Naughtier than Nice (32 page)

“Stop it. This is not funny.”

“Never knew you felt that way about Asian cuisine.”

“Don't judge me until you've walked in my shoes.”

“I'm telling Frankie about your Chinese food.”

“If you tell Frankie, swear to God, I'll kick your butt.”

“At least you were in the boss position, sitting on face like you were running the show. I do hope you like the flag I bought you.”

“Did you buy me a flag? Don't make me hate you.”

“It was a colorful scarf, but I just told Mo to give it to her mom. I'll find something to give you to go with the Skittles.”

She bumped up against me, then we jumped silly and danced the Bump in honor of our pending baby bumps.

We waited on our oldest sister to finish chatting with my neighbors across the street.

I said, “Livvy.”

“What, Tommie?”

I looked down. “You're still wearing that anklet.”

“It's on my left ankle.”

“Not good enough.”

She squatted and took it off.

She asked, “Feel better?”

“Your nasty baby can't play with my baby.”

“Your baby will be as sneaky as you are.”

We laughed and pushed on each other, pinched each other, chased each other across my lawn, acted like we were young girls again, then stopped and pretended to be Celie and Nettie, played patty-cake and did the lines from
The Color Purple
.

Frankie came up to us and said, “How are my favorite pregnant MILFs in training doing?”

Livvy turned to me and said, “Did you hear what this cougar called us?”

I said, “Cougar with a bleached valve trying to crack jokes on two innocent pregnant women.”

Frankie said, “And don't expect me to babysit all those crying babies at the same time either.”

Frankie pushed me out of the way, played patty-cake with Livvy. Then I pushed Livvy out of the way so I could play patty-cake with Frankie. We hugged, laughed, rubbed each other's flat bellies, and cracked jokes for a couple of minutes. Frankie made jokes about who would gain the most weight, me or Livvy. Laughter came from inside. Mo was having fun. Soon the men called for us to come inside and bless the food. We took our yuletide joy inside my home. This area was my neighborhood, and the people inside my home were my community. We went to have fun, stand in a circle, hold hands, give thanks, break bread, open gifts, and once again be family.

Greetings and salutations from Little England, a.k.a. Bimshire, a.k.a. Reaper-ville.

Okay, it's Carolyn's only son, a.k.a. Virginia Jerry's grandson from down on Kansas Street in South Memphis. Well, I'm in the Caribbean today. As the sun beats down and the beige fan rattles, pull up a seat, grab a Vitamalt—my treat, or a Banks if you prefer—and sip along with me as we take care of a little housekeeping. Oh, before I get started, the day's off to a great start. I just read the first review for
One Night
and it was given five umbrellas. Cool beans. Hope you all checked it out.

So, we're back with the McBroom sisters, some years later, not as long as the time between when
Naughty or Nice
was released and when
Naughtier Than Nice
will be released. I shortened it quite a bit. I didn't want Mo to be a teenager yet; for Tommie to be engaged that long could have happened but didn't feel right.

The good thing with fiction is that we get to manipulate time, and weather too, like they did once upon a time on
General Hospital
. Okay, I did manipulate the weather in a few books . . . blame GH.

I looked at
Naughty or Nice,
at the endings for the McBroom sisters, and played what-if once again. What if you get what you ask for? What if it doesn't go as you expected? Frankie had the softer story in the first novel, so I decided to give her a meatier role, and the opposite for Livvy. I wanted hers to be important to her, but not on the level it was in the first novel. Everybody can't be the star.

And Tommie . . . well . . . the most innocent of the bunch . . . sorry, Tommie! Love ya!

When I was working on this project I realized that many of the characters from the previous novels lived in the same area. Since quite a few had been joggers or runners, it wasn't a stretch for them to all be in the same running club.

Yeah, I know. That's so Southern Cali.

But that's Southern Cali to the bone.

Now, let's get down to business. No man is an island and no writer does it alone. Let me give shout-outs to my crew.

I want to thank my editor, Denise Roy, for helping me sort this one out, as she has done with quite a few novels up to this point. You're amazing. You make me shine and I thank you for that.

Special thanks to my amazing copy editor, Aja Pollock. Outstanding work! Thanks for putting the polish on the shine.

Emily Brock! I have to say thanks to you and the crew in publicity back at the ranch. I'm finishing this one as you are getting the tour together for
One Night,
and I want to thank you in advance.

Sara Camilli! My agent, my second mother, thanks for helping me try to get back in order.

Quiana Victoria Nicholson, Queen of the Haikus, thanks for assisting Tommie McBroom.

