Naughtier than Nice (25 page)

At the twentieth mile marker we saw Livvy. In the heat of the day, our middle sister called out to us.

She was posted near the water station. Middle sister Livvy hopped into the race. The unshaved part of her mane was pulled back into a healthy ponytail. Her bright yellow running shorts and green T-shirt were fresh and drier than Las Vegas.

Livvy said, “I've seen a lot of people from our group. Probably forty people at least.”

Frankie asked, “Who were the last ones to go by before we got here?”

“Dr. Debra and Dr. Shelby are going to finish at about three hours and a half.”

“We'll never catch them. They will have bragging rights this year.”

Tommie panted, “Why in the hell . . . do we . . . keep . . . doing this shit . . . year . . . after . . . goddamn year? I'm never doing this again. Never. How did I let you talk me into running in the damn rain?”

Livvy said, “Focus, baby sister. You're almost home.”

Tommie went on and on: “We're not getting paid. We're tearing down our bodies.
We're morons.
”

Livvy was just getting warmed up and Tommie and I had entered the Zone of the Suffering. Every part of my body ached from pounding the pavement the last 105,000 feet. Muscles and mind cried in agony. Legs were on fire. Arms were anvils. Sweat ran from
the top of my scalp to the arches of my feet. Tommie looked worse. I reached into my fanny pack, took out a piece of candy to suck on and get a sugar high, handed her one, then asked her if she was okay, and she barely nodded. Paramedics tended to people who had overheated and broken down. One guy was bleeding from his rear. That wasn't my business. We heard that two people had had heart attacks a few miles back. All of the drama was typical.

Livvy asked, “Tommie, did you come by my house last night or early this morning?”

Tommie spat, wiped her mouth. “If you're asking, then you already know the answer.”

Livvy said, “Jesus, Tommie. You said that you were in bed by ten. Why did you lie?”

“You said the same thing, Livvy. You were in bed, but I guess you should've been more specific.”

I said, “What is the issue between you two? What was going on at your house, Livvy?”

Tommie said, “Worry about your house, Frankie.”

Livvy said, “Tommie, you came by my crib in the middle of the night.”

“I came by your house, Livvy. Had my headphones on when I came in, so I didn't hear you before I saw you.”

I said, “Somebody want to tell me what's going on?”

Tommie said, “Do you want to tell Livvy what's going on with you, Frankie?”

Livvy asked, “What's going on with Frankie?”

I said, “Want to tell Livvy what's going on with you, Tommie?”

Livvy asked, “What's going on with you, Tommie?”

“I know you don't want to start a question-asking party, Livvy.”

*   *   *

The last mile was ten kinds of hell, but we smelled the Pacific Ocean and that seawater called me. About one hundred yards out
we kicked it hard, huffed and puffed, gave it all we had, and took it down to a sub-eight-minute-mile pace. I was at the right end, Livvy was next to me, and Tommie was next to Livvy. We held hands and raised them up high. We crossed the finish line like we had won the damn race. Our photo would make us look like champions. We had conquered 26 miles and 385 yards in four hours and six minutes. While I took deep breaths and felt like crying because we had done it again, I hugged Livvy. Beta-endorphins danced around in my head and gave me that sensation of calmness. Livvy was in pain. As exhausted as Livvy was, you would think she had run the entire race. Tommie limped around like she was auditioning for
The Walking Dead
and kept cringing and making butt-ugly faces. Those 42 kilometers had messed her up. She took her cellular out. I knew she was back to her anger and calling Blue. Trash day at her house. Hands on hips, a Mylar blanket over my shoulders to keep my body heat from escaping, I inhaled lungfuls of salty air and limped around on throbbing muscles and numb feet. Livvy walked with us. She saw Dr. Debra and Dr. Shelby and went to congratulate them.

Sweating profusely, panting, I asked Tommie, “Who are you looking for?”

