Significant Others

by Baron, Marilyn

  “Let’s try an appetizer,” I suggested. “How about fried calamari?”

  “We don’t deep fry anything here,” Ricardo admonished, as he reviewed the list of antipasti. “Our Frittura di Calamari is flour-dusted, only lightly fried, and served with marinara.”

  “That sounds great,” Donny said. “We’ll start with that.”

  “We have two entrée specials tonight,” the chef continued. “Our Prosciutto e Mozzarella with imported buffalo mozzarella and Parma Prosciutto. It’s in the shape of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Or our Pasta Tri Coloré—homemade ravioli covered with tomato sauce, pesto sauce, and a seafood sauce, in red, green and white, arranged on the plate like the Italian flag.”

  I rolled my eyes and ordered the Linguine Al Frutti di Mare—a mix of seasonal shellfish, sautéed with extra virgin olive oil, garlic, white wine, and cherry tomatoes, served on a bed of linguine. Donny and Barbara both ordered the Brodetto Di Pesce with shrimp, scallops, calamari, clams, and mussels, poached in their own broth, with a touch of marinara served on the pasta of the day—Ricardo’s favorite. They always ordered the same thing because they were so in sync.

  Even before the meal arrived, I was seriously studying the dessert menu. Since I discovered that my husband prefers women with big asses, I’d decided to quit this ridiculous diet I’d been on. I lost a ton of weight so he’d like me more, and now he thought I was too bony.

  The slimming-down process didn’t happen overnight, either. For weeks I carved time out of my hectic schedule to go to the gym, and forced my best friend Vicky to sweat along with me. I even cut down on potatoes and their evil spawn, potato chips. The trouble with diets was you had to exercise restraint, and I hated to exercise. In the end, the result of my dedication and deprivation was a trim new butt. But by then my butt was no longer of interest to my husband.

  Since I no longer had to worry about what Marc thought of my butt, I considered the Tiramisu for dessert. Or maybe something else from the Dolce menu—Torta Caprese, Crème Caramella, Panna Cotta, Cannoli, or maybe a sampling of all five of them.

  If Mom decided to sell the agency, I wouldn’t even be able to snag a job as one of those double-wide Wal-Mart greeters, not without the Lewis hips.

  But hey, if men liked younger women, I should be able to do pretty well at Millennium Gardens—a classy, forty-something chick like me with a trim new butt. And, I could drive at night. Apparently, that was a big commodity around there.

  The trouble was, I didn’t want another man.

  After the chef retired to the kitchen, where he belonged, Donny and I returned some calls.

  “We got the listing on the Neel Reid house on West Paces Ferry, and that great country French estate home in Roswell,” I reported. “Oh, and there’s finally some interest in the high-rise condominium in Midtown. And bad news, one of our clients has found some termite damage in the garage. I need to call someone to have it checked out.”

  “Well, on the bright side, we finally closed on that European traditional in Buckhead,” Donny said. “But the two closings on our Country Club of the South listings had to be postponed because of the weather. Supposedly Atlanta is expecting a major ice storm. I rescheduled the closings for after New Year’s.”

  “My personal assistant says the Hightowers are still wavering on that English Tudor in Ansley Park,” I added.

  “They’re the kind who like to kick the tires,” Donny observed. “After all, the house was built in the early 1900s. I think they’re waiting for one of us to come back to Atlanta. The property is pretty pricey. They need some hand-holding.”

  “I think Mrs. Hightower wants to do more than just hold your hand,” I suggested. “You know, if this sale doesn’t go through and we get Reddekker and Mom to agree to a merger, I want us to expand into the Northwest Florida and South Florida markets, pick up some properties on the Gulf and the Atlantic.”

  “All those plans go out the window if Mom sells,” Donny pointed out.

  “The desirable waterfront properties in Florida will complement our portfolio on the Georgia Coast. Atlanta has the Chattahoochee River and Lake Lanier, but we’re too landlocked. Hey, while we’re here, why don’t we scout out some of these oceanfront properties, maybe snag some new listings? We’re letting our Florida licenses go to waste.”

  “Great idea,” Donny agreed, “but we are on vacation.”