To my peeps in LA at the Planer Group, Carl and Tammy, thanks for the support as I stayed on the move and made it to the other side of a very interesting journey. You guys are awesome^10.

To my wonderful readers, both newbies and non-newbies, thanks for the reposts, for the retweets, thanks for tagging me whenever you had a copy of my work nearby, and thanks for carrying the novels all around the world. I love to see how a novel travels, where it goes, and I've seen photos in many places I would love to visit. So many countries, so little time, but I will do my best to make many more trips abroad, and the new people I meet will all be reflected between the pages, as usual.

It's time to run to Chefette and grab a snack pack, so I'll start to wrap it up.

The Dickster is about to leave the crib.
Dickster.
Cracks me up. Sounds like I should be a villain on
The Flash
. Thanks for that nickname again, Rebel Glam LOL. We will see if it sticks.

In case I was rushing and forgot anybody, it wasn't on purpose. Here's your chance to make sure everyone who picks up your copy knows your invaluable contribution to the project. I want to thank ____________________________________________ because while I was sick, they brought me soup, gave me rides to the doctor, and reviewed every page to make sure this book was the bomb. _____________ had meetings with the McBrooms, washed my bicycle, and made me cup after cup of green tea. They are the best of the best of the best. If you're their boss, give 'em a raise.

Peace, love, and big smiles from a lifetime member of '06. I need some ice, ice, baby.

Hasta luego!
See ya when I see ya!

Eric Jerome Dickey

Thursday, January 20, 2015, 3:47 p.m. Latitude: 13°7'0" N. Longitude: 59°29'0" W. Elevation: 36 m. Levi's, blue T, bald with a thin beard, dreadlocks on the shelf in the garage next to the glue gun.

*   *   *

Oh, if you're still reading, there is a little bit more with the McBrooms. See the next page.

Beyond being hoodwinked. No longer bamboozled. The pain from being betrayed gone but not forgotten. I no longer felt bottomless rage. Hair much longer and in a funky-yet-professional natural style, gun in hand, I patrolled my home, the lights on my Christmas tree blinking in the living room. I checked each window, each door, did that with my security guard. A Rottweiler walked at my heels, was on patrol with me. Just like me, she was a mean bitch when it was time. A stalker could outsmart an alarm, but a Rottweiler was better than anything made by ADT. I went to the master bedroom, undressed, and prepared to shower. I looked at my arm and my leg, inspected where I'd been stabbed. My keloidal scars were ugly. A couple rounds of plastic surgery would make them hard to detect.

I showered, and while I did, I felt absolutely nervous. It was the eve of New Year's Eve and I tried to stop it, but that day in March played in my mind. When her stolen car had started giving her trouble, I thought that maybe debris was in the fuel line, or there was a problem with the vacuum pipes and hoses, or with the wiring. She had run out of gas. That was it. The authorities told me the car's fuel gauge was inoperative and she had simply run out of gas. If not for the chase, she could have stopped at a pump, pumped gas as she kept Monica as a hostage by her side, and only God knows which way the wind would have blown after that. The bitch had run out of gas.

She had executed her psychological torture perfectly, but her exit strategy had been faulty.

My cellular hummed with a text. It was from the man called Driver. He wished me a belated merry Christmas and a happy New Year. I wished him the same, then thanked him again for saving my life.

I almost became emotional. I would have done anything for Driver. I really would. I waited to see if he would send a follow-up text, but there was none. He had saved me, but most important he had saved Monica. He had broken his policy and stuck around after the sirens came on and saved both of us.

I looked at the clock and dressed, sprayed on perfume, inspected myself a dozen and a half times.

I was as nervous as a sixteen-year-old preparing for her coming-out party.

Daniel arrived a few minutes before nine
P.M
. He was always a few minutes early.

My Rottweiler followed my command and went to the back door and sat quietly.

When the door to the garage whirred and eased open Daniel parked inside, took the middle slot. My cars were parked on opposite sides. I wanted him inside so no one would see his ride in front of my home. Mrs. Carruthers and her husband had been buried in separate cemeteries, all of that done months ago, but her harassment had done its mental damage. Didn't need any more acid on cars, not ever.

Daniel came toward me, smiling, a Christmas present in his hand.

I said, “You made it here fast.”

“This is for you, Frankie McBroom.”

“You bought me a present?”

“Merry belated Christmas.”

He handed me the beautiful, small box, then kissed me right away, and that surprised me.

“Behave. Let me open my present.”

