And so she spent the rest of the evening alone with him and her MacBook.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
***
Chapter 4
Patrice, Miller, and Miller were located on the fifteenth floor of a high-end Park Avenue building. Confident behind Versace shades and cloaked in her favorite chinchilla jacket, Jade whisked into the office and was immediately ushered into an empty conference room. The receptionist, a young woman no older than twenty-five, offered to take her fur. Jade declined.
“Perhaps coffee or tea?” the receptionist offered. Her cottony white skin, wavy hair, and petite, upturned noise gave her the air of regality. Jade could tell from her finely cut suit that she was less likely to be a college student working her way through school than a managing partner’s daughter working her way up the corporate ladder. Women like her wouldn’t have to marry for money and security because she already had access to the easy life. Jade noted the short skirt and the long, toned limbs beneath it. No, Jade thought, she wouldn’t have to marry for money. But she would.
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Jade dismissed the woman with the turn of her back.
A rare, unsettling feeling came over her as she peeled her leather gloves from her fingers. Perhaps a glass of water would have done her some good. Or maybe the truth of the matter was that she was really aching for a shot of anything with the strength of a volcanic eruption to melt her nervousness.
She hated having to be in this office. But the slow evaporation of her marriage was as unsettling as a thick October fog that quietly shrouds a sleeping city, upending the normal course of things with its dense, intangible power. Lately she felt as though she and Rodney were playing childish games. Millie was no innocent misstep on his part. He knew the sight of that woman in her home—so soon after the paternity suit was thrown out of court—would unsettle her. But Jade kept up the momentum by playing her games, too. Just like that morning when Rodney had told her he was heading to D.C. for a couple of days. Jade had insisted on packing his luggage although she’d normally leave the task to Maria. It wouldn’t be until Rodney returned from his short trip, complaining about missing items, that Jade would bat her velvety eyelashes and explain that she must have overpacked and the commuter airline had lost one of his bags. Meanwhile, some lower-class woman would happen upon a splendidly tailored Versace suit at the Salvation Army, perfect for her son’s graduation or her husband’s job interview. But that would be a small victory in comparison to the one she was anticipating.
“Jade, so good to see you again.”
Preston McKinley strode into the conference room. His limp hand grasped Jade’s for only a second before pulling out a chair for her. She watched as he flipped through papers. His fingernails were buffed to a high shine. Preston’s delicate skin looked recently polished; his neat eyebrows freshly waxed. Fashionably dressed in a pale pink shirt with matching tie and a light gray suit with slim-fitting pant legs, Preston was ready for an impromptu photo shoot for Succees magazine. His rich, baritone voice was as fitting to his effeminate features as an empty bank account was to a televangelist.
“You’ve had time to review my prenuptial agreement since our initial meeting. It’s time we talked about some of my options.”
Preston leaned forward in his chair and played with his wedding ring. “If you’re certain of a divorce then it would be my intent to see that you get everything you rightfully deserve. No one in this city has represented more happily rich divorcées than I.”
Jade found that hard to believe. He was an attorney and spinning bullshit was a rite of passage. He may have been the best that Rodney’s money could afford, but that certainly didn’t make him the best in the Big Apple. Yet, she didn’t dispute his assertion.
“I’m sure you’re aware that I have a small problem that might preclude me from being . . . as you say . . . a happily rich divorcée.”
“It is a problem. And not a small one.”
Jade forced herself to smile. This wasn’t the place to break down. “I really screwed myself, didn’t I? I’ll get nothing.”
“If you divorce him now,” Preston explained, “you’re entitled to the house and a cash payout of $75,000.”
“I spend that in a year on clothes.”
“It’s unfair, I know.”
“The penthouse is worth a few million so I’d be happy with that.”
“Uh, I don’t mean your primary residence, I mean the house . . .” He looked through the contract. “In New Jersey. A condominium.”
Jade felt as though she was in an elevator that suddenly dropped fifteen floors, speeding fifty miles per hour down the shaft. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not a condo, it’s an apartment with a fancy title! His mother used to live in it. It’s about seven hundred square feet. What am I supposed to do with a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment?”
Preston sighed. “I see it all the time. Good, respectable women like you getting screwed over by rich men. You don’t deserve it. What you do deserve is the absolute biggest settlement possible, and I will use the full influence and legal expertise of this firm to ensure that you get what’s due to you.”
He adjusted his shirt cuff, clinking his Rolex against the polished glass covering the African mahogany table. Presumably unsatisfied with her lack of response, Preston continued his sales pitch.
“I admit, no one can know the intricacies of a marriage as well as the two people who are in one.” His voice was as smooth and rich as condensed milk. “My experience has taught me, though, that any woman who has had to pick up behind a man, cook for a man, pay bills for a man, and suffer through years of prattle about his personal beliefs and political rhetoric, that woman deserves compensation for her steadfast commitment. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Jade agreed, although she had, in fact, done none of those things he’d mentioned. But what she had done was protect Rodney. She had helped him mask a secret that shamed him. That was worth something, wasn’t it?
