The Million Dollar Divorce

by RM Johnson

  After work, Lewis went straight to Selena’s. She opened the door for him, after Lewis had knocked.

  “I came to see Layla,” Lewis said, hoping that she did not slam the door in his face.

  “I know why you here. She’s in the bedroom,” Selena said, stepping aside. “But don’t take all night, I got something I got to do.”

  Lewis hurried toward the bedroom, but slowed just before he walked in, half expecting to see the naked man with the gun, hanging out, watching TV, or something.

  When Lewis stepped through the doorway, he saw Layla on the mattress, playing with a plastic doll he had given her. Lewis immediately lowered himself, scooped his daughter up, and rolled on his back, placing her on his stomach.

  He had missed her so much. He didn’t even think it was possible in such a short period of time.

  Layla smiled and giggled as Lewis raised her high over him, then brought her back down and kissed her face.

  Lewis stopped his play with his daughter when he saw Selena leaning against the door frame.

  “Thanks for letting me see her.”

  “You still her father.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Lewis said, kissing his baby, then setting her aside on the mattress and sitting up so he could better look at Selena.

  “About the other night. Why did you have to go and—”

  “No,” Selena said, waving her hand before her. “I ain’t talking about that.”

  “I told you I was going to try harder to make some money, and you didn’t have to—”

  “Lewis! I said, I ain’t talkin’ about that. I did what I felt I had to do, and that’s all that’s to it, all right?”

  “All right. But I want to come back.”

  Selena didn’t say anything, just pressed her palms to her forehead and slowly dragged them down her face, while she shook her head.

  “What?” Lewis said.

  “You can’t come back.”

  “Why not? I’ll forget about what happened the other night. I won’t ask you no more about it. It’s over.”

  “But it ain’t over, Lewis. I still need money, and I’m gonna continue to make money. And as a matter of fact,” Selena said, glancing over at the alarm clock, “you got to be going. I got some stuff I gotta do.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Stuff, Lewis. Now you gotta go.”

  Lewis quickly stood up from the mattress, placed himself right in front of Selena. “You ain’t telling me that you throwing me out, cutting my time short for seeing Layla, because you got some nigga coming back through here. I know you aren’t telling me that.”

  Selena looked squarely into Lewis’s eyes, not a hint of intimidation there. “Okay, then I’m not tellin’ you that. But you still gotta go.” Selena walked around Lewis, threw open a dresser drawer, and plucked some clothes from it.

  He was right behind her, grabbed her by one of her arms, spun her around. “You ain’t gonna keep on doing this! Not while my daughter is here!”

  “And who’s gonna stop me! This is my place, and I can do whatever the hell I want to in it!” Selena said, yanking her arm away from Lewis, going back to the drawer.

  “Then I’ll tell the police. I tell them that you’re prostituting in here.”

  Selena turned back to Lewis, chuckling pathetically at him. “Yeah, you go right ahead and do that, especially since you care so much for your daughter. But when they come up in here, and take me away for prostitution, what you think they gonna do with Layla?”

  He knew exactly what they would do with her. She would go in a home, Lewis told himself.

  “Then give her to me.”

  Selena laughed even harder. “You talk about this ain’t no place to raise her. Where you living, Lewis? How you think you gonna care for her?”

  “I’d find a way,” Lewis said, angry at how she was mocking him.

  “Thank God that that ain’t the only choice that Layla got. Now if you don’t mind, can you leave so I can get ready…unless you want another gun pressed to your head.”

  18

  Earlier that day Nate felt distraught as he prepared for work. He stood in his closet, looking over the long line of tailored suits hanging before him, trying to decide which one of the expensive outfits he would wear.

  He reached out and grabbed the first thing his hand landed on; because of the way he was feeling at that moment, it really didn’t matter to him what he wore.

  Sitting at the dining room table, the paper to his side, unopened, he ate his breakfast of ham and eggs that Monica prepared for him, only because he did not want to alert her to how it was he was feeling.

  She sat across the table, staring at him, sensing that something was wrong, anyway.

  “What’s on your mind, Nate?”

  “Nothing,” Nate said, but he was lying. Last night after he had come from the balcony, after he had made his phone call, he crawled back into bed, but took forever to fall asleep. When he did, he was troubled by guilty thoughts again, regarding his decision to seek a divorce from her.

  “Are you sure?” Monica said.

  “Yeah,” Nate said, working hard to display a smile. “Everything is fine.”

  “Then I want to know if I can take you out to dinner tonight.”

  “Why? What’s the occasion?”

  Monica couldn’t help smiling, and said, “I’m just happy that things are back on track for us, that’s all. And…well, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Nate was curious as to what that was, but didn’t feel like going into it at that moment. “Yeah, dinner will be fine,” he said, less than enthused.

  On his way to work, Nate stared out emotionlessly at the stoplight before him. He sat still and quiet in his Bentley, no music playing, the hum of the smooth-running engine almost inaudible.

  The downtown Chicago morning traffic was thick as it always had been, but Nate wasn’t concerned, didn’t care if he was late, for he knew his morning and early-afternoon schedules were both light.

