Naughtier than Nice (13 page)

Half a handful of days eased by and it felt like things had calmed down.

Feeling that it was finally over, I dropped my guard.

I'd gone to the gym after being at work all day, had worked my core and pushed weights with Livvy, Tony, and Blue, then hopped into Taj's class. When I made it home, the alarm wasn't on. I figured I had neglected to turn it on when I had rushed out to the office that morning, and I had come home that night both tired and in a hurry to get showered and eat. When I stepped out of the shower, I noticed things had been rearranged. Perfumes and makeup that were on the counter, everything had a different configuration. But I still didn't give it much thought. As I sat on the edge of the bed putting lotion on my skin, I glanced over at the dresser. Not one drawer was completely closed. I paused. The closet door was ajar. I stood up, pulled the towel around me, and felt like I was coming out of a trance into reality. I always kept my closets well organized, everything on wooden hangers, clothes arranged by style and mood, by professionalism and play. Now it was totally disorganized, half the items on the floor.

I reached under my mattress and pulled out my .380.

It was like that all over the house. Nothing was missing but things had been moved. A chair had been left out at the dining room table. A glass was in the sink. The glass was clean.

I checked the houghmagandy room, but the door was still locked, so I didn't go inside.

I went to my office and my laptop was on. I thought I had left it on standby or turned off, not on.

Since she had the codes, I called the housekeeper, asked Lupe, “
¿Viniste aquí a mi casa hoy?
”

“No, Frankie
. Voy a tu casa pasado mañana. ¿Hay algún problema?
”

Lupe hadn't been to my home. I told her all was cool, then let her go.

Nothing was missing. I went to the alarm system and played back the video feed from the DVR.

After I had left this morning, it had malfunctioned, or so it seemed. The last footage was of me leaving my home. Then the feed went dead. I reset it and it came back on.

I turned the alarm on, was tempted to spend time in the houghmagandy room, but went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I met Livvy for a short run, then went back home, again in a hurry to shower so I could leave by eight and beat traffic. As I stood in the kitchen hurrying to eat boiled eggs and turkey bacon, I felt a breeze, a rush of fresh air. That breeze inside of my home paused me again. All of my windows were always closed. I stood still, alarms going off in my head.

I followed the breeze. The front door was wide open. Panic rose. First I spied outside, then I closed the door before I considered checking behind me. I jumped. Nothing was there but my shadow. I took slow steps and inspected the living room, crept across the carpet, walked the tile into the kitchen.

I reached to the butcher's block to grab a knife, but the block had been moved to the opposite counter. Either my mind was playing tricks on me, or things had been moved again; everything was in a slightly different configuration, only by a foot here and a foot there, just enough to make it seem like I was flying over the cuckoo's nest when I called the sheriff's department to have them send someone out.

The cops walked the house while I stood out front, barefoot, cellular phone in hand.

When they said all was clear I went back inside and we walked room to room.

One of the cops just happened to be from our running group.

She asked, “Anything missing, Frankie?”

“Nothing that I can see, Officer Becky.”

“Maybe they thought you were gone and when you came back, they left before you saw them.”

“Someone was definitely here.”

“Check your cameras.”

Again I went to the DVR attached to the alarm system.

Again it wasn't on. The only footage was when I had turned it back on last night.

It had been turned on for about an hour, and then it went off again.

Becky said, “Malfunction?”

“Never had a problem with it before.”

“Well, call your alarm company and have them come check it out.”

Officer Becky walked the house with me, showed me she had gone into each closet, covered every nook and cranny, then checked the backyard before she reviewed things I could do better to help prevent a break-in, but I had pretty much covered it all. Nothing could be upgraded. All windows were locked and there were beams to keep the windows from being opened if they were broken, plus the alarm had glass-break sensors, so if glass were shattered, the sound would alert the alarm company and law enforcement would be dispatched. I wanted them to fingerprint my house, but that was a different part of the sheriff's department.

