Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel

by Frank Freudberg

  “He’s a little blue-collar for you.”

  “Even if he falls for the story that he’s not the father, doesn’t he have any legal standing?” Natalie asked. “He’s been like the baby’s father since Lamaze classes. That must count for something.”

  “He could try to make a case for being the baby’s psychological father—they call it the de facto parent—but he won’t get far with that. The kid would have to feel as if Lock is his actual parent. If Augie were seven or eight years old, it might be a different story. A court-ordered custody evaluator might interview him and make a determination that the kid thinks of Lock as his father. But as it is, your kid’s too young for that legal concept to come into play. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “He’s basically a nice guy,” she said. “I kind of hate doing this to him.”

  “I know it will bother you, Nat...” Freel said, smirking, “…for about sixty seconds. Don’t forget, baby, I know you.”

  Freel started the Lamborghini and pulled out of the parking lot. He headed back to Natalie’s diner, where he’d drive around to the rear and drop her off at her car in the employees-only parking area.

  “Tell him not to feel bad,” Freel said. “Tell him it’s for his own good.”

  “How’s it for his own good?”

  “It would never work out with you, and he needs to know that and he needs to move on. That’s why it’s for his own good.”

  “I’m sure he won’t see it that way.”

  “Come on,” Freel said. “I want you to move in with me, in my house. God knows it’s big enough. It’ll be great. I’m a few months behind on the mortgage, but I’m stalling the lender, and once we get the settlement money—”

  “We?” Natalie raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, once you get the settlement money and I get my fee, we’ll be in good shape. We have the pool and all I need to do is throw a few thou into the greenhouse to renovate it and you’ll have a perfect spot for your orchids. I know you miss them since you’ve been cramped in that condo. We’ll get a nanny for the baby and we’ll take trips all over the place. It’ll be terrific.”

  Freel slowed with the traffic on Route 1 and put on his right turn signal.

  “A nanny?” asked Natalie. “That would great. That would be unbelievable.”

  “I told you Nat, I’m going to take care of you in high style, just like you deserve. Once we get the money.”

  “What about all your little sluts, Jerome?”

  “If by that, you mean the paralegal—that happened exactly once. We were both drunk as shit, by the way. Obviously it was meaningless, or I wouldn’t have told you about her.”

  “Wow. You wouldn’t have lied. That’s some reassurance. And what about my job?”

  “Don’t be coy,” Freel said. “You know full well that I’m going to give you an allowance that you’ll be thrilled with. But you have to move in first.”

  “You’re broke as hell.”

  “I am, kind of, for now,” he said. “But I have a big divorce case settling any day.” He grinned. “And I’ve got another client—a personal injury case—where the insurance company is ready to settle. My forty percent will bring me almost as much as the fee for your deal with Witt. I’m on the verge of having a lot of working capital.”

  “But by then, I’ll have millions myself, so why would I need you?” she asked. She smiled, squeezing his hand.

  “For the good lovin’,” he said, leering. “You can’t get that just anywhere. Lock’s not going to get violent, is he? Does he have a gun?”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “He’s never mentioned one.”

  “I’m not going to worry about him,” said Freel. “He’s not going to do anything about it. He’s too AA for that. They’re a meek bunch, from what I know.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t think he’s capable of any real violence. He’s still crying over some kid he beat up when he lost his temper on the playground thirty years ago.”

  “Good,” said Freel. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that when it comes to their kids, some people go insane.”

  38

  The next day, while driving home from the mall—where all she did was window-shop—Natalie answered the mellow yoga chant that served as her ringtone. It was Freel.

  “I have good news and bad news, Nat,” he said. “Which do you want first?”

  “Give me the bad.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I just checked my line-of-credit balance online. I’ve got $23,000 left.”

  “How’s that bad news?”

  “Because thanks to my expenses and the way you spend my money, I’ll burn through this in a month.”

  “Did you ever hear of conserving your capital?” she said.

  “No, I never heard of that. Especially with you around.”

  “This traffic’s ridiculous,” said Natalie. She gunned her car onto the shoulder and, gravel flying, pulled around a slow-moving truck.

  “Anyway,” Freel said, “that’s the bad news. Now for the good news. I just got off the phone with Witt’s lawyer. The final number is nine point one million—”

  Natalie shrieked.

  “—and, on your behalf, I’ve accepted,” Freel said.

  “Oh my God!” said Natalie. “You did it. You did it. I love you. You’re a genius.”

  “The papers are coming here by courier. They’ll be here by two,” he said. “So stop whatever it is you’re doing and get over here and be ready to sign. I’ll personally take the agreement to his lawyer after that. Then Witt will sign and we’ll get a certified check by noon on Friday. This deal is beautiful. It’s a work of art.”

  Natalie drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. “But that’s only, like, thirty percent of his net worth,” she said. “I thought you said we could get forty or fifty percent.”

  “Well, I was wrong,” he said. “You’ve got almost ten fucking million dollars, not to mention $12,500 per month in child support. Take the deal, you lunatic. It’s a great deal. If he wanted to, he could fight you and tie us up for three or four years, with no guarantee of anything. That’s three or four more years of shit tips for you.”

