Tree Climbing For Beginners

by Joyia Marie

  “Good, I was hoping to catch you,” he said his chocolate voice husky. “I wanted to get this to you first thing.”

  I looked at the bundle of papers and saw it was the bid. He certainly had the fastest turn around, I had to give him that. At least with a detailed bid. The one Duncan gave me was off the top of his head and about as firm as jello.

  Then again, he spent more time looking at me than looking at my loft so I’m not surprised. He came in lower than anyone else had but I got the feeling he expected to take out the difference in trade. Not so much, I thought with a shiver, I’d rather live in a cave.

  After being married to a cheater, my understanding with philanders was at an all time low. Craig Duncan was wearing a wedding band and still flirting with me like a single man. I felt sorry for his wife. Maybe she was staying with him for her kids as I tried to do.

  “I didn’t expect you to stay up all night,” I said, looking at his tired face. He was still gorgeous on a level that was slightly more than human, but his busy night definitely showed.

  “ I wanted to make sure you had it,” he said modestly. “I get the impression you are in a hurry.”

  “Yeah,’ I said, “I hope to make a decision today and get a crew in here no later than Monday. I’ve booked my suite for a month and I really hope to be back here by then. I’m not expecting it to be done, but at least habitable by then.”

  “Wow, you really are in a hurry,” he said in wonder.

  “Yeah, is that extra? Do you need to adjust your bid? I told the other contractors and they figured it in but I guess I didn’t emphasize that with you,” I said, wondering at the wonder.

  What kind of people was he used to dealing with? I didn’t see any reason to poke around. To me this redo was five years overdue, but then again, I had never intended to live here.

  “No, it should be okay,” he said confidently. “So you’ll let me know something today?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly wondering where the disconnect was occurring. He seemed fascinated with my car, but then again after seeing his bike, I understood. Machine people tended to like all machines and my Mustang was a machine worthy of a little eye fondling.

  “So this is your car?” he asked intently.

  I looked around to see if there was someone in my car, I couldn’t see. Who else’s car would be parked in my parking spot? “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve had it for years, but haven’t taken it out much.”

  “It’s nice,” he said with obvious relief. I smiled hesitantly wondering what was going on in that beautiful head of his. I started to offer him a ride sometime, but stopped myself. That would lead to him, offering me a ride on his bike.

  Not good, as it would lead to married thighs wrapped around single thighs, still not a good idea. My libido pouted as yet another opportunity to wrap myself around Aiden floated away. I can’t state strongly enough, my libido is a ‘HO.

  “Okay, well, I’ll look these over and let you know something soon. I need to get moving as downtown traffic is a pain,” I said, eager to get away before my persistent libido wrestled the controls away from me and I spread Aiden out on the hood of my car like a Thanksgiving buffet.

  “Oh, that’s right. Today’s the day you meet with your lawyer,” he said casually. He was studiously looking at my car, but I got the impression he was waiting for my answer.

  “Yeah,” I said again. Can’t you see why I’m such a bestselling author with witty repartee like that?

  He looked up and we stared into each other’s eyes for a long beat. I sighed, longing for the kiss I had denied myself the night before. I swear sometimes morality sucks. If I was a great big slut bunny like Jillian, I could be having me a big old heaping helping of Aiden right about now.

  Would it really be so bad, the devil on my shoulder asked? I am getting a divorce. There is nothing Harold could say or do, which would change that. I’ve never been big on following the rules so why let a little piece of paper stop me from enjoying what would be truly spectacular sex for the first time in years?

  I started to say something to that effect when my kids appeared in front of my eyes. I sighted and shut my mouth. Aiden would wait, he’d have to. I needed to end my marriage to Harold clean, even if no one but me ever knew about my sacrifice. I took one last look at Aiden and sighed. Yeah, this was a sacrifice.

  “Okay, I’m going to go,” I said desperately as I put my car into gear. Before Aiden could get out another word, I pulled out of the parking spot. I took one last look at him in my rearview mirror, then put the lovely Aiden out of my mind. Or as much out of my mind as I could.

