"What?" I asked, smiling back.
"This new person that you're 'kind of' seeing wouldn't happen to be a fine, exotic hunk of maleness that just happens to be the Chief of Police, now would it?"
I know my jaw dropped.
"How'd you know?" I whispered.
"Marianne, you should've seen his face at the party. I don't think you were out of his sight any longer than it took to blink. Everyone there saw it. In fact, I was surprised you didn't hear other people talking about it. And, then, when he showed up when the officers were called out? Girl, when a man shows up that fast and has you tucked underneath his arm within five minutes of being here? Shoot. It was a done deal."
I started giggling half-way through her speech and was full out laughing when she finished.
She may have had a point.
I remember his tone of voice that night I was walking down the hall. Now that I know him better, his tone was possessive, assertive and he was staking his claim.
Aw, geez.
I would've given him the freaking claim if I'd known he was interested!
"Speaking of men and watching people react, what's with you and Jake?"
Sara looked down at her soda can, her smile completely gone.
"Oh, honey. Sorry. Forget I asked, okay?"
"No. I've wanted to talk to you about it. So you can warn her."
"Warn who of what, Sara?"
"Caitlin. Warn Caitlin about Jake."
I tried to keep my face from showing any emotion but, as I told you before, I am terrible at poker because my face registers everything I'm thinking.
"I can do that. What about Jake, honey?" I asked softly.
Sara looked out the window but I could tell she wasn't admiring the view.
After a while she started to speak. To speak in a flat, emotionless voice.
"I don't remember when I first saw Jake. But I'd loved him for a long, long time before I was old enough to hang with his crowd. He was funny, smart and just great to be around, you know?"
I didn't say anything, but just let her talk.
"Not to mention, how good looking he was then. When all the other boys looked like boys, Jake already had taken on the silhouette of a man. And, those eyes, those crazy golden eyes. If he turned those eyes on a girl she was caught. And I mean caught with a capital "C". And if everything in the universe was aligned just right, then he might ask you out."
"So, it was a big deal to have a date with Jake, then, huh?"
Sara turned her eyes to me.
"Oh no, you didn't date him. Nuh-uh. You went out with him. Once. And every girl he had been with said the same thing. 'Stay away from Jake'. You got one opportunity to be with him then he'd act like he didn't know you as soon as you were finished."
"Finished?"
"Yeah. Finished. Because when you went out with Jake, you didn't get to go to the movies or for a burger, none of that. He would pick you up in his brother's ramshackle Camry and he'd park somewhere. You'd crawl in the backseat and …"
She stopped speaking, shaking her head at the memory.
"You'd hear from other girls, a LOT of other girls, saying the same exact thing. 'Stay away from Jake'. But the group of girls that hadn't been with Jake came up with reasons why Jake never saw those other girls again. Thinking that if they just had their shot at a chance to be with him, then they could tame his wild ways."
She stopped again, swilling the last of her soda.
"I listened with half an ear to both groups, the 'done-to' and the 'want-to', and just went about my business. But head over heels for him all the while. Until I got caught by his eyes. He was in his first year of college and I had just turned eighteen when we met up at a Frat Party. One thing led to another and I found myself alone on a couch with him."
She was lost in the memory of it, I could tell.
"I gave him my virginity that night. I'd been saving myself for him and I gave it to him thinking that we were a couple. That I was the one that was going to tame him since I'd given him my greatest gift."
She rolled her lips and caught them with her teeth.
"I was young and dumb. I just didn't realize that all the girls in the 'done-to' camp had the same experience as I did. Maybe he wasn't their first, but I'm sure the hurt wasn't much different when he turned what you thought were his warm golden eyes on you. Then after he'd had you, you realized that his eyes were cold and almost reptilian. I saw it, though, the moment he woke up and realized it was me snuggled with him on that couch."
She sighed.
"I don't think he even remembers it. When you have had scores and scores of women, how do you remember just one?"
"Can I ask when this happened, honey?" I asked softly.
"Ten years ago. April 28th, 2002."
"And you want me to warn Caitlin?"
"She needs to know that he is not the man he is pretending to be with her. He is the worst sort of man. The one that will play with you until he gets what he wants. Then he'll throw you away like yesterday's newspaper."
"Oh, honey," I breathed reaching for her hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Me, too, Marianne. I should've waited and given my gift to someone that could've appreciated it." She said, her voice shaky and her eyes filling with tears.
I tried to steer the conversation to more neutral topics and then I left. I didn't know what to think about Sara's story. It was sad. But it happened a long time ago.
Would I be saying anything to Caitlin?
Absolutely not.
Because I knew the Jake that was with Cait was a different man than the one Sara described. The Jake from ten years ago. I had watched this Jake fall to his knees when he got the call that she was rescued from Fiona, the nutcase.
To his knees.
It was a sight I will never, ever forget.
*.*.*.*.*
I still hadn't received a callback from Greg, but then he never returned my calls. I drove over to Buxby's to see if he was working.
Yeah, he was there.
The little rat bastard.
