“Alcoholic. Loser. Spoiled. Typical rich people problems.”
I said, “Didn’t know those were rich people problems.”
“And she’s jealous of his success.”
“You get that info online?”
She said, “Straight from Freeman. We talked this evening. He said she wrote a book a few years ago. It tanked.”
“That bad?”
“He said she couldn’t sell shit to a fly.”
“No shit.”
“He was trying to figure out how we could hook up. He wanted some.”
“Some what?”
“Don’t get stupid on me.”
“Little Miss Africa came to L.A. and she’s not putting out to the million-dollar man?”
“Variety is the spice of life, you know that. He could get that and still want this.”
“No doubt.”
“He said she’s getting to be a problem. Trying to hold him down.”
“If she’s a problem, why doesn’t he kick her to the curb then?”
“Who cares? Driver, you know how men are better than I do. From where I’m sitting all I know is men hate you, mistreat you, but won’t ever stop taking you to bed.”
“But you can’t keep away.”
“No, they can’t keep away. No matter how misogynistic, no matter how codependent, no matter how low their self-esteem, they always look for comfort in the bosom of a woman.”
“Like I said, you can’t keep away.”
“Not from the intelligent ones in nice suits.” Arizona’s voice dropped down to a seductive whisper. “Too bad you didn’t answer last night.”
“Yeah. Too bad.”
“Why didn’t you kiss me?”
“Business.”
“Can we take a break from business?”
“Sure.”
She leaned my way. I leaned hers. We kissed, soft tongue, gentle and sweet.
She looked at me, gave me the same eyes she did last night in the parking lot.
We kissed again.
She moaned a little. Got heated up, touched my face with her hand.
I forgot about Panther. Forgot about Lisa. Forgot about Wolf. Forgot about Rufus, Momma, and Reverend Daddy. Forgot about everything that haunted me.
Then we went back to watching the play, her hand on mine.
She was good at her game. Real good. But I had to be better at mine. I gave her the same kind of smile I gave her last night, didn’t give any more than that. Money was involved. Women were involved. Both caused the kind of trouble that sent a man to an early grave.
I asked, “You fucking Freeman?”
“So direct.”
“You said he wanted some. Are you?”
“That Pikachu-looking brother is a trip. He’s hot on my girl.”
“Oh. Thought he was hot on you.”
“Oh, God. That cockhound is calling us both.”
“Playing the odds.”
“Right. Thinks we don’t talk.”
“The player is getting played.”
“Fo’ sheezy my neezy.”
“So you’re fucking him?”
“We had phone sex. Well, he got off. I played my part.”
“No real fucking?”
“Haven’t. Lot of money at stake.”
“If it comes down to that?”
“Will if I have to.”
“The pickpocket?”
“My girl is down too. We have that understanding.”
“Big pimpin‘.”
“Business.”
“Sure. Business.”
“Right. Nothing personal. It’s business.”
“Well, you’re the prettier one.”
“She has the better body.”
“Depends on what you like.”
“Get real. You see her ass? If my booty was like that I’d rule the world.”
“If I were him I’d go for you.”
“If Freeman looked and dressed like you, shit, this would be a pleasant job.”
My cellular hummed again. Rufus’s number again. I let it roll. Then two more calls came in back-to-back, both from the UNKNOWN CALLER. Later on I’d wished I’d answered those calls. But right now I didn’t know what was going down. I ignored the hums, then powered it down and went back to checking out the play, the pickpocket in particular.
On stage the young college graduate’s affair with Mrs. Robinson went south. The aging nymph flipped from erotic to vindictive. Old with few choices. Desperate for affection. It was like watching Lisa lose her mind. Maybe I was tired but my eyes started burning and in that heat she started to look like Lisa. My wound came to life, throbbed its own beat, put waves of tension in my neck and back. I would’ve walked out, but I couldn’t do that without causing a disturbance.
I sat there, staring at Mrs. Robinson, hating that character the same way I did Lisa.
The play ended and I expected Arizona to wait for the pickpocket, but we left the theater and hurried to valet. She handed the Mexican who had handled her car a C-note. It was only five dollars to park. She didn’t ask for any change. This time no Spanish words.
Arizona made red lights change to green until we got back to Sherman Oaks.
She pulled back into the garage, opened the trunk. The load of designer clothes was gone. Three white