Valentine's Day Is Killing Me (8 page)

When the doorbell rang, the ladies began laughing all over again. She stared at them, and then remembered, oh yeah, this was her apartment. Jocelyn stood with effort and staggered to the window.

“I got that,” Kimika said, yanking the stubborn pane up. “You just got your nails done. Don’t mess ’em up!”

“Yeah, right,” Jocelyn said, fussing. “And I know those heifers didn’t come here after wherever they were expecting to get done. See—”

Her words caught in her throat and she jerked her head back, holding Kimika by the arms. “It’s the cops! Ohmigod. My neighbors hate loud music, and—” She ran to the stereo and clicked it off. “Okay, okay, okay, why would the cops be ringing my bell?”

Kimika shook her head, Agnes had her hands over her mouth, Mildred was laughing so hard she slid from the sofa to the floor, and Sue-Lin was rocking and giggling in a chair.

“Do you hear yourself, chile? You are looking around this apartment at some wine and champagne like we’re in the middle of the Prohibition era. Girl, get a grip. Loud music?” She waltzed over to the stereo and flipped it back on. “You have on mellow jazz,” she said with disdain, and then switched it from CD to tuner and found a hip-hop station. “This is loud music,” Kimika announced, and then proceeded to crank the volume.

The doorbell rang again, and this time someone was leaning on it.

“Go on and let the man in, girl.” Kimika stood wide-legged with both hands on hips. “Pullease!”

Jocelyn buzzed the buzzer and shut her eyes tightly. Why would the cops have to harass her tonight? Yeah, okay, mostly graduate students lived in the building—people with small children, a few old ladies—they had to be the culprits. She sighed and walked to the door when a loud banging began.

“Officer, listen,” she said as calmly as possible, not trying to sound flippant. “There’s no reason for you…to…Oh, my…God…”

The finest male specimen she’d ever seen had stepped around her, tossed his hat, and instinct kicked in—she knew exactly what Kimika had done. Jocelyn slammed the door, covered her mouth, and screamed with the other women in the room. A dashing, mega-white, cosmetic-dentist-manufactured smile greeted her. A two-hundred-pound bodybuilder frame ripped off a uniform top at the snaps, and she covered her face as a greased body strutted forward. When he made each nipple jump, Jocelyn began running, laughing all the way into her kitchen.

Body-blocking this ebony Adonis with a refrigerator door, she kept the metal between them as the pants went next. The music changed; Jocelyn looked down once and almost broke her nose on a shelf as she ducked behind the door. Never in her life had she seen a piece of thong hold that much beef. She covered her head and laughed harder. These ladies were insane.

Chants to the music were echoing behind her, the door was being pried from her fingers; cold blasts from the fridge were chasing her out of her holding pattern. Wild. On her feet in seconds, she plopped her butt onto a counter stool and considered making a dive for the other side of the built-in pass-through. A party tray and several glasses blocked the attempt. So she had to sit there while a strange but awesome male dry-humped her leg.

“Go get one of them—please!” Jocelyn said, dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Over the top, ladies—call him off!”

Kimika roared with laughter, and Mildred confessed bladder issues and dashed for the bathroom. Sue-Lin found her purse and waved a ten-dollar bill. Jocelyn just couldn’t watch.

“I should call my nephew,” Agnes said, wheezing. “By now, he should be off from work at the restaurant, and I know he and a few of his buddies said they don’t like clubs because of all the fights. We could have some nice young people come here.”

Kimika poured another round. “I’ma call my girls. Tell ’em to bring something you can serve straight, no chaser. You got rum in here, doll?”

Jocelyn’s head pivoted like it was on a swivel. Mildred was coming out of the bathroom, laughing and waving two five-dollar bills.

“My Joey can bring some food from the deli—good kid, broke up with his girlfriend last year. She was a prissy little bitch. But I digress. He could bring some cheese steaks, ya know, and some beer. Cut the sandwiches up real nice,” Mildred offered.

