30

Lida waited for the left-turn signal to appear. She felt changed. In soft focus. Like a perfume commercial. “You touch Masumi,” she said out loud, “Masumi touches you.” When the green arrow appeared, the car in front of her sputtered and died. The soft focus dissolved.

“You bozo!” she yelled, backing, whipping to the right, and squealing around the bend. She had barely gone a block when a cop stepped into her lane, gesturing.

“Me?” she mimed, pulling to the curb.

She rolled her window down. “Please don’t give me a ticket,” she said. “I’ve got diarrhea and I was trying to get to a toilet.”

“That’s what they all say, lady.” He poised pencil over pad.

“I don’t believe that,” Lida countered.

“Radar says you were doing forty-two in a twenty-five-mile-zone.” A singsong recitation. “I’ll need your driver’s license and your registration.”

“I have two tickets in Maryland, and if I get another one now, they’ll probably take my license away.” She didn’t mention traffic court and her no-show the night before. She fished through her purse and found the license. She didn’t have the registration. “And forty-two isn’t fast,” she said, handing him the card.

“On Connecticut Avenue, lady, forty-two is fast.” He walked back to a police car that she hadn’t noticed before. She watched in the mirror as he leaned inside. When he came back, he was writing.

“It didn’t feel fast,” she said.

He handed her the ticket and a little slip of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“If you go to traffic school, you won’t get any points and you won’t have to pay the ticket. And, wait a minute”—he held up his hand to keep her from interrupting—“the offense won’t be reported to Maryland.”

“Thanks,” she said. He hadn’t remembered the registration.

“And, lady, better get yourself some Kaopectate.” He grinned. “It’s a heck of a lot cheaper than …” Lida followed his gaze. He was looking at a stack of parking tickets on her dashboard, some bright orange, others sun-weathered into a creamy beige. “You know,” he said, “I could impound your car for those.”

Lida pulled out her best springer-spaniel look. “Impound? For parking tickets?”

“How many have you got?” He held out his hand and Lida gathered them and deposited them there. “Seven!” he said. “Hey, they’re gonna get you. I’m surprised there wasn’t a warrant out on you when I called in.”

“A warrant? You must be kidding.”

“Look. I’m not kidding. Technically, I could impound your car. I won’t. But someone is going to if you don’t pay these. They don’t mess around with these things.” He handed the tickets back to her.

Lida pulled out her checkbook. “Here. I’ll pay you for them right now. How much? Then you can go back to headquarters a hero.”

He looked around. “Come on, put that away. It looks bad, you know, me standing here and you flashing your checkbook.” He pushed her hands back inside the window. “Just get out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Lida said, “you had your chance.” She slid the gearshift lever into first. “I never thought I’d say this to a cop, but you’re a nice guy. Even if you did call me ‘lady.’”

He stood back and grinned again. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “I’m a peach.”

The phone. It was probably Diana. Good. She couldn’t wait to tell her.

“Lida, listen …” Diana’s voice was backed by highway sounds.

“Where are you?” Lida shouted.

“On my way home,” she said.

“On your way? We’re supposed to go to the theater tonight.”

“I won’t make it,” Diana said.

“Shit.”

“Listen, I can’t talk,” Diana said. “You’ll have to go over to Bill’s and pick up my kids.”

“Me? Are you crazy?”

“Please! I’ve been trying to call him, and the line was busy, and finally I had the operator check and she said it was out of order. Please. I told him I’d be there.”

“I don’t know where he lives,” Lida said.

“I can give you directions. Will you?”

Lida turned off the beltway at the Great Falls exit. The homes were a cut above average, but Lida disapproved of them anyway. Damn. Why did Bill expect Diana to drive from New Hampshire and still come all the way out here to get the kids? Damn.

She swerved into his driveway, her wheels gouging the lawn. She stalked to the door.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “who are you?”

“Can it, buster,” Lida answered. “I’m your ex-wife’s best friend.”

“Oh,” he said flatly, “where is she?”

“Detained. Parting was such sweet sorrow and all that. Where are they?”

He looked blank.

“The kids,” she explained.

“Soccer game.”

“Do you know that your phone isn’t working?”

“It’s off the hook,” he said, stepping back. “Come on in.” His eyes moved over her body. “So you’re the famous Lida,” he said.

Lida wished she’d closed a few more buttons on her chambray workshirt. Or worn baggier jeans. But it was too late now. She put her hands on her hips, braving it out. “And you’re the famous Bill.”

“Has Diana told you about me?”

“Enough.” She tossed her head.

“What has she said?” He knew he was on safe ground. Diana never said anything bad about anybody.

“Not much. I know that you’re a premature ejaculator.”

He opened his mouth like a goldfish.

“Or … wait a minute. Maybe you’re the impotent one. I get everyone’s ex-es all mixed up.”

“I am not.” He said it like a little boy.

“No?” Lida advanced on him. “Prove it.” She reached for his belt buckle and undid it.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said, trying to close it.

“Come on, prove it. Get it up.” Lida lunged for his zipper, as if to pull it down.

“You’re insane,” he said, reaching first for his fly, then his belt, then abandoning both to catch her hands. “Get out of here.”

Lida laughed at him. “Diana wants her children delivered promptly at eight. And make sure you’ve fed them. Royally.” At the doorway she turned. “By the way, sweet lips. I was only fooling.”

She drove off feeling that she’d just put a notch in Diana’s column.