  Chapter Thirty: Helen

  The drive to downtown Fort Worth wasn’t bad even with the normal rush hour traffic. It seems like no matter how many times they ‘fix’ the highways, there is still a ridiculous amount of traffic. I parked in the parking garage connected to the office building that Ms. Smithfield had her office.

  She was on the fifth floor, the entire fifth floor. Obviously, divorce was big business in Texas and Ms. Smithfield was doing fine. That made me feel better. If I had to expose my personal business to someone, I wanted a well-paid professional who wouldn’t be tempted to break attorney/client privilege for the financial gain of exposing me as LV.

  The receptionist had me sit in the waiting area. She offered me a drink, which I turned down. I wasn’t sure I could swallow anything and I was seriously reconsidering the coffee I had already consumed. Suddenly, it was all becoming real. I was really divorcing Harold. The family curse had claimed another victim.

  I was surprised when a tiny sprite came to walk me back. The lady was maybe 5 feet tall, weighed maybe a 100 lbs and generally only needed wings to complete the whole sprite look. Her blond hair was in a Tinkerbelle cap and her big blue eyes twinkled as she invited me back.

  I waited for her to walk me to the office of Ms. Smithfield and turn me over to the famed attorney. Imagine my surprise when she walked me into an office and walked behind a desk big enough to serve as her bed. She stood there and offered her tiny hand. I took it reflexively wondering what was going on when she introduced herself.

  “I’m sorry, I should have done this before. Hello, my name is Jane Smithfield,” she said with a dazzling smile.

  “Okay?” I said dubiously, wondering what the joke was. This tiny thing looked like she would be selling Girl Scout cookies not the ball busting divorce lawyer I was promised. I was just wondering if my lawyer was a little older than I thought, maybe easing into the senile territory to send me here.

  “The look on your face is exactly the reason I am so successful,” Ms. Smithfield said with obvious pleasure.

  “What look?” I asked, trying to cover up my mistake. I prided myself on not judging a book by its cover yet I had done exactly that.

  “The ‘who the hell is Tinkerbelle trying to fool’ look,” Ms. Smithfield said with a wicked grin. That grin reassured me. She may look all cuddly kitten, but that grin said she was all kitten with a whip. Suddenly I felt a lot better.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll admit it you got me,” I said with a laugh, not even trying to cover up anymore. From what she said, I wasn’t the first one to react this way so I didn’t feel bad.

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Dudley, I’m used to it. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Ms. Smithfield said suddenly all business.

  I took a deep breath and laid it all out for her. Telling her was infinitely easier than telling my friends. She had no dog in this fight, except who was paying here and that would be me. She nodded and took notes and generally made me feel better about my attorney’s recommendation.

  “There’s no hope for reconciliation?” she asked when I finished.

  I looked at her like she was speaking in tongues. Reconciliation? With Harold the lying, cheating bastard? No, I’m afraid if I even fell asleep and dreamed I had forgiven Harold, Grandma Gert would haunt me for the rest of my days. I may have engaged in a game of ‘Let’s pretend’ about the affair, but once
Harold put it in my face, all bets were off.

  “That would be a no,” I said finally, when my tongue would work again.

  “Don’t be offended. I have to ask, I’m not cheap, and if you change your mind somewhere down the road, you’ll still be billed for my time,” Ms. Smithfield said crisply.

  “Does that happen a lot?” I had to ask.

  “You’d be surprised. I had a client whose husband beat her like a base drum and she finally ended up in the hospital. She called me to her bedside to get the divorce started. I did then after she healed, she changed her mind and wanted to give him one more chance. Her husband was a little upset when my bill arrived anyway. He came to my office and tried to express his upset with me the same way he did his wife and now he resides in the Tarrant County Jail. She did end up going through with the divorce after he got sentenced.”

  I looked at her in amazement and suddenly Harold’s little indiscretion looked a whole lot better. Not that Harold would have dared to raise a hand to me. My mother dated a judo instructor for years and he gave me lessons. If Harold had ever been feeling his Wheaties to that extent, I would have bounced him off every wall in that house.

