Young Wives (50 page)

“Michelle? Michelle, is that you?”

Even hearing his voice was difficult. She took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s me. What do you want?”

“I want you to stop this, Michelle. I want you to come home. You know I didn’t mean it. I was desperate. I was crazy. I need you to come home, Michelle, I need the children, and I need you to bring back the money.”

Oh yes
, she thought.
The money
. There was always the money. He’d sacrificed everything for the money. It made her sick. She would never touch a dime of it. She’d rather starve first. She wondered what she had to say to this man. Should she tell him how he had destroyed her dream, how he’d ruined her past and erased her future? Should she tell him that the pain in her jaw was nothing—it was the pain in her mind and heart that mattered. She didn’t think so. “Talk to my lawyer, Frank,” she said.

“Please, Michelle. At least let me see you. Here, in front of Bruzeman, if you want.”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Then come home. Just to talk.”

“Not yet.”

As Michelle drove farther away from her morning ordeal, she began to feel a little bit better. She’d eventually see Frank if she had to, but it would change nothing. She still wouldn’t testify and she wouldn’t give him the drug money.

But meanwhile she needed some money of her own to live on. Some money and a plan.

Angie and Jada were trying to restructure their lives, but what about her? She’d thought for a little while about her own plan. So far what she had was a simple one. She was simple and she needed her life to be simple. She knew that now about herself. She wanted only to work and make enough money to support her kids and herself. She’d had the custom-upholstered-matching-love-seat-and-sofa stage of her life. She’d had expensive window treatments and two sets of china. She’d had more throw pillows than she could count, and wall-to-wall wool Berber carpet. She’d had more clothes than she knew what to do with, more jewelry than she could wear at once, and her kids had had more toys, shoes, and outfits than were good for them. All of that would have to change.

Michelle’s childhood had been one of such deprivation that she had confused affluence with love and safety. She might be excused for doing that once, but not for doing it twice. More than anything she wanted a simple life where the work she did—not pushing papers across a desk in a bank or anyplace else—but the physical work she did, would give her enough to put food on the table and a few dollars in a savings. And she also wanted to help some other women be able to achieve that goal.

The main thing was, she had to do something she was good at, something she was proud of. And, at last, she’d figured out what that was. She wanted her life to be clean, and balanced. She wanted to have a sense of accomplishment at the end of a day, at the end of a job. How proud could filling in forms or pressing a button and sending something to the print queue make her? That life wasn’t for her.

Suddenly, she knew now what life might work. The idea must have been lurking there, in the edges of her mind for some time. She’d have to go to the newspapers.

She stopped at a Starbucks and spent over an hour nursing a cappuccino grande while she worked out the wording she needed for the two ads. Then she headed for two newspaper offices and placed the ads, charging them to Frank’s Visa card. Lastly, she stopped in White Plains, in a seedy part of town. She was careful to lock the car and made sure she parked it close to the door of the Gold Miner, a jewelry and pawn shop.

She walked across the wide sidewalk and entered. She’d never been in a pawn shop in her life, but she knew her mother used to make monthly trips to the Provident Loan Society, and sometimes to a guy on Third Avenue. But she wasn’t like her mother, she reminded herself. She wasn’t doing this to avoid life or buy booze. She was taking care of herself and her children. She wasn’t a drunk. And if she’d been living in a dream world, if she’d been keeping her eyes closed to the facts of life, at least she wasn’t doing it anymore. Most importantly, she knew that she had to do this, and most of her other plan, on her own. Jada and Angie were helping her, but this…this she had to do alone, because she’d done so very little on her own before. Frank had been her good parent, until he’d turned into a bad one. Now Michelle had to be independent.

An older woman, a surprisingly pretty blonde, came over to the counter. “Can I help you?” she asked. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh, I’m not buying,” Michelle said. “I’m selling.” She pulled off her engagement ring, her wedding band, her solitaire earrings, and opened her purse. She took out the emerald ring that Frank had given her when they were in St. Thomas and the necklace with the two-carat diamond that hung from it. She’d managed to get into the house when Frank was gone to get her jewelry and stuff for the kids. “I’d like to sell all of these,” she said. Then she took off her gold watch; a thirtieth birthday present, it had thirty tiny diamonds around the face.