“I have girlfriend who has special business. Nice gifts for women. I call her,” Sue-Lin said, standing quickly and dashing for her cell phone. “You will like. Very nice.”

“But—” Jocelyn couldn’t get the words out before the dancer cut her off.

“’Mika, girl, you were right. She
is
a sweetheart,” the exotic hunk said, his voice a pitch higher than Jocelyn expected. “Honey, now you listen to me. Even though I’m not speaking to Paul tonight, on account of the fact that he
knows
I have to work on Valentine’s Day
every
year, but gets all pissy about it, I’ll still call his evil ass and ask him to be nice and send some real dancers over.” He strutted across the room, kissed the back of Jocelyn’s hand, and began putting on his pants. “I have to get back down to Delaware Avenue, but you ladies crank up the music. I’ll send some good dancers over here…at least you can get your boogie on with guys who can actually dance. Pullease.”

Jocelyn opened and closed her mouth as she watched the most handsome gay male she’d ever seen calmly put on his clothes. “Thank you,” she said, too stunned to say much more.

“Now, girl, they might be into alternatives,” Kimika said, “but the brothers can dance their fabulous behinds off—can’t they, Tommie? Don’t mind taking a sister for a spin on the floor. When’s the last time a man actually danced with you in a club?”

“Uh…” Jocelyn glanced at the very tipsy women around her for support, but found none.

“That’s my point,” Tommie said, snapping his fingers as he tucked his shirt down over his perfect abdominal six-pack. “Dress well, listen, dance, have class, darling. Forget all that roughneck mess—leave that for us men. Y’all don’t need that. True, you can’t take them home and keep them, but just for a night of dancing on the town, there’s options.” He leaned down and tweaked Jocelyn’s nose. “It’s all about options and illusion, theater. Can’t find a man when you have a desperation look in your eyes.” He twirled around and looked at Kimika with his hands on his hips. “She’s too young and sweet to be having that look in her eyes already. Y’all betta work tonight and get that look off that chile’s face. Humph.” With that, he blew Jocelyn a kiss and flounced out the door.

It had to be the combination of wine, champagne, and too much chocolate. Either she’d fallen asleep and gone into a chocolate coma, or she was hallucinating from the sugary substance. Pan did
not
just blow through her door as an exotic cop, and she was
not
surrounded by four drunken fairy godmothers who were now on a tear to throw a wild party in her apartment!

In her heart she knew that common sense had fled her brain the moment she didn’t contest the call for liquor. She was about to challenge the merits of more food when the doorbell rang again. Sue-Lin had depressed the buzzer before she could be stopped, and another mild-mannered Asian woman appeared at Jocelyn’s door.

Jocelyn’s mouth opened and remained that way when the most unassuming woman dropped a huge, red plastic bag on the floor, took off her plain black wool coat, and opened her satchel. The first thing she lifted out made Jocelyn squint, unable to close her mouth. This grandmom was standing in the middle of the floor with a very large vibrator, wearing a white restaurant smock, black slacks, a gray sweater, and penny loafers.

“You like? I have all colors.”

Wide-eyed, Jocelyn stood transfixed with her hands over her mouth.

“Oooooh, girl, whatchu got in the bag?” Kamika said, sashaying over to it to peer down. “Whooo!”

“My friend Lily have all good things for women,” Sue-Lin said proudly, ushering her friend to the coffee table. “She give discount. Good businesswoman. Nice.”

Lily smiled and began unpacking her assortment of items as the women crowded in to see.

“This looks like it would be good for your skin,” Agnes said, guffawing as she lifted out a jar of butter crème. “Smells divine.”

Lily smiled. “Good to eat. You understand?”

The room exploded in gales of laughter.

“If he bad, spank him,” Lily said, producing a black strap. “If he very good…hmmm…tickle him,” she added, proudly displaying her feathery choices.