  “Not to worry. Like I said, I’ve known about Harold’s sidepiece for a while and I was trying to ride it out until the kids went off to college. This is Harold’s idea. The only reason I’m getting a lawyer is I don’t want to get screwed in the process of Harold screwing his girl,” I said.

  “Good enough, so tell me what you want. Other than custody,” Mrs. Smithfield said her pen at the ready like Santa Claus taking down Christmas wishes.

  “I don’t want custody,” I said slowly. I thought I had covered that, but maybe she didn’t hear me. “I do want generous visitation and I want to put some things in place to protect my kids, but I think they would be better off with their dad.”

  Ms. Smithfield raised a brow and I got the feeling the sprite was about to have a dog in this fight other than me. “Could you explain why you feel that way?’ she asked with faint judgment in her voice.

  I looked at her and hoped my gift of gab wouldn’t fail me now. “Okay, yeah, when I first left the kids it was to thwart Harold and his plans, but I’ve had time to think about this and I think this will be the best thing all the way around.”

  Ms. Smithfield kept her brow raised and her pen stilled as she pinned me with her bright blue eyes. Suddenly I wondered if she was or had ever been a wife or mother. She looked scarcely old enough to drink until you looked into her eyes.

  Her eyes told a story of loss and redemption. I would love to hear her story one day, but not today. I needed her on my side and I got the feeling I wasn’t there yet.

  “Ms. Smithfield, I grew up in a family with a history of no fathers in the household. My grandmother got a divorce when my mother and aunt were young.” I left out the bit about what prompted that divorce.

  “My dad deserted my mom when I was young. I wanted something better for my kids, which is why I didn’t kick up a fuss when Harold started ‘working late’. Ms. Smithfield smiled and I guess this wasn’t the first time she had heard this excuse.

  “Now Harold has been a weekend father since the twins were born. He lived in the household, but he wasn’t really engaged. I don’t know how much of that is my fault and how much is his fault but that’s the way it was. I don’t see him doing any major improvement if he’s not in the household with me riding herd on him. I can see him floating off with his girlfriend and my kids losing their father.

  “My children deserve a father and I’m doing the only thing I can think of to make sure they have one. He’s missed 12 years already and he only has six left before it’s too late. So now a lot of people might not agree with my methods, but believe it or not I’m doing this for my kids and in a small way for Harold.”

  “If he doesn’t step up to the plate?” Ms. Smithfield asked casually.

  “I’m in the process of establishing a home where I can take my kids if Harold really can’t cut it. However, I know if I don’t force the issue, he won’t even try. I’m not planning on catching the next plane out of the D / FW airport the day my divorce becomes final. I’ll be here to watch the situation and step in if I have to.” I stopped there.

  I had explained many nights of tossing and turning the best way I knew how. Yeah, there was a chance Harold might crash and burn, but there was also a chance he might rise to the occasion. I wanted for my kids what every parent wants for their children, which they have better than I had. That would mean a father.

  “Okay, since custody isn’t what you want, tell me what you do want?” Ms. Smithfield said her pen at the ready.

  “Actually, I don’t want anything except generous visitation with my kids. The house should go with the kids, which means Harold gets both. I do want some fail-safes in place so I can get my kids without having to go to court if Harold or his idiot girlfriend mess up with the twins. However, I want it couched in as much legalese that Harold wouldn’t recognize it as an out. He needs to believe he’s good and stuck so he’ll do his best.”

  “Okay, sounds doable, but a good lawyer will explain any legalese to Harold,’ she said as she made notes.

  ‘Not Harold’s lawyer. His family uses Bret Chandler,” I said and smiled when Ms. Smithfield wrinkled her elfin nose.

  Bret Chandler is a miracle of the Texas judicial system in that it’s a miracle he passed the bar. There’s some kind of family connection between the Chandlers and the Petersons or the Petersons wouldn’t use him either. I didn’t see Harold stepping outside his comfort zone to actually find his own attorney so it would be Ms. Smithfield versus Mr. Chandler. I know who I put my money on.

