I ignored his bluff, went into the living room, sat on the carpet facing the fireplace. It was off. The room was dark and cold. I heard him walk into the room behind me.

"Livvy . . . It's too cold to be on the floor naked."

I didn't turn around. "Tony, don't come near me."

"At least get a blanket."

"Keep away."

His voice was feet away. "Why was your phone vibrating at two in the morning?"

"My phone didn't vibrate because my phone was off."

"You just thought it was off."

"So you turned it back on?"

"I didn't turn-"

"Stop lying."

"Who sent the text-?"

"Why would you violate my privacy-?"

"Because your d.a.m.n phone was blowing up like Baghdad. No friend would call-"

"For all you know, it could've been my sisters."

"They would've called the house. That's if they knew you were coming home."

A headache came on.

He asked, "If it's nothing, why are you scared?"

"I'm not scared. I'm p.i.s.sed off."

Then came the tears.

He asked, "You seeing somebody?"

I didn't say anything, just wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. He asked again. Still no answer from me. I never argued the truth. Right now my home felt like my prison.

I said, "I shouldn't have let you f.u.c.k me."

"Why did we have to use a condom?"

"Why you think?"

"I got tested. You got tested. We were fine-"

"I still don't trust you, Tony."

"Trust? You've been gone for weeks, I can't find you, and you don't trust me?"

"If you would've used a condom with that b.i.t.c.h-"

"Livvy, I told you-f.u.c.k it."

"And you have a lot of nerve questioning whatever I do."

"Is that how you see it?"

"That's the way it is."

"You're pretty suspect yourself. We haven't used condoms since-"

"So, is that why you're going through my purse and my phone?"

"You've had a Depo shot, so why would I need to use-?"

"Because I made your hoing a.s.s put on a d.a.m.n condom?"

My eyes were closed. Cellular phone in my hand. Purse in my lap.

His voice remained behind me. "You know what?"

I didn't respond.

He said, "You didn't delete the text messages."

I pulled my lips in, then for some reason, I laughed and shook my head.

I asked, "Did you show your mother the pictures of your baby? It has eyes just like you, so that means the kid has eyes just like your mother."

Tony didn't think it was funny.

I said that to hurt him, but my words only made me feel barren.

"Who were you with in San Diego?"

"Will you give it a rest?"

"Were you alone?"

"Keep away from me, Tony."

In the movies, this was where the couple went insane, screamed, fought, and tried to kill each other, then the neighbors dialed nine-one-one and the police came, put chalk marks around the scene of a murder-suicide, and the end of your life became fodder for the morning news.

We did kill each other, only we did it with silence.

I opened my eyes and stared at the fireplace. There was no fire.

That was when I noticed a light blinking on and off. The oscillating luminance came from across the street. Colorful, happy lights letting people know Christmas was on the way.

I closed my eyes the way a child did when she was trying to make herself invisible.

Eventually I said, "She had you served at my dinner party. Then she sent pictures to my mailbox. To our house. To this G.o.dd.a.m.n address. This is our home and it's like she's moving in. She knows the baby is yours, Tony. She wouldn't do some s.h.i.t like that if she didn't know."

My eyes stayed closed, my world black. Tony's breathing told me how bad he felt.

I said, "We've spent eight thousand on f.u.c.king legal fees. And on top of that, we'll have to pay back child support for d.a.m.n near a year. Then there is going to be child support every f.u.c.king month and . . . visitation."

He whispered out his frustration, "What can I do to . . . What can I do, Livvy?"

Tony left the room, his footsteps going up the stairs. Then I heard him coming back, each step so heavy. He put a blanket around me, then there was a click. The fireplace came on.

He said, "I love you, but I'm not going to kid myself. I'll call my lawyer tomorrow."

He went back up the stairs.

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Frankie.

I stormed out of Tommie's crib before the sheriffs left, mad as h.e.l.l.

Talk about two friggin' drama queens.

Since I was up, I drove my sleep-deprived b.u.t.t to Kenneth Hahn Park, put on my hooded jacket and gloves, and got my run on. This morning running helped keep me from going nuclear and catching a case. Put in five miles. Needed to run ten, but I wasn't feeling it. Had to stay on my program. I have this picture of myself taped on my refrigerator. My before shot: Cellulite in a bikini. Before my meals, I had to face the old me with the Halle Berry cut and the Fat b.a.s.t.a.r.d b.u.t.t. Let me tell you, just like Al "The Thin Man" Roker said, it ain't easy getting it off, and was a full-time j-o-b keeping it off, especially this time of year. Food was every-d.a.m.n-where.