Officer Becky said, “I can make sure a patrol stops by here for the next few days.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Here's the number to request fingerprinting, but the kind of paint you have on your walls is rich folks' paint, Frankie. That high-end paint doesn't keep fingerprints. You need cheap paint for that.”

“The drawers on my bedroom furniture were opened. So were my closets.”

“You might catch a print there. I think they were in the house, taking inventory of what to steal, and you came back home and caught them off guard. You had workers here doing your renovation, and a lot of those guys will come back and break in. They did the work and know your house better than you do. They'll leave a window open and then come back and rob you blind. Be glad it didn't turn out badly.”

I called and they said it would take five days to schedule someone to come out to fingerprint, like I was supposed to walk around my house and keep my hands in my pockets until then. I inhaled, cursed under my breath as I exhaled, then said never mind, especially since Lupe was coming to clean.

I left home feeling as if I had been violated. I had changed all the locks and codes, so Franklin couldn't have gotten in. But where there was a will, there was a way for the determined.

I was about to send him a text, but that would've meant I had caved in to the madness, plus Tommie called. They had called from school to say Mo was sick. She had a runny nose and a cough, and when a kid had two symptoms, they had to go back home. Tommie wanted to know my schedule. I picked up Mo, took her to my agency, gave her some kiddie medicine, and let her rest on the sofa in my office while I made a few calls and rearranged my day. I passed on a couple of things to other workers, rescheduled a few things, then left the office early. We stopped by Toys “R” Us to get her a new doll to keep her company, and then I took her back to my house. When I pulled up inside my garage, Erica Stockwell—a twentyish girl who lived across the street with her mom and stepdad—
was pulling up in her secondhand Toyota, her friends Destiny Jones and Kwanzaa Brown with her. USC students. Kwanzaa lived across the street from Tommie. Erica Stockwell said she hadn't seen anything strange but would look over the DVR feed to their security system and let me know if she saw something of concern. I thanked her, then went inside. I fed Mo and put her to bed. She loved my bed because it was king size and like a playground, but her little ass wanted to hang out and play like a McBroom. We went to the kitchen and I broke out the Borax, cornstarch, and glue. We made bouncing balls. We made homemade lava lamps by filling a vase with cooking oil and adding some water, a few drops of color, and some Alka-Seltzer, and watched the bubble of carbon dioxide gas float to the top. She thought that was awesome.

I smiled but felt a little sad. I would have been a great mommy. I really would have.

Monica was there until late afternoon, and the time flew.

Blue called. “Hey, how's my little girl?”

“She's great. I think she had a twenty-four-hour bug.”

“Let me talk to Tommie.”

“She's not here.”

“She told me she was there with you guys.”

“She's not; call her.”

“Her cellular is off.”

“Maybe she was on the way and her phone died. You know how she is.”

“Okay. Well, she said she was there with Mo and you.”

“I'll have her call you when she gets here.”

“No, it's fine. Let me talk to Monica.”

She talked to her dad for two seconds, then hung up and went back to being a scientist. Tommie showed up almost two hours later, but we didn't notice the time. I think both of us had forgotten that Blue had called. It seemed so irrelevant. Tommie was always late. The moment she picked up Mo, I changed and headed to the
gym, met with Livvy, and on machines side by side, we ran the treadmills for ten miles.

When I made it home late that evening, nothing was out of place.

I had become paranoid to the point of taking photos of each room before I left home, even if I was leaving for ten minutes, then comparing them when I returned.

I still slept with the door to my bedroom locked, the gun on my nightstand, ready to burn.

The next morning, after I showered, I opened my lingerie drawer.

My heart tried to break out of my chest and all I could say over and over was the word
no
.

Some of my panties and bras were missing. Tommie would borrow things from time to time, but a woman never put her sweet spot in another woman's lingerie. I picked up the phone to call the police but knew that would sound stupid, the idea that there was an underwear bandit in the area, so I hung up.

