Beware the Mermaids

by Carrie Talick

  “I know of this great beach cottage in Redondo. Comes with free margaritas and a dog named Otis,” Ruthie said.

  “Okay, maybe I can stay at your house for a bit. But I promise to be out as soon as I can,” Nancy said.

  “Excellent. I’ll make up the spare room for you and the study for Charlotte. We’ll have a blast!”

  Nancy grew quiet and contemplated her near future. “Thank you. You know I need a long-term plan though, Ruthie.”

  Ruthie softened and gave her a look of understanding. “Look—you taking this step? This is huge for you. I thought we would howl at the moon after too many cocktails, wake up with a wicked hangover, with your resolve to leave Roger in shambles. But this … this is an unexpected plot twist.”

  Ruthie knew her too well. Nancy said, “Truth be told, that’s what I thought was going to happen too. It would be easy to go back to him. He wants me back. Not because he adores me, mind you, but because I make him look good for all of his boards and country club memberships. It’d be easy to walk back into the life we built—my house, my comfortable lifestyle, my safety, my boat.” Nancy bowed her head in frustration and continued, “But it’s all bullshit. Maybe it has been for a while. Maybe it’s the booze giving me courage, but I don’t think my self-respect will let me go back.”

  Ruthie nodded and said, “Yes, self-respect often leads us down difficult paths.”

  “I’m facing divorce. I can’t believe I’m going to be divorced. I have grandchildren, for Christ’s sake. I’m on the cusp of that age where most people throw in the towel. I mean, sixty is looming like a damn wrecking ball, and I’m going to be single? On my own? Doesn’t that sound just a little bit crazy?”

  Ruthie took a moment before she answered. “No. You’re not crazy to want a loving, happy marriage. But that’s not what you got, kid.” Ruthie lifted her floppy hat and grew serious for a moment. “Nance, Roger likes to win. He has to win. It’s part of his nature. That’s what worries me about this situation. If he won’t grant you a divorce easily, it means he’ll fight you with a horde of lawyers who could tie this up for years. Which means all of your marital assets will be frozen until it resolves. You’ll be forced to live like a pauper.”

  At that moment, a balmy breeze kicked up off the cliffs and swept over into the pool area, where it blew Nancy’s umbrella out of her drink and Ruthie’s hat off her head. And despite the warmth of the wind, Nancy got the chills.

  * * *

  The next morning, Nancy and Ruthie stood in the opulent marbled lobby listening to a cellist play a soothing version of Bob Marley’s “Is This Love” while they waited to pay the bill. A stunningly pretty hotel clerk named Brittany, with sun-kissed skin and a sparkling smile, had just taken Nancy’s Platinum American Express card and handed each of them a complimentary cucumber water while they waited.

  “Way to wallow, girl,” Ruthie said as she nodded to Nancy and petted Otis, who had comfortably snuggled into her oversized purse. “I’ll miss those fluffy bathrobes.”

  “Best to go out in an extravagant financial blaze of glory, I think,” Nancy replied.

  “Nancy? Nancy Hadley?” A familiar nasal voice rang out above the cellist, and Nancy cringed and turned. Standing right behind her was Joanne Rumpel, perfectly coifed and dressed in expensive resort wear that included white capri pants, a pink polo shirt, and a giant matching pink visor. Nancy could smell Joanne’s perfume, a combination of gardenia and money, as she drew closer. Joanne and her husband, Earl, lived two houses down from her and Roger. They had come from Santa Monica four years ago. Rumor had it that they had bought a newly finished beach house only to immediately remodel everything in it because Joanne needed heated floors in the kitchen and an elevator to the wine cellar. They were that kind of insufferably rich. They were also shameless gossips.

  “Oh, hello, Joanne,” Nancy said, as she willed herself to air-kiss Joanne’s cheek.

  “Where is Roger? We must have champagne by the pool!” Joanne exclaimed, but then gave a confused expression as she looked over to Ruthie and Otis.

  “No, I’m here with my best friend Ruthie. We were, uh … we were …”

  Ruthie interjected and said, “We’re celebrating.”

