Just Add Water (1) (3 page)

3

I woke to a very young, slightly fuzzy, Bette Davis wiping
down the countertop in a shabby diner. Jan and RJ slept on the carpet, their
heads sharing a throw pillow. The clock read eight. I screamed, “Get up! You’re
late for work.”

Jan sat up in a confused daze, then glared at me. “Hetta,
you moron, it’s Saturday night.”

The sour aftertaste of our champagne brunch verified that
fact. As I made a dash for the Mentadent, I grumbled, “Then, we’re late for
terrorizing some skuzzy bar.”

“I’ve got a unique idea. Let’s stay home,” Jan said with a
yawn. RJ opened one eye and moved his head into her lap. “We can build a fire, maybe
pop some Orville. Caramel coated.”

“Listen, Girl Scout, just because you have no date tonight
doesn’t mean
my
social life has to
stop.”

“What social life?”

She had a point.

We made a double batch of macaroni and cheese laced with
canned Rotel tomatoes and chiles, added extra Velveeta Pasteurized Processed
Cheese Spread, opened a package of Fritos and uncorked a fiasco of rotgut red.
To hell with that pestiferous food pyramid.

While we ate on the floor in front of a roaring fire, Jan
rummaged through a box of DVDs and came up with
Imitation of Life
.

“Good choice, Jan, but one which calls for a roll of
toilet paper. Much too intense for mere Kleenex. Better get some for RJ, too,
he’s a sucker for tearjerkers. Which reminds me, can you dog-sit Wednesday
night? I gotta go to Seattle and kick some subcontractor ass.”

“No can do. I gotta go to La Tuesday and probably won’t be
back until Friday.” Jan always called Los Angeles “La,” as in do-re-me-fa-so-
la
.

“What’s going on down there?”

“Long-winded waiters and weirdoes. Smog and traffic jams.
The usual. I’m being sent on a training mission. They installed a new security
system at LAX and kindly used our software. I gotta go whip some aeronerds into
shape.”

“Whip ‘em well, we can’t have too much security these
days. Well rats, RJ, looks like you gotta spend a night with Dr. Craigosaurus
while your aunt and mommy go out to fight for equality in this man’s world.”

Jan gave RJ a sympathetic pat and her plate to lick. “Too
bad. He loves Craig, but ain’t too keen on his kennel.”

“What can I do? Besides this hound is overdue for a tooth
cleaning, nail clipping, and debugging. And he’s been favoring his leg again.”

“Gonna have his oil changed and the air in his tires
checked while you’re at it?”

“Why not?” I asked, ignoring the ringing of my phone.

After three rings Jan cocked her head and glared at me.
“You gonna get that, or are you waiting for RJ to answer.”

“Let RJ take it. He speaks dawg.”

“Answer the friggin’ phone.”

“Oh, all
right
.”
I snatched up the phone, growled, “She’s not here,” and hung up.

“Real nice, Hetta Coffey. How do you know it wasn’t some
kind of family emergency in Texas? Or your sister in Denver? Or Mary?”

“For one thing, all of our relatives and friends in the
whole wide world know we’re never home on Saturday night. Mary is draped over
some Austin kicker bar by this time of night. Besides, it was for you.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even listen….” The phone rang
again. This time I picked up after the first ring and listened.

“I told you she wasn’t here,
Ree
-shard. Where are you? If I see her I’ll have her give you a
call, but please don’t call back here tonight. I’m going to bed early.” I hung
up before the jerk could make a snide comment or Jan could grab the phone.

“Where is he?”

“At your apartment.”

“Maybe I should talk to him. I mean, if he’s worried?”

“You’re worried that BDR’s worried? After last night? Does
the term, self-esteem, mean anything at all to you? RJ, you shit, quit drinking
my wine. You’re dribbling on the carpet.”

Jan pouted for a few minutes while I concentrated on the
movie. Lana Turner was making cookies. I muted the sound and tried to make up.
“Wanna bake cookies?”

“With extra chocolate chips?”

“Why not? Let’s put both Lana and BDR on PAUSE. Let the
SOB stew,
then
dump him. But first,
tomorrow, when we’re sure he’s not at your apartment, let’s change the locks.
Then you can stay here until you leave for La. Oooh, don’t you wish we knew
where the fat broad lives? We could dump all his clothes in front of her
place,” I said, warming to a plan, “after we let RJ chew them into little
pieces.”

Jan looked a little uncertain and I pounced. “You
are
going to dump him, aren’t you?
Please tell me you’re not gonna let him get away with it this time. You saw him
with your own eyes. And after he told you he was going to Tahoe with his
brother.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him we saw.”

