Ming started laughing.
“I don’t even know how I got there. Do you?”
“West showed up here around nine or ten, after one of the neighbors called him, probably that uptight guy across the street.”
Ruby knew the neighbor—he mowed his lawn five times a week and wore his pants pulled up to his nipples. “Why would Mr. Cuttings call Noel? I don’t get it.”
Ming looked out from under raised eyebrows. “Seriously, Rubes?”
“What?”
“He’s our landlord.”
“No way!” Ruby had never cared who the landlord was. Once a month, she wrote a check for her half of the rent to Ming. If only she’d known it was Noel, the zoning commissioner who left her tongue-tied and giggling like an idiot, she would have had something to say to him after planning meetings. For instance, she could have mentioned that the shower didn’t drain. Then, they could have talked while he pulled a giant wad of her hair out of the pipe. Or not.
After rolling her eyes, Ming continued, “Yeah, he came in and sat down. I didn’t get the impression he cared about the complaint. You sat next to him, drank a beer, and you left together. I didn’t ask where you were going.”
“Was I sober?”
“Maybe a little tipsy. You looked okay to me, though.” With a confused expression, Ming asked, “I don’t get how you don’t know anything about this guy. Didn’t you go to high school together?”
“I wish. His parents shipped him off to prep school. I don’t think he came back to Emerald until a year or so ago. He’s that guy that everyone knows of, but nobody really knows.” Ruby had seen him from time to time at zoning meetings or the grocery store, but she didn’t know anything about him, except stuff Marvel told her, plus a few general observations, all of which screamed “out of her league.” Marvel thought he owned a yacht and a winery. One time, she’d rhapsodized about his “not-too-hairy chest.” Basically, male perfection of the rich, upscale variety.
With a sigh, Ruby decided to let the amnesia issue drop. She would just have to accept the facts—one lost night and a missed opportunity with the hottest guy she’d ever seen at work. If only she had gone for more of a Grace Kelly look. He probably preferred icy blondes. When Ming handed her a glass of wine, Ruby smiled and asked, “Is The Bachelor on?”
It was, so Ruby plopped onto the couch with a plate of stir-fry. She wasn’t too surprised to find herself next to Todd who was on the couch, as promised. She didn’t even bother to ask. Just filed him away under: 1. “Ming’s new assistant,” 2. “Crashing on the couch,” and 3. “Really cute.” Number 3 helped gloss over any other problems she had with Todd. He was like Keanu Reeves or Brendan Frasier in Encino Man—goofy, but still capable of making millions of teenage girls swoon. Her only question: where were his clothes?
“Todd,” Ming said, “put some clothes on.”
“Uh, what?”
“If you want to stay here, you have to wear more than your boxers.”
Todd stood up, dished up a plate of food, and returned to the couch still in his boxers, as if he hadn’t even heard Ming. Taking in his LL Bean flannel boxers with a fly-fishing motif, Ruby commented, “I didn’t really see you as a flannel boxer sort of guy, Todd.”
He looked down at his underwear like a woman feeling her ear to see which earrings she’s wearing and nodded. “Oh, these? Found ’em at the Suds ’N Duds.”
Ming almost choked on a piece of broccoli and Ruby busted out in belly laughs, but Todd just turned up the TV, oblivious. As Ruby watched Todd eat almost all of the stir-fry, she reflected on his new position as Ming’s assistant. She could imagine Todd ingesting chemicals, but stepwise synthesis of novel compounds seemed like a stretch. She could see his interview play out in her head: Ming sitting at her work station, bored out of her mind from reading Polymers Today while surreptitiously surfing TMZ. Todd walks in. She asks, “What’s your gpa?” He says, “1.8.” Still blurry from reading journal articles, dazzled by his naturally wavy blond hair, and a little high from the smell of solvents, she says: “You’re hired.”
Out of the blue, Ming looked up from a medical journal she was reading and asked, “Todd, did you smoke a lot of pot as a kid?”
“Didn’t everyone?”
Ming smiled knowingly and passed the journal to Ruby. Pointing out the abstract, she said, “Read that.”
