by T. K. Lukas
He made her laugh. But, he also made her cry, something she had not experienced in her previous marriage. Life with Peter Dollar had been devoid of emotion, devoid of a passionate connection that Sidney craved and Peter avoided.
Winston insisted she change her name, despite her logical arguments against it. “This is my third marriage,” she reasoned. “Changing my name is such a hassle. My professional career, the few patients I still see, getting them used to a different name—”
“If you love me, you’ll change your name,” he had cajoled. Then, when the cajoling and pleading and pouting and giving her the silent treatment all failed to persuade her, he resorted to shouting. “Goddammit. I don’t want to be introduced as Winston Knight and his wife, Sidney Dollar. I want to be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Winston Knight. You must still love your dead husband. Otherwise, you’d want to share my name.”
Though she denied still harboring feelings for Peter, it was no use, especially when the subject of starting a family came up—he didn’t want his children having “Knight hyphen Dollar” for a last name.
With tears in his eyes, he’d appealed in a sorrowful tone, “I want you to be proud of me—proud of who I am—proud to be called Mrs. Winston Knight. If you’re ashamed of me and my last name, why did you marry me?”
Sidney wavered. She was learning that in order to maintain a sense of control over her own decisions, it was critical to pick wisely which battles to fight. She reasoned with herself that changing her name wouldn’t alter her identity. Resigned, yet resentful, she chose to concede to his attempts to manipulate the situation. What meaning was there in a name, after all?
They had flown to Lake Tahoe on his favorite private jet, the custom Falcon Fifty. Staying in an acquaintance’s mansion overlooking the lake, they argued the entire weekend after his big surprise wasn’t as romantically accepted as he anticipated.
Nothing she did was right, or good enough. Her dress was too tight, too short, too pink, even though he’d bought it for her. She flirted with the busboy. She texted her cousin when she should be paying attention to him. He preferred scotch before dinner, cognac after—she should’ve known that by now. Her clothes in the closet crowded his freshly pressed shirts; her toiletries took up too much space in the bathroom. Her easy use of vulgar language grated on him—ladies shouldn’t talk that way. The heart-shaped rock he found on their walk and presented to her wasn’t given sufficient praise—so he threw it in the lake. She wanted to go dancing after dinner, he didn’t. There was a scene in front of the country club, loud and ugly, and people had stared.
As soon as the jet touched down at Meacham Field in Fort Worth, bringing them back home, Winston left for his downtown law office, Sidney to her home office. She called her cousin before unpacking, thinking her suitcases might stay packed, that she might be leaving.
“Jessi, I’ve made a huge mistake. I need out of this marriage. Winston has some serious issues. I mean—serious. I’m so stupid. How could I not have seen? Hell—I’m a psychologist.”
“You’re not stupid, Sid. You were vulnerable.”
“I can spot a juror lying from a mile away, yet I was blind to my own husband’s lies. And his being dishonest is the lesser of the issues.”
“I’m sorry, Sid. I don’t know what to say. Why isn’t there a fairy tale ending for every ‘I do’?”
“Why isn’t there a Patron Saint of You Should Have Known the Fuck Better?”
“Don’t beat yourself up over a mistake.”
“It’s my third, my third, mistake. Three strikes, I’m out.”
“Your first doesn’t count. You were eighteen and it lasted a day, thanks to Grandfather getting it annulled quickly. The second wasn’t a mistake. We all loved Peter, but he didn’t love himself. You confided to me that your marriage was empty—loveless. You were on the verge of divorce when he committed suicide.”
“It may have been an accident. Guns go off sometimes when they’re being cleaned.”
“Sid…”
“I know…”
Sidney resolved to not give up on the marriage. Surely, she could put every effort into making it a success. Perhaps this was how relationships between husbands and wives were, in real life. She was a jury consultant, not a marriage counselor, and certainly not a relationship expert. Anyway, the only happy marriage she’d ever witnessed was between her grandparents. From what she remembered, even her parents’ relationship had been rocky. She decided she would give it at least a year. At that point, she’d know whether or not being Mrs. C. Winston Knight, III was sustainable. If it didn’t work out, a divorce wasn’t the end of the world; it was simply the end of a relationship. And after every ending was a new beginning.