The next few nights I left all the lights on in the house, had the inside lit up like high noon.

I slept dressed, gun at the ready, wishing someone would come inside of my home, pretty much praying that they would violate my space again.

There was a day of silence, of peace, and I thought that maybe the stalking had ended.

Then Franklin resumed his calling. He sent text message after text message.

Hey, Frankie.

Dafuq you want, Franklin?

Wow. You actually replied.

You have my ear. Now dafuq you want?

When can I see you?

When hell freezes over and heaven falls to the earth in flames.

Did you come by my home?

Of course not. I don't go to married men's homes.

You left one of your toys here at my house. The nine-inch-long Jack Rabbit.

I left quite a few things there. Add it all to your next garage sale.

The reason I messaged is because I just walked in and saw it on my bed. I know I didn't leave it there when I went to work. Are you sure you didn't come by and do your thing with it?

Don't be disgusting.

Should I drop it off at your office?

Hell no.

What should I do with your toy?

Sit on it and do a 360 while you scream GO 'BAMA.

As I dealt with his aggravating texts, my phone started to send alert after alert after alert, all for e-mails from a government address that ended in something like afghan.swa.army.mil and said its geographical location was in the heart of the Middle East. She had used at least a dozen e-mail addresses. As I had a pointless, immature text war with Franklin, Mrs. Carruthers continued her harassment. It was too much. It was as if they were teaming up to try to drive me crazy.

I threw my phone on the bed, actually slammed it down on the mattress.

Then I cried. I sat alone, in my home that had no love, no husband, no child, and I wept.

It felt silly, and I felt like a fool, but I wept for a child that wouldn't be born.

*   *   *

When I got in bed, the moment my face touched the pillow I jumped back up and turned on the lights. I thought that my pillow smelled like a light-scented cologne. The scent was faint, but it was there. I was in my bedroom with the bedroom door locked. I went to my bathroom and lifted the toilet seat—something a woman rarely did if she wasn't cleaning the commode. I checked for pee stains on the rim. Wanted to see if a man had been here, if he had found a way to sneak inside my home.

Lights came on outside. The motion detector had been
activated. My heart raced and it felt like I was looking at the world through a narrow tunnel. I hurried to get my gun from its hiding place. Stumbled. Cursed. Then I changed the flat-screen television anchored to the wall over the dresser to the mode where I could look at the security cameras. No one was outside, at least not in the range or view of a camera.

LA had a leash law, so no stray dogs were on any streets, but there were a few random cats.

I texted Livvy and she responded, said she was home.

I texted Tommie and she told me she hadn't been by my house today and was home in bed.

I wasn't delusional, even though I walked from room to room with all the lights on and my gun in hand, the end that shoots the bullets leading the way.

I was about to call 911 again, but I didn't want to become the paranoid woman.

I walked like a burglar might be there. Nothing was missing, but when I went back to my bedroom I saw something hanging on the back of my closet door that I had walked by and not noticed. It was a blue dress, short and sexy. I stopped. Stared at the dress. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

I had left that dress at Franklin's house. It had been a gift from him.

Inside the closet were the heels that had been paired with that dress.

Then I noticed most things in my walk-in closet were off, rearranged, out of place. Someone had been in here and gone through my clothing, unfolded things and tossed them in a pile on the floor.

I walked around again, hand trembling, too scared to blink, jerking left and right. It felt as if Franklin were there. I noticed something else. I had a portable record player. A Jay Z album was on the turntable. I hadn't listened to Jay Z spit about his ninety-nine problems in years. I had been listening to Amy Winehouse. It
was as if I had been in a dream and was waking. I looked at my home differently.

My house was clean. That was the problem. It was too damn clean.