He had bought me a Pandora bracelet. It was amazing.

I said, “Daniel Madison.”

“I hope it's not inappropriate.”

“I wasn't expecting anything.”

“It has trinkets for a runner and a home to symbolize real estate.”

“The charms are beautiful.”

“Glad you're smiling. I had hoped you would like the present.”

“I love it. Thank you so much. I will cherish this gift. I always wanted one.”

He helped me put it on and we kissed again.

He asked, “Want to go out to dinner?”

“No.”

“Thought you wanted to go to Post and Beam and hang out?”

“We've had enough dinners. We've had enough drinks. Let's chill.”

“You sure?”

“Look at me. Take a close look at me.”

I had on black shorts that were sweet on my ass and a long-sleeve top sheer enough to show the sexy bra underneath. I was dressed provocatively, like a strong female character in the complicated-women movies, when Greta Garbo, Barbara Stanwyck, and Norma Shearer were the boss queens, before the Hays Code shut all of that down and muted a woman's point of view on love, life, and self-truth. I wasn't a vamp or a victim of love, but I was the chairman of the board and channeled Jean Harlow in my attitude. I was a smart and confident woman who refused to be stifled by events in my past, and I was at home and didn't feel the need to hide my sexy. Excluding my flats, but including the matching thong, I had on four pieces of clothing, clothes easy to remove when that moment of intimacy arrived. I was dressed the way a woman dressed when she wanted to be undressed.

Daniel held a jacket in his hands, but he had on straight-leg jeans and a T-shirt. His T hugged his chest, made his build stand out. Daniel was more handsome now than when I had met him three seasons ago. We'd spent some time together after the March madness had died down. We had dated, taken long drives up into wine country, but we weren't a couple. We had kissed many times, had become kissing buddies, and had had countless conversations, from intellectual foreplay to silly talks.

He had visited me in the hospital a few times, had brought me lunch from Chin Chin when I complained about the bland hospital food. He'd been very delicate with me. He had slowed it down, and now I thought I was ready to take it to an adult level. I was nervous, again trembling like a virgin. In my head Betty Wright was singing “Tonight Is the Night.” I was ready to be baptized in affection, born again.

He didn't have to become my man, but Frankie needed to get her groove back.

I went to the back door and gave my dog the command to chill out while Auntie Frankie went to handle her business but if someone tried to get into the house from the back, to have herself a good late-night snack. She barked twice and complied.

As my heart raced and my desire did an anxious dance, I took a breath to calm myself while I gave Daniel a perfunctory tour of my home, starting with the patio in the back. After the formal dining area and the informal dining area, I paused long enough to pour us a glass of wine. We chatted, finished the glass, gave knowing smiles, and then we headed toward the stairs, shared a kiss or two along the way. We made our way up the stairs to the bedrooms. He noticed the double dead bolts on one of the bedroom doors.

He asked, “What's in there? Government secrets?”

I used the keys to unlock the door. The once well-appointed room made for fun and fantasies was empty. Everything had been
cleared out. Franklin's wife had touched my things when she violated my space. I'd replaced my toilets, scrubbed my tub, and trashed all of my lingerie as well.

He asked, “Why do you keep the door to an empty room locked?”

“I'm locking certain memories inside.”

“Should I ask?”

“No, you shouldn't.”

He followed my Marlene Dietrich sashay down the hallway. Mirrors were on both ends so I could always see what was behind me, as mirrors were all over my home so I could see behind me at all times. I saw his eyes on my bottom, watching the mesmerizing movements of the booty. Lights came on. I had installed upgraded lights with motion detectors. They came on whenever someone walked the hallway.

I was afraid of a ghost. Mrs. Carruthers was dead, but I still felt like she was following me.

I thought about my DBV. The doctors said I had experienced a DBV—deathbed vision.

Rosemary Paige didn't jump from the bridge.

Mo never ran back to me to look over me.

Those things didn't happen.

The officers would never let a freed hostage return to danger. Once Mo ran toward the officers, they whisked her off to safety as the world applauded.

They applauded her and watched my bloodied body in the middle of the freeway. I had lost blood and had created my own fantasy world. Maybe as I lay there dying, I just didn't want to be alone.

No one wants to die alone. In the end, no one wants to be alone.

They explained that a DBV is what the dying experience just before their true death occurs, when the body is shutting down, when the eyes start to shut off and create that bright light. Some people imagined they saw loved ones. Others imagined they saw family who had died long ago. Some saw celebrities coming to take them home.

