Ruby’s Misadventures with Reality
by Samantha Bohrman
Copyright © 2015 by Samantha Bohrman. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Dorothy and the Dollar Store Rubbers
Wearing nothing but a borrowed bathrobe, Ruby stood in Noel West’s high-end prefab kitchen and leaned against the granite countertop while smiling like an actress in a refrigerator commercial. Noel looked like he might speak, but he took a farm boy-sized bite of his blueberry Pop-Tart instead. She willed him to say something to explain last night—anything would do—but all he managed was a disappointing, “If you’re thirsty, the water from the fridge dispenser is ice cold.”
“Gee. Thanks,” she said, and they went back to smiling and sipping coffee like two wayward Old Navy mannequins. It was everything she’d ever wanted, if only she knew how she’d gotten here.
She remembered speaking in front of the Zoning Commission yesterday. She had been wearing her best approximation of a power suit while giving a local developer hell. Then, it all went fuzzy until this morning when she’d woken up in Noel’s Ethan Allen-inspired bedroom in serious need of a toothbrush and a shower. Under her borrowed bathrobe, her skin was covered in fine purple grit, as if she’d run through a sprinkler and then rolled in grape-flavored Pop Rocks. Waking up at the zoning commissioner’s house covered in what she could only assume was purple sex paste with a smooshed party hat under her pillow—it just didn’t add up, not for a temp attorney who spent most nights Facebooking in front of The Bachelor.
Ruby gave him a coy look and giggled self-consciously. “Is it just me or are you purple, too?”
He arched an eyebrow and chuckled, but he didn’t answer.
Just her apparently.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Noel didn’t look like the kind of guy who would paint himself purple and roll around in the sheets, or admit to it, anyway. In his crisp white button-down shirt and flawlessly tailored slacks, he looked like money, like his weekend accessories might be a leggy model and a tennis racket. But he wasn’t snobby. Noel wore his fortune and looks as comfortably as Ruby might wear a leopard-print bikini and a fashion turban.
Of course she was thrilled that she probably, might have, almost certainly did sleep with Emerald City’s most attractive zoning commissioner, but her uncertainty stopped her from breaking into a touchdown dance in front of his fridge. She’d been lusting after Noel from across the room for years. She’d been waiting for the perfect moment to get to know him, the moment when her hair looked great and she knew exactly what to say. Waking up with him was almost too good to be true. Almost. It wasn’t like Noel was a shelf from IKEA—looked good in the store, but didn’t come with directions or any of the necessary parts and would never fit in her living room. She was pretty sure that they had a fabulous time last night. It took all her restraint not to continue probing about last night, but she decided to play it cool for another five minutes.
A crumb fell unnoticed from Noel’s lips. “When do you need to get to work, Ruby?” He’d said her name too deliberately, as if to remind himself of who she was. “You didn’t mention what time you needed to wake up…you know, last night after…”
After what? Was he hoping she would fill in the details or did he lose his train of thought? She pulled the corners of her mouth into a premeditated smile. “Mind if I grab some more coffee?”
“Of course. Let me.” Like a perfect host, he refilled her cup. “I’ve got a Pop-Tart in the toaster for you, too.”
She smiled graciously, playing Emily Post to his Prince Charming—Pop-Tarts and purple sex paste notwithstanding.
When he handed her the coffee cup, his hand brushed hers and all thoughts of gracious decorum evaporated. Her nerves stood on end and her fingers tingled where they had touched.
If Noel’s fingers tingled, she couldn’t tell. His face was inscrutable. “Sorry to leave you so soon, but I’ve gotta run. I have a hearing in an hour.” He glanced at the time. “I’d be happy to give you a ride, though. If you need one.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” As she said this, she realized she didn’t even know where his house was or how she’d gotten there. All she knew was that she needed a shower. “Mind if I stay and use your shower? That must have been a pretty wild night!” She gave him a wide-eyed “Please, tell me something about anything” look. The desperation must have radiated off her a little too strongly.