Her doorbell was ringing; a huge black rubber vibrator was on her coffee table. Products that she didn’t even know what to do with were being set up on store display stands on her kitchen counter. The music was blaring.

Jocelyn dashed to the window. A tall, good-looking Italian guy was at the door balancing hot food packs. A Cadillac Escalade had pulled up, and several very fine but obviously gay men had swept out—the fur coats were fierce. Tommie hadn’t lied. Two BMWs were not far behind it, and several well-dressed women stepped out, laughing and talking. A white panel-body truck was double-parked, and two brothers from ’round the way got out to begin bringing in cases of booze. What the hell had just happened?

He was not going on the street tonight. He’d do this shift as a paperwork-only type of thing. This was a good night to clear off his desk. Didn’t want the hassle, didn’t need the drama.

“Yo, Mayfield. Got a call that our boys Phatman and Smooth are on the move.”

Raymond Mayfield lifted his head from his files and stared at Raul. “What time did they start moving?”

“Around midnight. Were in the clubs, but made a little house call over in the Powellton Village section.”

“That’s not their normal territory. Think they’re planning a hit, or an expansion?”

“I don’t know,” Raul admitted. “Our boys in squad cars had been drive-by monitoring a wild apartment party over that way. Nothing out of the ordinary, just loud music, a couple of minor complaints, but it wasn’t worth a hassle. They cruised by, figuring it was a frat party, students making noise, but spotted the car double-parked in the street—that’s when we got the tip-off.” He let his breath out hard and sat down on the edge of Ray’s desk. “Want the boys in blue to go pick ’em up, or wait till they leave to trail ’em?”

“If they pick ’em up for no reason, you know we’re gonna have drama making whatever we find stick. A loud party isn’t enough to book these two slimeballs.” Ray rubbed his palms over his face.

“But if they were going to deliver a package, and we find it—”

“Unless it’s serious weight, these guys have enough resources to beat a rap over a joint. Besides, then narcotics will own it. I wanna stick ’em on the vice side, too.”

Raul nodded. “As hard as we worked on this case, and as long—I hear ya, man. We got the hot lead, found out about the major case elements, and now narcotics wants in and has the nerve to want to shut us down, like we didn’t contribute. That’s bull.”

“Precisely. So, if they’re just out on the town, let ’em walk. But tell our boys down on the street to keep their eyes open. If they hear anything unusual, see any drug activity, or any of our usual working girls and boys, take everybody in. I want a lot of witnesses and a lot of squeaky wheels when we haul their asses in. Understood?”

“Gotcha back, my brother.”

Raul pounded Ray’s fist and stood with a stretch. “Why does this night always seem like the longest night in the world?”

Jocelyn sniffed but kept walking. The incense was waaay heavier than she’d remembered, but then again, there were now close to fifty or sixty people in her tiny place—that she didn’t even know!
But it was fun
. Great food, her blender was going, the music pumping—she hadn’t laughed so hard since she could remember. Lily was making a mint and had set up shop on the kitchen counter. Someone had the foresight to bring plastic cups and plates. Agnes was dancing, and had even gotten her palm read. Sue-Lin was chowing down on sweets and booking appointments at the coffee table. Kimika was partying so hard that girlfriend’s relaxer was about to wear off; her hair had gone from bone-straight to wet ringlets at the nape of her neck. Millie could dance, truly cut the rug, and her son spun her around as they both showed off old disco moves.

This was what it was all about, Jocelyn thought as she accepted another margarita from some anonymous hand. Why be sad, why be blue? The world was her oyster. Who cared if drinks splattered her Ikea rug? The hardwoods could be mopped in the morning. Chocolate didn’t come out of fabric, but who cared? She’d buy a throw, but would remember this night for the rest of her life. The neighbors could kiss her butt. She never made noise, but tonight…what the hell!

