What you need to know
A tense meeting with a formidable divorce attorney leaves Jennifer reeling. The Dragon Lady dissects her case with brutal efficiency, and Jennifer begins to realize the true complexity of her situation. But it's an offhand comment that threatens to unravel her closest friendship, leaving her more alone than ever in this high-stakes battle.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dragon Lady
Callista Salesbrook thunders into her office, tosses a pad of paper and a pen on the coffee table, then lowers into a narrow euro-style settee where she rocks side to side settling in.
Fran and I glance at one another. Our expressions amazed. Shocked.
Callista is a linebacker-sized muscular woman in a powder pink Chanel suit. Short skirt. Cropped blazer. A coral colored silk blouse with an oversized bow at her thick throat.
Her office is a suite divided into two sections. One, for Callista’s ornate desk. The other, in this section, is like a living room with two wing chairs (where Fran and I sit), a glass coffee table topped with an overflowing vase of purple hydrangeas, and that poor settee where Callista seems to be rutting about to get comfortable. Maybe we were supposed to sit there?
Finally, Callista settles in by sitting at an angle and crosses her meaty legs. The hem of her skirt hikes up her thick thigh to reveal the pantie portion of her nylons.
“Which one of you is getting a divorce?” she asks, leveling a look at me, then Fran.
Fran thumbs toward me.
Callista looks me up and down with a long and skeptical glance. She wears a pair of oversized glasses with clear plastic frames. “Your husband is a doctor, yes?” she asks.
I force myself to nod unable to form words. She’s so…odd.
“What by way of assets?” Callista asks.
“His or mine?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
“His.”
“Oh…” I say. “He has a lot of family money, but I’m not interested in that. I’m trying to find a way to keep the house.”
Callista glances over at Fran. “And you are?”
Fran, sitting scrunched low in the arm chair wears one of her black draped sweaters arranged around herself like a shield. Arms crossed tight over her chest. “A friend,” Fran says.
“Ah,” Callista says, slides her gaze to me again. “I take it you’re the one who called things off?”
“Called things off?” I ask.
“Ended the marriage,” Callista says, motions toward Fran. “Maybe for another woman?”
“No,” I say, fast. “Fran’s just a friend.”
“And married,” Fran says, cheeks flushed. “Happily.”
Callista makes a grunt sound in the back of her throat. “So?” she asks. “What’s the problem? Was he cheating on you?”
“Me? No,” I say.
“That’s a shame,” Callista says. “Judges are tougher on unfaithful husbands. Are you sure you cannot drum up a love affair? Even implied infidelity can help.”
I think about what Cal said. Get her off the table. It makes total sense now. I’d hate like hell to have this woman against me. She’d fillet me alive.
“He messed with her kids,” Fran says.
“Like sexually?” Callista asks, a new eagerness to her voice.
“Psychological games,” I say, “he has a personality disorder.”
“No empathy,” Fran adds.
“Right,” I say, “which he didn’t mention when we were together. We did about a year of therapy before I figured it out…”
“No. No. No,” Callista says, waving both of us off. “Not another word. Crazy doesn’t work in this town.” She grips the high back of the settee, tugs down the hem of her skirt. “Why are you here? A reference?”
“Cal Wagner suggested I meet you…” I say.
“Cal!” she says with a loud hoot. “I kicked his ass last month. Bet he told you to set up an exploratory meeting.” She makes air quotes around the words exploratory.
I nod stupidly.
Head back, Callista laughs hard. The guttural sound into her belly.
“Cal just wanted to make sure you didn’t hire me,” she finally says, looks at me like I’m as dumb as a rock. “He needn’t have wasted a thought. I’d never take this case. Small potatoes.” She levers herself forward, takes up her pad and pen. Hauling both onto her wide lap, she writes quickly. “You want Brant Merrill. He will balk on repping you, but tell him that story about keeping the house. He’s big on that kind of thing.” She rips the sheet off the pad, sends it sailing across the coffee table. “Also tell Brant you want the house free and clear, then later give in, saying you’ll settle on taking over the payments.” She looks at me over the top of those plastic frames. “He likes a woman who sacrifices herself for the greater good. Tell him I’m referring you.”
I can hardly follow what she says, or what she means, but nod like a bobble-headed toy and gather up the sheet of paper with Merrill’s name on it.
“Now scoot,” Callista says, waving the two of us away. “I can’t waste any more time on you.”
“Okay, I need to fumigate myself,” Fran says, pushing out of the double doors. Callista’s office is in a part of town undergoing a major shift. New construction all around. Office buildings, condos, shops. Swanky. Expensive. (FShadow)
I follow Fran out, tucking my checkbook into my purse. “Four hundred dollars for that,” I say. “Man. I’m in the wrong business.”
“But you’d have to be a snake to survive in it,” Fran says over her shoulder.
We cross the brick sidewalk toward the street, stop where our cars are parked at meters.
It’s misting again and the fine drops fall on Fran’s dark hair, her shoulders, the strap of her bag. Shaking off the water, she looks up at the towering office building of brick and glass. “I’ve never been so glad I’m happily married,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say, distracted because at last, I pull together what Callista just said. “Cal played me,” I say, not to Fran as much as to myself. “He was getting her off the table for his fight with me.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Fran says. She hugs herself and shifts side to side where she stands.
I don’t think I’ve ever been as jealous of anyone as I am of her right now. Her happy marriage. Her safe home. Her good life.
“And to think you wanted me to work things out with Rick,” I say, bitterly. The words come out so fast I don’t realize what I’ve said, or how, but Fran does and in a moment, her expression shifts. Hardens.
“I’m sorry,” I say, touch her elbow. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just…scared.”
“Forget it,” she says, fumbles a hand into her bag, tugs up her keys. “I get it.”
“Fran,” I say. “Give me a break here. Everything is falling apart.”
She nods but sidesteps to her car as if she cannot get away fast enough. “I’ve to got home…Frank…the kids…” Fran unlocks her car door, gets in, starts up the car, and drives away.
Does she wave? Say goodbye? Looking back at that moment, I don’t remember but I do remember standing in a misty rain that saturated my thin coat, my purse, my hair, thinking how I’ve blown it again. Life is so fragile, our connections to one another more so. They are like this mist, easy swiped into oblivion. (3rd Pillar drop)
Wiping the damp from my face, I look up at the building again and imagine Callista looking down at the poor mortals of this earth. Four hundred dollars of my money clutched in her thick fingered hand.
Coming Next:
Chapter Twenty-Two - Counter Attack
In the quiet of the morning, Jennifer gets the upper hand on her chickens—a small victory among many defeats—and weighs her options. Continue seeking out a lawyer to wage the legal war with Rick? Give up? Then comes a call she does not expect…