I marched in and took a spot at the end of the counter, cooling my heels until he acknowledged me. I could care less if the customers saw me shooting daggers at him or if his little coffee place was crowded.
Could not give a shit.
I'd reached my breaking point seeing his mom's bills and him giving a perfect stranger, a perfect stranger, my telephone number.
Greg saw me, I knew he did. He was just ignoring me. Greg was a pro at ignoring what he didn't want to face. Which is why I always got the calls from his mother when she needed help.
Don't get me wrong. I loved my aunt very much. But she couldn't call her son, the darling Greg, because he wouldn't call her back. Notice I said, "wouldn't".
The little rat bastard.
I stood there waiting. And he continued to ignore me. The other baristas started whispering as they looked my way but I only had eyes for Greg.
"Greg, ah, your cousin's here." I heard the cute, little blonde cashier say. She must be new and, since she was calling him 'Greg' instead of 'Mr. Gibson' like all the other goof-balls he hired, she must be his latest excuse for not coming in when he should.
He ignored her just like he was ignoring me.
"Yeah, Greg," I yelled. "Your cousin's here!"
All of the behind the counter people immediately looked anywhere but at me.
Greg shot me a venomous look that completely bounced off of my Marianne's Righteous Anger shields.
"I'm not leaving, Greg!" I yelled again. This time I got the attention of the first set of tables as well as the behind the counter crew.
Greg made it to where I was standing pretty damn quick.
"Will you, for God's sake, shut the fuck up!" he whispered.
"You need to talk to me, Greg. Now." I said at a lower volume.
"I'm busy. I'll give you a call. Now go the fuck away, Mari!"
Oh, hello. No.
"Actually, the only thing I've seen you
do in the twenty minutes I was waiting to talk with you, was to wipe the same bit of counter about forty million times and pat Cashier Barbie's ass . I think you have the time, Greg. Now."
"Fuck. You are such a …"
"Don't you even consider finishing that sentence, Greg."
He stared at me.
I stared right back.
Finally he jerked his head to indicate his postage stamp sized office.
I followed him back.
Correction, I stomped as I followed him back.
He is such a little rat bastard.
"Okay, Mari, what the fuck is so important that you have to interrupt my business, to talk to me about."
Business-shidness.
I pulled out the bills I'd been carrying around for almost a week and held them out to him.
"What am I supposed to do with these?"
"They're bills for your mother, Greg."
"So?"
"These bills are for everything, Greg. She is so past due on all of them that she's going to be turned over for collections if they're not paid."
"Why hasn't she paid them?"
"How would I know, Greg?"
"Well, you two are pretty tight and you're always doing stuff for her."
He is such a little rat bastard.
I took a deep breath that I hoped to God it would help calm me.
"I help your mother, Greg, because you won't pick up her calls and, even when she leaves a message, you don't call her back."
"Stay out of it, Mari," he sneered. "The relationship I have with my mother is none of your…"
Oh, hello. No.
"Don't you freaking finish that sentence, Greg. You don't have a relationship with your mother. None. And don't try to play it off to me, to me, like you're all tight with your moms, okay?"
He just stared at me.
I stared right back. I was better at the staring stuff than he was. Proved it when I was nine and I've gotten better at it over the years.
Oh, yeah, bucko.
Bring it.
"Your mother is going to have her electricity, water, trash, gas and any other utility you can think of, turned off this month. There's even a past due letter in there for the mortgage. The freaking mortgage, Greggy!"
The little rat bastard had the decency to start flipping through the bills.
"Now, here's a funny question, Greg. Why would there even be a mortgage on the house if your father had the kind of insurance policy that covered the amount owing on the mortgage and gave clear title to you or your mom in the event of his death?"
Oh. That got his attention.
"I talked to Caitlin and she is filing a lawsuit because she was screwed out of her inheritance. Her attorney, Sam McKenzie, says that there are a number of claims where the distribution of assets was not properly transferred. And, the common denominator in this little scenario? Mr. Layton Jamison. Seems he was the executor of all sorts of estates that just didn't follow the instructions."
"I know Mr. Jamison was appointed executor for Dad's estate. They were good friends back in the day. He wouldn't screw me or Mom, would he?"
"I don't know, Greg. But I think that it's worth talking to Sam about, don't you?"
He glanced down at the bills in his hand.
"Yeah, probably."
"Do you have the money to pay these?" I waved my hand at the stack of bills.
"If I don't, I'll call and negotiate with them," he sighed. "Is she eating okay? Buying groceries and stuff?"
"I don't know how tight this really is, Greg. She's a very proud woman. When I tried to talk with her about she said…"
"It's such a vulgar subject," he pitched his voice high to mimic her.
"Yeah."
"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not holding the stack of bills.
"One other thing and then I'll get out of your hair."
"Promise?"
"And the horse you rode in on, Greggy."
"Oh my God, you're quoting Crystal Armstrong?" He laughed. "When did you get cool?"
I just stared at him.
"The other thing is…" he prompted.
Oh yeah.