The article was about “Disrupted Brain Development and Adolescent Marijuana Use.” Ming glanced at Ruby and they shared a moment of amusement. Todd had a brain, but his neurons probably looked more like stunted shrubs than healthy trees. A brain scan for cognitive function would probably show a few random blinking lights—most likely at the video game and remote control stations—and a couple infrequently traveled neuropathways in the basic life skills department like Ramen noodle prep. Ming patted Todd on the back like she would a lost puppy and Ruby knew—they’d just adopted Todd.
Sitting in front of the tube with her best friend and her new permanently stoned puppy, Ruby felt her worries slip away. They all used their laps as tables, let reality TV wash over them, and sipped wine from IKEA juice glasses. For Ruby, it was one of those moments when you can feel the joy of the moment you’re living. She was young and free-wheeling and had a brand new pet. She could practically feel the wind whip her hair and lift her from the drudgery of the rest of humanity. She felt like driving a little too fast, playing her music a little too loud, and maybe waking up with her landlord again. If Todd wanted to live on their couch, all the better.
Still, she had a sneaking suspicion that last night’s blackout had something to do with Todd. She wouldn’t be accepting any pills or brownies or punch glasses from him. Next time, she’d prefer to wake up beside Noel with her wits about her, if there was a next time.
After a while, Ruby’s mind drifted back to Estelle. Estelle wouldn’t be at home in an ankle bracelet if she had chartered her own course. Instead, she was living with the consequences of Jermaine’s decisions.
Ruby could understand how someone could end up in this predicament. She deferred to Ming, her dad, or fate for most of her own decisions. It wasn’t like it was turning out all that well. She drove a vehicle that only existed because it was cheaper for Ford to pay settlement costs than redesign what was essentially a Mustang on a Pinto frame. The symbolism was almost as bad as the car payment. But her dad had picked it out.
And her job. For the second time that day, Ruby thought back to the quiz that led her to her law career, a career that currently looked like a brief detour on her way back to her parents’ basement. She’d found it on a site called psychicguru.com. She remembered it clearly, “Are you a career bitch or a house ho?” It had been composed of three equally dumb questions:
1.What do you want to wear to work: a. jeans, b. sexy suits and heels, d. chaps?
2.Would you rather be: a. Meredith Grey, b. Elle Woods, or d. Vivian Ward?
3.Did you ever bite anyone as a child? If so, did you enjoy it?
Even though she noticed that choice “c” was missing and everyone knows that “c” is always the best answer, she decided to become a lawyer when the survey suggested it. It’s not like she had options without an advanced degree. Graduating with an undergraduate degree in marine biology didn’t open many doors in Kansas. But no one could have talked her out of majoring in dolphins. She had been an exceptionally young eighteen, maturity-wise.
Estelle let her criminal grandson dictate all her choices. Ruby let psychicguru.com dictate hers. Ming suffered from no such problem. Even when she changed course, she did it without looking back, as if one choice naturally led to the next. Take for instance, this very evening, Ming was writing a business plan for her next career move. The plan: to leave the chemistry lab for a career in bra design, for which her materials science background, design aesthetic, and ultimate superiority in everything, made her a perfect fit. Looking up from her planning, Ming asked Ruby, “How would you describe a hybrid fabric that acts as a capacitor, you kno
w for cell phone charging and things, and makes your boobs look perky?”
“What? So you can slide your cell phone between your boobs for charging or something?”
In a matter-of-fact tone, Ming said, “Exactly. No more wires.”
Ruby laughed. While Ming revolutionized the bra industry, she would be banking on the Biomall fountain granting her wish. It wouldn’t even be luck. She tithed to that fountain, or at least the mall it was located in. Most churches only asked for 10 percent of your income. If the mall was her church, she gave more like 110 percent, and she was ready for a miracle, or at least a reasonable return on her investment.
Chapter Four
Too Sexy for My Job
Ruby decided to work from home the next morning, so she put on a pot of coffee and poured herself a bowl of cereal, mentally giving herself leave to eat something fried for lunch. She was dying for a corn dog—God knows why—probably the Kansas State Fair advertisements.