Jocelyn danced her way through the crowd to open the door. Two very well-built police officers stood there, surveying the room.

“C’mon in, fellas!” she yelled over the music. “Join the paaaartaaay!”

“This your place, ma’am?” one said, glancing at his partner.

Jocelyn laughed, grabbed him by the belt, and yanked hard. “Sure is.”

A hard, male grip clamped over her wrist. Jocelyn’s drink sloshed on the floor.

“Hey, I just got that drink made to order, dude,” she said, fussing through a giggle and looking into one pair of stoic hazel eyes, and then a pair of blue ones. “All right, lemme try it from the seams, bottoms up.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

When the officer didn’t move, nor did his pants rip away with a snap, and her nosy, elderly neighbor shook her head from the hallway, and his partner unsnapped the holster on his gun, and the dance floor froze…
that’s
when she knew she was in trouble. It all happened in slow motion, and then pandemonium broke out.

Her drink hit the floor with a splatter. Her body got slammed against the wall. Her glasses were gone. She could hear folks fleeing out the back fire escape. Suddenly the smell of marijuana separated from jasmine incense. Footfalls were running out of her bathroom and going toward her bedroom window. Angry voices were shouting, “Don’t move!” Women were shrieking. Somebody was hollering for backup in a squawking radio. Someone cut the music. Sirens were blaring. Brakes squealed. Engines gunned. Her hands were tightly held behind her back by something hard.

Oh, God, she needed to throw up.

“The one hyperventilating in the chair. Red kimono,” Raul said, nodding toward Jocelyn. “It was her house. Only found a coupla joints and a cute pair getting busy in her bathroom. But there were plenty of working girls and guys on premises, so, the guys in uniform made a call when they saw Phat go out on her back deck with a joint in his mouth and using his cell phone. They went in, and the chick was so blitzed she tried to strip Murphy.” Raul chuckled. “Lucky SOB, she yanked his chain, good, if ya know what I mean.” Raul laughed harder and shook his head.

“Damn, man, it’s always the quiet-looking ones, right?” Ray stood and assessed Jocelyn from behind the two-way glass. “She looks like butter would melt in her mouth at ten paces.”

“Cried all the way to the station in the squad car, hollering about her mother dying of a heart attack, then upchucked in the back of Murph’s patrol car, and then apologized and asked for a rag to clean it up. Then she started bawling all over again about Valentine’s Day killing her.” Raul started laughing harder. “That good Catholic boy is so messed up right about now, you might have to talk to him. This was his first real collar.”

Both men stared at the glass for a moment, laughing.

“I can understand it, though,” Raul finally said. “Ray, brother, if she’d grabbed my crotch like Murph swore she did, I might have keeled over and had the heart attack for her momma…
she’s fine
. Guilty as sin, but sheesh. All legs.”

“Give her a blanket to put over that red kimono so I can interview her, man.” Ray raked his fingers through his hair and set his jaw hard. His partner wasn’t lying; guilty or not, this broad was awesome.

Jocelyn rocked in the chair with her eyes closed and kept her hands clutching her hair, restating the same panic-laden whisper over and over again. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, oh, Lord, ohmigod, ohmigod, oh dear God, help me.”

She was gonna be fingerprinted, was in a police station, had been
arrested
? OH, GOD! She was a graduate student, a law-abiding citizen—Oh, God! She had grabbed a
real
cop’s crotch, oh double God! Her momma was gonna die a thousand deaths. Her father was doing cartwheels in his grave. Her grandmother was in heaven, shrieking to be released by the angels to come down and strike her dead—Oh, God! She was already dead. A zombie. Her reputation was ruined. She’d lose her job. She’d be ousted from the university. Her professors would freak! Her career was no more. She was half naked. Where was the wastebasket—her stomach was roiling again.

“Miss Jefferson.”

