Better Off Without Him (Romantic Comedy)

by Dee Ernst

  She shrugged. “I told him not to hold his breath.”

  I was torn. On one hand, the pending divorce was between Brian and I. The girls, while of course affected, were technically not involved in our issues. They still had two parents who loved them and who would continue to be a part of their lives. As their parents, we deserved their love, and more importantly, respect. Whatever animosity I may have felt toward Brian, and whatever feelings he still had for me should not spill onto our daughters. Neutrality was best all around.

  On the other hand, I couldn’t help feel a bit happy. Let’s face it, I won.

  I sighed. “Call your father and tell him what’s going on.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes and dialed. “Dad? It’s me. No.”

  She listened. “I mean, no, we don’t want to have dinner with you, and no, we don’t want to meet Dominique.”

  She handed the phone to Lauren. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Lauren looked pained, but took the phone. “Hi Daddy.” Pause. “But I don’t want to meet her.” Pause. “I don’t care.” Pause. “Mom, he wants to talk to you.”

  This I was not ready for. I cleared my throat and took the phone. “Yes?”

  “Mona, this is Brian.”

  “Really? I would have never guessed.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Mona. What’s wrong with Miranda and Lauren?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “They’re being very bitchy about this.”

  “Maybe they both have PMS.”

  Brian exhaled loudly. “That’s no excuse. I want them to be ready in an hour so I can pick them up and take them to dinner. Dominique wants to meet them.”

  “So this is about Dominique?”

  “Yes, of course it is.”

  “Gosh, Brian, maybe it should be about your three daughters. Maybe what they want should come first. What do you think?” I was still holding the knife in one hand, and I started stabbing the slices of pepperoni with the tip of the blade.

  Brian sounded a bit impatient. “Mona, the sooner the girls get used to the whole idea, the better. Just have them ready.”

  “Sure. Just as soon as you tell me how.”

  “What?”

  “We’re talking about three teen-aged girls. How do I get them ready? They don’t want to go. Do I threaten them? Ground them for two weeks? Do I bribe them? Maybe I should physically drag them out the front door and sit on them until you show up, and then you could force them into the car. Of course, I could only drag one at a time, and while I’m doing that the other two could scatter, but I’m sure together we could hunt them down.” The pepperoni slices were becoming pepperoni hash.

  “Mona, you’re being difficult. Just have them ready.”

  “I’m not being difficult. I’m being practical. You know your own daughters, Brian, or at least you should. How hard is it to get them to do something they don’t want to do?”

  He was silent. “You’re a bitch,” he snarled, and hung up.

  I handed Miranda her phone. “Turn it off,” I said in a shaking voice. I overturned the box of mushrooms and began furiously chopping them.

  “Way to go, Mom,” Jessica said behind me. She must have come downstairs during the conversation with Brian. She was actually smiling. “I turned off my cell, too. How about you, Lauren?”

  “I’ll do it now,” Lauren said, running out of the room.

  I was starting to calm down. “Jess, honey, want to take the dough out of the fridge? It needs to come to room temperature.”

  Jessica went over to the refrigerator, and we all spent the next few minutes in companionable silence. Lauren came back in, and she actually set the table without being asked. My blood pressure was getting back down to normal when the house phone rang, and I recognized the number on caller ID as Brian’s cell.

  “Aunt Lily,” I called. She came in from the den, where she’d been watching the Food Network. “Can you answer the phone? It’s Brian, and we don’t want to talk to him.”

  Lily smiled, and reached for the phone. “Hello?” Pause “This is Lily. Who’s this?” Pause. “Brian who?” Pause. “What the hell do you want?” Pause. “You want Mona? You mean your wife? The one you just ruthlessly abandoned for some cheap French tart?” Pause. “Well, she’s not here.” Pause. “Now, really, why would I lie about a thing like that?” Pause. “Brian, I really don’t have to listen to that kind of abuse.” She hung up.

  “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

  “I’m making homemade pizza,” I explained happily.