"I received a call from Niko who told me that you had given him my number. Is that true?"
"Well, I saw you two were getting along that night when you took that shift…"
"Did it ever occur to you that I might be seeing someone?"
"You? Ha!"
Oh, that was bad. That was very, very bad.
"Greggy? Don't make me get my boyfriend involved, okay?" I said with a low, tight voice to let him know that I was dead serious.
"Okay. I'll play along. Who is this big, bad-ass boyfriend you allegedly have?"
"Ram Patel. You know, the freaking Chief of Police?"
Greg's mouth made a perfect little circle.
And, suddenly, I had Crys in my head saying, "Boo-yah!"
Chapter Twenty Two
I glanced at my cell phone to check the time. The Claims person was supposed to be here at 9:00 a.m. It was now 9:08 a.m.
I had taken the whole day off from work, not ever having gone through something like this.
Then there was the scary reaction I'd had the first time I saw my place. I didn't want to have to go back to the office as a blithering mess, if it came to that.
Cell phone now says 9:10 a.m.
I was sitting on the stairs inside the hallway to do my waiting. And it wasn't a calm waiting. It was the excess energy kind of waiting.
I tried thinking of other things.
Which would lead me back to Ram, which was not a good thing to be thinking about when you have a lot of excess energy. Especially not the big Kahuna bad-ass, my boyfriend, Chief Ram Patel. Who can do slow and sensuous sex or street fighting sex.
Day-yum.
Cell phone now says 9:13 a.m.
I thought about who I could text to take up some time.
Leila's first day back at school is today. Wonder how she's doing because over Spring break she had gotten contacts, had her hair cut and styled (and it rocked!) and changed her wardrobe. She was very excited about her new look, and she should be.
But Crys, our darling baby-girl, sent Leila a cautionary text on Sunday night. Said something to the effect to be aware that you can change, but other people may not like the changes you make. But when they make comments that are out of line, shake it off. That your Posse has your back.
I liked that. I liked that a lot.
I heard the buzzer for the front door echo from my apartment, so I jumped up to let them in.
I was in luck, it was the Agent not an Adjuster, and Francine Morgan explained the difference between the two.
A very lengthy and involved kind of explanation.
As Leila says, 'yada, yada, yada'.
Francine stopped in the doorway of my apartment and turned back to me with a grimace. "You shouldn't have touched any of the property that was to be included on your claim."
Wait…what?
"I can assure you Ms. Morgan that no one has touched the apartment, with the exception of the Detectives that are actively working the case."
"You mean it was like this when you got home?"
Christ on a cracker.
"I believe that is mentioned in the Police Report. Along with pictures that were taken by Detectives that are, as I said, still actively working the case."
Ms. Morgan, the Agent, pulled out the file and began reading and reviewing whatever was in there.
I work with people all day long that have made an appointment to see me.
I schedule, or actually Caitlin or Krista schedules, the clients with fifteen minutes between each so that I can document what needs to be done and/or review the documentation for the next client.
Before they actually walk in the door.
And, I never keep my clients waiting.
So I stood there and watched as Ms. Morgan reviewed the file, casting her gaze around the destruction of my front
room and compared it to the 'crime scene' photos that were taken.
At long last, she took out a writing pad and began going through the apartment notating, going back to her briefcase for a measuring tape, one of the big kind they use in construction.
She measured the frame of the couch and the size of the bed.
She measured the chairs, the barstools and all the rest.
I had offered to give her the receipts for each of the major purchases that give you the size, etc.
But she waved me away.
That’s right.
Waved me away.
So I backed up a couple of paces and let her do her…uhm…job.
"Well, I think I've got it all. I'll have to go back to the office and write up my report. You do understand that due to age and depreciation you will not receive a reimbursement for the full purchase price."
She sniffed.
Ms. Morgan actually did the Barney Fife sniff.
The officious sniff that sets people like her from people like me.
Cool.
I'll take anything that will make me less like her.
"What, then, is the next step in the process?" I asked.
"As I explained earlier, I'm simply the Agent. My report will have to go to two more levels before any sort of reimbursement may or may not be granted."
"What does that mean?"
"Ms…ah…Gibson. This is not a matter that can be reviewed and resolved in a matter of hours. Oh, dear, no. We take our stewardship very seriously yada-yada-yada.
I tuned out.
I gave her a chance by asking a question regarding the next step in the process and got nowhere.
"So, where am I supposed to be staying Ms. Morgan? As you can see, my apartment is uninhabitable. According to what I read in my policy, there is to be some sort of compensation immediately available in the event the residence cannot be lived in."
I kept going, flipping through my copy of the renter's insurance explanation of benefits and showing her the highlighted portion as it applies to my case.
You want to dazzle me with policy and procedures ?
Bring it.
I read and understand tax codes for a freaking living.
Go ahead, talk about your policy and procedure crap.
Needless to say, we were not BFF's by the time Ms. Morgan was leaving.
And, of course, I couldn't let it lie.
Tap Dance (Dance Series) Page 13