An Ex to Grind Page 6

  “In case I don’t get there in time, just say I’m running a little behind schedule, due to a family emergency,” I instructed her. She seemed surprised, and why not? As I’ve indicated, I was never late. But now Dan was causing me to be late. I hoped he had a good reason.

  At five after nine—I was having a flat-out panic attack by then—Dan finally put in an appearance at my apartment. Since the Heartbreak Hotel did not have a doorman, he simply materialized at my door.

  “Where in the world have you been?” I demanded, fanning my sweaty face with the newspaper. Actually, my whole body was sweaty. I was sure the black silk blouse underneath my wool tweed suit jacket had pit stains. And I’d taken such pains getting dressed that morning. I’d wanted to look smart, neat, and professional for the meeting.

  “Should I stand here while you read me the riot act or would you rather say hello to your dog?”

  God, he made me nuts. And not just because he’d shown up late. Because he’d shown up late without looking the least bit repentant. In fact, he was looking resplendent. Along with the creamy new white cashmere sweater he wore with his jeans, he had a shiny new watch on his wrist that was the size of my head.

  But I would not, could not, let him goad me. Not again.

  I bent down and folded Buster into my arms. “Here’s my sweetie boy,” I said as he licked me. “Such a sweetie boy. Mommy missed you so much.” I glanced up at my ex. “Was he okay in Puerto Rico?”

  “He was great. I was the one who took the hit.”

  I studied his face. No bruises that I could detect. No swelling. “What hit?”

  “In the casino. A bunch of us stunk it up at the blackjack table.”

  “You were gambling?” I said, feeling my fury bubble back up. I know, I know. I needed to stay cool and calm, but gambling? Come on.

  “That’s what people generally do in a casino, yeah,” he said. “I was winning there for a while, but then my luck went down the toilet.”

  What was he thinking? He wasn’t in a position to gamble. He wasn’t in a position to take an expensive trip. He was in a position to stay home and redo his résumé!

  As I stared at him with a mix of disdain and disbelief, there was an instant when I wished he were still the unspoiled, idealistic young man I’d married instead of this…this…child. But I quickly came to my senses and reminded myself that this was the same man who’d allowed himself to self-destruct in front of a national television audience; the man who was convinced that coaches were losers; the man who was draining my bank account.

  “Just curious,” I said. “How much did you lose at the blackjack table?”

  “Too much.”

  “But you were still able to afford a new watch?”

  “Uh-uh-uh,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Not Melanie’s business anymore.”

  “Just tell me this, Dan: does the watch keep good time?”

  “Perfect time. It’s a Rolex.”

  “Then why were you late this morning? You were supposed to be here at eight-thirty.” Of course I shouldn’t have stayed and nagged him. I should have dashed out of there and rushed to my meeting as soon as he’d dropped off Buster, but, as usual, he’d managed to suck me in. There was something about him that always sucked me in.

  “I got a slow start,” he said.

  “Lame excuse,” I said.

  “Fine. I was coming all the way from Ninety-second and York, not from my place. I spent the night at a lady friend’s. She worked the flight back from San Juan, we hit it off, and she invited me home with her.”

  My brain exploded. He’d kept me waiting because he was banging the flight attendant he’d picked up on the way back from Puerto Rico? I was turning over half of my salary every month to a person who actually banged flight attendants?

  “What? Are you jealous?” he said, smirking at me.

  “Oh, please. Did it ever occur to you that it might be healthier for Buster if he didn’t have to wake up in strange settings all the time? Even a steady girlfriend would be preferable to your one-nighters.”

  You know what? I wasn’t thinking about Desiree Klein at that moment, I swear. I really did have our dog’s well-being at heart.

  “A steady girlfriend, huh?” he said, full of skepticism.

  “So Buster would be able to sleep in the same bed for a couple of nights in a row.”

  He found this hilarious. “I know you want out of the alimony,” he said between guffaws, “but I’m not about to do you a favor by getting married again. I’m on top of that little loophole, so nice try.”

  Getting married again? He thought that was the loophole? Had he forgotten all about the cohabitation clause?

  “Okay, I do want out of the alimony,” I said, fishing. “But you’re right, Dan; that won’t happen unless you take another walk down the aisle.” Maybe he really didn’t remember what was in our agreement. I was suddenly transfixed by this possibility.

  “Then I guess you’re stuck with me, because I’m done with marriage,” he said.

  Well, how about that. The ninety-days thing had slipped his mind. I should have known. He’d never paid attention to the fine print of his football contracts, so why should he pay attention to the fine print of his divorce papers? My God, this was incredible news! There was a chance, remote though it was, that I could be off the hook for the alimony forever! No more worries about money. No more living in a fleabag. No more distractions at work.

  Of course, the chance of his cohabitating with a woman for ninety days would be a lot less remote if I hired Desiree to find her for him.

  No. I couldn’t do something as down and dirty as that. Not unless I had no choice.

  “Look, I’ve really got to get going,” I said. “Could you please leave, so I can lock up?”

  “You’re the one who seems to want to talk, darlin’.”

  He didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there with this annoying grin on his face, flustering me.

