Page 49 of Big Sexy Love
The person asking the question is a handsome besuited dark-skinned man with a sour look onhisface.
‘I… I accidentally posted a letter,’ Iexplain.
The man’s mouth turns down. ‘Iknowyou…’
‘Nope,’ I say, pulling the hat back on quickly. ‘I don’t thinkyoudo.’
The man examines my face suspiciously. ‘I know you, I’m sure… And it’s not for a good reason… Are you, wait, are youstealingmail?’
‘No!’ I assure him. ‘Of course not! I’m trying to get back the letter I accidentallyposted!’
I really don’t need some busybody interrupting me right now. And then I notice that the guy has got longer armsthanme.
‘Ooh, will you have a try for me?’ I ask. ‘Your arms are longer, you might be able to getfurtherdown.’
Pursing his lips, the man steps away from me, looking aroundworriedly.
‘It’ll only take you a second!’ I add. ‘Just have a dig around. The envelope is thick. High-quality paper. I beg of you. This is a life or death situation and your help would be muchappreciated.’
‘Excuse me!’ the man yells out into the busy street. ‘I need someassistancehere!’
I follow the man’s line of sight and notice that he is calling overacop.
‘Good idea!’ I say. ‘He’ll probably know what to do with lost mail. Shit. What anightmare!’
The cop comes over – a short, skinny man withpockmarkedskin.
‘This woman is fishing for mail! I think she’s looking for cheques.’ The besuited man tells the cop, like a kid telling over another kid. I throw him adirtylook.
‘Of course I’m bloody not!’ I protest. ‘I dropped my friend’s letter in there by mistake! I promise I’m not a mail thief. I’m Olive. I’m from England. I respect the postal service very much. Canyouhelp?’
The cop nods and smiles at me, pulling out hisphone.
‘Thank you!’ I say in relief as he taps onto the screen. ‘Anything at all you can do to assist. Maybe have someone unlock it and I can just take my letter and then I’ll begoing.’
Forehead crinkling, the cop stares at his phone and then at my face. Then at his phone and at my faceagain.
‘Ma’am, do you know anything about an incident in Gramercy Park yesterday?’heasks.
‘Nope,’ I say immediately. ‘What, um, is Gramercy Park? Incident? No,thankyou.’
Eek. I sound super guilty. They must have that stupid picture the woman in the park took on file. How on earth does he recognise me, though? I have a regular face. My eyes are a bit far apart from each other, but not in a freaky, instantly recognisable way. And I’m not wearing a unicorn horntoday.
Then I realise the pink bumbag is still dangling from my arm after I posted all of the stuff. Damn. This beautiful bag is causing me more problems than it’sworth.
My instinct – the safest option – is to try to reason with the cop. To tell him that yes, it was I in Gramercy Park yesterday, but the whole situation was a misunderstanding. I could reasonably explain to him that the incident in Gramercy Park was just me being wrongly accused of something I did not do. And that also today I am once again being accused of something Ididn’tdo.
Hmmmm.
Even to me that sounds highly suspect. A cop won’t believe that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, two days in a row? Even if it is completely true, it sounds like atotallie!
‘Ma’am?’ the cop says again, glancing down at his phone and then at my bumbag. ‘Can you tell me your name,please?
I look around me in panic. And in that moment, I make a decision I may well come to regret. But, honestly, all I care about right now is Birdie and getting that letter back forChuck.
‘Oh wow!’ I exclaim loudly, pointing into the distance. ‘It’s beloved pop iconBeyoncé!’
The two men whip their heads around – no one is immune to Beyoncé. And when their heads are turned, I leg it and dive behind a nearby hot dog cart. A I crouch down, I hear the cop yelling into his walkie-talkie. ‘Menace located at the mailbox on 106thand West End Avenue. On foot. Holding a pink fanny pack, a brown grocery bag and a Samuel L Jackson styleberet.’