  “Oh my God. Nine point one. I can’t believe it.”

  “And by the way,” Freel said, “I want you to quit that fucking waitress gig tonight, because tomorrow I’m flying you first class to Vegas, and we’re staying in the Regal Suite at Caesar’s Palace. Twenty-five hundred a night, for three nights. I’m going to spend everything I have left on you. Start making excuses to your boyfriend so you can get him to take care of the kid while you’re gone.”

  “You’re just buttering me up so I don’t forget I owe you your $300,000 fee.”

  “Yeah, that will be nice, too.”

  By the time Natalie arrived at Freel’s office, the courier from Witt’s lawyer had come and gone. Freel, gloating and silent, handed her a pen. Without reading a word, she signed the settlement agreement at all the places indicated by little red sticky arrows stuck to the pages. Freel hovered over her.

  “Witt’s signature’s not on any of these pages,” Natalie said.

  “First we sign, then he signs. Nothing out of the ordinary. Somebody has to sign first. It’s standard practice.”

  “He’d better sign,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Freel.

  Barely saying goodbye, Freel grabbed the papers, shoved them into an envelope, jumped into his Lamborghini, and took off.

  Natalie headed home to the condo. It didn’t surprise her that Augie was sitting in Lock’s lap as he held a picture book and described out loud to his son what was depicted on the pages. She gave Lock a quick kiss on the lips and patted Augie on his head. She put her bag on the coffee table and turned to Lock.

  “Just got off the phone with my sister. No
big bombshell, but she’s in crisis mode again—one of her kids got expelled for bullying or something, and she wants me to spend a week there, holding her hand, I guess.”

  “A week?” Lock showed a vexed expression.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I talked her into three days and she’s okay with that.”

  Lock didn’t believe her for a second. He felt sick, but then caught himself and immediately used one of the techniques he’d learned in AA—to get into the present moment and squeeze all the joy out of it, instead of projecting negatively into the future. To accomplish that, rather than picturing Natalie with another man, Lock explained to himself that Natalie’s absence would mean more one-on-one time with Augie. And that meant everything to him. He felt calm again. Actually, he felt even better than he had before she’d come home.

  “And when’s all this?” Lock asked.

  “First thing in the morning. I’ll pack tonight so I don’t disturb you when I wake up.”

  “What about your job at the diner?”

  “Taken care of.”

  “Don’t worry about disturbing me in the morning, Natalie,” said Lock. “I’ll be up early with Augie.”

  The next morning, after Freel and Natalie’s limo ride to Philadelphia International, the red-and-blue Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 took off on time. Five and a half hours later, six pieces of luggage were dropped off in Freel’s Japanese-themed suite at Caesar’s Palace. The rooms were as opulent as Freel had promised.

  “Thirteen hundred square feet and two full bathrooms,” Freel said, looking around the suite. “This place is like a mansion. It’s got a media room with a TV as big as a Jumbotron, a kitchen, a pool table, and a private wet bar with a perfect view of the Strip. On the other side of the kitchen, there’s two extra bedrooms. And wait until I get you into the Jacuzzi. It’s like a small pool.”

  Natalie opened the curtains wide and looked out onto Las Vegas Boulevard. “I want to walk from one end of the Strip to the other. How many miles is it?”

  “No idea,” said Freel. “But it will take hours. And you’ll walk alone. I’m not here for exercise.”

  “I thought you were here to be with me,” Natalie said. She began unpacking her bags and hanging clothes in a closet that was larger than most standard hotel rooms.

  “I am,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean craps tables don’t exist. Plus, we’re already winning. Before we left from home, I wired in fifteen thousand to the casino. And when I checked in, the desk clerk told me our room rate dropped from twenty-five hundred to twelve-fifty. Must be a high-roller discount or something.”

  “I doubt fifteen thousand qualifies you as a high roller. Not these days. If they thought you were a high roller, they’d comp the whole room. And food, too.”

  “I have reservations at Nobu for tonight,” said Freel. “Tomorrow, I’ve arranged for a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon’s West Rim. I had to buy the four other seats so we’d be alone. We’ll fly over Hoover Dam and Lake Mead. It’ll be cool.”

  Freel was somber the next morning. He’d lost almost twelve thousand dollars overnight in the casino. He waited as Natalie finished her half hour of yoga before they headed down to the restaurant for breakfast. She wore sandals, cut-offs, and a t-shirt.

  As Natalie ordered fresh blueberries and hot green tea, her phone rang. She signaled to Freel to be quiet and pasted a broad smile on her face as she answered.

  “Hi, Lock,” she said. “How are my two loves?”

  Freel couldn’t hear what Lock was saying, but he could see Natalie couldn’t wait to get off the phone. She listened as Lock talked.

  “Maybe he just has a little bit of a cold or something,” she said, changing her tone to sound serious. “Why don’t you call the pediatrician if you’re really worried? Anyway, I’ll be home in forty-eight hours or so and I’ll take care of both of you. My sister’s shouting for me from downstairs. I need to go.”

  Natalie listened for another half minute. Finally, she said, “I love you too,” and hung up.