*****
The waitress brought their order, and Jessi cut into her buffalo rib eye. “Perfect. So rare that if I slapped it, it’d start mooing again, or whatever sound buffalo make.” She lifted her wine glass, “Here’s to you mooing again, too, Sid, and getting your life back.”
“I’ll drink to that.” They clinked glasses, and Sidney’s margarita tumbler let loose a sprinkling of lime green salt onto the tablecloth.
When Sidney heard the sound of the elevator doors opening and closing, a shiver ran up and down her spine. Without looking, she knew who would be rounding the corner by the familiar sound of his deliberate, unhurried boot steps. He stopped along the way to greet and glad-hand business associates and acquaintances, laugh at jokes, give a friendly slap on the back, a hug and an air-kiss, before making his way to the corner table at the rail.
Standing with his arms crossed in front of him, he tilted his head and peered down at Sidney, frowning. His large brown eyes were expressive, and today they showed impatience and anger. “I see we have company. I assumed you called me here to have a romantic dinner at ‘our place’ and to apologize for the way you’ve behaved all week. I was prepared to forgive you, after a sufficient amount of groveling on your part, of course.”
Turning, he said curtly, “Jessica.” He nodded his acknowledgment of her presence.
“Winston.” Jessi nodded in return.
When not in court, Winston wore the standard Fort Worth businessman’s uniform accepted in boardrooms, bars, and at the ballet: spotless denim jeans with starched, razor-sharp creases, white dress shirt without a tie, sports coat, cowboy boots, and a western belt that usually clasped with a silver star buckle. In Winston’s case, his initials were written in gold and inlaid across the center of the shiny silver star. Winston never settled for standard. His wardrobe was custom tailored, French-cuffed, and special ordered to suit his impeccable taste.
One thing Winston never wore, however, was a hat—it would mess up his hair. Spiked in a modern flattop and sprayed in place, his shiny black hair gave him at least an additional inch and a half to his height. The lifters inside his boots, which already had two-inch heels, added another two inches. At five feet ten inches tall in his bare feet, appearing to stand well over six feet infused him with the confidence to strut, chest puffed and shoulders back, in front of juries or to loom over those he wished to intimidate.
Winston lowered himself onto a seat and turned to Jessi. “Since Rafael won’t be joining us, I guess I’ll have the pleasure this evening of a ménage a trois.” He flashed a smile, showing off perfect teeth, his seductive tone flirtatious.
Bewildered, Jessi replied, “How did you know Rafe wouldn’t be here tonight?” She ignored his threesome remark.
Winston paused and smirked, as if studying Jessi’s expression. “You know Rafe and I are like brothers. Brothers talk.”
“Your usual, Mr. Knight,” the waitress interrupted, setting his double scotch, no ice, no water, on the table. “Will there be anything else?”
“Well that depends on you, sugar. What else did you have in mind?” His eyes cast a lascivious look that slid up and down the server’s body, as if mentally unsnapping every one of the pearl snaps that held her blouse closed.
“Oh, Mr. Knight
, you’re such a flirt,” she said, throwing Sidney an uneasy smile. She twirled away, her short denim skirt flaring out high above her turquoise and brown cowgirl boots.
“Winston,” said Sidney, after swallowing the rest of her margarita and setting the empty glass down by her cellphone. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here so we could have a romantic dinner. I asked you here so I could tell you in public, with a witness present, that I filed for divorce this morning.”
“Actually, Sidney, I already know why you asked me here. I’m not stupid.” Winston’s anger was barely contained, his voice a low growl.
Sidney drew back in surprise. “What do you mean you know—”
“Let’s just say I have a suspicion. Tell me in your own words why you filed for divorce.”
“Let’s just say it’s because of irreconcilable differences. I’m leaving with what I brought into the marriage. I’m not asking for anything from you, other than my name and my life back. This divorce will be short, sweet, simple. Just like the wedding.”