Her head snapped up so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, sir, I can explain everything, I’ll tell you how it all happened. I’ve never done anything like this in my life; I don’t really know all these people. I didn’t know there was actually weed in my house—oh, God, I’m a doctoral studies major at the university and am in the social justice program, oh, God—do I need a lawyer? I can pee in a cup and prove I don’t do drugs, oh, God. I’ve never, I swear, ever, I swear, really, I swear, it looks really bad, oh, God! But, see, ooooh…Jesus…Lord, for real, mister. I mean, officer, sir, I—I—I…can’t breathe…and…have…to…throw…up, oh, God.”

“Ma’am,” Ray said coolly, backing up just in case she lost her lunch. “Take several deep breaths.” He outstretched the blanket, but rather than put it around her shoulders, she buried her face in it and began sobbing.

Now, true, he’d seen a
lot
of perps in his life, and a whole lotta streetwalkers in his time, but there was something so unnerving about this one. Her rolling, run-on sentences sounded like nothing he’d ever seen drugs produce, and her wide brown eyes were puffy and red from tears and histrionics alone. He listened to her gasp in air, shiver, dry heave, and then fan her flushed face.

“Can I get you some water?”

“Huh?” she mumbled from the blanket at her face. “I can’t hear without my glasses, oh, God, I’m blind—where’s my glasses?”

Ray fought not to smile. He knew his partner was probably doubled over with laughter on the other side of the glass, so he took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He sat on the edge of the desk and peered down at her silky, light brown hair. “Miss Jefferson, I’m going to get someone to bring you some water, but you have to calm down so we can sort all this out. Did you hear me?”

She nodded quickly, wiped her nose on the blanket, and clutched his hand with her eyes closed. “Sir, the room is spinning.”

“Okay, in the wastebasket, all right?” He extracted his hand and quickly grabbed a waste can from the far corner of the room, and got it under her face just in time. He didn’t move as she snatched it, practically put her head in it, and heaved, then slumped back in the chair.

“I normally only do red wine—what was I thinking to have champagne and let Kimika give me a margarita? Oh, God…” She slung her forearm over her face to block the fluorescent glare. “So help me, I will never invite people I don’t know into my house.”

He watched two big tears stream down her face as her head hung back. Even with vomit in a wastepaper basket, her face puffy and red, clothes askew, and hair sitting up on top of her head like a squirrel, there was something so innocent about this chick that was making him process everything she had to say twice. He watched her chest rise and fall in shudders, like that of a frightened bird. Her red silk robe was stained…little mesh slippers scuffed and dirty…pretty feet must be cold, gooseflesh sitting up on her arms.

Ray nodded to the glass. “I’ll get you another blanket and a cup of coffee—then we can talk, all right? Tell me where you met these people and under what circumstances, and maybe we can shorten your evening in here?”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. More tears slipped down her cheeks beneath her forearm.

It was the most convoluted story he’d ever heard. His partner stood behind the glass, scratching his head.

“Brother, either this chick is on a bad acid trip, or she’s the most bold-faced liar I have ever seen. How is a gorgeous chick like that gonna make
anybody
believe she hasn’t had a boyfriend, in what, three years? Nah, wrong answer! Save it for the jury.”

“I know,” Ray said, studying Jocelyn Jefferson through the glass as she meekly sipped her coffee with a blanket clutched around her. He touched the two-way mirror with one finger. “She doesn’t come up on radar as a working girl, though. That’s the thing. Everything we’ve asked her checks out, down to no driving violations. I see what I see through this glass, know what Murph and the fellas brought in, but this chick’s alibis are airtight. She’s offering everything without a struggle—DNA, urine, fingerprints, birth certificates, phone numbers, addresses to all her hangouts—it’s crazy. She’s even told us to come to her house and dust every surface, to even check out the sheets, and keeps claiming not to know Phat and Smooth. So, either she’s the best liar we’ve run across, or…” He snatched his hand away from the glass and made a fist. “I hate not being a hundred percent in my gut.”