by Elise Sax
I glided my tongue over my teeth, searching for expensive cavities or a cross-bite, whatever that was. Then, I spotted a jar of olives in the fridge and grabbed it. I brought it to the table and opened it.
“So, I don’t have to worry, right?” I asked Bridget. “Just because Spencer hid the fact that he hired a hot female detective who has custom-made uniforms?”
Bridget’s client whistled. “You talking about Detective Terri Williams? Now she’s got nice teeth.”
“How nice?” I asked, fear prickling my skin.
“Not as nice as her ass,” he said, thoughtfully. He blushed. “Sorry. I forgot I was in mixed company.”
“But I don’t have to worry, right?” I asked.
“Spencer loves you,” Bridget said. “He doesn’t care about teeth or asses.”
“Huh?” I said.
“I don’t want to pay taxes,” the client repeated, tapping the papers on the table.
Bridget exhaled. She looked exhausted. It was only March, and she had another month of tax season. She did pretty much everyone’s books in town, and nobody liked taxes.
“Did you go to any cat ceramic conferences? Has your mileage increased to buy cat ceramics?”
I looked at the client, as he focused up at the ceiling, trying to create cat ceramic conferences out of thin air, I was assuming, in order not to pay taxes.
“I don’t want to be a buttinski,” I said. “But maybe this is a good break time. You can have time to think about deductions, and I can take Bridget to lunch.”
“Oh, lunch sounds good,” Bridget said. “I hear there’s a new fair trade chef salad at Saladz.”
“Yum. I love fair trade,” I said.
The client thought about it a minute and finally nodded. “Okay, Bridget. I’ll give it some thought and email you with my new expenses list.”
Bridget looked relieved and rubbed her belly. “That sounds perfect,” she said.
Bridget drove us in her Volkswagen Beetle. “Do you mind if we do a slight detour on our way to Saladz?” I asked her. Saladz was our normal lunch place with our friend, Lucy. The restaurant was located in the center of the Historic District, and it had good food and ample portions.
“No problem. Where to?”
“The police station.”
Bridget turned left. “Oh, good. I’ve been meaning to talk to Spencer about the injustice of minimum sentencing.”
“Good idea,” I said, but I was thinking about Detective Terri Williams. Spencer had kept her a secret from me. Why? Did he think I would be jealous, just because she was stunningly gorgeous with perfect teeth? Or was he hiding something? Something between him and his beautiful new recruit?
“Park here!” I barked at Bridget.
“But it’s police parking only.”
“I sleep with the police chief. That’s close enough. Park here!”
Bridget flinched, and her glasses fell off her face. The car swerved, and she tried to get it under control, steering wildly. The car finally came to a stop with the two right wheels up on the curb.
“Holy crap,” Bridget said, putting the car into park.
“Is Lech okay?”
She rubbed her belly and searched for her glasses. “Yep. He’s wedged in there pretty well.”
“I’m sorry I scared you. I might be stressed.”
“Well, you’ve been busy lately.”
“That’s true,” I said. I had been working a lot lately. It had been nonstop matchmaking for weeks. But that wasn’t why I was stressed. “To tell you the truth, Bridget, I might be stressed about Spencer.”
“About the new detective?”
There was a knock on my window, but I ignored it and kept my focus on Bridget. I put my finger up behind me to tell whoever it was to wait. I was finally ready to confront my fears about Spencer. My real fears.
“I never told you about what Jean told me before the plane flew into the house,” I started.
“Gladie, there’s someone who wants to talk to us,” Bridget said, as someone knocked on my window, again.
“They can wait,” I said. “This is important. So, here’s the thing…”
I was going to tell my best friend that Spencer had been shopping around for a family home. A home for a husband and wife. And logic dictated that Spencer would be the husband and I would be the wife. And then there was the whole thing about how I felt about it.
The knocking grew louder. “Gladie,” Bridget said. “I think that I have to open the window.”