I remembered that when I had left this morning, I had made a quick breakfast, had cut fruit, then had left everything unwashed and in the sink. Now I saw that all of those dishes had been washed by hand and left on a dish rack. I knew that I hadn't washed the dishes and wiped down the counters. I don't hand-wash dishes and leave them out. I wash and put them in the dishwasher to dry, same as Momma used to make us do.

Water saved was money saved.

I ran back to my bedroom. It took me a moment, but I realized the sheets on the bed were different. They were mine, but those were not the sheets I'd woken up on this morning. The corners were tucked, but I didn't make my bed that way. The ones from last night, I found in the washing machine. I didn't put those there. There was another thing. In my master bedroom, I looked in the corner nearest the closet. I had ordered twenty pairs of shoes from ShoeDazzle and they had been delivered two days ago. They were still in the colorful pink or brown-and-black boxes. I had stacked those shoeboxes in two stacks, by the color of the boxes, and the ones in the larger boxes were on the bottom. That arrangement had been changed. At first I was sure that Tommie had come here and tried all of my shoes on. She would do that. She might even sneak and borrow a pair. None of the shoes were missing, but each pair had been moved from its original box and put in the wrong box. I called Tommie. She had no idea I had new shoes. She hadn't been inside of my bedroom. She hadn't been to my home in a week. Two seconds later I was in the bathroom checking my medicine cabinet. Three of my birth control pills had been popped out of their packet. Then I looked behind me, saw there was a dirt ring around the bathtub. Someone had been here, lounged here, touched my belongings, and taken a bath.

I suffocated as the room spun in circles.

I went to the door that led to the houghmagandy room. It was locked, but I used the key, undid the two dead bolts, held my breath as I opened the door, and turned the lights on. For the first twenty blinks the room looked normal. It was hard to tell, but one of the drawers seemed to be slightly ajar. Nothing was missing. Everything appeared to be as it had been left the last time I'd come inside.

I wanted to call the police again, but they'd ask if anything had been stolen, and I would say nothing, only that dishes had been washed, the bed made up, and a dress I had left at my ex's house was once again in my closet. Just thinking that out loud made me feel like I was becoming a crazy catless cat lady.

Outside I heard a car start and pull away. It roared away like a muscle car. It was Franklin. I ran out the front door, but it was too late to see anything but fading taillights. I went back inside, checked my house again. I had to make sure a rattlesnake hadn't been left underneath my bed. Made sure all the windows were locked. A couple of hours later, still on edge, my cellular rang and I jumped.

Someone had broken into my office on Sepulveda. I dressed and made it there in fifteen minutes. The Westchester police were already there. Someone had dumped bags of fertilizer over every desk, every computer, and thrown the same shit at the walls. The cameras at the office had been disabled.

There was no evidence. They said it was probably young kids and this was a prank.

Hours later, after I had called a professional crew to come clean up the office, after I dealt with that bullshit, I went home. The level of anger and disgust I felt made me want to go nuclear.

The moment I stepped back inside of my home, I walked into more madness and confusion.

My living room furniture had been rearranged.

Pictures had been taken off the walls and left on the floor.

Televisions had been left on, each on a different station, the volumes at their maximum.

My second car, it was in the garage, the engine running, garage filled with poisoned air. Deadly carbon monoxide had been let into the house because the door to the garage had been opened wide.

Now I was terrified to the point of hardly being able to dial three digits.

Again I was outside until the police arrived. They told me that Franklin was still in San Diego. In a frantic tone I told them that there had been enough time for him to drive to LA, break into my home, and be back in San Diego. He would need only five hours to go round-trip, less if he took the toll road.

People had been with him all day. Other businessmen vouched for him.

My mind wasn't playing tricks on me. I told them I had heard his car speed away earlier.

The problem was I hadn't seen his car. They told me it could've been anyone's car I heard.

They refused to believe Franklin had filled my home with poisonous gas. He was the liar. He was the one rejected. I was no longer safe inside of my home. My dream home had become a nightmare.