  “You know there is no such word in our business, Donny. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. Let me just make this one call to Mrs. Martin.” I dialed the number, but she wasn’t home, so I left a message.

  “Grace. It’s Honey Palladino. Just wanted to let you know that we had two showings on your house yesterday, but two of the buyers decided they wanted to live in Dunwoody. Third time’s the charm apparently. We’ve got a loan approval letter on the third prospect. They’re good buyers, so start packing and stop worrying.”

  “Our condo at Atlantic Station is attracting a lot of interest,” Donny noted, dipping a piece of crusty bread into the plate of olive oil the server had just put on the table, after which she accidentally/on purpose pressed his hand. I guess she’s also a Donny Palladino fan. Barbara glared. I started work on my second piece of bread.

  The server brought out the calamari, and I picked out all the crispy, squiggly pieces and put them on my plate.

  “Glad to see you eating again, sis,” Donny observed.

  “Glad to be eating again. This is my coming-out party. Now what were you saying about Atlantic Station?”

  “That’s a hot area, but condos have been overbuilt in Atlanta,” Donny explained, with a nod to Barbara. “But the inventory levels are dropping. The biggest problem we have is the traffic. The city has no natural boundaries. If people are willing to drive and commute an hour to get to a new house in the suburbs, they’re going to do it. But some people are so sick of the commute, they’re moving back in to the city even for an older house, even though they have to downsize.”

  “There’s certainly more optimism out there in the housing market,” I echoed. “With interest rates about to rise, people want to lock in lower rates. The economy is beginning to recover and housing is rebounding strongly.”

  “Which is why Reddekker wants to acquire us,” Donny pointed out.

  “Okay, you two, that’s enough,” Barbara interrupted, delivering a verbal hand-slapping. “Why don’t you put away your toys?” My sister-in-law didn’t like being left out, and she hadn’t been able to get two words in edgewise since we sat down at the table. Maybe she was mad that I stuck her with the round, rubbery pieces of squid.

  “That’s enough about Palladino Properties,” Barbara scolded. “When you’re with family, you should be fully engaged.” Donny shot his wife an apologetic look, flashing his irresistible smile and crinkling his killer green eyes.

  “Oh, talk about family, that reminds me, sis, I forgot to tell you what my Little Slugger did the other day,” Donny said.

  “What?” I asked, smiling, eager to hear about the latest antics of my beloved nephew, who was a major trickster.

  “He went on a field trip with his class to the Georgia Aquarium, and you know how they don’t allow backpacks for security reasons? Well, Jackson started pitching a fit when they tried to take his backpack away.”

  “Jackson has separation issues,” Barbara interjected.

  “So they made an exception,” Donny continued. “That night when Barbara checked to see how he was doing on his bath, she heard him talking to someone and she found a baby penguin splashing around in the tub with Jackson.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “He had hidden the little fellow in his backpack when no one was looking,” Donny said.

  “What did you do?” I asked, wide-eyed.

  “Well, I called the Georgia Aquarium,” Barbara said. “What else could I do? I told Jackson that the baby penguin missed his mother and all his friends, and then I bought a family pass to the Georgia Aquarium so we could
go back and visit as often as he wants.”

  “Isn’t that the cutest thing?” Donny said, smiling. “That’s my boy.”

  With Palladino Properties business and Jackson’s penguin-napping episode behind us, I cleared my throat and tried to work up the nerve to talk about more personal matters.

  “Barbara, Donny, actually there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

  Donny looked concerned. Barbara looked like she would explode if she heard any more talk about Palladino Properties.

  “I want to divorce Marc,” I announced abruptly.

  Donny didn’t look surprised. Barbara perked up. Now I had Madame Divorce Attorney’s undivided attention.

  “What did that bastard do to you?” Donny growled. Donny had a quick temper that blew itself out as rapidly as it came on, like a fast-moving hurricane. He must have inherited that temperament from his real dad, because our mom never even raised her voice to us and my dad, Stanley Palladino, was as gentle as a St. Bernard. Donny’s inclination was to throw a punch first and ask questions later, especially when defending his family and friends. And he didn’t consider my husband one of his friends.