  The traffic light above him flashed from red to green, and Nate slowly accelerated, when his cell phone started ringing. He was startled by the abrupt break in the silence around him, and blindly reached over, grabbing the phone from the passenger seat and placing it to his ear.

  “This is Nate Kenny.”

  “Nate. You busy?”

  It was Barry Atkins calling, the poor sap whose wife cheated on him.

  “No, Barry. I’m not busy. Was just heading to work. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to call and thank you for yesterday, is all,” Barry said, his voice still sounding kind of shaky. “I really appreciated all that.”

  “You okay, Barry? Did everything work out?”

  There was silence for a long moment. Nate thought he heard Barry trying to gather himself on the other end of that phone.

  “We’re getting a divorce, Nate,” Barry finally said, and now Nate could hear just how shaken up his friend was.

  “Barry, look, I’ll be in the office in fifteen minutes or so. I’ll come up and—”

  “I’m not at the office today. I needed to take some time.”

  “Then I’ll come to your place. Where are you at, again?”

  “No, no, Nate. You don’t have to do that. Everything—”

  “Barry, I’m coming over,” Nate said. “It’s not a problem. Besides, I don’t really feel like going to work this morning either.”

  Barry lived in a downtown town home, only three blocks from the lakefront. Nate had been there only once, pulled up in the driveway to pick Barry up for a racquetball workout, but he had never been inside.

  Nate pulled into the driveway now; the iron fence automatically rolled back on its track, allowing Nate entrance to the grounds.

  When Barry opened the door, he stood before Nate in suit pants, a shirt, and tie. Nate didn’t know if Barry had plans to work today, and at the last minute changed his mind, or if he dressed like this all the time, sporting slacks and tie
s on weekends and holidays like any other workday.

  “Thanks for coming by, Nate,” Barry said, closing the door behind him. He held a short glass in his hand, a single ice cube swimming around in a brown liquid, obviously alcohol.

  Barry must’ve seen Nate take note of that, and said, “I know it’s early, but I needed a shot of something. You want a drink?”

  “Just orange juice if you have it,” Nate said.

  Barry disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nate standing in the center of his living room.

  The place was beautiful, majestic, Nate thought as he gazed up at the high vaulted wooden ceilings. All the walls were a dark wood as well. Three ancient-looking chandeliers hung from above, and beautiful, intricately woven area rugs lay across the brilliantly shiny hardwood floors.

  All of this should’ve given anyone who walked into this home a very warm feeling, but for some reason Nate felt more of a chill than warmth, and he didn’t know just why that was.

  Barry appeared before Nate with a glass of orange juice.

  Nate took it.

  “Have a seat,” Barry said, then took a seat opposite the leather chair Nate lowered himself onto.

  “So, yeah, we’re getting a divorce.”

  “You’re doing the right thing, Barry.”

  “Is wasn’t me that asked for it,” Barry said, shaking his head. “It’s funny. She’s the one that gets caught cheating, but I’m the one begging her to stay.”

  “She wants to leave?”

  “She’s…in love,” Barry said, standing from his chair. “I’m forty-five years old. I’ve been married to this woman for twenty-five years of my life, gave her everything, and now she tells me that she’s in love with another man, and she wants to leave me.”

  As Barry paced past Nate, the glass of liquor still in his hand, Nate wanted to say something, anything. He just did not have any words.

  Barry stopped in front of the huge fireplace at the front of the room, facing the mantel that hung above it, and the larger-than-life painting of some royal-looking bearded man.

  “And what do I have now?” Barry said to himself, his back still to Nate. “Yeah, I have my company, and all the money that it generates. I have this house, and cars, and boats, and whatever the hell else money can buy. But my wife is gone.”

  Barry turned around, took a drink from the glass, then gestured at Nate with it. “I remember when she kept on talking about having kids. She had said she always wanted a family, but I told her no. I wanted to devote as much time as I could to the business, and then, once things slowed down, there would be time for children. That time never came, Nate,” Barry said, a sad smile appearing on his face.

  And Nate realized just then why he felt that chill. Yes, the house was beautiful, and it was meticulously kept—looked as though it had not been lived in at all, but that was the problem.

  On that mantelpiece there were no photos of children, or any other family for that matter.

  Nate figured that if Barry had had kids when he was twenty-five or thirty, he would still have them running around at that moment. Maybe a fifteen-year-old son or a twelve-year-old daughter to help him get through this, an accomplishment he could value more than just the earning of dollars.

  “But I guess it’s a good thing that I never did get the woman pregnant,” Barry said, walking back toward Nate. “She would’ve still probably up and left, and taken me for alimony and child support as well. At least now I don’t have to worry about that.”

  When Nate finally made it to work, sometime after 3 P.M, he walked briskly past his secretary and said, “Cancel whatever is left for today.”

  “But Mr. Kenny,” the secretary said.

  Nate stopped beside her desk, frustration clear on his face.

  “Two of the clients had been rescheduled from last week,” she said.

  “Then reschedule them again for next week, Tori!” Nate said, angrily. “Can you do that?”