“Pitiful,” I said, scorn dripping from my wine-reddened
tongue. “Of course it wasn’t him. That was surely some other guy wearing the
Armani jacket you gave him for Christmas, and driving BDR’s car. Maybe we were
mistaken and it wasn’t his head buried in the fat broad’s décolletage.”

“You have a mean streak, Hetta,” Jan whimpered, tears
gathering in her periwinkle eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be mean. I hate to see that
man use you the way he does. You have everything going for you. You’re smart,
have a good job, and you’re not
too
ugly. You deserve better. Enough lecture. Let’s make cookies, eat some and
then, if you’ve still
got
to call
him, I won’t say a word. I promise.”

The phone rang. We both stared at it, then Jan grinned and
commanded, “Hetta, kill!” giving my basal bitchiness the green light.

I grabbed the phone and growled, “What part of ‘don’t call
here again tonight’ don’t you understand, you inconsiderate Lothario?”

“Uh, is this Jan? This is Lars Jenkins. We met this
morning in Berkeley?”

Oops
. “Oh, dear,
I’m sorry, Lars. I thought you were, uh, well, never mind. This is Hetta. Her
friend? Anyway, here she is.” I gave Jan a thumbs-up and the phone. I simply
had to either get caller ID or a better phone presence. Or both.

After a brief conversation she hung up and asked, “I
wonder how Lars got this number?”

“I slipped him your card, and this number, under the table
this morning.”

“What!”

“Well, it was obvious he was interested and since you are
untrained in the art of prestidigitation…”

“Spell that.”

 
“P-r, oh, never
mind. Sleight of hand. In this case, sleight of card, which I took into my own
hands.”

She opened her mouth to yell at me, but changed her mind
and smiled. “Thanks. I needed that call.”

“I know. Glad I didn’t scare him off. I’m gonna sign up
for caller ID. Monday morning.”

“How come? I thought you hated those things.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been getting some annoying hang-ups
lately, and I’d like to know from whence they come so I can call ‘em back and
hang up. Anyhow, what did you and Lars talk about?” As if I hadn’t heard every
word on her end.

“It’s so cool. He and his brother work in the security
business and know all about my company’s software. And he wants to meet us for
lunch one day.”

“Us?”

“He thought maybe he’d bring his brother.”

“His brother, Bob, the fashion plate? If he’s paying we’ll
be eating at Burger King.
If
the
ninety-nine cent Whopper deal is still on.”

“I thought you kinda liked him. You
did
flirt, Hetta.”

“And was soundly ignored. No loss, he isn’t my type.”

“And that would be? Criminally insane? Internationally
sought after by major law enforcement agencies? Or maybe married?”

I laughed. “You know me all too well, Tonto. But count me
out on the lunch.”

“What can a little lunch with a couple of nice guys hurt?”

“I have an appointment that day.”

“You don’t even know what day. Suit yourself, Hetta, but
one of these days you need to do a little soul-searching, decide if you want to
end up a lonely little old lady with thirty cats.”

“Cats! We hate cats,” I yelled, covering RJ’s ears.
“Besides, that Bob person completely ignored me. The girl he was with wasn’t a
day over twenty-five. And stunning. Why on earth would I think he’d be interested
in me? Now, let’s do cookies, then, like I said, I won’t even bitch if you call
BDR.”

She didn’t.

We finished off the wine, ate those cookies RJ didn’t get
to first, watched another movie, and went to bed early.

RJ, ever on the alert for an opportunity to break my house
rules, slept in Jan’s room. During the night when I peeked in to check on them
he was under the covers, his head on her pillow. They looked so peaceful I only
whispered gruffly, “RJ, remind me to kick your doggie ass in the morning for
getting on the bed.”

He feigned sleep, but I swear I saw
him smile.

 
“Hand me the Phillips head,
si’l
vous plait.
” I held out one hand while gripping a deadbolt lockset in place
with the other. The door was original to Jan’s 1910 building and had probably
been painted at least once a year without benefit of removing the old coats.
Lead poisoning came to mind as I wiped away dust and fitted up the lock.

“Gee, this looks easy,” Jan said,
handing me the screwdriver.

“Not rocket science. We could have
had it re-keyed, but getting a locksmith out in San Francisco on a Sunday would
cost a fortune. Especially here in the Marina District. Lucky for us I had this
extra deadbolt at home.”

“How come you had an extra?”

“Took it out of my front door last
year when I decided Wade wasn’t a keeper.” This was my way of saying I had
decided not to sleep with him.

“Wait a minute, does this mean that
lunatic might still have a key? To
my
apartment?”

“Not to worry, I’m sure they took
it from him. And he’s going to be away for at least five years. You never live
in the same place for five years. Besides, he’s found Jesus and wants to be my
friend.”

“How do you know?”

“He called last week.”

