“Okay,” he said nonchalantly.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Oh, so it’s like that? Just okay, huh.”

“Montana, did you or did you not just say you were letting me go?”

“Yeah but—”

“But what, then?”

“But, but…good-bye! That’s but!” I said, pushing the end button on my cell phone over and over as hard as I could, wishing that it was actually the handpiece of a house phone so I could slam it down over and over.

No he didn’t have some wet skank up in his house asking for some towels at midnight! Oh okay, so it’s like that. Well, you’re fired! How ’bout that? FYE—URRED! It’s time to find a new standby!

I was incensed, irate, mad, molded. Suddenly I could relate to torching cars and burning clothes. To hell with Meg Ryan movies. Bring it on, Angela Bassett, bring it on! Just when you think you know somebody, what do they do? They go and stab you in the back. Okay, William, let’s see how it feels next week.

Chapter 14

8:03 A.M. PST
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21ST

3 DAYS, 8 HOURS, AND 57 MINUTES TO “E-DAY”

It was three days and counting and still no call from Gail. I awakened with the remote control surgically attached to my hand, content to spend yet another day watching movies that didn’t matter. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, “RRRrrring!!!”

It was my cell phone. Quickly I answered.

“Hello?”

“Girl, wash your face, brush your teeth, scrub your booty, and put on the best outfit you got. Your latest, greatest, and last hope of ever getting married is making a connection in San Francisco in forty-nine minutes.”

“I can’t make it to the airport in forty-nine minutes.”

“You’re right, because now it’s forty-eight minutes. Do you want to keep telling me what you can’t do, or do you want to get off the phone, wash your face, brush your teeth, scrub your ass, and put on the best outfit you can find? Now it’s forty-seven.” Click! She hung up. I glanced at the clock. If I had any hopes of making my flight, I had to be dressed and ready in less than ten minutes.

Toothbrush in hand, brushing, brushing, brushing, done! Water turned on, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing, done. Makeup in hand, painting, brushing, lip lining, done! Pulled out my fitted blues, slid into my designer shoes, squirted my favorite perfume, and I jetted out of the room with thirty seconds to spare. Come on, elevator. Come on! I can’t wait. I’ll take the stairs.

From the eleventh floor, I ran and I ran, bag hopping, sweat popping, floor after floor. Now at seven, then five, then finally, I was on the curb, flagging, waving, pleading, and needing just one cab with just one driver to bring me just one step closer to my goal, which was 33 minutes away.

Sccrreeeeechh!