  The phone rang. Lily answered it and said, in a distinctly Hindu accent, “Hello?” Pause. “Sorry? No speak American?” Pause. “Sorry? Telemarketer?” She hung up again.

  “Maybe,’ she said, smoothly, “we should put this away until tomorrow night, and walk into town for burgers at the pub. My treat. What do you think?”

  We were out of there just as the phone began to ring again.

  The next day, Saturday, a bouquet from Incredible Edibles arrived. Incredible Edibles is a company that creates what appear to be bouquets of flowers that are actually made from food. This particular bouquet consisted of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered strawberries, sugar cookies in the shape of oak leaves covered with green icing, and candied orange and lemon slices sprinkled with sugar. All the items were on the end of longs skewers and stuck in a festive pink vase. Quite pretty. Immediately, the girls began to fight over who got what, and after half an hour of constant sugar consumption, they were all spitting like cats. When I suggested that perhaps they should save a little something for later, Miranda hissed. Then I hinted that perhaps one of them should at least call their father and acknowledge the bribe.

  Jessica shrugged. “If we ignore him, maybe next time he’ll send cash,” she said.

  Later that afternoon, it occurred to me that I had a standing account at Incredible Edibles, so I called and spoke directly to the owner. Sure enough, Brian had charged the whole thing, meaning that sometime next month I would be getting the bill. Luckily, the Hoboken address had burned itself into my brain, so the correction was made quick enough.

  Sunday, Miranda almost caved. She came down after lunch, tracked me into the den, sat down, and took my hand.

  “Mom, if I ask you to take me to the mall so that I can meet Daddy for lunch and he can buy me a new pair of Uggs, will you take it as a sign of betrayal?”

  I just looked at her. She rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and left. Good girl.

  By Sunday night, I think Brian admitted defeat. At least in round one.

  David West looked the way a lawyer should look. I’m not talking Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird. Or even Jimmy Stewart in Anatomy of a Murder. If Susan Hayward had gotten him on board in I Want To Live, she would have gotten, ten, fifteen years, tops. Think Kirk Douglas, in that movie about the soldiers raping the girl in that little German town, and how Kirk turns into a barracuda. That’s how David West struck me. In fact, when he shook my hand, I thought that, when he went swimming, instead of doing laps he probably made slow, lazy circles on the bottom of the pool.

  His office was also just right. It took up a whole floor over a row of retail shops in Morristown, and overlooked one of the true village greens that remained in New Jersey. Thick carpet muffled any intrusive sounds, and the smell of coffee made you feel right at home.

  I sat across from him and sniffed. Sometime during the previous weekend, something somewhere bloomed – maybe a daffodil, maybe a tulip, maybe a maple leaf had unfurled, but whatever it was, it set off my allergies. My eyes had turned red-rimmed and puffy, my throat felt scratchy, causing my voice to sound froggy, and my nose filled to capacity. So sitting in his office, I looked the picture of emotional distress. What I was feeling was closer to murder.

  I had spoken to his secretary and gotten a list of information to collect, and had it all in a neat manila folder that I handed to him. He looked quickly at the file.

  “Tax returns? Excellent. Bank
statements, credit card bills, mortgage papers. I can see you’ve done your homework. What’s this?”

  “That’s what my husband’s lawyer faxed over to me last week,” I croaked.

  His eyes scanned quickly. “Well, child support looks generous, and visitation is about standard. He’s giving you the family home, how nice of him. This house in Harvey Cedars? Tell me about it.”

  I cleared my throat. “It’s mine. Just mine. Brian giving it to me is not a generous as it sounds. I bought it twelve years ago because I’d started to make money writing, and my accountant thought it would be a good idea. It’s right on the border of Harvey Cedars. In fact, the houses across the street are in the next town. A while back, my neighbors and I made a pact that we’d never tear down our houses and build Mac Mansions in their place. So it’s a very modest block. Cape Cod-style homes. Mine has three bedrooms and two baths.”