  “Dan. I asked you to leave. I have an important meeting this morning. I’m late enough as it is.”

  He cocked his head at me. “Do you ever take a day off for no reason? Just to have fun?”

  “You’re having enough fun for both of us,” I said. “Now go!”

  I literally started shooing him out of the apartment with my hands, like some woman in an old western movie shooing varmints off her land.

  Finally taking the hint, he left, but I was so frazzled by then that as I turned to grab my briefcase, my right hand clipped the side of the “I the Giants” coffee mug that was resting on the little table near the door. The mug was three-quarters full, and I reached for it in midair, hoping to catch it before it crashed and broke, spilling the coffee all over the floor. What I succeeded in doing was to redirect its path; the mug did break as it fell to the ground, but the coffee splashed onto my black silk blouse before it did. And I was worried about sweat stains.

  “I don’t believe this!” I wailed, gazing down at myself as Buster snorted and sniffed and wondered what all the ruckus was about. I was soaked with Folger’s Instant. Yes, Instant. I wasn’t a fan of spending time in the kitchen and that included learning how to operate some high-tech brewing contraption. Wasn’t making coffee Starbucks’s job anyway?

  As for the mug, I cursed myself for having saved it. I’d thrown out the rest of my Giants memorabilia when I moved and couldn’t imagine why I’d hung on to a stupid cup. But now it was in pieces, just like my sanity.

  Frantic that I would miss the meeting entirely, I raced into my closet, found another suit to wear, changed clothes, blew Buster a kiss, and flew out of the Heartbreak Hotel.

  Everyone was already in the conference room when I got to the office. The door was closed, but the room was decorated with glass block panels, so I was able to see inside. The four department heads were all accounted for; Bernie was there, nibbling on one of his fingernails as if it were a chicken wing; Steffi was sitting in the chair that was meant for me, covering for me, bless h
er heart; and Jed was laughing and coughing and winking lasciviously at Steffi.

  I nearly died as I watched them. Where were my priorities? Why hadn’t I left my apartment the second Dan had shown up with Buster? He was the one who was always late, not me. Where was my head? Up my ass, apparently.

  I paced back and forth outside the door, trying to decide if I should go in and face the music or let the meeting proceed without me. I had to at least put in an appearance, I decided. I couldn’t just slink away and pretend they weren’t all wondering where I was.

  I gulped some air, let it out, and opened the door. Everybody turned.

  “Hi. Hi. So sorry,” I said, sweeping into the room and walking directly over to Jed. “Family emergency. Couldn’t be helped. Please forgive me.”

  He cupped his ear. “Say it again?”

  “I had a family emergency! Please forgive me!” I shouted, feeling like a fool and a fraud.

  While Bernie shot me a less-than-thrilled look—he knew there was no family emergency because he also knew I had no family—I debated whether I should have just shown up wearing the coffee-stained blouse instead of changing clothes. The blouse would have been easier to explain.

  “Of course I forgive you,” Jed bellowed at me, much to everybody’s relief. “I’m a Christian.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, figuring it wasn’t the best time to tell him I was half-Jewish.

  “Why don’t you pull up a chair, Melanie?” Bernie suggested from between pursed lips. His expression made it clear that he was less forgiving. “We’re almost finished here, but you might as well listen in.”

  “My pleasure,” I said as I sat between him and Steffi, to whom I mouthed a silent thank-you.

  When the meeting was over and everyone had left, I took Bernie aside and apologized profusely for being late.

  “The divorce is getting off to a bumpy start,” I told him. Well, why not be honest. Yes, he’d fired Roberta Chapman for losing it after her divorce. But I wanted to prove to him that I was dealing with my problems, not flipping out about them the way she did.

  “You and Dan have been apart for over a year,” he said, scratching his red goatee. “Shouldn’t you have adjusted to the separation by now?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said. “But it’s not the separation that needs adjusting to. It’s that I’m paying Dan spousal support and it’s causing me a lot of aggravation.”

  He nodded as if he understood, even though he was single and had never paid an ex-spouse anything. “What are you doing about the situation?”

  “Doing?” I asked.

  “I’m behind you, Mel. You know that. You’re important to this company, and one missed meeting isn’t the end of the world. But…”

  “But what?” I thought of Roberta Chapman again and how quickly she’d fallen out of favor with Bernie. Despite his words of assurance, I felt a sudden shudder of fear.

  “If the spousal support is creating a distraction, then you’d better get yourself some professional help,” said my boss.

  So. In the end, I was only following orders by calling Desiree to assist me. You can see that, can’t you?

  Chapter

  7

  “Desiree Klein Heart Hunting. This is Taylor speaking,” announced a voice with the seriousness of a suicide hotline operator. Very professional. And heart hunting instead of head hunting. Clever marketing gimmick.

  “Hi, Taylor,” I said. “I’d like to make an appointment with Ms. Klein as soon as possible.” I was speaking softly, so no one lurking outside my office would hear me. I had closed the door and made sure that Steffi was out to lunch before I called. Despite my decision to move forward with the plan to hire Desiree, I wasn’t entirely proud of it.

  “You’re a first-time client?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I was referred by Louise and Leonard Chester.”

