Riches & Rags: Things are seldom as they seem.

by Camille Nagasaki

  Micky leans back, studying me. He seems to have recovered his equanimity.

  Oh shit.

  “Lane, you can’t come here without warning and start making demands. We can talk about this another time. Soon, I promise.”

  “Oh! Just like you promised to come home? Bullshit, ASSHOLE!”

  He flinches slightly and his features harden. “I don’t have time for this.” He stands, chucking his napkin on the table.

  “I have a video,” I yelp, grasping at straws. To my utter relief, Micky narrows his eyes and lowers himself back into his seat.

  “What are you talking about?” he demands through gritted teeth.

  “Well, let’s just say it’s a corporate video.”

  Our server appears with our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I’ll have the seared swordfish,” I say, as Micky shakes his head.

  “And for you, Mr. Capello?”

  “Uh…”

  Micky’s appetite must be the furthest thing from his mind.

  “Kobe beef Carpaccio.”

  I smile at the server, trying to calm my nerves with laughter therapy. Or smile therapy, anyway. God, I’ll be glad when this meeting is over. I fiddle with my bag under the table; I’m going to burst from frayed nerves.

  “What’s this video?”

  I take a steadying breath and explain. “Let’s just say your departure from the Vancouver business scene left some people with a bad taste. You’re not exactly well liked, shall we say. Actually, you’re despised. But then, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Lane.”

  “Okay, I’ll make it very clear.” I lean in, eyes blazing into his. “I have a dozen business tycoons back home who’ve all gone on camera, warning your potential investors to run. Got it?” Micky eyes me with a murderous gleam. He blinks hard and I can see I’ve clearly hit a nerve. He probably wants to reach across the table and strangle me. I shrink back and nonchalantly glance around for support. There are a few couples at tables nearby and a single woman seated with her back to us. She has curly blonde hair and an enormous, white sun hat, and I vaguely wonder who she’s spying on. When I turn my attention back to Micky, his anger seems to have dissipated, and he looks rather thoughtful.

  “Who went on camera?”

  “I won’t say. But one of the persons who didn’t mind being identified is Paul Hughes. Apparently you swindled a couple hundred grand from him.”

  “That’s erroneous, Lane. That guy’s a dick-smack. And anyway, what were you planning on doing with this video. Playing it at my gala? Because I’ll tell you, the security I—”

  “No. I have a better way.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have the guest list,” I say, breaking into a wide grin.

  Micky looks baffled. “How—”

  “It doesn’t matter how. What matters is I have all the names and contact info for your guests. I also have two copies of an email draft ready to send to every contact, with the video attached. Two people have access to these emails back in Vancouver and are waiting to send them, unless of course…”—I raise my eyebrow—“I tell them not to?”

  “Paul Hughes is the one who swindled me. I can’t believe you’d believe him over your own husband. Baby, listen to me…,” Micky says, his eyes growing warm and attentive.

  Wait. What’s going on?

  Why is he looking at me like that?

  Do I trust Paul, or do I trust Micky? Suddenly I feel confused.

  “Laney, this project in Saint Lucia was all a surprise.”

  What? What?

  “I did lose money, but I didn’t want to broadcast what happened. I’ve been working my ass off to get us back to where we were, and baby, after the gala on Saturday, I’m going to fly home. We can buy another house, bigger than before. Any house you want. We can be together.” His mouth stretches into a charming smile and he reaches forward to squeeze my hand.

  This is all wrong. This is all weird.

  The server presents our meals, and I pull my hand away and turn my attention to the fish on my plate. Micky knows I never have an appetite when I’m stressed, so I take my fork and—though I could just about puke right now—force myself to take a bite. Micky is talking, and I stare at him, trying to follow. Something about a first-class flight to New York on my way home to Vancouver.

  “Be pragmatic, baby. You could fly out tomorrow. Do some shopping. Would you like that?”

  I stare longingly into his eyes. This is my husband. But…something’s wrong. Something doesn’t add up.