  David West flashed me a look. “But it’s still a sizable asset?”

  “Oh, sure. I mean, it’s on the beach block. On Long Beach Island, which is a prime New Jersey shore location. I could sell it for the lot alone and buy a whole island in the South Pacific.”

  “Is it a rental? Do you derive income from it?”

  I reached for a tissue and dabbed my nose. “No. I spend the summers there. With my daughters. We go down after school lets out and stay ‘till Labor Day. We’ve done that for years. Brian comes down – that is, came down, on weekends and for a week or two at a time.”

  He was nodding. “Okay. Now, tell me about the condo.”

  “I don’t know anything about the condo. Brian bought that without my knowledge.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Now, that’s interesting. I don’t know this particular address, but I know the neighborhood, and he probably paid a pretty penny for it.”

  I sniffed again. “According to the tax records, he paid $875,000.00 for it.”

  He actually smiled. “Really? That required a substantial down payment. Did you notice any money missing from any accounts?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Very interesting. Good. Now, Mrs. Berman.” He folded his hand together and looked legal. “I’m seeing you today, on such short notice, because Patricia Carmichael called and asked a favor. Which I was more that happy to do for her. She has been a client for many years. In fact, I’ve known Ms. Carmichael a very long time. I might even venture to call her my friend.” He stopped, thought for a minute, frowned and shook his head hard. “Well, no, not really friend. But I know her. Very well. She can be, ah, determined, and ah…” He was still frowning.

  “Strong-willed?” I suggested.

  “Yes,” he said gratefully. ‘Very strong-willed. And, well frankly, ah…”

  “Intimidating?” I offered.

  He smacked his hand, palm down, against his desktop. “Exactly. Intimidating. At times.”

  “Well, she’s very beautiful,” I said, by way of explanation.

  “Ohhh, yes. That she is.”

  “And smart. Not just intelligent, but street smart.”

  He leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. “Absolutely. You don’t expect someone of her, ah, background and appearance to be so savvy.”

  “Yes, that throws people off.” I smiled at the poor man. “Then there’s the whole more-money-than-God thing.”

  He made a small face. “Yes, there’s that too. The point is, because of who she is, and the type of person she is, on the basis of her referral I’m not going to bother with the usual screening I do with potential divorce clients. I’m going to assume you are here in good faith and have every intention to go through with this. My hope is that you’re not just trying to scare the shit out of him.”

  “Nope. I want out.”

  “Good. Now, just so you know, I don’t do revenge. I don’t do public humiliation. I’ll get the best settlement possible for you and your daughters. That is my only job. I’m very good at it.”

  “I know. That’s what Patricia said. And other people. I’m very grateful that you could see me on such short notice. I don’t know how I would have found a good lawyer otherwise. In fact, my original plan was to hang out in front of Family Court until some guy came out crying, oh God, I’m ruined, then grabbed his wife’s lawyer.”

  He decided to get the joke and smile. “Well, that might have worked. But this way is much better. I’ll need a fifteen-thousand-dollar retainer.”

  I smiled back. “Done. Have the agreement sent over and I’ll have a check ready.”

  He stood up and reached out to shake my hand again. “A pleasure, Mrs. Berman.”

  “Mona. Call me Mona. Mrs. Berman is soon to be a thing of the past.”

  When I got back to my office, Anthony was busy on the computer. He flashed me a gorgeous smile and stood up, dumping Lana onto the floor where she stretched, yawned and gave me a very dirty look.

  “I had lunch with Lily again,” Anthony reported. “She’s an absolute fruitcake. Are you sure you want her staying with you?”

  “Where else is she going to go?” I grumbled.

  “She’s loaded. How about a nice assisted living place in, say, Duluth?” He handed me a steaming mug of coffee. “How’s the lawyer?”

  “Kirk Douglas in A Town Without Pity.”

  “Perfect. Can I go next time?”

  I sank into the couch. “Maybe. Anything I should know about?”

  He arranged himself on the other end of the couch and handed me the cordless phone.“Glinda called.”