She located her briefcase, pulled out Estelle’s file, and found the police report. It essentially said the same thing Ty had told her. The police had obtained a warrant for Estelle’s arrest after Jermaine and Marcus explained the extent of her involvement. Combined with the gun ownership and the bag boy’s statement, it had been more than enough for a warrant. It kind of looked like the bastard had tried to cop a deal by handing his grandma over to the cops. She stifled a laugh as she imagined the prosecutor’s surprise when they realized who Jermaine had handed over.
She made a call to the arresting officer to get his thoughts on Estelle. “Hello, Officer Peterson. This is Ruby O’Deare, Estelle Harris’s attorney.”
“Morning.”
“I’ve already read your report and the witness statements, but I was wondering if you had time for a few questions.”
“Of course. But the prosecutor’s office will want to send someone down to make sure I don’t put my foot in my mouth.”
“Do you have time to meet this afternoon?”
“That’s fine for me. I don’t know about the prosecutor.”
“I’ll call and let him know,” said Ruby.
Ruby decided she ought to take a shower and pamper herself, so she deep-conditioned her hair and shaved her legs. She looked smoking hot. She smelled more like how the ocean should smell than how it does and glowed hotter than one of those spotlights car dealers aim into space on hot summer nights. She decided to pay Estelle a call on her way to the office, talk settlement, and maybe score a cup of coffee. On the way, she picked up a couple of sandwiches.
Estelle answered the door wearing a colorful fusion of Sun City and urban ghetto, a pink velour tracksuit, support hose pulled tight over her ankle bracelet, and red sequined house slippers with rubber soles. Estelle had carefully applied matching pink eye shadow and coral lipstick.
“You look nice this morning, Estelle,” Ruby said truthfully. She really did like Estelle’s bold color choice. “I love pink.”
Ushering her into the house, Estelle said, “You look lovely, too, this morning, sweetheart. What brings you over here?”
“You like my hair? I bought a bottle of real ocean water. It’s supposed to give you a beachy look.”
“Well isn’t that something!”
“Anyway, I came by for a couple of reasons. First of all, I brought lunch.” Ruby pulled out the sandwiches. “Do you like roast beef?”
Estelle pointed to the tightly stretched fabric over her belly. “Can’t you tell? I love everything.”
“Oh, stop. You look great. But do you have some plates for this?”
Estelle pulled out some plates and glasses of lemonade and indicated Ruby should sit down at the kitchen table. Ruby noticed Estelle lacked a certain spring in her step this morning. In the spaces between her solicitude for Ruby’s comfort and her cheerful chatter, Ruby detected a preoccupation. “Estelle, are you worried about something?” Ruby inquired. “I know you’re up against some scary-sounding charges, but I’m working on it. I’m pretty sure we can work out some kind of settlement with Tyrone, the prosecutor.”
“Oh, it’s not that, sweetie. I know you’re taking good care of me. I’m more worried about Jermaine than myself, legally that is. He’s still a young man.”
“How old is Jermaine?”
“Thirty-six.”
Ruby considered Estelle’s worries for her grandson seriously misplaced, especially given Jermaine’s lack of consideration for her. To spare Estelle’s feelings, Ruby refrained from informing her that Jermaine had tried to cop a deal by turning her in. “If it’s not the charges, what’s worrying you?”
Shaking her head, Estelle said, “Jermaine’s pressuring me to sell the house.”
“Why?” Ruby hadn’t seen this problem coming, but that was about par for the course. When did she see anything coming?
Estelle sighed. “Money is a little tight and he says he has a good buyer. Some fancy attorney has been sniffing around the property. She works for Ozcorp.”
Ozcorp owned the Biomall and pretty much all of Emerald for that matter. Before Oz had realized his vision for a shopping utopia on the Kansas plains, Emerald had been a two-stoplight town.
“Where would you go if you sold the house?”
“Jermaine said I could move into some new development going up across the street.” Estelle said “new development” in the same tone Ruby imagined she would talk about belly-button rings.
“Do you want to?”