He shifted on his feet awkwardly and said, “Thanks for agreeing to keep it professional. It’s so important to remain impartial in zoning decisions.”
Ruby nodded, wondering if this was how he ended all his dates. She also wondered when the professional and impartial zoning decisions conversation had taken place. If she wasn’t mistaken, there had been two crumpled party hats in that bed.
With the uncomfortable zoning bias issue out of the way—he really did look relieved—Noel took her hand. He started to give it a squeeze, but must have thought better of it. He pulled her into an embrace instead.
With his thick butterscotch hair and chambray eyes, Noel looked like her vision of Prince Charming. He could have passed for Prince William, except he was even better looking, with a more outdoorsy vibe. More royal. More charming and probably even more daring when it came to helicopter rescue and such. When he took her in his arms, she didn’t want to be anywhere else ever. She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes and her heart began to race. The space between them sizzled with desire. Ruby stood on her toes and closed the distance. When she pressed herself against him, his breath hitched. Issues of zoning bias aside, when their lips met he reciprocated in a very un-business-like way. The kiss he had meant to be a good-bye felt more like a reason to climb back into bed and let the variance applications wait for another half an hour, at least to Ruby.
In a husky voice that made her wonder why they had to “keep it professional,” he said, “I’ll see you at work, Ruby O’Deare.”
She nodded. She’d like to try this scene again, maybe when her head felt better and she’d combed her hair. But Noel headed for the door.
Left alone in his stainless steel kitchen with nothing but the hum of the refrigerator, Ruby felt like she’d been picked up by a twister, spun around, and dropped in Oz. And it was only Wednesday.
After showering, she found yesterday’s clothes in a pile on the floor. She looked at herself in the mirror and immediately wished she hadn’t. The way her glossy coat of auburn hair dye contrasted with her hung-over pallor made her look life-like, but not quite alive, which was exactly how she felt. With a deep breath, she thought, I can do this. I just have to make it until five. But first she needed a ride. She dialed Ming, her best friend and roommate, but some guy named Todd answered instead. “Is Ming there?”
“Nope. I’m answering her phone today.”
“If you see her, ask her to call Ruby right away. I need a ride.” She had no clue where her car was, but it wasn’t at Noel West’s house.
“Ruuuby!” he yelled into the phone, as if greeting a drinking buddy at the local bar. “Where you at, girl?”
“Do I know you?”
He laughed uproariously, as if it was a funny question.
“Seriously, do I know you?”
“I’m crashing on your couch for a while.”
“Okay, I guess.” Ruby gave him Noel’s address, which she found on a piece of mail in the entryway, and told him she’d meet him at a nearby bus stop.
She hobbled down the street to the stop in her four-inch heels, where she sat on the only portion of the bench not occupied by one of Emerald’s latest art installations, a cluster of Norman Rockwell-inspired bronze statues. This one featured a woman and two toddlers sporting cheesy grins and holding lollipops. It was an attempt to boost Emerald’s snob cred with “real” art. To save money on bronze, the statues were less than life-sized. The end result—munchkins awkwardly lurking at bus stops and on street corners.
As she reached the stop, a bus pulled up. When she didn’t move to get on, the driver asked, “You getting on?”
“Um, no I’m waiting for a ride. A different one.” As if that made any sense.
The driver shook his head. “Whatever, lady.”
Ruby felt the sting of tears behind her eyes when the bus drove away, but she took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had probably had the night of her life. Hopefully, Noel would explain everything and they’d have a good laugh. Hopefully.
In her blue-checkered blouse and a pair of black sunglasses, Ruby sat next to the munchkins. She regarded them with mild disdain and fished through her purse for lipstick in the hopes of looking less like a wax figure of Judy Garland. She came across a receipt from the Dollar Store—not somewhere she normally went. To her knowledge, she had never been to the Dollar Store. The receipt said otherwise. It was dated yesterday and the purchased products gave hints about what might have transpired during last night’s debauchery. At eleven p.m. she’d purchased one box of Night Light Condoms and a Pepsi. The question was: Had Noel been with her at the time of purchase?