“Your agreement has a sunset clause built in.”
“Which is?”
“It means if you stay married to Rodney for another four years, the entire contract is null and void.” He smiled triumphantly, as though subjecting herself to Rodney’s psychological mind games for that length of time was a simple proposition. “You would be entitled to half his assets.”
There was no way she could continue to wake up each morning and wonder will he or won’t he spring a divorce on her. Jade was prepared to leave him now. But she needed enough money to fund her long-held dream of starting her own cosmetics line. Every time she broached the subject with Rodney he’d smirk and say, “Bad investment. Black women don’t care about organic makeup and I’m not about to put a dime behind any of your ill-conceived ideas. Either waste your own money or go to a bank.”
Rodney didn’t know that Jade had applied for a loan—twice—with the help of her accountant. She still remembered the wave of embarrassment she’d felt when she’d received the rejection letters. Sometimes when she saw random people in suits staring at her in restaurants or shops she wondered if that was the person who had typed the letter, or approved it, or mailed it. Were they secretly laughing at her? Did they know that Jade McCann had personal debts that exceeded her annual hundred-thousand-dollar income? Did they know she was rich in name only? From that experience she grew into the habit of avoiding opening her mail.
“People contest these things all the time, right?”
“Judges don’t rule against them often, Jade. New York recognizes a contract between two mentally competent people as binding. If you had children then perhaps it would be a different matter, but it’s practically airtight.”
Jade pushed herself up from the table and walked to the window overlooking the busy city street. A chauffeur opened the back door of a limousine and out stepped a woman with a hat stylishly cocked to the side, completely obscuring her face from Jade’s vantage point. She hurried ins
ide an office building. Jade’s days of riding in the back of limousines were dwindling as fast as her prospects for getting out of this marriage with her dignity intact.
She whipped around and fumed, “I can’t believe this is what I’m paying you $350 an hour for. To hear that my husband can walk away from our marriage and only throw me a shack and a few nickels? It’s outrageous!”
Preston unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned back in the chair. “Jade, have you and Rodney discussed how the assets could be divided?”
“Of course not. We haven’t even talked about a divorce yet.”
Preston raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as though he misunderstood. “So you want to begin divorce proceedings without discussing the state of your marriage with your husband, is that right?”
“I’m not starting proceedings. You and I are doing nothing more than discussing my options.” Jade uncrossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill. “Preston, do you remember that messy split between Giuliani and his wife?”
“Of course.”
“She didn’t know that they were separated until he held a press conference about it. At least that’s what’s been written about them. With cameras rolling, reporters blindsided her with the news. That poor woman was visibly shaken and totally unprepared. I’m not going to be Donna Hanover. If Rodney springs a divorce on me, I want to be ready for it. And I have no intention of leaving with only the clothes on my back and a shack in Jersey.”
“I see.” His delicate fingers tapped his upper lip. “There’s not much I can do about a contract you signed. You didn’t have an attorney representing your interests. No attorney would have encouraged you to sign this.”
Jade looked outside the window again, remembering a conversation she’d had with Rodney the day before she was to sign the contract. They had been lying in bed, happily discussing the details of their quickie wedding. Jade had been only too happy to sign whatever agreement he would put before her. That had been before she had become accustomed to living such a privileged lifestyle. But she’d made a single demand that she had wanted in the contract. Rodney had laughed it off, but if she remembered correctly . . .
“Isn’t there something in there that deals with infidelity?”
“Yes. But I don’t think . . .” He looked puzzled. “Has Rodney cheated on you?”
“He’s a rich man, Preston. What do you think?”
Preston tossed his head back and laughed.
“No offense,” said Jade.
“None taken. But the fact of the matter is: it isn’t what he’s done that would be important, it’s what you could prove.”
“Excuse me?”
“Can you prove it?”
Jade shook her head.
“Then how do you know?”
“Women always know. Even when we pretend we don’t.”
“Instinct won’t help you in court.”
“What happens if I can prove it?”
“There’s a clause in your prenuptial agreement that states . . .” He flipped through the contract. “In layman terms, the clause states that if a divorce commences as a result of his infidelity then you would be entitled to a quarter of his assets plus the primary residence. I take it that would satisfy you more than the seven-hundred-square-foot condo?”
Jade eased away from the window and lowered herself back into the chair, her thoughts churning with possibilities.
“And if I’m unfaithful?”
“You lose all claim to any of his assets no matter the length of the marriage.” Preston continued. “But I’m afraid this caveat won’t help you much. You’d need undeniable proof of an affair or it’ll just be your word against his.” Preston rolled his eyes. “Judges love that.”
“You’ve finally said something useful.” Jade’s mind percolated with the sweet beginnings of a plan. “I guess I’ll have to prove it.”
Preston McKinley smiled and showcased teeth as white as freshly picked cotton. “And exactly how do you plan on doing that?”