The woman looked at the array on the counter. “Do you have sales receipts for these?” she asked.

Michelle looked her in the eye and shook her head. “They were gifts given to me by my husband.”

The blond woman seemed to heave a big sigh. “Divorce, huh?” she asked.

Michelle wasn’t in the mood to explain. She just nodded. “We see it all the time,” the saleswoman told her kindly, took out a loupe, and began to look at first the ring, then the stone on Michelle’s necklace. Next she took out a little calculator and began to add up numbers. Michelle stood there and waited as patiently as she could. She knew she would take whatever this woman offered, and she felt that money was hers. It represented her wages for keeping house, for doing all she had done during her years of marriage. And it would be the money that would start her in her own business, in her own career. Whatever the amount was, she had come by it honestly. It was clean money. She’d taken the gifts when she loved Frank, when they represented his love for her, but she didn’t want them anymore. She would take the money and she would begin again.

The blond looked at her apologetically. She offered a number that seemed ridiculously low to Michelle. It was less than Frank had paid for her ring, much less all the other stuff, but it would be enough to get her started.

But should she accept their first offer? It never would have occurred to Michelle not to—at least not before. She looked at her jewelry. It was amazing to think how attached to it she had once been, and to know that now the only thing it represented was some comfort and security for her children. She wished she had more to add to the pile. Then it occurred to her to take off the earrings she was wearing. She placed them with the rest. “I want more,” she said, and looked the woman straight in the eye.

“Well. Yes. Well, of course,” the woman said, and named a higher figure.

Michelle nodded, and the saleswoman turned to the safe to take out the cash.

By the time Michelle got home, she was as limp as a three-day-dead sea scallop. As she walked up to the door of the apartment, Michelle felt good for the first time in weeks and weeks. Living with Angie and Jada felt a little bit like being in a camp bunk—not that Michelle had ever lived in one, and not that dorms allowed children and dogs.

But Michelle had never had a roommate except for Frank. Despite what they were going through, there was something nice about opening the door and finding who had been shopping, if anyone had started dinner, or what new outrage Jada or Angie had confronted at work. Michelle had bought filet mignon and was going to make her famous twice-baked potatoes as a treat. Unless, of course, Jada had already made macaroni and cheese. She was humming to herself as she opened the door.

“Mommy! Mommy! Auntie Angie got a party invitation and she doesn’t want to go,” Frankie said as Michelle got in the door. She put the groceries down on the counter.

Jenna was sitting on one of the dinette chairs, her eyes big. “Shut up, Frankie,” she said. “It isn’t a party. It’s a wedding.”

Michelle put down her purse and took off her coat. Had they gotten weddings and divorces confused? “I like to get invitations to parties,” Frankie said. “So why is Auntie Angie crying?”

“Where is she?” Michelle asked. Jenna indicated the bedroom with a twist of her chin. Michelle knocked on the closed door, but didn’t even wait for an answer before she walked in. It was worse than she expected. Angie was lying on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, and Jada was sitting next to her. Angie’s sobs were muffled, but not enough for the children not to hear, so Michelle quickly closed the door behind her.

Jada looked up and shook her head. She held out an envelope addressed to Angie. It was cream-colored vellum and postmarked Boston. It looked like trouble. Michelle pulled out the contents. There was a small dipping from a newspaper announcing the engagement of Reid Wakefield III to Lisa Emily Randall. But it was worse than that. Because there was also a wedding invitation—an invitation to their wedding next summer. It was engraved, and even Michelle, who had sent photocopied invitations to her own wedding, knew engraving when she saw it. She moved to the bed and sat on the other side of Angie. “Holy shit” was all she could say. Then she thought about it for a moment. “Who sent this?” she asked.

“It’s Lisa’s handwriting,” Angie said, coming up for air.

“I can’t believe it,” Jada said. “She’s DAS as well as mean.”

“Are you even legally separated?” Michelle asked, staring at the engagement announcement.

Angie raised her shoulders in a shrug at Michelle. “Maybe three hundred miles makes it legal,” she said with a weak smile, wiping her face with the Kleenex Jada handed her.

“Maybe
I’m
dumb and stupid,” Michelle said, “but how can these two shit birds announce their engagement if you’re not even divorced?”