“He gets to make calls?”

“Evidently.”

“Holy shit, what did you say to
him?”

“I was very polite, then told him
the truth.”

“That being?”

“That I’m getting married and
moving to Mexico. I figure even with time off for good behavior I’ve got ample
time to find a husband and move,” I reasoned.

“How do you figure that? You’ve had
many, many,
many
years to find
somebody.”

“One more ‘many’ and I’ll brain you
with this screwdriver.”

Jan grinned. “Okay, I take back a ‘many.’ Anyway,
do you think that was a good idea? I mean, the reason you told Wade you were
ending your whatever-you-called-it, was you had decided to remain celibate. Now
you tell him you’re getting married?”

“Shoot, everyone knows marriage and
celibacy go hand in hand. I know this must be true, for all the married men who
hit on me tell me they don’t sleep with their wives.”

We locked eyes and yelled in
unison, “And married men never lie!”

After a high-five, I went back to
fiddling with the lock and Jan asked, “About Wade. I thought he was in for a
million years. Do the criminally insane really get time off for good behavior?”

“Damned if I know.”

I concentrated on the task at hand,
but made a mental note to find out more about the California penal system. I
didn’t think I had anything to worry about. Wade “the perp” and I had ended our
friendship long before he took his brief, but ruinous, walk on the felonious
side of life. Up until that fateful foray, Wade had been a much decorated hero
during a fifteen year firefighting career. Jan and I had followed Wade’s trial
in the newspapers, fascinated that we knew someone who could be so incredibly
stupid.

Somewhere in the saga of a
convoluted crime spree involving a drug deal gone wrong and kidnapping, one of
Wade’s coked-up cohorts put out a cigarette out on his then girlfriend, now the
State’s star witness/victim, thereby earning a mayhem conviction for all
concerned. In California, that drew a quick one-way ticket to a facility
catering to the criminally insane. I pictured him playing Ping-Pong with
Charlie Manson.

That wasn’t the first time I’d been
involved with someone strolling the shady side of Justice Street. The way I
choose men, it’s no wonder I prefer living with a
real
dog.

“There. Done,” I said, clicking the
deadbolt back and forth.

“You’re pretty good at this
handyperson thing.”

“Hey, when you’ve lived alone as
long as I have and renovated a ninety-year-old house, changing out a lock is
kid’s play. Let’s try the key. Just in case, you’d better go inside.”

She did, and as I bent to unlock
the door, the small key I wore around my neck swung forward and clinked against
the door handle. I wondered, as I unlocked Jan’s door, if I would ever know
what
my
key unlocked. Actually, not
my
key, but Hudson the jilter’s key.

I threw open the door with a little
“Ta-dah,” a shuffle ball change step, and a bow. “That’ll be one-hundred
dollah. American. Does
madame
wish to
put this on one of her overextended credit cards?”

“
Mademoiselle
, thank you. And she wishes to put it on her tab. Now,
let’s get to work, for we have important labors ere this day ends.”

Exorcising Jan’s one room Victorian
apartment was made simple by virtue of its small size and BDR’s lack
thereof—virtue, that is. The sleaze kept only enough of his stuff at her place
to keep Jan from entertaining thoughts of entertaining other men there. God
only knew if hers was a
pied-à-femme
amongst many.

I found the slimeball’s Armani
jacket draped over a chair. Plucking a long black hair from the shoulder, I
held it aloft as if it had cooties. “Fat broad hair, my dear Watson,” I
announced, then proceeded to go through the pockets.

“What are you looking for, Hetta?”

“Nothing. It has been my experience
that only faithful and honest men leave stuff in their pockets for women to
find. Show me a cheater and I’ll show you clean pockets every time.” I pulled
out the empty pocket linings with a smug, “
Voi-la
!”

We piled BDR’s crap, with the
exception of the Armani, in the stairwell as a “Dear Reechard, you’re screwed”
greeting on his next visit and trudged down two flights to where RJ waited
patiently in his VW. Luckily for us, no one else had thought to park in the NO
PARKING zone in front of Jan’s building.

“Where to now?” Jan asked. “I’m
famished.”

“Me, too. But first, a quick search
for a deserving soul, then, how about Mexican? I feel a strong urge for a
refried
frijole
,” I said.

We headed downtown, where we found
a gaunt and hairy man of indeterminate age leaning against his Safeway cart of
worldly possessions. I left him wearing an Armani jacket and a toothless smile.

“How much did you put in the
pocket, Hetta?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Het-ta.”

“Fifty bucks. That Armani fairly
screams for a silk cravat.”

“You’re a phony, you know it? How
come he knew your name?”