I turned to look at who was interrupting me. As the window opened, I got a gander at the world’s most beautiful woman. There was a breeze, and it whipped her hair in a perfect way, just like in a porno movie or a commercial for hair conditioner. It reminded me that when my frizzy hair got blown by the wind, I looked like a psychotic, electroshock patient. With the window open, I could smell the woman, too. Roses and chocolate cake. She was wearing a black power suit, and she had one hand wrapped around the arm of a young man with his hands handcuffed behind his back. Even though he was obviously being arrested, he looked like a pig in shit being so close to the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I think it’s Angelina Jolie,” Bridget whispered.
It wasn’t Angelina Jolie. I knew exactly who it was. It was Detective Terri Williams, Ms. Perfect, the Other Woman.
“Get this car off the curb,” she commanded. She had the whole tough cop thing going for her in spades, like Sipowitz in NYPD Blue. I didn’t think it would take much for her to shoot us off the curb.
“We’re just visiting,” Bridget told her.
Detective Perfect blinked. “I don’t care what you’re doing. Move the car, or I’m going to arrest your ass.”
“She’s dating Spencer,” Bridget continued, smiling. I elbowed her hard in her boob.
“We’ll move,” I croaked. All of the moisture in my mouth had evaporated in a cloud of humiliation and anger at Spencer. “Go, go, go,” I hissed, and Bridget put the car into drive. The car hopped off the curb, and Bridget drove at a snail’s pace in search for a legal parking spot.
“Now what?” she asked me after she turned the car off.
“We’re going to find Spencer.”
“Did you see that woman? Now I feel guilty for picketing magazine offices in New York for misrepresenting the female body on their covers. That woman looked exactly like she had been photoshopped. Maybe I’ve been wrong about what’s possible all this time.”
I patted her arm. “You weren’t wrong,” I said. “Obviously that woman is an alien from another planet or something. Or she’s had major plastic surgery.”
“If she did, her surgeon deserves the Nobel Prize or something.”
“Damn it. You’re right,” I said, and searched my purse for lipstick, but I only found an old tube of chocolate-flavored lip balm. I needed industrial putty on my face to compete with Detective Perfect, but I only had chocolate-flavored lip balm. I didn’t think it was enough to put me over the top. “You got any mascara?”
“Mascara is the Pol Pot of feminism.”
I took that as a no.
That’s how I walked into the police station with stubby eyelashes and chocolate-flavored lips. I didn’t care if I was half the woman as Spencer’s new detective. I mean, I cared a whole hell of a lot, but I had to see her with Spencer. I had to see if there was chemistry between them. I had to know if there was something to worry about.
And I had to shake my finger at Spencer and call him the dog that he was.
“Check my nose for boogers,” I told Bridget, as we walked to the police station’s front door. I was having second thoughts during the short trip from the parked car to the front door. Jealous women weren’t given a lot of points when they stormed into their boyfriends’ workplaces. I was panicking.
“All clear,” she said, giving my nose a good look.
Best friends are the best.
I opened the police station door for Bridget and followed her inside. The statio
n was housed in a new building, far nicer than one would expect for our tiny police force in our small town. The lobby was clean and shiny with two comfy chairs, facing the front desk. Bridget took a seat and balanced her purse on her belly. I waved to police officers that I knew as they ran back and forth with dusters in their hands. It looked like it was all hands on deck to prepare for the conference. Spencer had been worried that his police force would embarrass him, and he wanted to put his best foot forward as the host to five top cops from all over California.
Detective Hotness was barking orders at the desk sergeant while she kept her hand clutched around her prisoner’s upper arm. The desk sergeant was Fred Lytton, my first match. His eyes flicked from left to right as he tried to take in all of Terri Williams’s commands. I waved to him, and he waved back.
“Hello there, Underwear Girl,” he called, smiling, perhaps relieved to see a friendly face.
Detective Flawless Skin turned around and scowled at me, looking me up and down in derision. I was tempted to explain the Underwear Girl nickname to her, but the explanation wasn’t any better than what she was probably thinking.
“Is Spencer around?” I asked Fred.