Or had she arrived on his doorstep unannounced with a Pepsi and glow-in-the-dark condoms?
Chapter Two
Over the Rainbow, Pantyhose Required
For once, Ruby felt relieved to be back at work. Her fifteen-minute ride with Todd, who inexplicably introduced himself as her new roommate, only added to her sense of displacement. At least at work she recognized everyone and knew the rules: no open-toed shoes, pantyhose required, 1,300 billable hours a month minimum. For once, she took comfort in this clarity.
Smith, Dworkin, and LeBlue provided nothing, if not clarity. When they’d hired her last month, they’d been very clear about her role. Her supervisor, a woman unapologetically named Destinee Childs, had told her, “The job will last nine months. Tops. Don’t expect an invitation to the Christmas party.”
Ruby sat down at her desk, started up her computer, and surveyed her little space. Her glass-topped desk’s neatness verged on sterile. She had no family pictures or kid art, only a framed photo of a dog that pre-dated her arrival. A motivational poster hung above her desk. It pictured a businessman riding a dollar bill over a rainbow like a magic carpet. Not long ago, she’d tried to trade her coworker Ted for his soaring eagle “Persevere!” poster, but he wouldn’t go for it, so she was stuck with the man on the dollar bill mocking her in 36-point font, “Follow your dreams! Way up high!” As if. She was just staving off the inevitable. At the end of nine months, she expected to be serving jalapeno poppers and mudslides at Applebee’s. Such was the fate of a middle-of-the-pack law grad in a tepid economy. Come to think of it, Todd might come in handy if he contributed to the rent.
Before getting down to business, she tried Ming again, hopeful her friend could explain something, how she ended up in Noel West’s bed covered in purple grit or anything about Todd. When Ming didn’t answer, she checked her email and made a list of things to do: catalogue evidence, file an answer in an insurance case, and call Estelle Harris, a pro bono client assigned by the court. The court must not have realized Ruby was a temp attorney.
Before calling the pro bono client, she picked up the case file. The prosecutor had accused Ms. Harris of robbing a grocery-store branch of the Giddyup Bank. He had charged her with armed robbery, conspiracy to commit robbery, possession of an illegal handgun, and growing a shitload of pot in her basement. From what she could piece together, the prosecutor’s office had charged three other people in the same conspiracy: Marcus Johnson, Jermaine Harris, and Trudi O’Kiefe. Ruby read with increasing dismay. Estelle was in deep.
As Ruby stared at the assignment wondering where to even start on a case like this, her supervisor walked in. Just like when you spot a cop and slam on the brakes, Ruby sat up straight and minimized the window on her computer screen. Destinee Childs was a woman as outrageous as her name. She had Anna Nicole’s looks and Dick Cheney’s demeanor. Ruby wasn’t sure who her puppets were, but Destinee was certainly pulling someone’s strings. In a frozen tone that iced over her sultry looks, Destinee said, “I saw that you were assigned a pro bono case. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take it.”
“Really? Why do you want it?” Destinee never so much as made a new pot of coffee when she took the last cup. Whatever was motivating her interest in the case, Ruby assumed it wasn’t charity.
“No reason.” Her tone said it was no big deal, but Destinee was staring at Ruby with enough intensity to flash-freeze a package of hamburger. Ruby shivered.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep it. I really need the experience before I go back on the job market.”
Destinee looked puzzled that Ruby hadn’t immediately complied with her request. Without a word, she turned and stalked off in the direction from whence she had come. The woman never wasted energy on the little things, like hellos and good-byes, probably to save her voice for harassing her next victim.
More eagerly than she would have fifteen minutes ago, Ruby picked up the phone to dial her new client. Estelle Harris was at home with an ankle bracelet due to overcrowding in the jail and lack of flight risk. After about ten rings, an elderly woman with a wavering voice answered. “Hello.”