  After breakfast, Freel’s mood improved as they headed in a cab to get to the helicopter.

  “What a great idea, Jerome.”

  “What’s a great idea?”

  “This helicopter tour. And with just us. No one else, especially no noisy kids with their cellphone cameras and endless questions.”

  Natalie couldn’t wait to get airborne. Freel couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could get back to the craps tables.

  Two days later, exhausted and completely broke, even though he had wired himself more gambling money—another ten thousand—Freel and Natalie flew home. Freel borrowed twenty bucks from Natalie to tip the limo driver.

  Thursday night, Freel and Natalie arrived an hour and a half late at Philadelphia International. Natalie was exhausted and in an irritable mood—she was annoyed about both the flight delay and the prospect of having to deal with Lock and Augie. She could avoid them a little longer by staying with Freel, she said. Freel wanted to be alone after being so close to another human being for several consecutive days, but he didn’t want to provoke her. They didn’t say much as they drove on the Schuylkill Expressway, passed Boathouse Row, and went through Fairmount Park to his house.

  Freel didn’t know if she was disgusted with him and his bad behavior in Las Vegas, and he didn’t care. He had her wrapped around his little finger. That was good, especially since Natalie was about to be worth nearly ten million. The story about the other client and the forty percent fee was a lie. Freel didn’t want Natalie to think his only money came from the settlement fee from her divorce. He grinned inwardly, thinking about how he was going to offer to manage her money—after all, he had much more experience with money than she did—and if he could swing that, he’d be on Easy Street for the rest of his life. He might even have to marry her—a small sacrifice, considering.

  Friday morning, while driving to his office after saying goodbye to Natalie, Freel’s thoughts returned to the settlement check that, he hoped, had been delivered the day before. With his $300,000 fee and the prospect of being able to usurp some of Natalie’s fortune, things were looking up. He was excited about the upcoming day.

  Freel entered his office and went straight to his desk. Atop the pile of mail, placed there by his secretary, sat an unopened FedEx envelope. He examined its shipping label and saw it had indeed been sent from Mannheim’s lawyer’s firm. The cardboard envelope had arrived Thursday afternoon.

  While standing behind his desk, holding it proudly, Freel kissed the envelope and said aloud, “The check for Natalie’s $9.1 million. Hallelujah. You couldn’t have come a minute too soon.” He held up the envelope and regarded for a moment with pure joy, then furiously tore it open.

  Inside, there was a single sheet of paper. He would read that in a minute. He wanted to look at that check first, hold it, gaze upon it. It was the single biggest settlement he’d negotiated in his entire legal career, and he knew he might not have one this lucrative ever again. He wanted to savor this moment. But he didn’t see the check. He looked inside the envelope, turned it upside down, and shook it. Nothing there. They must be wiring it to my account, he figured. He knew Mannheim’s lawyer was a jerk, but honorable. A deal was a deal. There was some explanation for the check’s absence, and the letter would clear that up. No worries.

  Freel unfolded the letter, and as he read it, his eyes opened wide and the blood drained from his face. The only paragraph on the page stated that Mannheim had decided not to sign the settlement documents and that he’d withdrawn his offer. Furthermore, Mannheim’s lawyer notified Freel that his client would immediately file an amended petition in the Brandywine County Common Pleas court and intended to “fight the extortionistic and coercive demands of his client’s spouse with considerable resources, for however long it takes to prevail.”

  Freel slumped down into his chair, cupped h
is head in his hands, and groaned.

  39

  Lock fished in his pocket for the one loose key that wasn’t on his key ring. He found it and opened the door to Abby’s smallish three-room apartment.

  After almost a week of procrastination—he had attended more than the usual number of meetings, worked late twice, and walked the five-mile trail at Valley Forge National Historical Park—he was there to prepare his late friend’s residence for the moving company and clean-out service that would come later in the week to remove everything that Lock didn’t want. So far, he hadn’t been able to find a will. The furniture would be kept in storage until the estate details could be resolved. He knew Abby had no relatives, so he felt it was okay to take a few mementos by which to remember him.

  He had decided to take only a couple things. For an extra fee of one hundred and fifty dollars, the clean-out service would see to it that organizations like Goodwill and Purple Heart would get the things of value—Abby’s old furniture that was still serviceable, perfectly good clothes and shoes, miscellaneous household items that the less fortunate might be happy to have.

  As Lock methodically moved through the apartment with a clipboard, making notes for the service, his mind drifted between a pervasive sadness over Abby’s absence and disconcerting thoughts about Natalie. He didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. It was as if she had gone on strike when it came to helping with the baby, and if she wasn’t home shirking her responsibilities, she was out—where she went, Lock didn’t know—sometimes coming home hours late, way after her shift had ended.

  For someone who professed to have loved Abby, she hadn’t been sympathetic or supportive of Lock. She wanted nothing to do with making the funeral arrangements. “It’s too depressing,” she said. And Lock had asked her to come help him that day—she had the day off—and she flat-out refused, saying she had too many other things she had to get to, and besides, she couldn’t make the decisions about what to keep and what to discard.