Jamie Brodie 01 - Cited to Death

that I hadn’t looked at my phone since yesterday in the emergency room. There was one voice mail. I started listening - oh, shit. It was from Diane. I must have turned paler than usual because Pete said, "What's wrong?"
    I put the phone on speaker and started the message over.
    "Hello, Jamie Brodie, you fucking ASSHOLE! Guess what? I just had a visit from the fucking UCLA cops asking me if I had sabotaged your fucking computer. The answer to that is FUCK NO! How could you think that? You asshole !! Here's another question: are you and I still friends? The answer to that is FUCK NO! Fuck you! And the horse you rode in on! You can go fuck yourself! Or better yet, get one of your PIG friends to do it! But no, wait, you'd like that too much! So just fuck off! I never want to see your fucking face again! GOODBYE!"
    There was silence for a moment. I erased the message. Pete made like Mr. Spock. "Fascinating."
    I groaned. "I was going to call her yesterday morning, then I got busy, then I had the attack."
    "That was pretty nasty. And she doesn't have much of a vocabulary."
    I put my head in my hands. "I don't know if I can fix that."
    Pete sat down across from me. "I'm not sure you should try. At least not today."
    And my phone rang.
    I looked at the caller ID; it was a UCLA number. "Hello?"
    "Jamie." It was Liz. "How are you feeling?"
    "Hey. Better, definitely."
    "Oh, that's great. I was afraid they were going to keep you overnight."
    "Nah. I've got to be a lot closer to death for them to do that."
    "Oh, don't even joke about that. Listen, I wanted to tell you something. That girl that was in your class in library school? The one with the orange Mohawk?"
    Uh oh. "Yeah. Diane DeLong."
    "Yeah, her. She was here late yesterday looking for you. She was really mad and kind of made a scene. Dr. Loomis had to ask her to leave."
    Oh, shit . "Oh, shit. I'm sorry about that. Will you apologize to Dr. Loomis for me?"
    "Sure. But she doesn't blame you." Liz paused. "You know, I never wanted to tell you this because she was your friend, but Diane used to make some really homophobic remarks when you weren't around. Not against you personally, but in general. And also sometimes about Mark Gladwell, who was in my class. Remember him?"
    I did. Mark had been young, small, and effeminate. And not yet out. He would have been an easy target. "Really."
    "Yeah."
    "Well, she said some pretty homophobic things in her message. And she used the P word in reference to my cop friends. And I don't mean P for police."
    "Wow. Well, then, maybe she's not such a loss."
    "Maybe. But I've got bigger problems than her right now." I told Liz about the fire.
    "Oh my God! Do we need to start an emergency drive for you?"
    I laughed. A little. "No, I'm fine. Relatively speaking. I'm staying at Pete's for now." That got a look from Pete. "And my computer bag was with me, and I have the clothes I was wearing. And I think I had laundry in my car, which is still at the shop. And we had renter's insurance, so I'll get a check at some point. So don't start collecting anything."
    She laughed. "Okay. When are you coming back to work?"
    "Tomorrow." That got another look from Pete.
    "Okay. I'll tell Dr. Loomis."
    We hung up.
    Pete's voice was soft. "What do you mean you're staying here for now ?"
    I cleared my throat. "Well, I was thinking. Who knows how long it's going to be before they get our place fixed? Kevin's fine at Abby's sister’s, but I can't impose on you for an indefinite time. I can check with our apartment manager and see if they have any studio apartments that are going to be empty just for the summer. That way I'd be back near campus and out of your hair."
    Pete's face was a mask. "Why would you think that I want you out of my hair? You're not imposing on me."
    "Yeah, but -"
    He smacked his hand on the table and stood up. "Damn it, Jamie!" He turned away from me, then walked upstairs.
    I lowered my head and slowly, gently banged it on the table. Then I went upstairs. "Pete?"
    He was in the guest room, at his computer. He didn't turn to face me. "What?"
    "I'm gonna take the bus to Westwood. I have to pick up the VW."
    That made him turn around. Then he stood up and picked up his keys from the desk. "You're not taking the bus. Don't be an idiot."
    I didn't say anything. I followed him out the door and to his Jeep. We drove in silence to the garage. He waited until I was sure that the VW was ready to go, then gave me the door key to the condo. "In case I'm