“Sure thing. You want me to get him for you?”
“No, you won’t, sergeant,” Terri Williams roared. “You’re going to process this prisoner and you’re going to do it now.”
Fred gave me an “I’m sorry” look and shrugged his shoulders. I shrugged my shoulders right back at him. He walked around the desk and took the prisoner from the most beautiful mean person I had ever seen and walked toward the processing room.
“This is a place of business,” she spat, approaching me with her arms crossed.
Why were people telling me that? I knew about business. I was a businesswoman. I made matches and was a standup citizen. “I’d like to see Spencer,” I said, willing myself to maintain eye contact and not look away cowardly.
“The chief is busy working. If you have an emergency, I can help you.”
I saw red. My blood boiled in my veins. My hands formed into fists. I had only gotten into a few fights in my life, but I was ready to take on Detective Gun-Toting Bitch in front of me. She was literally standing between me and seeing my boyfriend, the man who had shared my bed for nearly two months.
I stuck my finger up in the air. “I…” I started, but Fred interrupted me. He stepped out of the processing room with his hands in latex gloves, pointing to the ceiling, like he was a surgeon.
“Detective, I found something in his…in his…butt.” Fred wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm. He looked like he was about to cry. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to search for contraband in criminals’ butts. It was one of the few jobs that I had never had.
“Well, process it, sergeant,” she responded, completely unconcerned.
“But, ma’am there’s more stuff up in there.”
He shuddered. Fred was definitely looking for a way out, but Detective Foxy Bossy wasn’t going to give it to him, and he knew it. He hung his head in defeat and returned to the processing room.
“Now listen here,” I started, again. “I can see Spencer Bolton whenever I want to.”
“I told you, he’s busy.”
I stomped my foot like I was eleven years old. “I know he’s busy. I’m wearing his socks!”
“Oh my God!” Fred wailed from the processing room. “It’s like Carlsbad Caverns. The Holland Tunnel of butts. Don’t you have a backpack? A plastic grocery bag? Why did you put all of this stuff up there?”
“Why is there a racket out here?” Spencer demanded, making an appearance in the lobby.
“Chief, this is…” Detective Bitchface Hottie began, but I cut her off, claiming my territory.
“Fred is digging items out of a criminal’s butt, and I’m here to talk to you.”
I shot him my most withering stare, and I pursed my chocolate-flavored lips for added effect. Spencer visibly swallowed and looked from me to his new detective and back to me.
There it was. Guilt.
Spencer felt guilty about hiring the best-looking woman in the world and not telling me about it, which was tantamount to lying and definitely hiding. Now he was working with her, and she was preventing me from seeing him.
We’ll just see about that.
“Hello, Gladie,” he said, using my real first name instead of Pinky, which was his nickname for me. “Is something wrong? I mean, do you need me?”
I arched an eyebrow.
Fred stumbled into the lobby again and leaned against a wall for support. His gloved hands were still in the surgeon pose. “Fifteen items,” he said, shaking his head, as if he was trying to erase the memory from his brain. “Fifteen items. And it’s not done. It’s like he uses his hiney as a storage unit.”
“Sergeant, get back in there until the job’s done,” Detective Pitbull Babe barked at him, making him flinch.
“Fred, it can’t be long now,” Spencer told him, more gently. “My record for digging stuff out of a perp is forty-two. I’m sure that you’re almost done.”
Fred took a deep breath, and fortified with Spencer’s words, went back into the processing room.
“It’s sort of comforting,” Bridget said from her chair. “I mean, if you can fit all of that in a rectum, pushing a baby out of a vagina shouldn’t be too difficult.”
She had a point, but I doubted one had anything to do with the other. Instead, I figured the perp probably had an extraordinary rectum. Otherwise, people would be storing stuff in their butts all the time.
I bent down and gave Bridget a half hug with one arm. She was a single mother, about to squeeze a human out of her crotch. Of course, she was nervous and worrying about the mechanics of the whole thing.