“My name is Ruby O’Deare. I’m calling for Estelle Harris.”
“This is she.”
“Hello, Ms. Harris. I’m an attorney with Smith, Dworkin, and LeBlue and I’ve been assigned by the court to represent you.”
“Is that right? Isn’t that just wonderful!” She said this as if Ruby were an angel from heaven, rather than an inexperienced, court-appointed attorney.
“Yes. I was wondering if we could schedule a meeting.” Ruby started to say that the office secretary, Marvel, handled scheduling and could give Estelle directions to the office when Estelle broke in and said, “Well, I’d be happy to come down and meet with you, but I don’t think I can. I don’t have a car and my grandson isn’t home to give me a ride, not to mention this darn ankle bracelet.” Estelle laughed a little when she mentioned the ankle bracelet, as if it was a pretty good joke.
“The ankle bracelet is no problem. You’re allowed to meet with your attorney. Would your grandson be able to drive you tomorrow?”
“No, he’s in jail. Jermaine is my only family.”
“I guess I’ll have to come to you. Will three o’clock work?”
“That’d be fine. I appreciate you going out of your way, sweetie.”
Ruby got down to her morning business before her meeting with Estelle. After putting in an unspeakably dull morning of billable hours, meaning that she spent only a quarter of her time on Facebook, Petfinder, and Zappos, she gleefully packed up fifteen minutes before she stopped billing. On her way out of the office, she stopped by Marvel’s desk. “Heya, Marvel, do you mind if I borrow your car? I need to run out and visit a client.”
Marvel looked over the top of a pair of cat-eye glasses that had slid down her nose and said, “Of course! It’s parked by the koi pond entrance. It’s the blue Geo with a red driver’s side door. You can’t miss it. Give the door a kick if it won’t open.”
“Thanks!” Ruby loved Marvel. She dressed like a 1960s fashion plate and knitted scarves at her desk. If her car was anything like she described, Marvel was underpaid.
Smith, Dworkin, and LeBlue, or “Smiddy,” as the in-crowd called it, sat on the top floor of Emerald’s mall, the Biomall, which happened to be the latest and greatest American mega-mall. Oswald “Oz” Rancka, the mall’s developer, made it bigger than the Mall of America and way better. To get hip with the Prius-driving, recycling generation, Oz modeled it after Biosphere II in Arizona. Unlike the Biosphere, which recreated a mangrove wetland and a fog desert, the Biomall created a “shopping biome,” basically California without the smog.
On her way out, Ruby walked past the window displays. Some mannequins in knee-length sweater vests, fingerless gloves, and over-sized Russian hats caught her eye. Fur-lined armless swing coats! She was in love.
For a certain population—frequent shoppers and mall walkers—the Biomall’s climate-control capabilities made actual Kansas weather completely irrelevant, making apparel like a fur vest with a mini skirt as practical as mittens in Minnesota. Shortly after opening, the Biomall began notching its thermostat up or down to accommodate the latest trends. For girls like Ruby, who only experienced real weather in short bursts between the car and the front door, the mall’s thermostat was the only weather to watch. The local news had even taken to reporting on it. The “meteorologist,” who probably wanted to kill herself if she had actually attended meteorology school, would report from the koi ponds in the food court. Garbed in a sailor-inspired tank dress, she’d say something like: “Ahoy Matey! Mall shoppers should expect a sharp uptick in temperature. Think Bahamas, ladies! It’s summer in Kansas,” even though it might actually be late February.
***
Ruby stepped onto Estelle’s front porch. The open windows seemed to indicate it was of the variety without air conditioning—something Ruby didn’t remember encountering outside of TV. Thanks to the Biomall’s marketing genius, she found herself dressed more for “today’s hottest trend” climate than the actual Kansas weather. And so, she stood in eighty-five degree weather with a seventy-degree dew point dressed in pantyhose and her Dorothy Gale-inspired business attire. The shirt had already adhered to her back with sweat.