  “Yes sir,” Tori said, lowering her eyes.

  Nate walked into his office, slammed the door behind him, dropped his briefcase to the floor, and fell into his executive chair.

  If it wasn’t bad enough he felt like crap when he woke up this morning; he had to have that depressing meeting with Barry, which only pitched Nate into a deeper pit of despair.

  Nate sat in his office for better than three hours thinking, and watching as the clear squares on his phone flashed to life, then remained lit for a moment, then darkened again.

  They were calls to him, calls that he didn’t feel like answering today, but Tori handled whatever matters they presented as she had been doing since he hired her.

  A soft knock came at the door. Nate pulled his head from his hands, and looked up at the clock on the wall. It read quarter past six.

  “Come in,” he said, just loud enough for his voice to be heard.

  The door opened, and it was Nate’s secretary. Tori stood just outside the doorway, as if afraid to step in. “Everyone is gone for the evening,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

  “Come in, Tori,” Nate said, standing behind his desk, and then he started to move around it.

  Tori did as she was told.

  “Close the door.”

  Again Tori did as she was instructed, and stood there as Nate continued to near her.

  It was wrong what he was about to do, Nate told himself. It was wrong, and maybe he should’ve thought about it first, given it even a fraction of the time he devoted to thinking about all his other problems, but he did not. It was something that had to be done, and not deliberated over, or else he would back down. Given his circumstances, that was no longer an option.

  Nate closed the distance between himself and his secretary. She did not back away when he walked right up on her, did not look oddly at him when he stared deep into her eyes; and when he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her firmly into him, covering her lips with his, sinking his tongue into her mouth, she did not fight him.

  Nate felt her body relax, almost go limp in his arms, as if giving him permission to do whatever he chose with her.

  19

  Monica sat on the living room sofa, dressed in a new outfit she had bought today especially for the occasion of going out tonight and telling her husband about the adoption information she had gotten.

  The folder was sitting there in front of her, for she had taken the literature and the photo of little Nathaniel out almost half a dozen times, skimmed over them, wanting to make sure her presentation to her husband was flawless.

  But Monica was starting to believe the dinner wouldn’t happen, for her husband said that he would be home at his regular time, which was around 6:30 P.M., and now it was already a few hours past that.

  Maybe he had been held up by some business matter, Monica tried to convince herself, but she had phoned both his office and his cell phone more times than she wanted to remember, and all she had gotten was voice mail.

  The adoption information was spread out across the coffee table, and now Monica gathered it together and slid it back into its folder, finally deciding that, no, Nate would not make dinner.

  She grabbed the cordless phone and called Nate’s brother, Tim, this time.

  “Have you spoken to him at all today?” Monica asked, moments into their conversation.

  “No. Not today. Maybe he’s just out with a client.”

  “I thought of that, but he still usually answers his cell phone,” Monica said, sounding worried.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure there’s a good reason, and he’ll come in eventually.”

  Monica was hoping that Tim was right.

  She told herself not to worry, took off her new dress, and slipped into some nightclothes. She went down to the kitchen, was preparing to make herself something to eat, when she realized she had no appetite for food.

  Monica glanced at the clock on the microwave, and it read 11:13 P.M.

  Upstairs in bed, while David Letterman displayed h
is gap-toothed grin across a muted television, a silly thought crossed Monica’s mind.

  What if Nate’s never coming back? What if her being unable to have children was all of a sudden just too much to deal with, and he decided to leave all his things behind, and never return?

  Or maybe it was Monica’s attempt to adopt. He did say that he didn’t want to do it when she asked him before. Now, maybe he had somehow stumbled across the adoption packet, saw what Monica’s plans were, and when she asked about dinner tonight, he decided he would be done with it all.

  No, there was no way, Monica thought. He hadn’t found the packet, because she was careful to keep it hidden, and he wouldn’t just leave her like that. Nate loved her. He said it, and more important, she knew that to be true in her heart.

  Monica grabbed the TV remote, pointed it, and clicked off the television.

  She slid under the blankets, reached over, clicked off the bedside lamp, and told herself that everything would be fine. She would go to sleep now, stop herself from foolishly worrying about all the nonsense her mind was conjuring up, and in the morning, when she awoke, her husband would be at her side.

  20

  Nate lay naked on his back, in bed, beside his secretary, his eyes wide open.

  He didn’t know just what time it was. There was an alarm clock on her nightstand, but he would have to lift the arm that was under her to get a look, and he didn’t want to wake her. Five, maybe six in the morning, he guessed, as he looked toward the window. The shade was drawn, so there was no telling whether or not the sun was rising.

  Yesterday, after he pulled away from his kiss with Tori, she looked into his eyes and said, “So when you called me last night, I thought you said you wanted to talk to me about something over dinner.”

  “I do.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not certain just yet, but I’ll know once we sit down to eat.”

  Nate had decided he didn’t want to be out, so he asked if they could go to her apartment instead. She gave him a strange look, as if to ask why all of a sudden he wanted to go to her place, then Tori simply said, “Sure. That’ll be fine.”