I gave her the disdainful look she
deserved, sniffed, “Very funny. Let us retrieve my car,” and drove to the
Berkeley restaurant where we’d spent the previous morning slurping champagne.
My candy apple red Beemer convertible sat unmolested except for a polite note
on the windshield from the Night Owl Security Company reminding me that this
was not a public parking lot. We parked RJ’s Volkswagen and piled into the BMW.

“RJ, just because I’m feeling a bit
guilty about leaving you in Craigosaurus’s critter clink next week, you may
ride in my car. There will be, however, no scratching, farting or throwing up
on my white leather upholstery.”

I put down the top, hit the CD’s PLAY button, and half of
Berkeley learned that Jeremiah was a bullfrog. As we sped toward a fresh
tortilla, RJ’s ears flapped in the breeze and an occasional rope of doggie
drool spattered cars’ windshields behind us.

At Jack London Square I parked in the loading zone in
front of a Mexican restaurant where the friendly staff tolerated RJ’s presence
on their patio so long as he didn’t steal too much food from other tables. I
ordered cheese enchiladas with refried beans and extra sour cream for me and a
beef burrito, no beans, for RJ.

“Champagne?” the waiter asked, a knowing smirk on his
face.

“No
gracias
,
Carlos, I’ll stick with ice water.”

Carlos reeled back in shock, then refilled my water glass
while Jan grinned from behind her newspaper.

“I love doing that to ‘em once in awhile. Keeps ‘em on
their toes,” I said. “Besides, now we’ve got two cars to get home, so no
taxicabs today. You can use RJ’s car while I’m gone this week if you want.
It’ll save you the indignity of public transportation. It’s so...public.”

“Snob. I will, thanks. Did you call the V-E-T yet?” For
some reason Jan thought it necessary to spell in front of my dog. RJ looked
suspicious.

“Remind me to call him later. Hey, gimme the Entertainment
section when you get through with it. There’s something good on the back.”

Jan flipped over the paper. “Boat show? I thought you were
drunk yesterday. I hoped you were drunk.”

“I was, but some of life’s major decisions are made while
imbibing stars,” I said loftily.

“Yeah, some of your major worst ones.”

“True. But this is different, there’s no man involved.
Besides,” I said, sweeping an arm towards the packed marina at Jack London
Square, “how much can a boat cost?”

* * *

“Fifty-nine will get your name on
her stern,” the blue blazered salesmen told us, pinching a pleat to hitch up
his white polyester pants. Inside his open shirt collar, curly black hair
almost obscured at least five heavy gold chains. As I was opening my mouth to
comment upon his fashionable ensemble, I received a preemptive jab in the ribs
from Jan.

“Fifty-nine hundred?” I said,
moving my attention from his white patent leather boat shoes—no socks, of
course—to the thirty-two foot sailboat in front of us. “That’s dooable.”

The salesman lost a little of his
toothy smile. “Good one,” he said, smoothing his gelled poof with a heavily
ringed hand. He looked like a skinny Italian Elvis.

Jan gave me a look, then turned to
Captain Elvis. “You meant fifty-nine thousand, didn’t you?”

The salesman’s head bobbed. His
hair didn’t.

“What?” I yelped. “You people been
smoking funny cigarettes?”

The smile faltered completely and,
with the resignation of one who knows he’s wasting his time, he handed me a
specifications sheet on the boat. “You’ll find it’s a bargain. Of course, that
price doesn’t include any add-ons.”

“Add-ons?”

“Accessories.”

“Like what?”

“Sails.”

* * *

“Who in the hell would consider
sails an accessory on a sailboat?” I groused four hours later as we sat in a
waterfront dive munching on double cheeseburgers with avocado sauce. I sipped
sugarless iced tea while looking through a stack of brochures, magazines, and
other freebies given out at the boat show. “I cannot friggin’ believe it.”

“Pricey little buggers, eh? And
don’t forget, you have to put it somewhere. God knows what a parking place
costs,” said Jan, the practical one.

“Slip. You put it in a slip.
According to these,” I waved a pile of flyers, “they can run over three hundred
a month. And that’s cheap. In La you can double that. ‘Course in La you can
double everything. They do lean toward excess, you know.”

“Like you don’t? I hope this
plethora of information puts an end to our little sailing adventure, Hetta?”

“Certainly not. Look here,” I said,
showing her a handout. “We can take sailing lessons.”

“
You
can take sailing lessons. There’s no way in hell you’re getting
me out there.”

Dismissing her objections I
countered, “You said that about skiing.”

“I think you’d best pick a better
example. I was in that leg cast for weeks.”

“Oh, come on now. As long as you
can swim, how could you possibly get hurt on a boat?”

“You can’t.”

“Get hurt?”

“No, Hetta. Swim. You can’t swim.”

“I can learn?”