this simple action as an admission of guilt.
“How could you?” I managed to ask, looking from Zak to Brenda. “And in my boots!”
I turned and ran from the apartment, flew down three flights of stairs to the street and kept on running. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away.
As my feet pounded on the pavement, I heard the laughing again, this time even louder. Could everyone on the street hear it, or just me?
Surely I looked like a crazy woman as I ran down the sidewalk dodging in and around pedestrians, nearly taking a header into a produce stand. I slowed down after that—last thing I needed was a concussion. Couples walked past, holding hands, cuddling. Yeah, they looked all mushy and lovey-dovey on the outside but I bet those women didn’t know. The guys were probably screwing their girlfriends’ friends on the side, too. I scowled at a passing male and when I wasn’t paying attention, the heel of my favorite pair of Manolos caught in a sidewalk vent and snapped off.
“Can this day get any worse?” I asked the gods, an invitation for more disaster. As the words came out of my mouth the sky darkened and a feeling of doom enveloped me. A truck zoomed by, splashing my cream cashmere coat with the dirtiest, grime-filled muck water imaginable.
Hobbling down the street with black water dripping from my hem, I thought about this catastrophic morning. It had started so well—complete perfection. Over the course of an hour, it had all been royally screwed up. I hailed a cab to Maxine’s, the restaurant where Rachel waitressed. Her cheeriness, although sometimes annoying, helped in times like these.
Rachel sat me at a private booth, immediately knowing from my miserable expression and bedraggled attire that something was very wrong.
“I walked in on Zak and Brenda fucking on my bed,” I spit out.
“Oh no,” she responded and turned her glance to the window, suddenly entranced with the ass crack of a construction worker.
“Wait, you knew about this, didn’t you?”
“Lexi, I’m sorry. I was stuck in the middle. I’ve been telling her for months to stop!”
“Months! This has been going on for months? Oh my God! I can’t believe this.” I got up and limped toward the door.
“Wait. Let’s talk!”
“No. I don’t need a back stabber. There’s nothing to talk about.”
Tears welled in my eyes but I would not allow the wait staff at Maxine’s to see me cry like a weak baby. I waved down another cab and when the driver asked if I was okay, I gave him the evilest look I could muster.
“I’m fine! Just drive!”
With the meter running, he drove in circles, waiting for me to give him a destination. But I didn’t know where to go. As the meter closed in on fifty dollars, I gave him the address for Marcus’s office.
“Lex, what the hell happened? You look awful!”
“Thanks,” I tried to say sarcastically, but it came out with heaps of tears. Marcus hugged me and smoothed my wind-blown hair. We sat on the couch in his office and in between bursts of sobs and swigs from the flask he kept in his bottom desk drawer, I told him my depressing tale. He cancelled his appointments for the day and insisted on lunch at my favorite place.
Under no circumstance could I go anywhere looking the way I did.
“Well, I suppose this means a visit to the spa and a new outfit. My treat. What do ya say?”
He always knew exactly how to cheer me up. While Marcus made one last phone call, my cell rang in my purse. The boring bell tone rang as opposed to one of the cute songs I’d specifically picked for each member of my directory. The plain old ring meant my caller’s identity was a surprise.
“Ms. Marshall?” the deep voice asked. “This is Lieutenant Eckerson with the fire department. There’s been a fire at your apartment.”
Marcus and I rushed out of his office. The cab moved at a glacial pace, tires crawling on the asphalt rather than rolling. Visions of my wardrobe and shoes in flames flashed across my eyes. I could even hear my beloveds screaming in sheer agony.
Upon entering the building, we immediately smelled the smoke and dampness. The higher we climbed the stairs, the worse the smell became. The Lieutenant stood in the blackened hallway when we reached my floor.
“What happened?” Peering into my home, I could barely make out any of my possessions. Anything that wasn’t burnt to an unidentifiable lump was a water-logged mess.
“It appears some candles were burning in the bedroom. Did you know this when you left the apartment?”
“No, my boyfriend must have been burning them while he was fucking his whore this morning.”
He stared at me, eyes wide in a dazed sort of state. Like so many others, he didn’t know what to do with my bluntness. Then over his shoulder I saw a vision of a woman sitting on the charred remains of my kitchen counter. Her ruby red lips formed a devilish grin and she held a lit match between her manicured fingertips. She seductively blew it out, then disappeared, but I had recognized her. This ghostly form was the reflection from my dream the night before. And it was her laugh I’d heard earlier.
A crazy concept burst into my mind. These visions weren’t just hallucinations; they meant something. Had the universe sent this woman to carry out my karma? Was she Karma?
I didn’t get it. I’d never burned anyone’s house down or stolen anyone’s job. And I’d certainly never had sex with my friend’s boyfriend—well, not technically. One time I fooled around with a friend’s guy, but the penis and vagina did not meet. I repeat, penis and vagina did not meet! That ten-minute grope session in the darkened back corner of The Purple Pineapple, a now defunct college party bar, happened ages ago and it didn’t count anyway. He told me he was breaking up with her. In his mind they were already over.
“Oh, um, well,” the fire chief continued, and I snapped back to my disaster of a reality. “Here is an accident report for your renter’s insurance.” He handed me some paperwork.
“Renter’s insurance?”
“Oh, Lex, don’t tell me.” Marcus explained what it meant to not have the insurance.
I slumped to the soot-covered floor in the hall, wondering what could possibly be next. The day still held plenty of light.
“Oh my God! Cha Cha!” I screamed and bawled my eyes out.
Chapter 4
Marcus took me in his arms and let me cry and snot on his thousand dollar suit. After arriving at his apartment and changing into the most comfortable pair of pajamas he owned, I plopped onto his bed. He brought me a half dozen pillows and a mug of cocoa spiked with Baileys. My angel in Armani.
Marcus joined me in bed and we spent the day watching old movies and eating Chinese take-out. We also popped a couple bottles of wine.
“How could I be so blind?” I asked. “How could I not know he was getting some ass on the side?’
“I don’t know. Sometimes we’re oblivious to the obvious. I thought maybe he was cheating on you, but Brenda? That shocked me. Never would have guessed the piercings and tattoos would be a turn-on for him.”
“Don’t even get me started on that bitch. It kills me because she never even liked the dickwad—her word, not mine.”
I finished off my sixth or maybe eighth glass and felt the room spin just a little bit, like the slow final rotation on the Tilt-a-Whirl after the power had been cut. My judgment was clouded, I knew that, but Marcus looked pretty damn sexy lying next to me.
After more than three full decades of friendship, Marcus knew everything about me, all my faults, all my idiosyncrasies, and he loved me anyway. He sat up in the bed, propped with expensive