  I laughed, gratified that my brother was leaping to my defense and taking my side before he even heard the story.

  “It’s not what he did to me,” I pointed out. “It’s what he’s doing with his temp, Trisha.”

  “I knew it,” my brother fumed. “I never liked your husband. He thinks he’s better than the rest of us. Can’t ever be one of the guys. What happened to his regular secretary?”

  “She’s out on maternity leave.”

  “Wait a minute. I think I saw this chick Trisha in Marc’s office the other day when I dropped by and asked him to deliver a contract to you. What does he see in her? She ought to wear a sign on her butt that says Wide Load Coming Through.”

  “Apparently Marc has developed a taste for big butts,” I said.

  “Nothing wrong with your butt,” Donny observed.

  “Thank you,” I said as we high-fived each other like boisterous children. Barbara rolled her eyes.

  “How long has he been cheating on you?” she asked sympathetically, patting my hand and affecting her most concerned attorney-client demeanor.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? But it galls me every time I have to go through that smug little twit to speak to my own husband at work.”

  “You know Trisha probably deserves half the blame,” Barbara said. “You have no idea how many women are after my husband. And they’re not even subtle about it. That’s why I have to travel with him. Every woman who approaches Donny is on the prowl. I have my hands full peeling women off him.”

  “Barbara, you know that’s not true,” Donny objected innocently.

  I had to laugh because it was true. The same thing happened to me whenever Donny and I went anywhere together. While Donny is not exactly handsome in the classic sense, his particular combination of rugged features exudes sex appeal and seems to be irresistible to most women. There hasn’t been a package like Donny’s since the days of Joe Namath. Or Russell Crowe. I could go on.

  “But I know your brother would never cheat on me, because I’d cut him off at the knees,” Barbara smiled sweetly as she sliced her sharp knife cleanly through the fresh bread the server had just brought to the table.

  Barbara was tiny but fierce, and everyone in the family, including me, was a little afraid of her. Actually, Barbara reminded me less of a barracuda than of a type of fish I’d recently seen at the Georgia Aquarium, called the Rosy Wrasse. Apparently, wrasses all begin life as females, but dominant females eventually change sex and become male. Barbara Palladino was a dominant female, but Donny was devoted to her. And she adored him. I knew the real reason she traveled with my brother was because she wanted to keep her family close and she couldn’t stand being away from him. I could have learned a lesson from Barbara. She was as busy as I was yet somehow she managed to create a stable marriage and a happy home, a home her husband was anxious to return to. Beneath all that brashness, maybe the barracuda was really just a guppy.

  “How did you find out?” the Barracuda/Rosy Wrasse/Guppy asked quietly.

  I proceeded to tell them about the Thanksgiving pictures.

  “I also know of at least one overnight trip they took together,” I noted.

  “Good.” Barbara nodded.

  “Barb, how can you say that?” Donny protested

  “It means he’s sloppy. Most men are so arrogant they never think they’ll get caught, so they make stupid mistakes. Women, on the other hand, wives and mothers, will do anything in their power to believe their husbands have not been unfaithful. Do you have any proof besides the photos?”

  “Well, a few weeks ago he told me he was going to a firm retreat in New York. When I mentioned it to Vicky, whose husband is a partner at Marc’s law firm, she told me the firm retreat was in California. So I know he was lying. I called the office and Trisha wasn’t there either.”

  Do you have any other evidence?”

  “Evidence?”

  “Yes, you need to go through his credit card receipts, look through his pockets, his wallet, his desk, even his dirty laundry, to learn all you can about his dirty dealings. Find any suspicious-looking bills for extravagant dinners, out-of-the-way hotels, personal gifts, things like that.”

  “I think I should move out of the house,” I said. “I can’t stand the thought of being around him, knowing he’s cheating with another woman. And now Hannah isn’t coming home for Christmas break. She’s going with her friend’s parents to their time-share in Aruba. I know it’s because she senses the tension between us.”

