Ruby's Misadventures With Reality

by Samantha Bohrman

  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.

  Chapter Three

  He’s So Cute Without a Brain!

  Ruby flung the door open and threw her bag on the f
loor. Catching sight of Ming, she said, “Ming! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day! What happened last night?”

  Ming stood in the kitchen of their shared home, chopping veggies for dinner. The house represented Ming’s eclectic decorating tastes, which might be described as Feng Shui techno geek, meaning soft earth tones and careful furniture placement with lots of soul sucking, shiny black screens. The enormous television with accompanying surround-sound equipment negated any sense of peace created by the placement of the couch, particularly since Ming had an obnoxious comedy special cranked at top volume. Ruby did not contribute to the furnishings of the home because Ming didn’t let her. Except for the litter box, but that was a necessity. Ming only tolerated Ruby’s cats, Tom Cruise and Vera Wang, because they stayed out of the way.

  Unlike Ruby, who had only stumbled upon her career because she’d watched Legally Blonde too many times and followed the advice of an online quiz (incidentally the same reason as about a quarter of her law school graduating class), Ming had her shit together. By the age of twenty-eight, she’d already racked up two PhDs, one in materials science and one in analytical chemistry, and all of her tattoos were spelled correctly because she knew Mandarin and Cantonese. Yesterday, Ming had celebrated yet another career success. Her latest project, a new in vivo biodegradable polymer vessel that functioned as a drug delivery device, had cleared the college’s internal review board and was set for use in an experimental drug trial at the medical school. Yesterday’s chemistry nerd after-party was probably where Ruby had blacked out. How Noel became involved, she could only imagine.

  Ming finished chopping an onion and looked up. “What do you mean? You don’t know what happened?” She didn’t look as if she’d spent a single minute wondering about Ruby’s whereabouts.

  “Are you serious? I woke up in Noel West’s bed this morning. Then he made me a Pop-Tart and broke up with me.”