As I had bled and slipped into cardiac arrest, I had seen Monica.

When Franklin's wife had gotten out of the car and tried to escape on foot, she had found herself surrounded, and they had shouted for her to drop the knife, to drop the gun, but she turned, paused, argued with them as they screamed orders to drop the weapons. Then the woman who had murdered her husband raised her gun. She didn't have to. She was trained, and her type of training scared law enforcement, half of them former military. It had to be hard to point a gun at one of your own. She had tours of duty under her belt. On that day in March when insanity had shut down the 5 freeway, she had raised her unloaded gun. They opened fire. She made them shoot her. She was ready to go home. The soldier had grown tired of fighting for a country she felt didn't love her, for a man who no longer desired her, was weary from a never-ending combat, and wanted to go to her final home. I wondered if she died thinking Franklin was worth it or wishing she could go back in time and undo the moment she had met him online.

I wondered if she saw him, if he was part of her DBV.

I wished I had the power to undo the moment I had met Franklin at the post office.

That would have saved him, saved her, saved me, saved all of us from that experience.

I wished I had the power not to be the one Franklin had seen and who had inspired his infatuation.

I was fine now. I was fine.

There was no one left to stalk me.

I had to say that out loud ten times a day.

The Carrutherses were in purgatory stalking and arguing with each other. If God took a page from a play by Sartre and left them trapped in a small, windowless room together for eternity, a room with no exit, it would be fine by me.

Daniel asked, “You sure you're up for company this evening?”

His words brought me back to him, and I lost all interest in
being afraid, didn't care about any lunatics or ghosts. I turned to him and expressed corners of my sexuality in my eyes, in my voice, in the way I touched my mane. Sexual playfulness was in my body language. Double entendres were on my mind, and I didn't want to shut down this part of me abruptly, as I had done each time we'd been together.

I wanted to explore and be explored, wanted to have adult time and mature thoughts.

I was modern and intelligent, but I wasn't perfect.

We all have a blind side.

I regarded Daniel, and with a diminishing smile, I stopped our fun as if I were stopping time.

I asked, “Are you still single? Before we go on, I need to know you're single.”

“I am single, Frankie.”

“But?”

“Since I met you, I have dated other people. Nothing serious. I didn't run off and get married.”

“You've had premarital sex with other people.”

“I have had a few encounters. Only with one woman.”

“With anyone I know? Is it ongoing? What's the status on that?”

“No one you know. It was off and on for three months. That ended a couple of months ago.”

I grinned, relieved that I wasn't his obsession. I asked, “But no girlfriend at the moment?”

“No girlfriend at the moment. I'm single, and I woke up like this. And you?”

“Follow me.”

“Where to?”

“I wanted to surprise you. I went on Sepulveda and got you a Christmas present.”

“Really?”

“You might get an unexpected belated Christmas present for being a good boy.”

“Might?”

“Let me show you the rest of the house.”

“This is an amazing property, Frankie. The mirrors make it seem that much larger.”

The tour ended at the master bedroom. My heartbeat sped up. My palms dampened.

Daniel's eyes took in the gorgeous room and its colorful walls. King-size bed. Beige carpet. Recessed lighting. Sitting area with sofa and love seat. Cushions were on the floor. The balcony faced the back of a hill, so no one could see inside my boudoir. I opened the French doors and we went out on the balcony.

“Now, Daniel, before we go to the next step, we have to do some legal housekeeping.”

“Okay.”

“We need to take care of the legalities of intimacy.”

“What legalities of intimacy?”

“My invisible attorney is here and I need you to sign my invisible consent forms.”

“Which type of consent forms?”

“Pre-sex agreement and post-sex agreement, both nondisclosures.”

“You're serious?”

“What happens here at Frankie's playhouse, it stays at Frankie's playhouse.”

“Tell me more about this contract I will need to sign.”

“What you do to Frankie and what Frankie does to you are not up for discussion with any third party. It will be for our memories, but not for posting on any social network or texting or any other outlet. Nothing is to be discussed with anyone, out of respect, until the other party is deceased.”

“Wow. That's pretty intense.”

“It's not negotiable. Sign and stay or we can move to the front of the house and be kissing buddies.”

“Tell your invisible attorney that will be no problem. I brought my own invisible ink.”

“The main rule about sex with Frankie is you don't talk about sex with Frankie with anyone, ever.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

“Now for the most important part of the contract.”

“Which is?”

I kissed his lips. “Check box number five if you plan on making me have an orgasm.”

“Checked eight times.”

“We'll see, shit talker.”