I had a lot of things on my To Do list. I was tired as h.e.l.l, still p.i.s.sed off, was craving the company of a man, but told myself that I was better off chilling and getting in some me time. Told myself that I had more glory than sadness in my life right now, yakking out all the Oprah bulls.h.i.t a sister said to herself to make it seem like being alone was so d.a.m.n cool.

Next thing I knew, I was firing up the laptop. I had a lot of junk cyber-mail, c.r.a.p asking me if wanted to purchase a vibrator that played "O, c.u.m All Ye Faithful."

I ordered one.

Then I called Tommie's crib and woke Livvy up. She was still in a foul mood and I was doing what I could to get her spirits back on track without her dragging me down.

Livvy said, "Tony messed up the fantasy. I had this fantasy of a perfect life."

"b.i.t.c.h, quit the Mother Teresa act. You f.u.c.ked a n.i.g.g.a in Cancn."

"That was before we got married."

"So what?"

She yelled, "And you slept with two guys in Cancn."

"Twins count as one. And I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, so don't hate."

She cursed me out and hung up on me.

I laughed, plopped down in front of my PC, and logged on.

I was so tired of stupid-a.s.s people forwarding me dumb s.h.i.t like "Black Voting Rights Expire in 2007." Me thinketh thou weave be a little too tight. "Asbestos: Secret Ingredient in Tampons." Gimme a friggin' break. "c.o.c.kroach Eggs at Taco Bell." Okay, I believed that one. Anytime a place of fine dining had a flea-ridden mutt as a spokesperson, anything was possible. But still, there should be some sort of a friggin' IQ test before you're allowed to log on, because too many candidates for the short yellow bus were dancing in the fields of cyberland.

After deleting all that c.r.a.p I yawned and went through a ton of e-mail from that personal ad, deleting and laughing and cursing. When that many fugly men sent you e-mail, half of 'em b.u.t.t naked, it made you wonder what the h.e.l.l they saw when they looked at your picture.

Then one of them sounded pretty promising.

Okay, first, the picture he sent me was off the chains. Professional and hip. I e-mailed homie, and he was online, another cyber-junkie, and he hit me right back. Outside of a few misspelled words, his online conversation was nice. And he said that the picture he sent was him, and was taken in the last six months. And to prove it, I went out to his job's Website and checked him out. Then to be sure, I had homeboy fire up his digital camera, take a mug shot, and e-mail it to me right then and there.

What really made me interested was the quote on his ad.

Love is friendship set on fire.

Corny, but at least he knew how to fake the funk and not broadcast the vibes of a pervert.

I hopped my rooty tooty b.u.t.ter pecan booty up, jumped in my sweats, and zoomed down to Manhattan Beach. Needed to run up to Tommie's j-o-b at the overpriced candle factory. Wall to wall, the plaza was jam-packed with frantic, rude, and irritated shoppers-loved the way holiday sales, bad traffic, and jacked-up parking brought out the heathen in everybody.

Tommie was running around in those whacked green pants and red shirt under that blue ap.r.o.n, looking like a super-sized leprechaun. Reindeer socks and frosted makeup. She was making the McBroom name look as bad as it sounded. She was so busy working the cash register, fooling customers and making them think she could decorate, smiling and guiding their decisions as if they were children. That's why she didn't see me until I was right up in her face.

I tried not to laugh, but couldn't hold it in. "You're giving people decorating tips?"

"What do you want?"

"The Jeep."

"Going to get a tree?"

"Meeting a guy for drinks. Wanna roll low profile."

We traded keys, kissed cheeks, and I ran out of the store, still laughing.

I was almost at Tommie's Jeep when an Escalade pa.s.sed by me, then slowed down. It was chromed out, had twenty-four inch-wheels and rims that kept spinning when the tires stopped moving. That was what I called SUGS-Straight Up Ghetto s.h.i.t. I used to call it SUNS, but I've been trying to cut back on using the N-word. His eyes were on me, already slowing down to get his mack on. d.a.m.n. I pretended I didn't hear him toot his horn or see his window roll down.

He yelled, "n.i.g.g.a, I know you see me. You ain't that d.a.m.n pretty."

"Who the-" I looked and saw a dark-skinned brother wearing a bright yellow velour FUBU sweatsuit, his Raiders hat turned sideways. "Do I know you?"