  Nancy pinched Ruthie’s elbow; she didn’t want this rich shrew knowing her business.

  “Oh, what’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you got a new boat!”

  Ruthie stammered for a second and then replied, “Uh, we were celebrating my divorce.”

  “Oh!” Joanne said with an uncomfortable laugh. “A little dark, but lord knows I’ve celebrated a divorce. Or three!” She pointed over at Earl, who was looking at golf literature. “Fourth time’s the charm, right?”

  “Well, I hope you guys enjoy your stay. We’re just checking out.”

  “Of course, another time. In fact, we were hoping you and Roger could join us for our annual summer solstice party. It’s the weekend after next.”

  Nancy blinked for a moment, reorganizing her thoughts to come up with a plausible excuse. “Oh, I’m not quite sure. We might be heading to the desert that weekend.”

  Effervescent Brittany returned to the counter. “Um, I’m sorry, Mrs. Hadley, but there seems to be something wrong with your card. It isn’t going through. Do you have another one?” Her smile was blinding.

  Nancy looked at Brittany for a second. And then at her card. “You ran it through and it didn’t work?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Twice declined. No biggie. Sometimes there’s a glitch with the new embedded cards.” Brittany cleared her perfect little throat.

  Nancy squinted at her credit card as if betrayal were hidden somewhere in the metallic strip. She glanced over at Joanne, who quickly looked down at the marble floor. “No problem. Use this one.” She handed the clerk a Mastercard, her stomach involuntarily clenching.

  “Thanks! Back in a jiffy!” Brittany said with an overly enthusiastic smile as she walked to the back counter to run the card.

  Joanne said, “The desert! How lovely!”

  “Yes, so can I let you know about the summer solstice party?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course!”

  “Great,” Nancy said as she waved her off. She didn’t owe Joanne Rumpel an explanation of her future plans. She turned back to Ruthie, who was acting as a safe cove amid the well-dressed sharks in her social strata.

  “She’s like a walking, talking Bitmoji,” Ruthie said as she observed Brittany, the hotel clerk.

  “What’s a Bitmoji?” Nancy asked, happy for Ruthie’s interruption. Anything to get away from conversation with the Rumpels.

  “It’s like a cartoon version of yourself that you use in text messages. See? I have one.”

  Nancy looked at Ruthie’s phone and saw a cartoon that looked like Ruthie, only cuter and younger. Cartoon Ruthie was holding a glass and had a caption that read It’s Wine Time!

  “I need a Bitmoji.”

  “I’ll make you one.” Ruthie grabbed Nancy’s phone and got busy.

  Brittany came back from the counter, smile gone. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hadley, but this one doesn’t work either. Sad face,” she said, matching her words with a frown.

  Nancy felt the hair on the back of her neck begin to tingle. Without even looking in the Rumpels’ general direction, she felt their eyebrows rise. How could her credit cards be declined? “Here, try this one, and if it doesn’t work, do you take debit cards?”

  Brittany said, “Yes, ma’am.” She took the other credit card and turned back toward the counter, all previous charm gone.

  Ruthie handed Nancy her phone back and gave her a skeptical look. “You don’t think this is Roger’s doing, do you?”

  “He wouldn’t cut off my credit cards,” Nancy said uncertainly, then muttered, more to herself, “He better not have cut off my credit cards.” She looked at her newly created Bitmoji. It had long blondish-silver hair, bright-blue eyes, a great smile, and perky boobs. It was an adorable version of her. “I love her. Besides, isn’t th
at illegal?”

  “Enhanced Bitmoji boob size? Totally legal. And so is cutting off your credit card access if he’s the primary cardholder and you’re just an added cardholder. Tell me you have at least one card where you’re the primary,” Ruthie said.

  Nancy stood there, thinking hard. Were any of the cards hers?

  Brittany returned with her blinding smile, sunshiny charm back intact. “Good news, Mrs. Hadley! Your third credit card did not go through, but I asked my manager, and she said we could just charge it to the credit card you and your husband used last month!”

  Ruthie looked at Nancy.

