Naughty or Nice by Eric Jerome Dickey Page B

“Oh, please.”
    Via Spiga. Pliner. Pelle Moda. I had done some serious damage to my charge card, all in the name of therapy. My bookends knew me better than I knew myself. Still, I denied every singlepair of shoes I had in these bags, and the three pair I had already taken to the truck.
    They let me know that Tony had been calling all over looking for me. He had been home, my husband had seen the pictures. After I’d left Ladera, I’d gone by Frankie’s place.
    I said, “Frankie, you really should close your livingroom windows at night.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    Last night I was going to stay with her. I’d called and there was no answer. As I was heading down her walkway, the sweet sounds of a McBroom woman living in pleasure, on the edge of ecstasy, came to me. And unless Sharper Image made talking vibrators, I heard Frankie’s lover too, their passion slipping out into the night.
    I said, “You sounded like a damn cat with its tail caught in the door.”
    Frankie cursed me for busting her out like that.
    Tommie laughed. “Frankie, you know your butt be woo woo wooing.”
    I said, “She didn’t make it to the bedroom, Tommie. She was in the living room with the damn windows open.”
    â€œWhatever,” Frankie snapped. “All you had to do was knock, Livvy.”
    â€œAnd your friend would’ve thought he was getting a two-for-one.”
    â€œHell, I could’ve used some help.”
    I asked, “Who was over there riding you like the Lone Ranger?”
    Frankie wouldn’t reveal the identity of her orgasm donor.
    Tommie asked, “Was it the fugly man?”
    Frankie cursed Tommie out, then Tommie tried to tell me about Frankie’s blind date, about her running into some guy she used to be crazy about. The phone wasn’t even up to my ear, all of their words going out into the wind. I wasn’t up for this kind of conversation.
    I looked at my watch, then lied to them, “Gotta go. Teaching a class.”
    Frankie said, “Kind of late in the day to have a class.”
    â€œLook, I’m working so . . . guess I’ll call you back when I get some free time.”
    Frankie asked, “What do you want me to tell Tony if he calls again?”
    â€œTell him it’s not your problem. That’s goes for you too, Tommie.”
    Tommie responded, “Okay, okay.”
    â€œTell Tony it’s not your problem.”
    â€œI understood it the first time.”
    I let them go, took a few deep breaths, then headed outside.
    I stopped underneath the sign for the JCPenney package pickup, a few feet away from the Salvation Army people who were ringing bells at every entrance. My eyes went to the sky. Darkness was sitting on the city. I looked at my watch and waited a few more minutes. I was dressed in all black, a dozen bags at my feet. First a Mexican lady passed by, her child in a stroller. Then a man passed by with his child on his shoulders. This time last year I had baby fever so bad, it was ridiculous. I knew it was my time. They were all over the mall. Some of them were pretty cute. Pisses me off to think I was sitting up with Tony, having that “let’s get pregnant” conversation and he already had a bastard on the way.
    A black Nissan pulled up and slowed down. He waved. I waved back. It was him. Had to be. Not many black people were down this way.
    My hair was pulled back into a ponytail, like I had told him.
    He said, “Bird?”
    I smiled. “Carpe?”
    He laughed. “Let me park.”
    â€œOkay.”
    I rocked from foot to foot, bounced my Gap and Banana Republic bags against my leg. He vanished down at the end of the lot, near the golf course. Right after he disappeared, a red Miata slowed down by me, another shopper looking for parking. The back window had been torn, maybe slashed, then repaired withduct tape. Convertibles always made me smile and