“Your OB GYN has the best drugs. She told me so,” I said.
“Are we done here?” Detective Touchy Feely asked, impatient.
Spencer looked at me, and I thought I detected a flinch. At the very least, he was sheepish. He knew that his new hire was a problem. And a bitch. I had been raring to go with the riot act, but a new strategy was knocking on my brain. I could either be the furious, jealous girlfriend, who was understandably upset that her boyfriend lied to her, or I could be the above-it-all girlfriend, who was gracious under all circumstances and befriended the most beautiful bitch detective and spied on her boyfriend with a smile and without his knowledge or suspicions.
That way, if I found any hanky panky was going on, I would cut off Spencer’s penis with a hacksaw.
“Oh yes,” I said with the smile I used when I was trying to get out of a traffic ticket. “Bridget and I were just driving by on our way to lunch, and I thought it would be nice to say hello. And I’m so happy to meet you, Detective Williams,” I said, sounding slightly like the Queen of England, taking her hand in both of mine, like I was a cult leader, and she was a hopeful recruit. “I just know that Spencer—I mean, Chief Bolton—will be in great hands with your professionalism.”
“Make it stop! Make it stop!” Fred wailed from the processing room. “This is horrible! I should have been a forest ranger, like my mother wanted. Nobody puts things up their butt in a forest.”
“And you must give me the name of your perfume,” I continued to Detective Nasty Knockout. “You smell like an angel.” I smiled even wider at her, and I felt Spencer’s eyes on me. I stole a glance and saw his confused expression. He never would have expected that I would be diplomatic and gracious…and speak like the Queen of England when faced with his lie. Figure that out, jerkface, I thought. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I dropped Detective Leggy Louse’s hands and gave Spencer a platonic peck on his cheek. “Thank you, I guess,” he said. “I would go to lunch with you, but we’re very busy here. Very busy.”
“I know. Please let me know if I can be of any help. I’m so proud of you, Spencer. Bringing top cops to Cannes is a huge accomplishment. We are so lucky to have you here. You are a law enforcement treasure.”
He cocked his head to the side and squinted, as if he was having a hard time seeing me. It was all I could do not to slap him.
“Are you ready, Bridget dear?” I asked.
“Are we leaving?”
“Time for lunch,” I said sweetly and helped her up from her chair.
Fred appeared from the processing room, and his gloves were gone. His face was dripping sweat. “Thirty items,” he said, out of breath. “Thirty. I feel sick. I’m seeing stars. I’m seeing my dead grandma. Grandma, I’m coming to you! Yes, Grandma, I’d love some pie!”
“Pie sounds good,” I said to Bridget.
“I hear that Saladz has some great pear pie a la mode. I love mode,” Bridget said.
“Let’s get a lot of mode,” I said. “I’ll let you handle Fred and the conference,” I told Spencer. “I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it beautifully.”
I sort of skipped to the door and turned around. I waved goodbye with my fingers, and I might have said toodle-oo.
Outside, my face dropped and I scowled, much to my face’s relief.
“Are you okay, Gladie?” Bridget asked. “You said some loopy things in there.”
“Spencer didn’t even apologize,” I said, stomping toward Bridget’s car. “The lying weasel.”
“That woman is a big lie,” Bridget agreed. “A D cup lie. A really pretty lie.”
“I wonder if I would get arrested if I drowned him in the bathtub,” I mused.
“Does this mean we’re not going to eat pie a la mode?”
“I’m going to eat an entire pie a la mode. I’m going to eat all the mode in the world.”
I didn’t eat all of the mode, but I came pretty close. At Saladz, Bridget and I both ordered the Cobb salad and pear pie with three scoops of vanilla ice cream. Then, she had to get back to tax season, and I walked home.
We were having a gorgeous early spring, and there were wildflowers everywhere, just like the tourists. I welcomed the walk, since my belly was ready to burst, and the moment alone gave me time to think. I wasn’t angry at Spencer, I realized, but there was a big lump of worry that was eating its way through me.
Worry.