by Selena Black
She opted for the drink and the alcohol was making her head slightly fuzzy when the main show for the evening eventually came to an end. The Reynaud Jazz Dandies were already leaving the stage when the curtains began to close, so she turned her attention to the door where the musicians would appear from backstage after a few minutes to mingle with the crowd. When they started to appear, she watched for Jack with the intention of making her way over to him.
It was obvious he got his trumpet out of hock, but she wanted to hear the story of what actually happened. She dropped down from the stool she was sitting on when she saw him, but he appeared to be a man on a mission. While the other musicians began slowly drifting towards the nearest tables to the stage door, Jack walked straight past without even registering the people sitting at them and made a beeline towards someone further back.
Gloria simply watched as her boyfriend sat at a table, where there was only one person. Jack greeted the other man as if he were a long lost friend although he didn’t get the same response in return. It didn’t seem to bother him and the pair of them then proceeded to chat. The man appeared to be in his mid thirties and even from the distance at which she was watching from, she could make out his boyish good looks.
His blonde hair was swept back from his forehead and long enough to cover the collar of his linen jacket. She remembered earlier in the evening thinking that Mr. Reynaud’s eyes were piercing, but they were nothing compared to the vivid blue eyes of Jack’s friend. The two men continued to chat and Gloria wondered if she should go across. In the end she saw no reason not to and made her way over to where her boyfriend was sitting. He was so engrossed in the conversation that he didn’t even notice she was there and it was the other man at the table that spoke.
“Can we help you?” he asked and smiled. His blue eyes were even brighter close up and she found herself slightly mesmerized by them as they stared at each other.
“You’re still here?” Jack said in a surprised voice when he looked to see Gloria standing beside him.
“I stayed to hear you play,” she replied when she brought her gaze to him. “Will you be long?”
Jack ignored the question to turn to his friend.
“Just give me a few seconds Mark,” he said.
He was on his feet straight after speaking and took hold of Gloria’s elbow to lead her away from the table to a quieter spot.
“Who’s that?” she asked before he said anything.
“Just someone interested in jazz,” Jack replied. “I need to talk with him alone, so just go home.”
“Talk with him about what?” Gloria asked as her suspicions were raised.
“He wants to chat to me about trumpet playing, that’s all,” Jack replied. “It will be easier to do if it’s just the two of us, without any distractions.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?” she asked.
“Of course,” he replied indignantly. “Just go home. I’ll be there later on.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she cautioned him and saw the annoyance flash across his face.
“All I’m going to do is chat with a customer that has an interest in jazz music,” he replied.
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek then simply turned away to return to the table afterwards. It brought their brief conversation to an end and Gloria found herself watching from a distance again. She knew that Mr. Reynaud liked the musicians to mingle with the crowd after a performance because it was good for business although it wasn’t a strict requirement that they always did it. Jack could have come home with her if he wanted and the fact that he didn’t made her think he was up to something. She could be wrong, but her instincts were that there was more to his apparent eagerness to talk to the man he called Mark than just jazz music.
“Let’s just hope it’s not another one of his ludicrous schemes,” she let out under her breath as she gave up watching and headed for the door of the club to leave.
Chapter 2
It was the brightness of a sunny morning that pierced Mark Godfrey’s hangover and he let out a wretched sounding groan as he woke to a pounding headache. He slung an arm over his eyes to try and block out the light, but it did nothing to help him feel any better.
“Drank too much again Mark,” he berated himself and tried to remember what he did the evening before.
Bits and pieces came to him, which included the music in the jazz club, the chat with the trumpet player, and the enjoyment of the whisky cider cocktails he drank. He certainly wasn’t enjoying himself now. The thumping beat in his head seemed to grow stronger and his dry mouth gave him a raging thirst. He wanted to get up for some water, but knew that doing that would only make him feel worse. Lying in bed seemed the better option and he let out slow breaths in the vain hope that it would ease his headache. It didn’t and he let out another groan.
“You need to stop doing it,” he told himself as more memories of his evening in the jazz club flashed through his mind.
His drinking was getting out of control these days and he seemed incapable of going out for a quiet night. One glass of alcohol invariably led on to two then more to the point that he drank himself under the table. He tried to recall how he got home to his apartment, but couldn’t do it.
“Karen would be proud of you,” he mocked himself.
The cold sweat that broke out on his forehead was nothing to do with the hangover. Saying the name of his overbearing, bitchy wife made him remember what he was supposed to be doing that morning. He removed his arm from over his eyes and grimaced when he rolled his head to the side to glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The luminous figures on the digital display showed ten minutes after eight.