Winston glared at her, swirling his scotch in the glass before tossing it back in one gulp. “I know what you’ve been up to this week. I thought maybe you’d had a change of heart when you asked me to come here—our place.” He slammed the empty glass down on the table, leaning forward and stabbing his finger into Sidney’s face. “No woman has ever walked out on me. I’m the one who does the leaving. Women beg me to stay.”
“Well here’s one who’s not begging. Here’s one who’s doing the leaving.”
“You’re an idiot if you think you can get away with treating me like this. There won’t be anything short, sweet, or simple about it, if you plan on seeing this through.”
“I’m seeing it through. I want my life back. The suit’s been filed in Tarrant County. My attorney will contact you, or the sheriff can serve you the papers—your choice. We’ll part ways, older but wiser. You’ll move on to your next conquest, and I’ll just move on.”
“You conniving bitch. You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? Marry a rich man, take him for all he’s worth?” Winston leaned in closer, his nose inches from Sidney’s face. “If this is the game you want to play, Sidney, game on. But listen to me and mark my words. I’ll demoralize, dehumanize, and destroy you.”
“Fine. I just want to divorce you. Now, leave me the fuck alone.”
“I’ve always hated your easy use of vulgar language—I find it so unattractive.” He shook his head disapprovingly. Then, pushing back from the table, he drew himself up to his full height, looming over Sidney. His nostrils flared in anger. Pounding his fist onto the table, he sent the silverware bouncing into the air. Spoons, forks, and knives clattered back down in a metallic, musical crash.
Sidney held her reaction to his physical outburst in check. She knew it was best to not react. She counted her measured breaths, calming her nerves. Her expressionless eyes stared at him, waiting for his next move.
Winston jutted his chin and rocked back on his heels in a defiant posture. “You want me to leave you the fuck alone? I’ll leave you alone when I’m good and ready. Until then, you best be on your guard.”
“It sounds to me, Winston, that you’re threatening me.” Sidney kept her voice flat and devoid of emotion.
“There’s a fine line between a threat and fair warning. In the meantime, I’m filing a restraining order against you. You are not to set foot on my ranch. Everything behind the gate and inside the fence is mine. That means your horse, too.” He paused for effect. “I sure hope nothing happens to your precious Mocha while we’re sorting this out.”
Sidney gave Jessica a silent, knowing glance. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She was sure the noise it made could be heard by others. She wanted to scream hateful insults; she wanted to grab Jessi’s steak knife lying on the white tablecloth and turn this son-of-a-bitch into a eunuch. With concerted effort, she calmly stated, “My attorney will sort things out for me.”
“We’ll see about that.” Glaring at Jessi, he said, “Give my best to your husband.” Turning, he stormed away from the table. On his way to the elevator, he shoved past the waitress. She stumbled. The tray she carried, loaded with cocktail and wine glasses, crashed to the floor.
“That went well,” said Sidney, giving Jessi a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look.
Jessi’s eyes were as wide and as astonished as her cousin’s. “That was one hell of a threat, Sid, and we both know he was dead serious. Thank God you recorded the conversation—and thank God you’ve already moved Mocha.”
“No kidding.” Sidney’s hand trembled as she stopped the audio recording on her cellphone. “And, why in the hell would Rafe say anything?”
“I don’t know. But you can bet I’ll find out.” Jessi fidgeted with her half-empty wine glass.
“Winston said he knew what I’d been up to this week.” Sidney shook her head, trying to make sense of that disclosure. “I wonder if he’s been spying on me. Remember the note from the former Mrs. Knight?”
“I remember the note quite well.” Jessi drained the wine in her glass and signaled to the waitress for a refill.
Upon returning from Lake Tahoe and after news of their wedding had been formally announced, Sidney received a gift from Winston’s most recent ex-wife. Nicely wrapped in bridal paper and delivered via courier was a box containing one extra-large condom. Included was a hand-written note that read: Keep your eyes wide open. Keep your business to yourself. And above all, wear this on your heart—it WILL be fucked.