Jade smiled, stood up, and threw her chinchilla over her arm.
“You’ll see, Preston, love. You’ll see.”
***
Chapter 5
Syeesha lay awake in bed early that morning contemplating the pros and cons of joining the air force. On the pro side, Syeesha felt pretty confident she’d look good in the cute navy skirt and sky-blue blouse that was their signature uniform. On the con side, Syeesha cringed at the idea of her feet landing ever so neatly in her father’s footsteps. Morphing into the man who woke his girls at five in the morning to scrub the toilet or dust furniture before he returned from his forty-minute run wasn’t worth all the job security in the world. Not to mention the pay would never get her a McMansion in Bridgeport. She turned onto her side and shut her eyes. Already she’d been awake for an hour. Rising before dawn was an annoyingly difficult habit to break, her father’s house rules being buried deep inside her like a bedbug enmeshed in a cotton pillow. The cleaning was the worst of it. Before Kiki moved in, Syeesha had been known to avoid cleaning for weeks at a time. Her stomach still lurched at the smell of Lysol.
Syeesha gave up on the pretense of sleeping and sat up in bed. She opened her laptop and checked her e-mail. An old acquaintance from law school had contacted her. She and Tanya Griffin had studied together a few times before Tanya had dropped out. Syeesha’s eyes swept over the e-mail.
Sy,
Tried calling you at work and heard you aren’t at Clarke anymore. Where are you now? School full-time? You’re a better woman than I am for sticking in there with law school. Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve reached out to you. Need an itty-bitty favor. Call me anytime.
Hope all is well.
Tanya
Syeesha couldn’t imagine what she could possibly have that Tanya needed. Bored with the predictability and intense rigors of law school, Tanya had opted for a career in Internet marketing, whatever that was. They had gone out only a couple of times over the past year, but now their relationship had basically been reduced to quick shout-outs on Facebook.
Syeesha looked at the clock. It was a spectacularly inappropriate time to call anyone, but Tanya had stressed anytime. Still, Syeesha was mildly flustered when Tanya answered the phone as though she’d been awake for hours.
“If you had called me one minute later I would have thought you a rude and neglectful human being.”
Syeesha chuckled. “Well, then. You may reserve that opinion for someone far more deserving.”
“What happened at Clarke? You quit?”
“They quit me.”
“Eww. I know it’s not because you screwed up. You’re too efficient for that.”
Syeesha threw the covers from her legs and moved through the dark to the kitchen.
“It’s the economy. Allegedly.”
Tanya laughed. “What a suspicious mind you have. I’m sure that’s exactly what it was.”
Syeesha poured water into the coffee maker.
“Speaking of suspicious minds, your e-mail said you needed a favor from me. Can’t imagine what it might be.”
Trina yawned. “What time is it? Oh my God. I’ve been up since four working on this damn thing.”
“What?”
“I’ve got a new website designed to attract advertisers. It’s a girl-about-town kinda thing. I have multiple channels that focus on different aspects of living in New York. Sex, money, politics, that kind of thing.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s not. Which is what I called you for.”
Syeesha placed a mug on the counter and tried to figure out where Tanya was leading.
“I need more traffic.” Tanya sighed as though exasperated that she was being defeated by something as intangible and innocuous as the Internet. “I’ve been contracting out the articles plus doing a few myself, but it’s not working. The articles are too generic. In order to get more traffic I need something more personal and . . .”
“Titil
lating?”
“Exactly!”
“If you want me to write about my sex life, I think other writers have already done pretty well with that idea. And even if they haven’t, I don’t have a sex life worth writing about anyway.”
“Yeah.” Tanya made a sucking sound with her teeth. “That’s what I figured.”
They disrupted the early morning quiet with raucous laughter.
“Gee, thanks!”
“It just so happens that I assigned that channel to someone else. I’m calling on all my buddies to help me out with this little venture. Was thinking you could write about money.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Maybe you could write about what it’s like living in a city where there is such a huge disparity between the haves and the have-nots. Your personal experiences being, well, you know, a have-not.”
Although her good sense told her to be offended, Syeesha chuckled at the idea that her life would be newsworthy, or titillating, in any way.
Perhaps Tanya should’ve stuck with law school.
“I appreciate you thinking about me, Tanya, really. But I don’t have the time between school and—“
And what?
Syeesha had more than a little extra time on her hands right now. But writing a blog about her personal finances while living in New York didn’t sound nearly as interesting as Tanya would like it to be.
“I totally understand if you can’t,” Tanya said, her voice sulky. Apparently, Tanya had retained a few tricks in jury manipulation from those insufferable moot courts because she had injected just the right balance of emotion into her commanding voice to make Syeesha want to buy, design, and market the whole damn website herself. She was sure that if the situation warranted it, Tanya could also do an impressive take on Jack Nicholson’s famous line in A Few Good Men, “You can’t handle the truth!”
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