Estelle lived in a gentrifying, but mostly shabby, section of town, home to most of Emerald’s minority population. It must have been pretty at one time. A spacious wraparound porch brought to mind afternoon tea with strawberry pie and a hand-carved wood door hinted at the house’s glory days, now long past if the pile of abandoned furniture on the porch, the chipped exterior paint, and overgrown garden beds were any indication. After a knock on the door and a long wait, a petite black woman answered. She was dressed in a floral housedress, stockings, and a pair of sturdy black shoes. Estelle Harris looked like no armed robber Ruby had ever seen.
“Ms. Harris?”
“Hello. You must be Miss O’Deare.” She ushered Ruby in through an entry filled with discarded belongings and old furniture haphazardly organized to create a walking path. “Sorry for the mess, dear. Jermaine has been too busy to help me clean up lately. Let’s just go sit down in the kitchen.”
Ruby started sweating as much as a lawyer straight from the pages of a John Grisham novel set in Alabama, which made her think she might have to pay attention to the actual weather if she did many more of these pro bono gigs. Estelle Harris didn’t seem to notice. She steered Ruby towards the kitchen table, a sunny oasis in the dingy home, where she offered Ruby a cup of coffee and a freshly baked sweet roll.
“Mmm. This roll is amazing.”
“I’ve got a heavy hand with the butter. I’m glad you like it, sweetie.”
Ruby felt a twinge of anxiety when she heard Estelle mention butter. As far as she knew she had never ingested butter. She had always stuck to the fat-free trend of the moment, currently a yellow substance advertised as “extract of coco butter flower,” actually slag byproduct from the maltodextrose production that some genius at the ADM plant had dyed yellow and whipped into a frothy spread. After a bite of actual butter, Ruby was starting to think real products might be a good idea.
“So, Mrs. Harris, you’ve been charged with quite a few things.” She trailed off, waiting for Estelle to explain how she could have been charged with robbery.
“Please, call me Estelle.” Estelle looked serene considering the heavy-duty charges she faced. Ruby could hardly imagine the police arresting her. She looked like the long-lost black member of the Golden Girls, like someone who might have to miss her weekly bridge game to appear in court.
“Well, as I was saying, you’ve been charged with robbery, conspiracy, and intent to distribute marijuana. Because of the conspiracy charge, you are being held accountable for every bad act, even if you didn’t do it. For example, you might not have robbed the bank, but you are being charged with it because the prosecutor thinks you are a member of the conspiracy. Do you understand that?”
Estelle looked as if she preferred a change of subject. “Yes, I understand the charges, but I really don’t know what all the fuss is about. I haven’t done a thing and neither has my boy.” She paused. “Would you like some more coffee, sweetheart, or maybe another roll?”
Ruby accepted both. In between bites she steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Mrs. Harris, these charges are very serious. If you don’t mind, I think you had better explain to me exactly what happened. I’ll interrupt if I have any questions.”
“All right, sweetheart. There’s really not too much to the story. My grandson, Jermaine, he lives with me. He does business with his girlfriend, Trudi, and his friend, Marcus, mostly at the house. The police decided I must be the ringleader since I own the place.” She laughed a little. “Bunch of fools, if you ask me.” A look of sadness momentarily disturbed Estelle’s placid countenance as she considered the trouble her boy was in.
“I’ve always encouraged Jermaine to spend time in the house and I like to know his friends, so most nights I cook for them and some mornings I make Jermaine and his friends an omelet, sweet rolls, whatever they want. I like to keep the kitchen stocked.”
“That’s nice of you,” said Ruby. “What kind of business do Marcus and Jermaine talk about?”
“They’re both in sales, a couple of regular businessmen. For the most part, I ignore their business talk. I just do the cooking.”
“Okay, keep going. I’ll try not to interrupt anymore.”