  “The divorce!” I say, only remembering now. How could I forget something like that? “If this is all a surprise, how come you wanted a divorce?”

  Micky lifts a forkful of beef to his mouth and chews carefully. “This is amazing,” he says, with a lazy smile.

  “Hello? We’re talking about the divorce.”

  “Honey, I never wanted to divorce you. But, for a while it was looking like things were grim, and I figured you’d be better off without me.” He lowers his eyes to his plate and cuts another slice of beef.

  Still, this doesn’t add up. But it all sounds so good; I want to believe him so badly.

  But still.

  There’s something else that doesn’t sit well with me. Micky hasn’t once asked about his daughters. What kind of sociopath parent wouldn’t bother to ask how his own children are after not seeing them for four months?

  Oh! And another thing.

  “What about Faye?”

  Micky’s head snaps up, but after a beat, his features soften again and he shrugs. “What about her?”

  “You’re obviously a couple.”

  “Actually, no. Faye is working with me on this resort. She’s my business partner, that’s all. Anyway, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head over business affairs. Why don’t I have my staff pack you up, and you can be on the next first-class flight to New York. You can fly Billy there too to be with you.”

  “What about our kids?” I ask, shaking my head in disgust. “Who’s going to look after them?”

  Micky gives me a blank look. “You can fly them too.”

  “No. That’s ridiculous. Margo’s in school, but you haven’t cared to ask how that’s going. Nor did you bother being in touch for her birthday. Or to call the girls at Christmas.” I stab at my fish and shove a morsel into my mouth.

  “That’s it. I’ve heard enough!”

  Huh? Micky and I gape and look around. It sounded like…Elsa? The woman with the oversized hat has stood up and is marching over toward us.

  Oh, God! It is Elsa.

  What is she doing here?

  “Ma?” Micky asks, looking bewildered.

  “Don’t ‘Ma’ me.” Elsa grabs a nearby chair and drags it over to our table. She whips off the hat but not the blonde wig that resembles the hair of the lead singer from Twisted Sister. “The only partner that Faye woman is, is your partner in crime.”

  Both Micky and I raise our eyebrows, and I lean forward eagerly.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Ma, what are you talking about?” Micky asks, eyes flashing.

  “I said, don’t ‘Ma’ me,” Elsa snaps. She pulls off her oversized sunglasses, revealing tired-looking eyes, and shifts her attention to me. “I came to St. Lucia to hear it with my own ears and to find out what’s really going on. Michael,” she says, turning to Micky, “you said Lane was having an affair. I’ve come to realize this is simply a falsehood.

  “You, on the other hand, have most certainly been having an affair. And, I also heard your ludicrous story about losing the money. We both know that’s fabricated as well. So who’s the liar?”

  Elsa turns back to me, her face appearing to soften.

  I don’t know what’s more shocking, hearing the confirmation that my worst fears are indeed true, or having Elsa, the Ice Bitch herself, deliver the news. I think the Ice Bitch may have thawed, whereas Micky will never change.


  “Mother, what are you doing?” Micky hisses.

  “You heard Lane. She wants a fair settlement. And full custody. I’m here to see you follow through on this one.”

  “She can have the kids, for all I care. But I’m not giving her a dime. I earned every single goddamn dollar, and I don’t intend to piss it away.”

  My mouth drops open. “Wh—

  But Elsa has beaten me to it. She lifts one perfectly manicured hand and slaps it across Micky’s face so hard he reels.

  I gasp in shock and shoot a look around to see other guests staring and whispering. One guy has even taken out his cell phone to record us.

  I don’t believe this!

  I want to hug and squeeze Elsa.

  Micky remains stunned, gripping his face. “She doesn’t deserve my money. She did nothing to earn it,” he adds, I think more to himself than anyone. He eyes me with a disdainful look.

  He’s pitiful.

  “Did I not then deserve the money from your father?” Elsa asks. Micky’s parents split when he was young, and the settlement must have been amazing, because Elsa has never had to work.

