An Ex to Grind

by Jane Heller

  “What if I paid you to get her out of the relationship instead?” I wheedled.

  She took a few seconds to think about this. “Look, I love money more than anyone,” she said finally, “but even I won’t involve myself in something so crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy,” I protested. “Dan doesn’t love Leah. He loves me. I don’t want to hurt her, believe me, but you’d be doing her a favor by convincing her he’s the wrong guy for her. It would be a mission from God.”

  “Okay. Enough with the ‘mission from God’ business. It’s my slogan, not yours.” She was testy. She’d been expecting praise for her handiwork, not a plea to undo it. “Besides, how do you know Dan loves you? Because he’s been nice to you lately? Because he stays to drink your coffee? Because he acted macho when your eager-beaver neighbor dropped by?”

  “All of the above, plus one more thing: he never stopped loving me.”

  “Then why is he still depositing your checks every month?”

  “Because the justice system says he’s entitled to them.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Are you on drugs?”

  “No!” I really wished everybody would stop asking me that. “I’m still not wild about the alimony, but as soon as Dan starts his coaching job, he won’t want the payments. He certainly won’t need them if we’re back together.” I thought of the money I’d save once we were back together. One apartment instead of two. One set of utility bills instead of two. One everything instead of two. Heaven. “All you have to do is introduce Leah to one of your other male clients. If she’s such a prize, it shouldn’t be too hard to make another match for her.”

  She stared at me. “I won’t do it. I have my scruples.”

  I returned her stare. “And I could rat you out to the Better Business Bureau about your new division, Desiree Klein Heart Hunting for Exes. I was here the day Lynda Fox, the golfer, showed up for her consultation, remember?”

  “So? I could blab about the person who gave me the idea for the division. I don’t think a hoity-toity place like Pierce, Shelley and Steinberg would be thrilled to hear that one of their VPs tried to scam her ex out of what was legally his and convince other women to do the same.”

  “Good point.” I was never big on blackmail anyway. I too had my scruples. Well, I used to.

  She leaned across her desk, her six thousand necklaces clanging against one another. “Listen to me, would you? Let the clock run out. Let the alimony terminate. Pay me what you owe me. And then go after Dan if you want to.”

  “Oh, like he’ll even be speaking to me after he realizes what I did?”

  “What’s to realize?”

  “That I set him up with Leah. That I tricked him into living with her. That I hired people to spy on them. That I exploited his lack of attention to the details of our divorce agreement. That I set him up so he’d invalidate the alimony without knowing it. You think he’ll come rushing into my arms when he finds out I did all that?”

  “He’ll never find out. Yeah, he’ll kick himself for not reading the fine print of the agreement, but why would he blame you? Who’s gonna tell him you hustled him into losing his meal ticket and his girlfriend? Not me, that’s for sure.”

  “But what if Leah doesn’t want to leave? The longer she’s living with him, the tougher it’ll be to get her out of there.”

  “Hey, once the ninety days are up, I’m done with this.” She waved her pudgy dumpling hands in the air to make her point. “You want him back after that? You and Leah can duke it out on your own.”

  I considered Desiree’s advice and decided she was right. I would wait another month until I reclaimed Dan from Leah. Why not let the alimony terminate before moving in for the kill? It would be so much cleaner that way. He’d lose the support payments and I’d be all sweet and sympathetic about it and we’d live happily ever after. So Leah would get to stay there for another thirty days. So what? In the meantime, I’d lay the groundwork for my campaign to win him back. I would be subtle, careful not to scare him off. I would ease him into confessing his feelings for me, so it would be an effortless transition. By the time the thirty days were up, it would be clear to both of us that we’d needed the period apart but that we were better off together.

  The laying of the groundwork began with my descent into a psychological condition I called Manchausen by Proxy. It pains me even to admit it, but I faked my dog’s medical problems to get my man’s attention.

  On Tuesday, I called Dan and told him Buster didn’t seem quite right.

  “Leah said she thought he might have cataracts,” he reminded me.

  “I remember,” I said, “but it’s not his eyes. It’s his balance, his gait. He sort of tips over when he walks.”

  “Did you take him to the vet?” he asked.

