CHAPTER THIRTY
The ball was festive from beginning to end. What Marti loved about Grant was that he tried his best to stay by her side, although he was constantly pulled away by one big wig after another one. They were all members of the Belgrave Oversight Board she’d heard about, and Grant introduced her to each one of them. Compared to the police staff and Mayor Rickter, the BOBs were very kind to her. And they seemed to genuinely respect Grant. They were actually a welcomed relief.
But it didn’t take long for the sharks to start circling. Marti was walking around the room, doing all she could to avoid any contact with Mayor Rickter, when she ran into Celeste. And Celeste was not alone.
Marti heard her say there she is, and that was all it took. Four beautiful women, including Celeste, came tramping over.
“So you’re the latest new thing,” said the tallest woman of the group, presumably the leader.
Marti didn’t dignify that comment with a response. She sipped her champagne.
“You’re pretty, but so are we.”
Another idiotic comment.
“What day are you?”
When Celeste asked that question, it did get Marti’s attention. “What day am I?”
“Yes! We all have a day. Well, not technically, but he tends to answer my calls on certain days, but not on other days when he answers another one of his ladies’ calls. It’s just how he is. What day are you?”
Marti thought about Chaka Khan singing, I’m Every Woman , and smiled. “I’m every day,” she said.
They laughed. “Yeah, we thought so too,” said the tall drink of water.
“In the beginning,” said Celeste, “we were every day as well. But that doesn’t last long at all.”
“Not at all,” agreed another one of the ladies.
“It’s always good in the beginning,” Celeste continued. “But we all realized the truth in the end.”
When she didn’t continue, Marti was too curious. “Which is?”
“There is no way one woman can satisfy Grant McGraw.”
“No way,” said Stretch.
“No way,” said another one, and they laughed.
But Marti saw through the laughter. She remembered how hurt Celeste was when Grant all but threw her out of his office. They all loved him. They all wanted him. They all, although they’d never admit it, wished they were in Marti’s shoes. They wished they were the new thing all over again. That was why Marti couldn’t pretend and join in the laughter. Because although they might have wished they were her, she, if she was to be honest with herself, was them. They’d been where she now was. Now they were has-beens. Was that where she was headed too?
They distressed her more than even running into the mayor could have. She just wanted out.
But she couldn’t leave. They had to have dinner.
It came nearly an half hour later. She and Grant had been on the dance floor trying to enjoy all that Neil Sedaka kind of music the orchestra was playing. From Laughter in the Rain to Breaking Up is Hard to Do , all they played was that elevator music. But when he specifically asked them to play a song called I’m a Song, Sing Me , Marti was about to jump out of her skin. Ever hear of Beyonce? What about Mary J. Blige? Whitney hello ? But Grant pulled her closer against him grinning, knowing how much she hated the music being played. And when he could tell she was really ready to let the orchestra have a piece of her mind, he whispered in her ear, trying to keep a straight face. “Don’t you dare,” he said to her, and they both grinned. Then it was time to eat.
They all sat around the one big table in the huge dining hall. All the senior police staff and other government officials sat around the table, with Mayor Rickter at the head of the table. But what shocked Marti the most was that every one of those ladies that had encircled her and proclaimed themselves to be among Grant’s stable of women, were seated at that table beside their husbands. Their husbands !
She looked at Grant as if it had to be news to him too. She leaned against him. “They’re married?” she asked him.
When he nodded as if it was no big thing, Marti was floored. What kind of Peyton Place shit is this , she wanted to scream out. Grant never told her he fooled around with married women. He never even mentioned it! And the way he was behaving like it was no big deal to him, worried Marti. What more, she wondered, was he keeping from her?
But when Grant saw that concerned look on her face as they ate, he placed his hand under the table and squeezed her thigh. When he got her attention, he leaned toward her and said, “I’m not them,” as if that was all he needed to say.
But he just happened to be the one in the illicit relationships that wasn’t married. But what if he did get married? Would he be just like them then? It was a question she was dying to ask Grant.
But she didn’t get a chance until they were leaving the mayor’s house, walking toward his car, and he was laughing.
“You manage to avoid Dooney all night long. It’s a world record,” he said and laughed.
But she was still reeling from his ladies. “You knew they were married?” she asked him.