Angie shook her head. “It’s not illegal,” she said.

“Spoken like a true lawyer,” Jada said. “It’s not illegal. Just heartless, insensitive, immoral, and pathetic.”

“I’m going to have to go up there to finalize it.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you. I’d never give that bitch the satisfaction of a legal wedding,” Michelle declared. “Don’t agree. Don’t give him a divorce.”

“Forget about it,” Jada said. “It’s Massachusetts, Cindy, not some fairy tale. Kennedys get annulments the way other people get mail. And since Reid’s a lawyer…”

“Reid’s a lying ugly male pig, but he’s a LUMP with clout,” Angie agreed.

“What does CLOUT stand for?” Michelle asked.

“It isn’t an acronym, it’s a way of life,” Jada told her.

In which Angela drops her dead camel

A few hours later, the three friends were lying on Angie’s bed, still talking over the horrors of this latest saga.

“Look, it’s in bad taste, but I want this divorce to go through as quickly as possible, too. I mean, it’s not like I want to get him back,” Angie said.

“No, sisterfriend, but you ought to want to get back
at
him. Contest it. Delay it. Make him work for it. And make that little creep he’s about to marry sweat it out for a year or two,” Jada suggested.

“How did he get the case called so quickly?” Michelle asked.

“If the Wakefields’ don’t have connections in Boston, who does?” Angie asked, stretching. Her back ached and her jaw throbbed. “I guess I’ll just do it. Get it over with. Put it all behind me.”

Jada patted Angie’s bubble belly. “I’m afraid you’re putting it all in front of you dear. Have you thought of what he might say about a Wakefield the Fourth?”

Angie’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t really show that much, do P. I mean I know I
look
awful, but don’t I mostly look fat?” She felt herself going cold with fear. “I don’t want him to know anything about this. I couldn’t bear it. I don’t want to have to deal with Reid and his family for the rest of my life.”

“Well then, you better get up there and move it along,” Jada advised. “Who’s your lawyer?”

“I guess I’ll be my own lawyer,” Angie said.

“Hey, forget about that,” Michelle said. “What is that expression? ‘A man who serves as his own attorney has a fool for a client.’”

“I’m not a man,” Angie said.

“But you are a fool,” Jada told her. “And you can’t go up there alone.”

“We could come,” Michelle volunteered.

“I’d be willing to, but I’m not a lawyer, either.” Jada looked at Angie. “Take Michael Rice, why don’t you. He’s not DDG, but he’s kinda hot, in a slow-burning way.”

“He’s also VRD,” Angie said, throwing the made-up acronym back at crazy Jada, who raised her brows. “Very Recently Divorced,” Angie said. “Even I know enough to keep away from men who are newly separated.”

“I think you should call your mother,” Jada said. “And maybe your dad.”

Angie laughed. “You don’t understand,” she said. “My parents aren’t like yours. If I went up with them, we’d have to relive their divorce.” Angie was silent for a few minutes. Jada had told her all about her mother and father and their visit. In a way, Angie was envious. Jada’s parents might not be sophisticated in the ways of the law, but they were united and supportive. Not that her mother and father weren’t supportive—it was just that they got so involved in arguing with each other.

“You can’t go up there alone, Angie,” Jada said. “We just won’t let you.”

It could have been a very civilized event, Angie thought. Reid looked as perfect as ever and he actually smiled and came over to Angie as she arrived. “Thanks for responding so quickly,” he said. Then her father walked into the courtroom behind her.

“Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “If you say one more word to my little girl, I’ll twist your nuts off.”

“You shut up, Anthony,” Natalie said. “Or I’ll twist
your
nuts off. This is a court of law.” Then she looked at Reid. “You have got to be one of the more pointless living scumbags in recent history,” she said. “Get on the other side of the courtroom and stay where you belong until this is over. We’re not doing this for your convenience, we’re doing it for Angie.”

Angie, Natalie, and Tom, the lawyer Natalie knew, sat down together. Anthony was resentful that he had to sit behind them and twice asked to come up to the table. Twice her mother denied him. The two of them had bickered all the way up to Boston. The only good thing about it was, it had distracted Angie from what was coming next.