Tommie marched through the hundreds of aching and chafed people, found her way over to Beale Streets. I watched them. Something intense was going on. She wiped sweat from her brow, then pulled a note out of her fanny pack and handed it to him. She put the note in his sweaty hands, held his hands, and looked in his eyes, her expression very somber, very serious. She was talking fast. His excited grin went away; his expression of happiness turned into confusion. He tried to say something, but Tommie shook her head. He tried to hold on to her fingers, but she pulled away, lowered her head, and as she was talking she backed up. She shook her head like she was done talking and left him standing there. He called her name. She didn't look back. He looked stunned and she looked incredibly sad. He walked after her, but she turned, jogged away,
sensed he was chasing her and held up her hand, and that rejection, that body language, told him not to follow her. That was a good-bye, done in public. He watched her five-foot-ten frame move through the exhausted and jubilant crowd.

Eyes down, maybe not feeling good about herself, Tommie came to me. She came and stood by me to feel protected. I knew her. She came to me like I was her mother.

I asked, “How long have you been cheating on Blue, Tommie?”

“A relationship is like a marathon. It can start off rough, but you have to warm up. You have to find the right pace. Not every mile is going to be easy. Sometimes you have to get your second wind and refocus. It's not always going to feel good. It's about how bad you want it. You have to be committed.”

“Save the Easter speech and poetry for a fool. How many times did you sleep with that young guy, Tommie?”

“I need my family.”

“That many times. Why would you do that, Tommie?”

“Family is all that matters in the end, Frankie.”

Not far away, Beale Streets leaned against a rail and read the pages of whatever Tommie had given him. An incredulous look was plastered on his face, an expression similar to the one I had when a woman called me and told me she was married to the man I was engaged to and trying to procreate with.

In a firm yet angered and worried voice I asked, “What's in the letter?”

“It's an A and B matter, so C your way out. I don't press you about Franklin, your car getting jacked up, your business being attacked. You have your secrets. I have mine. Learn where to draw the line, Frankie. It's not your business.”

I reached and pulled her hair like I was trying to take a handful out by the roots.

She screamed.

I asked, “How long have you been seeing that guy?”

“It's over. I did some hard thinking while I ran. I know what I want to fight for.”

“How long?”

“It's. Over. Let me go, Frankie. Have you lost your mind?”

“No, but you have definitely lost yours.” I let her sweaty hair free. “We're going to need that note back.”

We moved on, limped by people who had come from all over the world and heard at least fifty languages.

At the friends and family meet-up area, we saw Blue and his daughter.

Tommie was shocked to see Blue. Monica ran to Tommie, called her Mommy loud enough for the world to hear. People around them laughed at the display of love. Tommie switched modes, became joy and smiles. Tommie and Mo kissed each other and laughed like the world was made of cotton candy.

Beale Streets stood to the side, all five foot eleven inches of him, with a thirty-two-inch waist and severe Abercrombie & Fitch model looks, only now the man with the badass Afro owned a bad-tempered expression, like rejection had given him viral meningitis. He raised his head in degrees.

He saw Tommie with her family.

Beale looked like he walked into a temple, didn't like what was going on, and was ready to start flipping over tables.

I hoped he wouldn't.

I hoped he knew better.

Tommie kissed Blue on his lips. Beale saw her tongue Blue. The twentysomething man looked through the swelling crowd of overachievers, glowered toward Tommie and the man she was engaged to marry. Tommie hugged Blue, his back to us, while she made curt eye contact with Beale Streets, swallowed like she felt trapped, then diverted her attention, took Blue's hand in her right hand, held Monica's hand in her left. She held Blue's hand tight, then kissed him again and again and again, each kiss a message to Beale.
That was a statement as powerful as whatever was in that long letter.

His Dear John letter in his sweaty hands, wearing one of the Mylar warmers over his shoulders, Beale Streets was pissed. He was outraged. He moved through the crowd, his pace as if the run had caused him no pain whatsoever, and directed himself toward Tommie and her family.

I was heading to cut the young buck off, but Livvy was already jogging in that direction.

Livvy said, “What's going on? What did you do to upset my sister?”

I added, “Walk away, Beale Streets. Take your pretty eyes and put them on someone new.”

Livvy tilted her head. “I was at his event with Tommie. Wait. Tommie's creeping with this guy? I knew something was going on.”