“Shit,” Mark cursed and threw the covers off straight away.
The explosion of dull pain in his head made him grimace as he sat up, but there was no choice. He just needed to force his way through it and get moving. There was no doubt that he was going to be late for the meeting. He tried to put the thought of it out of his mind as he struggled to his feet and walked towards the bathroom door. A glance down showed that he was still wearing the shirt and underwear from the night before.
He ripped at the buttons to get the shirt off and dropped it on the floor. He then yanked down his underpants when he got to the shower cubicle. Reaching inside, he switched on the water and turned down the temperature to almost freezing. He tensed his body in preparation, but his curse was loud when he stepped under the icy cascade. It cleared the fog of morning drowsiness from his head and he forced himself to stay under the water for a few minutes to see if it reduced the effects of the hangover. He was shivering when he ended the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall when he stepped out of the cubicle.
Once he was dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and moved through to the bedroom. He hurried to the wardrobe and opened it up to get something to wear. The white shirt and black pants were crisply ironed and looked smart when he put them on. That didn’t exactly match with the rest of his appearance, so he moved to the dressing table to try and make himself more presentable. He grabbed a brush to run it through his wet hair and took a quick look at his reflection. There was nothing he could do about his bloodshot eyes and ghostly complexion, so he gave up on any other preparations, put on his shoes then left the bedroom.
The thirst of a dry mouth came over him again and he went in the kitchen to gulp down a glass of water. He would have dearly loved to make some coffee and take a few minutes to compose himself, but a glance at the watch on his wrist showed that he needed to get going. It was now almost eight thirty and there was no way he was going to arrive on time for the nine o’clock meeting. He grabbed his car keys from where they were hanging on a hook on the wall and immediately changed his mind. Driving was a bad idea considering how much he drank the night before and he suspected that his blood alcohol level was still high enough to get him in trouble if he was stopped. There was no point risking it.
“Taxi,” he m
uttered under his breath when he hung the keys up again.
Almost ten minutes later he was still standing on the sidewalk outside his apartment building and wishing he’d just risked driving. He was at the point where he was about to go inside to get the keys when he saw the cab. His frantic waving caught the driver’s attention and he let out a sigh of relief when the vehicle came to a halt beside him. He jumped in the front passenger seat, gave the address of his destination and closed his eyes to try and relax.
The driver started to chat, but Mark’s one-word answers killed the conversation stone dead and there was silence as the journey progressed. The morning rush hour only delayed him further and when he saw that it was nine o’clock, he turned to look at the man.
“Any chance of speeding it up?” he asked.
“Only if I was sporting a badge and a siren,” the driver replied.
Mark let out a sigh and tried to keep calm. He couldn’t believe that he was giving his wife ammunition to use against him and there was no doubt that she would. He lifted a hand to rub his chin and grimaced. The rough stubble probably looked unsightly and he couldn’t believe he missed it when he was looking at his reflection earlier. Then again in the rush to get out of the door he didn’t take much notice of anything.
The last fifteen minutes of the journey passed slowly as he looked out the windscreen of the taxi at the slow moving traffic. His headache was still pounding and he desperately wanted some coffee. When the vehicle finally came to a stop in front of the commercial tower block, Mark was ready with the money.
“Thanks,” he said when he gave it to the driver and didn’t bother waiting for any change.
He looked at his wristwatch when he was standing on the sidewalk and saw it was now almost twenty minutes past nine. He stepped towards the entrance to the tower block, but the delicious aromas wafting out of the coffee shop right next to it made him stop.
“Fuck it,” he said and walked inside the small shop.
He was already twenty minutes late and another five minutes wasn’t going to make any difference. There was no one waiting at the serving counter when he walked up to it, so he was able to give his order straight away. When the black coffee was served, he paid for it then drank some of the hot liquid. The hit of caffeine went down well and he kept sipping from the Styrofoam cup when he walked out to the sidewalk then inside the commercial building where the meeting was to take place. He’d been there on more occasions than he cared to remember, so he knew what he was doing and walked straight to the bank of elevators. There were a few others waiting, but he managed to get in the first one that opened its doors and pressed the button for the twenty-first floor.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to prepare himself for what was to come, but knew that he’d likely be in a foul mood when the meeting was over. When the doors opened at the floor he wanted, he stepped out to the hallway and made his way along to the entrance of Albert, Albert & Bellevue. He was coming to regret his decision to hold the divorce meetings at the offices of his wife’s attorney. The fact that there was a prenuptial agreement in place gave him reason to believe that things would be over quickly, so he agreed to the request on the basis that it would take only a few visits. That wasn’t turning out to be the case, however, and things were dragging on far longer than he anticipated. He saw his attorney through the glass doors of the entrance and stepped over to him when he walked inside.
