Free Debbie Doesn't Do It Anymore (9780385538398) by Walter Mosley

ringing wall phone.
    The security company had a special ring that bypassed the answering machine, so it would have rung all day.
    â€œEverything’s all right,” I said into the receiver.
    â€œMrs. Pinkney?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat is the code phrase, please, ma’am?”
    â€œBrer Rabbit.”
    â€œAnd what are the last four digits of your social?”
    â€œTwo, two, two, nine.”
    â€œAnd your maiden name?”
    â€œPeel.”
    â€œIs everything all right?”
    â€œMy friends thought I was dead and they broke the back-door window.”
    â€œDo you need help?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI told you I’m fine and I answered your questions. Now I need to go look after my window.”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am, but it took you so long to get to the phone,” the male security operator said. “One more minute and I would have had to call the police.”
    Perry and Lana had come into the kitchen. She was looking worried while he seemed embarrassed.
    â€œI was dead asleep,” I said. “I guess I’ve been depressed or something. It took me a while to realize that the alarm was even going off. But I’ve turned it off and I’ve answered your questions. Can I go now?”
    â€œSorry, ma’am,” the operator said. “Certainly. Have a nice day.”
    I hung up and turned to my visitors.
    â€œDo you have a permit for that pistol?” Perry asked.
    â€œYes.” I did. I registered my father’s illegal piece when I turned eighteen. “I even have a carry permit after I was stalked by this crazy guy from Glendale.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?” the cop asked.
    I didn’t blame him for asking. He had broken into my home—a policeman. He needed to get some control back. Maybe if he showed some authority I wouldn’t bring him up on charges for breaking and entering.
    â€œFuck that,” Lana said in an unusual show of anger. “Where have you been for the last three days?”
    â€œThree days?”
    â€œIt’s Thursday,” Lana said. “Linda’s been calling you morning and night. She even made me give her your red phone number.”
    My red phone.
    â€œI was sleeping,” I said. “All those days?”
    â€œYou really been asleep all this time?” Lana said.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Officer Perry?” I asked.
    â€œMs. Leer called me.”
    I looked at the waif-woman.
    â€œIt’s true,” she said. “When you didn’t answer I called down to the police department and asked for Mr. Mendelson.”
    â€œI’d called twice myself and I was worried,” Perry added.
    â€œWorried?”
    He looked down at his feet and it felt to me that an empire, somewhere, had crumbled without warning.
    â€œI have to go to the bathroom,” I said. “And then I need a bath. Come on.”
    I led the odd allies through the hallway, past the guest bedroom, leaving them while I went into the smaller bathroom where no one had died.
    I went in and did my business, dropped the rest of my clothes on the floor, and then went back to open the door for Lana and Perry. He was surprised to see me naked; Iknew he would be. With some men, maybe all men, my sexuality gave me various advantages. Sometimes it was them wanting to take my clothes off; with others they were driven into a shell, seeing my body and not knowing whether to run or to scream.
    When I bent over to turn on the bathwater I’m sure Perry looked away.
    I took pity on him and poured bubble-bath gel under the stream. Then I climbed in to let the rising water and bubble line slowly hide my dark body.
    â€œIs there any other reason you’re here, Officer?” I asked.
    â€œUm,” the policeman uttered.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you, hon?” Lana asked. “Linda says that if you aren’t on the set by this afternoon she’s