  Nancy looked at Brittany as if she were speaking some foreign language. “Of course.” She had been nowhere near Terranea last month. “Refresh my memory, Brittany; what were the dates of that stay? It’s for tax purposes.”

  “Um, let’s see, you and Mr. Hadley stayed two nights. The fifteenth and the sixteenth.”

  Nancy quickly opened the calendar on her phone. She had Roger down for a business golf outing in Carlsbad. Not Terranea.

  The gall. Roger had been here, a mere twelve miles away from their home, with someone else.

  Ruthie instantly understood and muttered, “The balls.”

  “Yep, but not the brains,” Nancy said, flustered by this revelation. She turned to answer Brittany. “Yes, thank you. Charge that card. That’ll be fine.”

  She turned to the Rumpels, who had obviously witnessed the awkward exchange.

  “So, we’ll put you and Roger down as a maybe to the summer solstice party! Ta-ta!” Joanne and Earl moved away to the other side of the counter.

  “Ta,” Nancy said, as she gave a dismissive wave. Then she turned back to the hotel clerk. “Excuse me, Brittany. Before you run that card, how much are those luxurious fluffy Terranea bathrobes?”

  “They’re four hundred dollars each, Mrs. Hadley.”

  “Great,” Nancy said. “We’ll take two.”

  Brittany brought over the bill, and Nancy signed it. Two beautifully boxed Terranea bathrobes were delivered to Nancy and Ruthie right before they left the lobby.

  “Right on! Divorce looks good on you, Nance,” Ruthie said as she hugged her robe.

  But Nancy’s brain was spinning. None of her credit cards worked. She was a joint tenant on the bank accounts, which meant Roger couldn’t cut her off without the bank contacting her first. But on all the credit accounts, she was merely a cardholder, not a primary. She couldn’t even get a gallon of gas if that was the case. But would Roger really do that? Could he? If he had the stainless-steel balls to cut her off, payback was in order. But first, she had to make some calls.

  * * *

  After dropping Ruthie off, Nancy drove to the Yellow Vase, one of her favorite cafés in Redondo Beach, ordered a latte, and sat down at a picnic table outside. She called the number on each credit card in her wallet to find out that Roger had indeed taken her off every account. She could feel the heat rising in her face and chest like a hot flash from hell. After ruthlessly berating several overly polite call center operators, she finally spoke to a supervisor.

  “How is this possible? I mean, I’ve had this credit card for fifteen years, never late on a payment, and you didn’t think to notify me when my husband suddenly blocked my access?”

  “Sadly, it happens a lot,” said Shreya Shimani, the call center supervisor. “The primary cardholder has the control. But, if you ask me, you should simply apply for a new credit card with us right now. I can help you.”

  “How, though? I have no credit of my own.”

  “You share bank accounts with your husband? And you were a joint cardholder on other credit cards?”

  “Yes, and I’m still a joint tenant on the bank accounts.”

  “So, it’s still your money, still your balance,” Ms. Shimani said. “You likely have excellent credit, and it’s the joint account that sustains that credit rating. Let’s see what we can get you.”

  After about five minutes of being placed on hold, during which Nancy daydreamed about how to get back at Roger, Shreya came back on the line.

  “Good news. Not only did you qualify for one of our most generous credit cards, which gives you airline miles with every purchase, but your credit rating allowed for a thirty-five-thousand-dollar credit line. I’ve taken the liberty of approving your new card, to be sent via FedEx overnight at no charge. You should have it delivered to one fourteen Avenue J, Redondo Beach, California, nine-oh-two-seven-seven, no later than noon tomorrow.”

  Ruthie’s address and Nancy’s temporary home. Nancy smiled. She was pretty sure Ms. Shimani was smiling on the other end as well. “Shreya, thank you so much for helping me with this issue. Without getting too deep into my dirty laundry, you’ve literally saved the day.”

  There was a pause, and then Ms. Shimani said, “Mrs. Hadley, let me just say that I’ve had my own burdens to bear. If ever I can help out a customer who has run aground because of an incorrigible spouse, I will do so. And I don’t care if this call is recorded. I’ve sent an email confirmation; within it is my direct line if you need anything else. Good luck.”