CHAPTER 5
Fort Worth
The hotel suite Sidney booked for the weekend, chosen for its well-known private security, was a few blocks from Reata Restaurant. Its year-round heated swimming pool on the rooftop level with a million-dollar view of downtown Fort Worth was an added bonus. Late November in Texas called for a heated pool, especially for an evening swim.
After checking in at the lobby and hugging Jessi goodbye, Sidney dropped her suitcases in the room’s closet. She quickly changed into her bikini, threw on a robe, and slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops. Before heading for the roof, she grabbed a single-serving bottle of chilled white wine from the in-room bar, a plastic glass, and tucked them inside her tote bag.
With the rooftop to herself, Sidney floated on her back for a short while in the warm waters of the infinity pool, watching the striated, pastel colors of the early evening sky. After swimming laps until her arms and legs felt like weights and her lungs stung, she hefted herself onto the ledge and toweled off. She poured the wine and raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to you, brave girl, and to getting your life back.”
“May I join in on your toast?” said a man’s voice.
Sidney jerked, spilling her wine. Turning around, she saw a dark figure approaching her from the opposite side of the pool. He was silhouetted against the setting sun, creating the startling effect of a shadow emerging from a glowing, orange orb. She blinked her eyes hard, trying to focus. As the figure drew nearer, Sidney relaxed a degree when she noticed the dog.
“I hope I didn’t frighten you, but it seems like I did. Sorry about that. I’m Trevor Nolan. This is Gunner. He helps me get around.” He stuck out his hand and waited, smiling, dark shades covering his eyes.
The next thing Sidney noticed, after the dog and the dark Wayfarers, was how ruggedly handsome he was, despite the bright pink scar running in a zigzagged line across his forehead. The scar was as sharp and shiny as his blonde, buzz-cut hair. Her eyes were drawn lower to the prosthetic leg emerging from pressed khaki shorts. From the right knee down, a shiny mechanical device was fitted with a Nike tennis shoe. He wore a red T-shirt with a United States Marine Corps logo and a slogan stating, “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” She reached for his hand and shook it.
“I’m Sidney Knight. Pleased to meet you. I see Gunner’s service dog vest says it’s okay to pet after asking permission. Is it okay?”
“Sure. He
likes pretty girls.”
“And I like a man with a sense of humor. How do you know I’m not a toothless old hag?”
“Gunner’s trained to detect toothless old hags. He’d have pulled me in the opposite direction, if you were.”
Sidney laughed. “A guide dog that doubles as a hag detector. Sweet. He’s lovely. He reminds me of a dog I used to have, but my yellow lab was female. Breck, short for Breckenridge where I found her on a ski trip in Colorado. She was the best dog.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say ‘was.’ So, may I still join you in what you were toasting to? I overheard your toast.”
“I spilled most of my wine, but there’s enough left to finish the salute.”
“I brought a bottle. I can fix that problem, since I’m the one who created it.” He swung a backpack off his broad shoulders, pulling from it a plethora of items, from a French-to-English dictionary to a roll of plastic bags for picking up dog poop. Finally, he retrieved a bottle of cabernet, red plastic drinking cups, and a corkscrew before setting them aside.
“Ah. Always at the bottom.” He stowed everything else back inside except for a bowl he filled with water from a canteen. He placed the bowl on the ground for Gunner.
“Wow. You’re well prepared,” Sidney marveled.
“I was a good Boy Scout.”
They sat in lounge chairs facing west, and Sidney described for Trevor the sunset as it put on a dazzling display worthy of a poem. “I hope soon to be riding off into the sunset, or somewhere, I’m not sure where. Just anywhere far away from here. West gets my vote, especially if the sunsets are this spectacular.”
“Your description sounded like an impressionist’s painting. Thank you for that. My distance vision is almost zero, just fuzzy shapes. Up close, it’s what the docs call limited, or legally blind. So, is that what your toast referred to? Getting your life back?”