  “That was different.”

  “It was not. It’s exactly the same. And your father wanted to provide for us. He had integrity. Something you’ve never had. There’s nowhere to run, Michael. If you do, consider yourself disowned. As for my grandchildren”—Elsa turns to me,—“I would like to get to know them.”

  Feeling amazed, I nod slowly. I think we could manage that, though I’m still trying to grasp what’s going down. “The girls would like that,” I manage to say.

  “Michael, let’s keep this out of the courts and out of the public eye. Settle up right now. What will you offer Lane and your daughters?”

  Micky looks pained, and not just from the slap. This is like taking candy from a child. “Ten million,” he mutters.

  But Elsa shakes her head. “That’s chicken feed, Michael, don’t waste my time.”

  Micky slumps into his seat. “Fifteen.”

  “No,” I say, before I bother stopping myself. Not that I would. This time Micky’s face grows darker, and Elsa turns to me with raised eyebrows—she actually looks impressed.

  “Twenty-five million,” he grunts.

  “Fifty million, plus full custody. And I don’t need alimony. In fact, I don’t want regular reminders of you anyway. Fifty million, and I’m out of your life, for good.”

  “That sounds fair,” Elsa, says with a nod. “Have your financial manager transfer the funds and your lawyers draft the papers.” Elsa’s like a bulldog; she reminds me of Margo in a way.

  I feel my anxiety melt away as I regard Micky, all defeated and rumpled in his chair, still reeling from the blow. How is it I ever gave him my heart?

  “I’ll be staying on the island until things are rectified. But we need to get this all ironed out before the gala,” I say. Micky doesn’t answer. I take that as a yes.

  “Good,” Elsa says, standing up. “I too will stay until you’ve come through on your word Michael. Remember, this is the right thing to do; it’s what your father has already done.” Elsa nods to me and gives me the slightest wink before turning and striding away, swinging her hat in her hand. I stand too and hesitate for a second. Micky doesn’t raise his eyes and doesn’t move. He just sits slumped in his seat, dejected.

  “Tell me one thing,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Why did you hire that actor to portray your client on our anniversary?”

  Micky’s eyes rise to meet mine. A cold shiver passes down my spine; it’s like looking at a shark.

  “Faye wanted to come,” is all he mumbles, before casting his eyes downward.

  I don’t bother replying. I’ve wasted enough of my breath on him. I’ve wasted part of a lifetime. Without a word, I collect my purse and make my way out of the restaurant. By the time I’ve reached the seventh floor, the tension that has gripped me for the past six months has melted away, and I’m swinging my bag.

  33

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking. We are beginning our descent into beautiful Vancouver. The current time is six forty-two p.m., and the weather is a mild eight degrees with light drizzles. We welcome you to Vancouver and thank you for flying with us this evening.”

  I lean back in my seat with relief. After six nights away from the girls and a grueling day of travel, I’ll soon be home.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Anxious to see the girls. It feels like forever.”

  Elsa nods and offers me a mint, which I accept. I pop the peppermint into my mouth, close my eyes, and imagine my reunion with Margo and Rory. I can’t wait to see their bright eyes, snuggle their little bodies close, and feel their soft hair against my cheeks.

  “Lane, there was a time when I didn’t think much of you. Sure, you were fine, but I actually felt you didn’t have your priorities straight… But now, well, I want to say that it takes real courage to go up against someone like Michael. I was wrong about you.”

  I shift in my seat to face her, and let her compliment seep in. “Well, I think I’ve changed over the course of the last while.”

  “I would say that’s an understatement.” Elsa raises her eyebrow and we both laugh.

  “Okay, I’ve changed a lot.”

  “Now, there’s something else I wanted to speak about.”

  I wait for her to continue, all the while wondering where she’s going with this.