  Girl code.

  Nancy smiled again. “Thank you. For everything,” she said, and hung up.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon when Nancy finally got everything sorted out with the credit cards. She had to make one more stop and then head to Ruthie’s. She picked up her phone and sent a group text to her girls. It simply read:

  5pm at Ruthie’s. Code Blue. Tacos will be served.

  * * *

  Across town, in a ranch-style home nestled in the tree section of Manhattan Beach, Lois was plucking dead leaves from a fern hanging in a seventies macrame plant holder on the back porch when Nancy’s text came in on her phone. She called out to Chris, her darling husband of thirty-five years, “Babe, I’m going to Ruthie’s tonight! Code blue.”

  “Blue. Is that celebratory or plotting revenge?” Chris answered from the garage, where he was building a tube amp stereo.

  “Revenge!”

  “All righty then. I’ll see if any of the boys want to go to Ercoles for a burger. Try not to get arrested.”

  Lois changed into her workout pants, threw on an old UCLA sweatshirt, and headed out the door with a bottle of wine in her purse.

  * * *

  Over in a quiet neighborhood in Torrance, Judy sat on her sofa with a cup of tea, her finger hovering over the Add to Cart button on her iPad, unsure whether or not to buy a book on Amazon. Flush with the insurance money, Judy was hopelessly unable to decide how to spend it, even in the most miniscule amounts. The text from Nancy came in.

  “Oh my,” she said to herself, her excitement rising. Her otherwise quiet life was about to see some action.

  Judy canceled her transaction, finished her tea, and went into the bedroom to put on a fresh pair of linen pants.

  * * *

  Back in Redondo, Ruthie came in through the front doors of her beach cottage armed with two Trader Joe’s bags filled with cheese, crackers, wine, and tequila. Otis followed along, carrying his own bag of unopened dog treats.

  “Otis, Nancy is bringing Suzanne the Cat over. Please try to get along.”

  Otis let out a whimpering arf of surrender.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SETTING A COURSE FOR ADVENTURE

  In the days since Nancy had flipped Roger the bird in his own driveway, with the threat of divorce hanging in the air, Roger had used his time wisely. He’d reflected on the events that had transpired, smoked many cigars on the balcony, tried to feel remorse and/or culpability for the unfortunate incident with Claire Sanford, failed miserably at feeling miserable, and then proceeded to do what he did best—put the screws to Nancy in an effort to get her back under his control.

  He knew that the quickest way to get her attention would be to render her helpless, and by helpless he meant moneyless. Just briefly, of course. He had promptly canceled her access to all their credit cards and waited for her to contact him—l
ike shutting off the Wi-Fi in a roomful of phone-obsessed teenagers. It was only a matter of time before she came crawling back. Any minute now she would call him, outraged, and this would afford Roger another opportunity to lay out all the reasons it made sense for Nancy to come home and stay home. After all, he was on the verge of securing the most lucrative land development deal in the history of his highly successful—albeit ruthless—development company, and he wasn’t going to let anything screw it up. Especially something within his full control, like his wife. He had to get his house in order before any real or lasting damage could be done.

  * * *

  Nancy shoved the cashier’s check from First Bank of Manhattan Beach into her purse and put it safely next to the other two checks from Fidelity Bank and Great Western Bank. She was surprised at how easy it had been. She had walked in, filled out a form, signed her name, and in turn received exactly half the money, plus one penny, from each of the three bank accounts she and Roger shared. Half was her rightful portion. The penny was for pain and suffering. A small but significant majority, a symbolic thumb of her nose to Roger “Balls and Brains” Hadley. She had visited the banks after the Terranea episode and secured the checks right before the banks closed. Roger wouldn’t know until the next morning that she had legally withdrawn half their liquid cash.

  As afternoon turned to twilight, Nancy’s last move was to go to the house. She filled two suitcases with her favorite things, including her French pepper grinder, a turquoise Dutch oven, a few framed pictures (none included Roger), and her Tempur-Pedic pillow, and loaded everything into the car.