  Glinda, my favorite sister-in-law. I reached over, took the phone and dialed her number.

  “Mona, I just heard. I was in the Ozarks doing a spring cleansing, and I just got back last night. I am so sorry about this,” she gushed as soon as she picked up the phone. Rebecca has the same attitude about caller ID as I have – if you know who’s calling, why waste time pretending to be surprised? “My brother is a real stinker. I’m on your side, honey. What can I do?”

  I loved Rebecca. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Does the house feel empty?”

  “Well, it would, but Aunt Lily is here.”

  “Oh, how nice. I think she’s just great. How long is she staying with you?”

  I sighed. “Apparently forever. She sold her co-op because of the aliens that are scheduled to land in Prospect Park.”

  Rebecca made a sound. “That old chestnut has been driving people out of Park Slope for years. Does she really believe it?”

  “I guess. She’s here with a gazillion suitcases and no permanent address.”

  “Well, she’s got good timing. At least she’ll be able to help out with the girls. How are they taking this whole thing? Or are they over it already?”

  Rebecca does not have any children of her own, but as a strict observer of the human condition, she knows exactly how the teenage mind works. “I think they’re trying to figure out what double birthday parties are going to be worth.”

  “Figures. That reminds me. What about my surprise party? You’re still not having it there, are you? I mean, not even Brian is that uncouth.”

  “Rebecca, how did you know? It’s supposed to be, well, you know. A surprise.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Oh, Mona, come on. Have you ever known Phyllis to keep anything a secret?”

  True. I loved my mother-in-law, but the woman’s mouth never quit. “Anthony faxed the guest list over to Brian’s office,” I explained to her. “It’s his problem now. His and Dominique’s.”

  “That’s her name?” Rebecca squealed in delight. “Really? Oh my stars, how funny. I bet she’s skinny and blonde and a real bitch.”

  I laughed with her. “Rebecca, you really do have supernatural powers.” A thought suddenly struck. “Rebecca, speaking of powers…”

  “Yes?” She sounded a bit tentative.

  “I don’t really know much about your, well, religion.”

  “I like to think of it as a complete way of life.”

  I sighed. “That sounds nice. But answ
er me this. Do you, well, you know, perform…ah…” I bit my lip. How could I ask this delicately?

  “Perform?” she coaxed.

  “Spells. Do you do spells?”

  She chuckled. “Do I do spells?” she repeated, apparently in disbelief.

  “Yes. Potions and chants and things.”

  “It’s more complicated then that, Mona. There are certain things that can be done with the help of certain items that can bring about positive changes in a person’s life. I don’t have a cabinet with jars of rat dung and eye of newt. What is this all about?”

  I took another track. “What about transfiguration?”

  “Mona,” Rebecca said patiently, “that’s a word from the Harry Potter books.”

  “Yes. You know it?”

  “I’ve heard it, yes. You do realize that those books are fiction, right? And that something like transfiguration can’t be done in the real world?”

  “Well, of course I know that.”

  She must have heard the disappointment in my voice. “Mona. Did you want me to turn Brian into a frog or something?”

  Was that an offer? “Well, that would be good. Can you do that?”

  “No,” she said shortly.

  “Oh.” How disappointing. What is the point of having a witch in the family if she’s only good for tasty cider and herbal cough syrup?

  “And even if I could,” she continued, “I wouldn’t, because it would break my mother’s heart.”

  I sighed. “True. And I love your mother. So, maybe you could do a little something to Dominique? Or to Brian that would affect Dominique?”

  She made a thinking-about-it sort of noise.

  “Rebecca?”

  “If you want,” she said, chuckling, “I can make him impotent.”

  “Oh my God.” Now, that’s a payoff. “Can you really?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t do it myself. After all, he’s my brother. But I’ll ask somebody in my Wiccan support group.”

  “You have a Wiccan support group? I didn’t realize that. Since when?”

  “A couple of years now, why?”

  “Is that your, well, coven?”