off and I jerked like I'd been shot. The skies opened up like a mortal wound.

The storm grew and the crowd roared loud, long, and strong. It was the beginning of the end.

At mile nine we were at Barnsdall Art Park. A group came up behind me on my right, their crowd about ten runners deep, moving like warriors going to rescue the three hundred missing girls in Nigeria.

I said, “Tommie. That guy with the wild Afro who passed by, is that Beale Streets?”

Tommie sped up, ran by guys wearing Elvis Presley costumes, a barefoot Mexican carrying his country's flag, a fat Batman, and another woman with more muscles than any man I had ever dated.

That was when I saw Franklin Carruthers. He was in the crowd of cheering spectators, dressed in Levi's, a cap, and a T-shirt. His face held damage from being struck by Driver last night.

He didn't run the race that day, but he was there. Tommie didn't notice.

I made a call as I ran, again to Driver, told him I had seen Franklin Carruthers.

He said, “Keep your eye out for him. Call me back the moment you have an issue.”

I sped up, paced myself four steps behind Tommie. She ran with Beale Streets. He grinned at Tommie as sweat rolled over his smooth complexion like liquid sugar. People recognized him. The young man whom women on the sidelines were trying to get a photo of, he ignored the crowd, only eyed my sister. Tommie had on spandex shorts and a sports bra. I was dressed the same way now. The T-shirts and gloves we had had on at the start of the race had been tossed to the side of the road miles ago.

Tommie told Beale Streets, “Get back on pace, babe.”

“I'll look for you when we're done.”

Beale Streets and his running crew grabbed cups of water from the outstretched arms of the volunteers, sipped, and poured the rest over their heads. Beale Streets and his partners eased away.

The fear caused by seeing Franklin rose and mixed with a rush of adrenaline.

Tommie said, “Slow down, Frankie. Fall back to our pace.”

“Beale Streets. What's that guy to you, Tommie?”

“Stop talking. Save your energy. We lost twenty seconds on the last mile.”

“You're seeing Beale Streets, and don't tell me you're not seeing him.”

“It's because of Angela. I hooked up with him because of Angela.”

“I'm sorry, did Mo's mother hold you down and stuff another man's magic stick inside you?”

“Being with Blue has been one long mind-fuck, so don't mind me if I fuck someone else.”

“Let me send you back to therapy, Tommie. I'm serious. You're angry. I am very worried.”

“Frankie, enough trying to fix me. Besides, there ain't nothing you can do anyway.”

“You left Angela at your house throwing up and you don't know how to deal with a woman who acts like that. I would've come to your crib and handled that nonsense like I was Olivia Pope.”

“She's nothing to me. Angela is nothing. Will deal with it and Blue when the race is done.”

“We should all deal with it.”

“It's my problem.”

“This is a family issue.”

Tommie said, “Since this is family, let's call a meeting and deal with Franklin. Deal with that first.”

“Don't tell Livvy about Franklin. Let me tell her.”

“Livvy has her own concerns. Livvy and Tony . . . they have issues on a grand scale. I will never, ever sleep in that bed in their guest room again. I will never be able to look at them the same way. Gross. There are things a woman should never see her sister doing while getting other things done to her.”

“What did you see at Livvy's this morning?”

“So you did sleep with Franklin last night, or this morning, or whenever you saw him?”

“Hell no, and answer my question and tell me what you saw at Livvy's house.”

“How did he get into your house? Why do you have that man and woman in black suits coming by like they work for the Men in Black? Who steals drawers to sniff but leaves flowers and Gatorade?”

“What in the name of Saint Peter and Mother Teresa did you see at Livvy's house?”