“Well, a couple of weeks ago, the police came and pounded on the door. They arrested Jermaine. They said he had robbed the Giddyup Bank at the grocery store down the street, which I can hardly believe. Then, they searched the house and found Jermaine’s plants. Jermaine came clean and told me he did grow some marijuana plants, but he said he only grows them for cancer victims and people with glaucoma… I realize it looks bad, but Jermaine really is a good boy.”
Ruby doubted it. “So Estelle, you didn’t ever drive Jermaine down to the bank?”
“No, I don’t drive at all. He drives me to the grocery store now and then, but we never had any business at the bank. We bank at the credit union, not the Giddyup.”
“But the grocery store you go to is the same one with the bank that was robbed, correct?”
Estelle nodded.
“What do Jermaine and his friends usually do while you shop for groceries?”
“Most of the time they go over to Little Caesars and pick up a pepperoni pizza and some Crazy Bread while I get the food. Those boys love Crazy Bread. It’s no good for them, but what can you do?” Estelle smiled fondly as she contemplated her grandson’s habits.
Ruby smiled, as if it was cute. Estelle was obviously in denial.
“Were you at the grocery store the day it was robbed?”
“Yes, I picked up ingredients for an apple pie that afternoon. I remember I was out of butter.” Estelle paused for a moment to think. “The boys got a pizza while I shopped, the same as they always do. They were waiting in the car for me with it when I finished shopping. I remember Trudi yelling at Jermaine for getting Crazy Sauce on the seat covers. She was really upset because they were going to need dry cleaning. Very expensive. Anyway, we didn’t hear a thing about the robbery until we watched the news that night. My, I was surprised. I was so happy we had missed that excitement. The violence in this neighborhood makes me so nervous. I hate having my boy around it.”
With “Denial is a river in Egypt” echoing in her mind, Ruby looked at Estelle politely. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been down that river herself, so she wasn’t one to judge fellow travelers. She said, “I completely understand. But, I’m still wondering, did you hear Jermaine talking about robbing a bank? Or maybe his friends?”
The reality of the situation was clear to Ruby. Estelle lived in a carefully crafted myth of denial about Jermaine. He had probably robbed the grocery store mini-bank, as the police believed, while Estelle was picking out Granny Smiths.
“Did you carry the groceries out to the car yourself?”
“Oh no. The bag boy helped me out.”
Ruby could not believe her ears. The bag boy had loaded Estelle’s groceries into the getaway car.
Out of curiosity, Ruby asked, “How many bags did you have?”
“Oh, I think, three, and a gallon of milk.”
“Did you see any unusual packages in the car that day?” Like a giant bag of money.
“Oh no.” She shook her head emphatically.
“Where did the bag boy put the groceries?”
“Marcus had some packages in the trunk so Jermaine helped him slide them in the backseat.” Estelle paused. “I understand why Jermaine is in trouble about the marijuana, but I’m sure he shouldn’t be in any trouble over a bank robbery.”
“One more question, Estelle. The police say you have an illegal handgun. Do you own a gun?”
“Well, yes. Jermaine bought one a while back and put it in the closet. He said he’d feel better about my safety if there was a gun in the house. I’ve never used it, though. It’s been in the closet the whole time.”
“Is this the gun the police found when they searched the house?”
“Yes.”
“Did they find it in the closet you normally keep it in?”
“Well, I didn’t ask.”
“Did you tell the police it was your gun when they asked you about it?”
“Of course. It wasn’t anybody else’s gun.”
“Estelle, I’m not sure what evidence the police have collected against Jermaine, but I’m going to do my best to get your charges dropped.”
***
Ruby picked up a couple of lattes on the way back to the office. After dropping one of them by Marvel’s desk with the car keys, she sat down with Estelle’s file. Halfway through her syrupy coffee she still had no clue why the police had bothered to arrest Estelle. Certainly there was no reason for the prosecutor to press charges. By the time she got to the bottom of her latte, her ire was piqued. She flipped through the file to find the prosecutor’s name. It was Tyrone Wilcox.