Grant looked at her, and his smile slowly dissipated. They stopped walking. “Why are you making a big deal about that?”
“Because it is a big deal, Grant. How could you sleep with another man’s wife? That’s foul.”
Grant looked at her. He could see the disappointment in her eyes. And he was ashamed. “I didn’t want any attachments and neither did they. At least in the beginning,” he added.
“But what about their husbands?”
“What about them? You think they’re innocents? They have their sidepieces too. It’s the way it works in the upper echelons around here.”
“But I’m against that, Grant. That goes against everything I believe it. I could never cheat on my husband and I could never stay with a man who cheats on me. I don’t care how it works around here!”
“Lower your voice,” Grant said when other couples that were standing outside started glancing over at them.
Marti settled down.
Grant stared at her. “I won’t hurt you, Marti. And if we get married,” he added, “I promise you’ll never have to worry about that.”
It wasn’t lost on Marti that he said if we get married and not when we get married . And that little comment alone reminded her that nothing was set in stone with Grant. They were in a good place, but it was nothing to write home about. At least not yet. At least not for him. That feeling of being adrift began to capture her again.
Grant saw the change in her. “What’s wrong?” he asked her. “You don’t believe me?”
But as she thought about his question, his attention was drawn to a vehicle that had just arrived on the street. What made it appear out of place was the fact that among so many Mercedes and Bentleys and Porsches and Lamborghinis, it was this big, four-door pickup truck. A badly dented pickup truck at that. The same kind of truck Marti had described as slamming into her, and causing her to crash.
But just as he realized it might be the same truck, that very truck accelerated, jumped the curb, and raced across the mayor’s front lawn so fast that Grant only had time to push Marti as far out of the path of that truck as quickly as he could and then to dive on top of her, to cover her. The truck flew by them, missing Grant’s diving legs by a hare’s breath, and then it crashed violently into the front brick of the mayor’s mansion. People were screaming and scrambling to get out of the path of that truck too.
Grant got off of Marti, asking if she was okay. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Marti was nervously saying as he helped her on her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t struck,” he said.
Marti frowned. “It looks like that same truck from my accident, Grant,” she said to him, which confirmed his suspicion. He and Marti, along with the other cops out there, hurried to the truck, their guns drawn.
But the driver was slumped over the steering wheel as dead as his engine. He was gone.
They all took a look at him, but none of them recognized him as anybody local. But Marti wasn’t local, either, and when she leaned in to get a look at the deceased truck driver, her heart dropped.
Grant noticed the change. “You know him?” he asked her.
But she was still staring at him. And she was in shock. “ Eric ?” It sounded as if she was asking the dead man if he was whom he appeared to be.
“Who’s Eric?” Grant asked her.
“Eric?” she asked the dead man again.
“Marti, who’s Eric?” Grant asked her again.
“Eric Peterson. He’s my friend. We knew each other for years. He was a very good friend of mine in Memphis. Why would he . . .” She could not believe it. She just couldn’t.
Grant placed his arm around her as everybody stood around in a state of shock too. They couldn’t believe something this crazy had happened. Even the mayor, who always had too much to say, had nothing to say. He stayed away from the carnage. But Marti was suffering on a different level. She actually knew the man who seemed to have been aiming directly for her. It was Eric. It was the same man upset that Andy Sloan had crashed her daughter’s sweet sixteen party. Eric used to be her road dog. What happened???
But as Grant held her, and as everybody continued to stare at the wreckage, ambulances and more police officers began arriving.
The paramedics hurried over to make sure the driver of the pickup was a goner. He was, but they couldn’t take anybody’s word for it. Grant backed Marti away so they could do their job.
But Marti was still unable to process the reality of it. She looked at Grant. “We were really close. He was a great friend of mine. Why would he try to kill me?”
It was the question Grant was determined to answer. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen tonight. He took her to his car and sat her on the front passenger seat.
He knew it would be protocol for them to wait until somebody other than him could question her about her knowledge of the assailant. But for right now, he just wanted her safe and sound. He wanted her out of there. They would have to talk to her later.
He notified RJ that they were leaving and for him to take charge of the scene, and he got into his Mercedes and drove her away from there.
When he held her hand, it was shaking.