I waved her away. “I got this, Livvy. Go keep Blue and Tommie away from this.”

Livvy asked Beale, “Is that why your ex did that drive-by singing and bloodied her knees? Is that why the mean girl walked up and had words with Tommie? Was that performance for Tommie and you?”

Beale responded. “I guess you don't know. I'm in love with Tommie and Tommie is in love with me.”

I said, “No you're not. Don't even fool yourself into thinking like that.”

“You don't know the truth. We're blissfully in love. She knows she loves me. She was with me late last night. Well, more like the early hours of this morning. She was with me, in my bed, before she went to your house, Frankie. We made love before she went to your house. She's moving in with me
today
. That is what she told me
after we made love
.”

“Don't lie on my sister like that.”

“We made love. Ask her.”

I said, “Look over my shoulder and you can see who Tommie is in love with, Beale Streets.”

Livvy said, “Walk away, Beale Streets. Blue will beat your ass and my husband will help him.”

I said, “He'll crucify you, right here, in public.”

Livvy continued, “So if you know what's good for you, drop the letter, then walk away, forget about my little sister.”

I said, “Don't make new enemies today.”

Livvy added, “This is the wrong family to mess with.”

My cellular vibrated. It was on my right arm. I didn't bother to look at it, not now.

One crisis at a time was all I could handle.

I said, “Before you walk away, Beale, like my sister just told you, whatever Tommie gave you, I need it back right now.”

He shook his head. “This is from Tommie to me, and this matter is between Tommie and me.”

“I want the note that she gave you and I want that note right now.”

He shook his head, then smiled. “Sorry, my sisters, and no disrespect, but I don't know you. Tommie talks about both of you all the time, told me about your false engagement, Frankie. And Livvy, or Olivia, she has told me a lot about you as well. It feels like I know both of you, but I know I don't.”

Then I heard a voice over the music and international chatter. “Beale Streets? Is that you over there with the McBrooms? Tommie, it's Beale Streets. Let's go over and tell our favorite writer hello.”

It was Blue's voice. All conversation ended and everyone tensed and looked in his direction.

He came up behind us; Mo was holding Tommie's hand, and they were a few steps behind Blue.

Livvy took a step back, but I took a step closer to Beale Streets,
put my hand on Pretty Eyes's shoulder, and gave him a smile that dared him to fuck up my sister's relationship, here, now, in public.

Blue extended his hand and Beale Streets extended his. Blue was muscular, another LL Cool J. Beale Streets was toned but not as powerful. There was a twenty-year age difference between the men.

Blue said, “Beale Streets, remember my fiancée, Tommie? I bought her your book when it first came out. She's read it two or three dozen times. She's as big a fan as I am. We were at your event.”

Beale nodded, said, “Tommie.”

Blue said, “How is Tanya Obayomi? I see her at the gym. The conversation is always about you.”

“I've moved on, so there is no need to converse regarding me and her.”

“She asks me for advice on how to get you to come back to her.”

“My energies are elsewhere. I am focused on someone else now.”

Beale Streets stared at Tommie, mouth open, the note bouncing against his leg. Beale Streets and Blue looked like they could pass for brothers. Beale was a younger version of Blue, with no child.

Blue said, “And this is the princess of the castle. Say hello to Mr. Streets, Monica. He's a writer like Daddy and Mommy. He's one of the best writers in America.”

Mo said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Streets.
Hola, cómo está usted, si usted habla español.
You're older than me so I have to use
usted
to show respect, unless you tell me it's okay to
tuteo
with you.”

We laughed at Monica. Tony had been teaching her Spanish since the day he met her.

Beale cleared his throat and said, “Nice to meet you, Monica. You're a beautiful little girl.”

Monica said, “The pleasure to meet you is all mine, Mr. Streets.”

“Tommie is your mother?”

“She's better than my mother. She makes sure I have food every day and makes sure I have everything I need. She cares about me and never ignores me. When my daddy marries her I'm going to adopt Tommie to be my real mother and me and Daddy are changing our last names to McBroom.”