Bumped - Completed Novel

Bumped Chapter Thirteen

Somehow I managed to execute my tasks one by one. I packed. Moved everything to a storage facility. I did a search for Monroe high school on the Internet and tried to search the records of graduates with the initials ED. Rented a mailbox on Robertson Boulevard. Shut off my phone and had the phone company leave my cell number as a forwarding number on the disconnect message. I went on a few job interviews. The only reason why I got the interviews was for the curiosity factor. By now, more details about Diego's alleged crimes were coming out. Diego was still missing and his list of clients just kept getting longer. I became a natural target.

Most days I didn't even answer my phone. Reporters. Former co-workers. Friends. Everybody wanted to rubberneck at the wreck I was calling my life. I was sleeping during the day and prowling around the remains of my life at night to avoid the paparazzi. I had Google Alerts in my email inbox daily, with a link to a photo of me, usually looking stressed and broke, on one of the gossip sites. As expected, I got my new title, "embattled girlfriend of disgraced financial adviser." It rolled off the tongue so much easier than vice president. I stopped reading the comments of the articles after the first time. I didn't have thick enough skin. The consensus seemed to be that I should have known. Should have done something. It was tough reading things about me written by people who didn't know me, didn't know us, yet they felt comfortable enough to call me a greedy bubblehead and to hope I rotted in prison. Nice. It made me wonder if those who knew me, did they see me that way as well? Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Instead, I followed the escalating war of words between Strykker and Cameron that was playing out in the blogosphere, yet another disaster I was somehow responsible for. Some of the hip-hop blogs had sniffed the winds of malcontent and were fanning the flames. Strykker's camp said it was his song first while Cameron remained adamant that the track was stolen.

In spite of it all, my pregnancy kept progressing. For the first time since ever, I had boobs. My trips to the bathroom were frequent and I was sure I was wearing a groove on the hallway floor. I still didn't know if Diego knew that he was going to be a father. I didn't want to make this decision alone and I was running out of time. I was mad at myself for missing him. Love and hate were so intertwined that most days I just felt an ache and the pendulum could swing in either direction as to how I was feeling about him.

I thought things couldn't get much worse until the lease was up on my car. I drove it back to the dealership to turn it in.

"Marlon, I've been leasing cars from you for years. There's no type of deal you can work out with me? I'll take a cheaper model. Just give me something."

Sitting in his glass enclosed office while other prospective buyers "ooohed" and "ahhed" at the cars on the showroom floor made me feel like the star act in a freak show. It's Broke Girl - she has the ability to make men, jobs and money disappear instantly!

"I'm sorry Elle, you've always had a job whenever you came into lease a car. I can't do anything if you're not employed or have some source of income." Marlon tapped his fingers on his desk. Gone was the fake camaraderie, the "anything for you Elle." Now his eyes tracked the potential commission checks walking by as his colleagues swooped in and helped customers.

I gripped the edge of his desk. My chipped manicure was on full display but I didn't care. How was I supposed to get around in LA without a car?

"How am I supposed to get home?"

Marlon pointed me in the direction of the bus stop and I found myself outside the dealership on Figueroa walking northward bound. LA's downtown was a work in progress. The city was making the push for the live-work-play downtown theme but it was still quite grimy and dirty outside of the immediate multi-million dollar radius of the Staples Center and LA Live complex. Carts full of undeterminable stuff were parked under the underpass. Their owners shielded by ratty blankets that acted as makeshift barricades. Sometimes a pair of feet clad in busted sneakers could be seen poking out from behind them. Were they too once full of self-importance as they chased after shiny, bright objects? Did they see the fall coming? Did they feel the snowballing effect and decide to just give up? I hurried by them, wondering how many were like me during their "before" and if I would end up like them in my "after."