“Where have you been?” Mr. Simon asked in a slightly agitated voice.
“Delayed by traffic,” Mark replied.
There was some truth in that and he wasn’t about to admit to his attorney that he drank to excess the night before and got up late with a hangover.
“They’re waiting for us,” Mr. Simon went on.
“I’m sure they are,” Mark replied and followed as the older man walked off.
He was led along to the familiar meeting room and took a deep breath before walking inside. It was to an obnoxious comment that set the tone for what was to come.
“So good of you to actually make it,” Karen Wilson let out and paused before going on. “At least some of us understand the importance of these meetings to turn up on time.”
Mark bit off a retort and tried to keep his irritation down at the almost sneering words of his wife. Their six years of marriage went up in smoke seven months previously although the signs were there that they would split up long before that.
It was her beautiful voice that initially got his attention and he could still remember the very first moment he saw her on stage. He found himself infatuated with her amazing vocals straight away and his desire for the slender, willowy jazz singer he found himself admiring that night made him desperate to get to know her. He’d gone out of his way to talk to her when the performance ended and it was the start of a courtship that quickly led to them becoming a couple.
Karen was itching to get a ring on her finger and Mark found himself pushed towards a wedding in more of a hurry than he ever really intended. He was in love, however, and saw no reason not to get married. The only delay was his insistence on them preparing and signing a prenuptial agreement. Her argument that he shouldn’t need one if he loved her didn’t wash and she reluctantly signed it when she saw it was a sticking point they wouldn’t get past. It got her a concession from him that she could have the wedding of her dreams and she went all out to make sure her big day was perfect.
That was a first sign of how much his money meant to her and, more pertinently, her enjoyment of spending it. His successful career in media enabled him to build up a billion dollar fortune that most people could only dream about although it wasn’t something he flaunted and there were only a few people that knew his true worth. Karen was one of them and unlike her husband she wasn’t shy about showing off her wealth. Her wardrobe was filled with designer clothes that she practically wore once then discarded and she spent her days with friends enjoying late lunches at the best restaurants, luxuriating at expensive spas, or on shopping sprees for the latest fashions and beauty products.
The one thing she didn’t seem to want to do after getting married was work and her singing career stalled. Not that it particularly bothered her as far as Mark could see. She took to life as a pampered lady of luxury like a duck to water and expected him to provide. He was happy to do that in the early years of their marriage although it became more wearing as time passed. His urge to start a family the year before was met with reluctance by his wife and the writing was on the wall for their relationship when she offered to get pregnant if he cancelled the prenuptial agreement. It was a sign of her true feelings and things broke down rapidly afterwards. They were now at the point where the only occasions on which they met were at the offices of Albert, Albert & Bellevue.
The fact that he was at yet another meeting irritated Mark and the snide comment from Karen still rankled as he sat down on the opposite side of the large table from her. The drumming of her fingernails on the wooden surface brought his attention to their vivid red color and he lifted his gaze to see that it perfectly matched the shade of lipstick she was wearing. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a style that obviously needed a professional to create and it was obvious that she didn’t get up at that last minute to get ready for the meeting.
“Spending my money on hairdressers again,” he threw across the table at her.
“Your money!” she exclaimed. “As a married couple, I think you mean our money, don’t you?”
“I know what ….” Mark started, but he was interrupted before he finished.
“And anyway,” Karen went on. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some pride in your appearance. Not everyone wants to look like they just crawled out of some seedy drinking den with a hangover. I got used to seeing you like that during our marriage. It’s nice that you are carrying it on because it does suit you so well.”
It was a start to the meeting that didn’t exactly surprise Mark and he was on the verge of responding to hi
s wife’s insult, but didn’t get the chance when Karen’s lawyer, Mr. Albert, spoke.
“Following on from the last meeting,” he said. “We came up with a list of your joint assets during the marriage.” He slid a piece of paper across the table to Mr. Simon before going on. “Miss Wilson has agreed to a 55-45 split in favor of your client as a gesture of goodwill.”
Mark couldn’t hold his tongue now.
“A gesture of goodwill?” he exclaimed. “As far as I remember the agreement Miss Wilson signed before the marriage set out that in the event of it ending, she received a lump sum of one million dollars and the personal belongings that were demonstrably hers. As far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the story.”
“Miss Wilson doesn’t see it like that,” Mr. Albert went on.
“You don’t say,” Mark let out in a sarcastic tone. “Well I don’t care what ….”