  “Moving out would be a mistake,” Barbara advised. “Georgia is an equitable distribution state, which means that all marital property acquired during the marriage is subject to division. You own half that house and you need to stand your ground, no matter how uncomfortable things become. You have to act like nothing’s happened, so he doesn’t become suspicious. If he tries to sweet talk you into bed, make excuses; you have a headache, it’s your time of the month. Lock the bedroom door if you have to.”

  “Barbara, my time of the month has pretty much come and gone, and the point is he’s not interested in sleeping with me anymore. If I wanted him to sleep with me, I’d have to lock him in the bedroom.” I wiped the tears away from my face with the back of my hand. I hated being weak, but it hurt every time I thought about Trisha and Marc, Trisha under Marc, Trisha on top of Marc, or any combination thereof.

  As if he could read my mind, and we were so close that most times he could, Donny shifted uncomfortably in his seat and offered me his napkin.

  “It’s okay to cry, sis,” Donny said.

  Barbara was unperturbed and she smelled blood. Maybe she was more shark than barracuda. Same distinction.

  “Hannah’s almost twenty-one, isn’t she, so there won’t be a custody issue. We’ll make sure he continues to pay for her education, any major expenses, her wedding, things like that.”

  “Her wedding?” I asked blankly. My daughter was not even close to getting married, and the thought of Hannah walking down the aisle without Marc being part of the festivities made me sick. Or maybe it was the calamari churning around in my stomach.

  “I want custody of the Gold Wing,” I said, lifting my chin, trying not to break out into tears again.

  “Isn’t that some kind of motorcycle?” Barbara asked.

  “Yes. He went out and bought the biggest, baddest, blackest bagger money can buy—the 2013 Honda Gold Wing F6B Deluxe. It’s a sleek, powerful, luxury touring motorcycle with all the goods and plenty of room for Trisha’s fat ass. He bought it when he turned fifty a month ago.”

  “That Wing is an old guys’ bike,” said Donny. “Marc can deny it all he wants, but he’s going through a classic midlife crisis. He’s never even driven a motorcycle.”

  I glared at my brother. “You knew about it?”

  “Guys talk.”

  I sne
ered. “Old guys talk. I’ve been doing research on this bike. It’s supposed to feature a lighter, leaner package.”

  “I’ve seen Trisha. There’s nothing light or lean about her, unless you count her brain.” Donny snorted.

  “Do you know that monster cost more than twenty thousand dollars?” I added. “Complete with all the creature comforts like a passenger backrest and heated grips.” Though I don’t know why Marc needs creature comforts now that he has Trisha.

  “I think he loves that bike even more than he loves Trisha. So I want to take it away from him.” I wasn’t usually this vindictive and vengeful, but in this case it felt really good. Maybe I needed to sunbathe at one of the Millennium Gardens pools and bake out all the bitchiness.

  “That can be arranged,” Barbara said. “That’s a boatload of money. Did he tell you he was going to buy it?”

  “Of course not. He just came home with it one day. He won’t let me near his most precious possession.”

  “While we’re on the subject of possessions, I want you to make a list of all your possessions, your personal possessions, his, and the things you own jointly,” Barbara instructs. “And I’ll need copies of your most recent tax returns. Also any financial information you can get your hands on, bank and money market account numbers and his pension plan information, IRAs, things like that. He may be hiding money from you, but I’ve got a good accountant. If Marc’s hiding anything, we’ll find it. My guy is like a bloodhound when it comes to the money trail.”

  Okay. A barracuda and a bloodhound. A divorcee’s dream team.

  “So you’ll handle my divorce?” I asked. I hoped so, because I can’t exactly call 1-800-DIVORCE. Marc and I were pretty well known in the community, and it would be a high profile case, especially with Barbara handling it.

  “Of course. We’ll be back in Atlanta as soon as we get your mother packed up. Just call my office and make an appointment at your convenience. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that horny bastard. And to think I actually liked him. He’s a top-notch attorney, too. Oh, well, I guess I’m not such a good judge of character. Meanwhile, I’m going to get a private detective on Marc and Trisha right away. Especially now that you’re out of town, their guard will be down. He’ll check Marc’s cell phone records, tap into his computer at home and at the office, see what sites he likes to visit.”