  “Then I’m quite sure I can legalese circles around Mr. Chandler. So what about support?” Ms. Smithfield asked busily taking notes.

  “I don’t need any,” I said.

  She raised her smooth blond head and stared at me with something like pity in her eyes. “Mrs. Dudley, I understand the pride and yours has been dented by your husband’s infidelities, but you need to think ahead. Refusing the spousal support you’ve earned as a full time homemaker isn’t charity on your husband’s part. It’s payment for serviced rendered,” Ms. Smithfield said kindly.

  I smiled, if there was any ‘full time homemaker’ it was Mrs. Gunderson not me. Therefore, if anyone had spousal support coming it would be her, but I think her generous salary covered that. I pulled out a spreadsheet I had prepared that showed my financial position and put in on her desk.

  She picked it up disdainfully then her eyes widened as she saw the numbers. Between LV and Grandma Gert’s paintings, I wasn’t hurting. I couldn’t find my own space shuttle, but I wouldn’t be existing on Top Ramen for food and burning furniture for warmth either.

  “Okay,” she said as her eyes looked over the numbers repeatedly as if she couldn’t believe it. “I know you said you were a writer, but I’ve never heard of you. So where did this money come from. I recognized the artwork and its worth, but the cash is the question. Did your grandmother leave you money as well as the paintings?”

  “No, my grandmother left me the paintings, my mother, her money and my aunt her house. The money is money I’ve earned writing,” I said, trying to ease into the next item up for discussion.

  “Okay, I know writers use pen names and yours must be a doozy so tell me. Who are you,” Ms. Smithfield demanded.

  “That’s the next thing we need to figure out how to keep quiet. I don’t need this in court documents for Harold or anyone else to find,” I told Ms. Smithfield and I paused until she set her pen down.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Helen

  “I’m Leslie Vandersmoot,” I said and almost laughed as the tiny blonde’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Her shock turned to amazement, then to worship. Her tiny rosebud mouth fell open in awe.

  “Leslie Vandersmoot,” she said with the same reverence that someone else might say the Virgin Mary. Yes, I’m aware of the sacrilege, but that w
as her not me. If she went to Hell for that, she was on her own.

  “I love your books,” she said as she pulled out her purse and slapped my latest paperback on the desk in proof. I picked up the well-worn tome and smiled ruefully as it fell open in certain key spots. My books have been referred to as ‘stroke books’ for women and I guess Ms. Smithfield was a loyal ‘strokee’.

  The cover showed a couple in a clinch that was one step away from anatomically impossible. The back cover where an author’s picture would be, there was a picture of a hat tossed onto the seat of a chair with a shawl tossed over the back. The pictures change, but it’s always something like this. Something that suggests the author stepped away right before the picture was snapped. I thought it was clever and better than nothing.

  “I appreciate it, but that needs to be our little secret. Other than you and me there are only two other people on earth who know this and I need to keep it that way,” I cautioned the lawyer.

  “But why? This is nothing to be ashamed of. I know the religious zealots think your books are pornography but they are not,” Ms. Smithfield said, sounding like she was gearing up for a First Amendment rally. Okay, I thought, time to talk this ‘zealot’ down from her soapbox.

  “I’m not ashamed of my work, I’m proud of it. However, I’m also proud to be the mother of twelve-year-old twins. When it’s a question of which pride wins, you guess which one I pick?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Oh,” she said the light dawning. “I didn’t think about that. Kids are ruthless and being known as the offspring of Leslie Vandersmoot is not the best thing for a kid.”

  By George, I think she’s got it, I thought in triumph. My attorney told me she was smarter than the average bear. “Nope, so I need to know how to keep this quiet. Do I have to disclose this?” I asked.

  “No, there are a lot of ways to get around this. First, we may be able to avoid any kind of financial disclosure since you’re not asking for any kind of support. Your husband’s lawyer shouldn’t push for a copy of your finances since your husband doesn’t know you have anything. Texas is a community property state, but only if it’s requested. But I have to ask, since I assume your husband doesn’t know your ‘big secret’” here she did air quotes, “how did you hide all this?”