Estelle harrumphed. “No. I certainly don’t need to move into a fancy condo with a gym and a monorail connection to the Biomall. What would anyone need with all that, especially an old lady?”
Ruby didn’t actually know much about negotiating real-estate deals, but she figured she must know more than Estelle. Plus, she didn’t trust that Jermaine had Estelle’s best interests at heart. He’d already tried to throw her under the bus for the Giddyup robbery. “I’m not a real-estate attorney, but I can help out if you want.” Estelle needed someone to defend her interests.
“I would love the help, but you have to know that I can’t pay you.”
“I don’t care. You can pay me in cookies,” Ruby said with a smile. She was starting to think of Estelle as her grandma. Every time she sat down with a caramel roll and Estelle doddered around looking for unnecessary butter patties, she felt unconditional love wash over her. Maybe it was just the butter, though. Butter might feel a lot like love.
“Of course, sweetheart. I made some double-chocolate cookies last night. That attorney said she might drop by today.”
Ruby’s voice went up an octave in surprise. “You made her cookies?”
“Well, I like to have something to offer company.”
Ruby didn’t say anything. Estelle might behave like a fairy godmother, but she appeared to be in need of one herself. She doubted that Estelle even needed the money. It was probably Jermaine.
Before she moved on to discussing the Giddyup case, Ruby pulled out one of Smiddy’s glossy client brochures. She had brought it along because it contained attorney photos. In her photo, Destinee still looked more like a beauty queen (her former vocation) than a lawyer, especially when pictured next to Mr. Dworkin. Ruby pointed at Destinee’s glossy mug and asked, “Do you recognize her?” She really wanted to know why Destinee wanted the case and suspected Estelle might be able to explain.
“Oh, sure. She’s the attorney who offered on the house.”
Ruby drew her brows together and stared for a second at her boss’s picture. She had no clue why Estelle thought Destinee was working for Ozcorp. Whatever the explanation, Ruby doubted it was altruistic. “I don’t think you should sell it to her.” She would have said more, but she honestly didn’t know what to make of it. Destinee never should have tried to take Estelle’s case in the first place if she was trying to buy her house. Ruby filed that oddity away for later investigation and moved on to agenda item number two, three if you counted the sandwiches.
“I also want to talk to you about your case.
That’s the main reason I dropped by. I’m going down to the station later to talk to your arresting officer. I’m thinking there’s a good chance the prosecutor will settle. Would you mind pleading out to a lesser charge like possession of an unregistered firearm?”
“I don’t care, sweetie. That sounds just fine. How about Jermaine? How is his attorney doing?”
“I don’t know, Estelle. But, you really need to worry about yourself right now.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart. You enjoy your chat with the police. I think you might like that young man who gave me a ride down to the station. He was a real handsome fellow.”
Ruby gave Estelle a bemused look, but chalked up the opinion to Estelle’s battiness. On her way out the door, she put in a request for more caramel rolls and made her velour-encased friend promise not to talk to any real estate speculators, even if they looked like perfect ladies. Bounding down the front steps, Ruby ran into the mailman, a handsome man who appeared to be approaching retirement age. Ruby glanced back at Estelle and wondered if there might be more to the pink eyeshadow than routine.
…
On her way to the police station, Ruby took a route that brought her along the top of a plateau skirting the edge of town. Normally, she barely glanced at Emerald, spread out below like a Christmas village. Today she noticed how the Biomall dwarfed every other structure. Its glass canopy captured the surreal, otherworldly ambience of Biosphere II, rising from the Kansas plains like a crystal castle, reflecting the fields of golden wheat and clear blue sky, serving as both an homage to the nation’s bread basket and a protective shield to the even more exciting bounty of spandex pants within.
Ruby had never questioned the Biomall’s goodness before. Because her dad was a contractor with only one client, Ozcorp, the company had provided her family’s sole source of income. Without Oz, she would have had crooked teeth and off-brand Barbies. She would have missed all of her formative moments (most of which occurred in front of Claire’s Boutique). The conversation with Estelle planted a seed of suspicion. What did Ozcorp want with Estelle’s house anyway and why did Destinee care?
Ruby's Misadventures With Reality Page 3