Damn it.
Tyrone was a former football player turned law student, sort of pretentious, but gorgeous. They had dated for a while. She sucked in her ego and dialed.
He answered on the first ring.
With trepidation in her voice, she said, “Tyrone, this is Ruby O’Deare, you remember, from law school.”
He laughed. “Of course I remember. Nice to hear from you, Miss O’Deare.” He said her name with the same inflection you would say, “Oh, dear!” Her contracts professor had taken to calling her this after one flakey answer the first week of law school. It had stuck. Tyrone used it mercilessly, especially after the break-up.
Setting aside her embarrassment, she said, “I’m calling because I’ve been assigned to Estelle Harris’s defense. I just spoke to Ms. Harris and I can’t understand why you slapped her with so many charges.”
“There’s an obvious conspiracy between Jermaine, Trudi, Marcus, and probably an unknown bank employee. We have confessions from two of the three. By her own admission, Estelle participated in all of the meetings at which the conspiratorial agreement was formed, provided the weapon, not to mention the fact that she was present at the robbery and a passenger in the getaway car.” He let that sink in for a second and said, “We could charge her with everything just for being part of the conspiratorial agreement, but she did far more than that.”
Ruby had expected the grandson to leap to Estelle’s defense at some point. Apparently, he was taking her down with him. She rearranged the facts in her brain, putting Jermaine in the pile of jerks (next to her contracts professor) and said, “First of all, bringing snacks to a party of conspirators does not make a co-conspirator. You might as well charge the pizza delivery boy. And, she was not part of the robbery. She was grocery shopping.”
“Jermaine says she was providing cover for them.”
“Cover. Ha. If anything, she drew attention to Jermaine and Marcus because she had the bag boy deliver groceries to the getaway car. That alone should exculpate her.”
He answered, “Jermaine claims that was part of the plan. It made the rest of them look innocent.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve never heard such a stupid idea. The bag boy is the one that wrote down the plate number.”
“Well, no one accused them of being smart. Ruby, even if Estelle didn’t know, the Ostrich Rule applies. Burying her head in the sand does not protect her from charges. She should have known. Should have known is enough to establish mens rea. By the way, have you looked at Jermaine’s rap sheet? It’s a mile long and Estelle has been baking snacks for him through all of it.”
“She’s his grandmother!”
Ruby returned the phone to the receiver with a little more oomph than necessary and looked at the clock. When she saw the time, 5:30, she felt the steam go out of her. It was time to go home and see why her hyper-rational roommate had invited a man who smelled like Fritos to live on the couch, why said stoner was driving her car, and how the hell she had woken up with the too-gorgeous-to-be-real zoning commissioner smeared in purple paint and wearing a party hat.
On her way to the bus, she stopped at a fountain. Like most things at the Biomall, it was over-the-top glitzy. It looked like the Bellagio’s fountain had landed in an obscure corner of the mall, in between the bus stop and the entrance to JC Penney’s, one of the mall’s more unpopular corners, frequented only by old ladies and stoners.
Ruby stood before the fountain and fished through her purse for some change. Just like most people these days, she didn’t have any. Suddenly desperate to make a wish, she took out all the receipts out of her purse—about ten from Starbucks, the one from the Dollar Store, a couple from Nordstrom’s, some from TJ Max, more receipts than her salary justified by a long shot. She had already given all of her money to the mall so the fountain would just have to take the receipts as evidence of payment.
One by one, she tossed them into the burbling water. After she’d emptied her purse, twenty or so little slips of paper floated on the surface like bleached fall leaves. She looked up to the grand display of water and lights. Thinking of her tenuous job situation and all of the amazing displays of fall clothes she had passed on her way to the fountain, especially that pair of boots at Nordstrom’s, she closed her eyes and wished for—she tried to think of something clever or to put words to the unknowable something she was missing, but settled on a trust fund. And Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall.
Then she walked to the bus because Todd had her car.
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