  Elsa lowers her voice. “The wealth that you have, uh, recouped will be life-changing. It will give the children a tremendous opportunity for a better education. I highly recommend the York School for Girls. I could book a tour with the head mistress—”

  “Thanks, Elsa. Really. But I would need to speak with Margo first. I don’t want to impose too many changes all at once. And keep in mind she’s already had to switch schools this year. She’s actually pretty settled right now.”

  Elsa waves her hand as though that’s fine, and I sigh inwardly in relief. The last thing I need is Elsa swooping in and making demands.

  “Of course you all have your own individual lives to lead, but if I may make one recommendation?”

  “What’s that?” I ask, feeling apprehensive.

  “With wealth like this, you need a good financial adviser. With the proper investment portfolio you can secure your children’s future, as well as your own, while living off the interest of your investment.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, thinking of Liam. I feel a conflicting mix of yearning and emptiness when I think of Liam and what could have been. Sigh.

  “My adviser, Karen, is a single mother herself. She’s very focused on ensuring independence and security for her clients.”

  “Thanks, Elsa. That definitely sounds like a good person to meet with.”

  “Wonderful,” Elsa says, her eyes shining.

  I feel a swell of gratitude as we touch down in Vancouver and taxi on the runway.

  “How are you getting home?” Elsa asks.

  “Cab.”

  “I won’t hear of it. My driver will see you home safely.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “So, Lane, when is it convenient for me to see my granddaughters? After your father’s wedding next weekend?” she asks, her voice hopeful.

  “I have a better idea,” I say. I’m sure my dad won’t mind. “Why don’t you come to the wedding?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”

  “I won’t hear of it,” I say, echoing Elsa in a playful way.

  “Are you sure it won’t be an imposition?”

  “Of course not; it’s a family affair. And you’re family.”

  Elsa’s mouth widens into a full smile—and she’s radiant.

  It’s still surreal, sitting next to Elsa, knowing everything with Micky is over and finalized. My bank account boasts a balance I could have only dreamed of, the divorce papers are signed, and we have officially parted way
s. I realize I might never even see him again. And that’s okay.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” Margo gushes for about the tenth time since I’ve returned. I awoke to my first morning back in Vancouver, all snuggled between my girls. I don’t know who was more excited, Margo, Rory, or me. And another thing—Rory started walking on her own while I was away. I cannot believe she chose the week I was gone to start walking.

  Margo and I spend a good hour following Rory around the attic, taking pictures, calling her here or there, and just marveling at the new little person traipsing about. It’s adorable. I also realize with a pang that I didn’t really experience this with Margo when she first walked. It was more like smile, pat her head, and move on. How much precious time have I lost? Though I can’t dwell on this, what matters is making each day, each hour, and each minute count, from now on.

  “Let’s go to the beach!” I say, swooping Rory up into a big hug.

  “Mommy, you’re so silly. It’s all cold and rainy.”

  “Not to me it isn’t. Let’s see…” We wander over to the window and peer out. “It looks like a beautiful day for the beach,” I say, admiring the light breeze and the pitter-patter of raindrops. Margo gives me a funny look and then gazes back out the window.

  “You see, Margo, reality is only fifty percent of what is actually happening; the other half is how we see it.”

  “What does that mean?” Margo asks, her little face curious.

  “It means you can choose to look at things from different perspectives. You can choose happiness.”

  Margo shrugs and wanders off, having lost interest in me.

  “You understand, don’t you Rory?” I ask. She gazes up at me, squeals and toddles away, giggling, as I pretend to chase her.

  “I’ll have a half-sweet Caramel Macchiato and a half-sweet kid’s hot chocolate, please,” I say, giving my order at Starbucks. It’s these little treats, like Starbucks, that I’ve missed. Now, I don’t have to worry about money anymore; and it’s exhilarating.

  We receive our drinks and wander across the street and onto the promenade. Margo and I take turns pushing Rory’s stroller, and Rory keeps showing me the ‘out’ sign and making protesting noises. The rain has even let up and the sky is beginning to brighten, which is gratifying.