  “Oh, cool. One of Desiree’s many success stories,” she said, the serious tone giving way to a girlish enthusiasm. “When would you like to come in?”

  “Preferably early in the morning or at the end of the day. I have a busy schedule.”

  “How’s Wednesday morning at eight-thirty?” she offered.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  She asked me for my name, address, and phone number, then told me where they were located. “You’ll need to bring the five-thousand-dollar fee with you,” she added.

  “Already? Doesn’t Desiree have to do anything to earn it first?” I was still very queasy about spending so much money, but Weezie had reminded me how much I’d be saving if things worked out.

  “We refund it if she doesn’t make a match for you.”

  I started to explain that I wasn’t looking for a match for me but decided to save the speech for her boss, since the situation was fairly complicated.

  “You’ll also need to bring a recent photo,” she said, “as well as a one-page biography detailing your educational, financial, and marital histories; an essay of any length describing your hopes, dreams, desires, and dating patterns; and a complete medical history, including a list of current medications, particularly anti-depressants or antipsychotics, and any sexually transmitted diseases. If you’ve had herpes or genital warts, for example, you’ll need an accompanying note from your doctor indicating the date of your last outbreak.”

  Gee, did she want to know about the regularity of my periods too?

  “Melanie?” she said. “Did you get all that down?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s just that—”

  “You’re a little embarrassed about the STD query?”

  “No, it’s not—”

  “Because you shouldn’t be. It’s just part of the background check, and if you’ve been sexually active, you’ve probably had something, right?”

  “Right. But I—”

  “Oh, I know. You don’t think you’ll be able to pull all the info together in two days. Because of that busy schedule you mentioned.”

  “Exactly.” This was crazy. I was crazy.

  “Not to worry. Everyone feels overwhelmed by the paperwork, but it’ll be easier than you think. And it’s all for your benefit, don’t forget. The more Desiree knows about you, the easier it’ll be for her to find you your special someone.”

  Nope. This wasn’t such a hot idea. I would find another way to deal with Dan, a way that didn’t involve special someones. “Oh, gosh. I just remembered I have a meeting Wednesday morning so I won’t be able to make it,” I said.

  Taylor giggled. “Everybody does that too.”

  “Does what?”

  “Try to chicken out. It’s normal.” She took a breath. “The consultation will last about an hour, so plan accordingly. And when you start getting butterflies, keep telling yourself that Desiree is all about bringing you a lifetime of happiness. She really is a magician when it comes to putting people together.”

  It was that last line that roped me back in. If Desiree Klein could put Dan together with a woman for ninety days, she’d be bringing me a lifetime of happiness all right. I just had to fill her in on the game plan and hope like hell she was a sports fan.

  Her office was off the living room of her apartment, a glitzy affair on Fifth Avenue with a spectacular view of Central Park. Its message to all visitors was: “You can never have enough gold.” There were gold silk draperies and gold-leaf mirrors, and wood tables inlaid with—what else?—gold. There was also a zebra skin rug and a grand piano and a gilded cage in which a parrot rested on a swing chirping a ribald Eminem lyric. Well, Nards had warned me that Desiree was a character. As I sat in the chair opposite her desk and waited, I noticed that the only reading material available were articles about her.

  “Hey there,” she said, waddling into her office, an overdose of sickly sweet perfume wafting after her. She was in her fifties and plump as well as short—a dumpling, except for her chin, which was pointy in the manner of, say, Maria Shriver. She was wearing a purple caftan and matching fuzzy slippers with little pom-p
oms on them and a long, platinum blond wig with bangs. Oh, and there was jewelry—rings, bracelets, earrings, a necklace. Surely enough gold to ransom a kidnap victim. Yes, I remembered her from the wedding now. I just hadn’t made the connection between the woman I’d assumed was one of Weezie’s wacky aunts and this person, who appeared to have a thriving business.

  She approached my chair and shook my hand. “Melanie?” she said in heavy New York–ese. It came out “Malanay.”

  “Yes, and you must be Desiree,” I said.

  “It’s really Donna,” she said in a conspiratorial, between-us-girls whisper. “I changed it when I got into this heart-hunting gig. Desiree works better for people, you know what I mean?”

  A character and a hustler?

  “So. You brought the info?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I handed her the folder containing all the goodies her assistant had asked for.

  “Is the check in here?” she said.

  “It’s paper-clipped to my cover letter,” I said.

  “Bee-uteeful.” She sat behind her desk, the folder in front of her. “Not that I’m about money, you understand. I’m about love.”

  Yes, I’m afraid she pronounced it “luv.” I took a quick look around the room, making a mental note of my evacuation route. What the hell was I doing there?

  “I hear you’re a friend of Louise and Leonard’s,” she said.

  I nodded, squirming in my seat. I would make my apologies and scram. It probably wouldn’t be the first time one of her first-timers did that. “Louise and I met at Pierce, Shelley and Steinberg.”

  “Class acts, Louise and Leonard,” she said. “They capped off a good year for me. I think I married over fifty clients.”

  “Fifty?” I said, amazed. It seemed as if there were hardly any weddings anymore, unless you counted the civil unions in Sunday’s New York Times Styles section.