  “I was going to, but I hate to be an alarmist. Could you possibly come over and check him out yourself? Maybe you’ll think I’m overreacting, but I just want to be sure.”

  “No problem. I’ll be right there.”

  Dan came over that night, took a look at Buster, pronounced him healthy as far as he could tell, and suggested we keep an eye on him.

  “Next week, when he’s with me, Leah can watch him closely too,” he said.

  Leah. Like I felt like hearing about her. “Wow. It’s almost seven-thirty,” I said before Dan started for the door. “Why don’t we go out and grab a bite? There’s the Hungarian place next door. You’ve never tried it.”

  He seemed surprised that I suggested dinner out together—that hadn’t happened since we’d separated—but pleasantly surprised. “I’d really like to, but Leah’s waiting for me. We’re going out with a couple of her friends.”

  Leah had friends? Good, I thought. She’ll need them to comfort her after Dan leaves her for me.

  “I understand,” I said breezily. “Maybe another time.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks for checking on Buster, Dan. Being a single parent can be tough at times like this.”

  “You’re doing a great job.” He patted me on the arm and took off.

  On Wednesday afternoon, I called him from work and said I thought Buster might be worse. He volunteered to meet me at my apartment around six.

  “See how his left leg sort of droops?” I said, lifting the dog’s left leg and letting it, well, droop.

  “Yeah, but he’s walking okay,” said Dan. “You know, he’s not getting any younger, Mel. Maybe it’s an age-related thing and he just can’t jump around the way he used to.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  And then the most amazing thing happened. Dan looked at his watch and said, “How about that dinner offer from last night? Is it still good?”

  My insides did cartwheels. “Of course.”

  “Leah’s got a seminar tonight, so why don’t we try the Hungarian place?”

  I was ecstatic, naturally, and was about to say yes when I remembered I’d made plans with Evan, who was probably slaving over his hot stove that very minute. There’s no way you can cancel when somebody offers to cook for you and your dog. What’s more, I was looking forward to seeing Evan as I always did and didn’t really want to cancel. Still, it was tough to put Dan off while I was in the throes of trying to win him back.

  “I can’t,” I said, not hiding my disappointment. “Buster and I are going over to Evan’s for dinner.”

  At first, he pretended not to know whom I meant. “The guy who was over here the other day?”

  “Yes, Dan.” Who was he kidding.

  “He seemed okay. Not a serial killer or anything.”

  I smiled. “He’s very nice. You’d like him.”

  “Do you like him, Mel?”

  There was no kidding in the question. His expression was serious. I half expected him to confess his feelings for me right then, given the way he was looking at me, but maybe he was just as confused as I’d been before I faced the truth. Maybe he feared my rejection and wasn’t ready to admit it to himself. Or maybe it was his sens
e of obligation to Leah that was keeping him from revealing what was in his heart. Either way, I knew that I was the one who mattered to him. He just needed a little more time to get comfortable with the idea.

  “I do like him,” I answered. “He’s a good friend.”

  “Then enjoy your evening,” he said and proceeded to do something he hadn’t done in over a year: he kissed me on the cheek. My skin was still tingling when I knocked on Evan’s door a few minutes later, Buster in tow.

  “I was worried you might stand me up,” he said when he ushered us into his apartment, which smelled fragrant with herbs and spices. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry. I got caught up with something and lost track of the time.”

  “That big project you’re always working on?”

  “Yes.”

  “I forgive you.” He reached for my hand and walked me over to the small canvas in the corner of the living room. “I couldn’t wait to show you this.”

  I peered at the oil painting on the easel. The scene was his favorite, the turquoise sea of the Bahamas, but unlike the stormy weather in Summer Squall, the sun was sparkling over calm surf and a cove with a sandy beach. And sticking his paw into the water was a pug, his tail curled tightly and high, just like Buster’s; his face the same clownish mix of wrinkles and luminous round eyes. The image was so real, so lifelike, that I could almost feel the water making contact with my dog’s fur.

  I glanced at Evan with amazement. “This is incredible,” I said. “You captured him perfectly. Whenever we go to the beach, he sticks his toe in the water, just the way you painted it, and then he runs like hell for dry land. He never goes in beyond that paw. Never!”

  He laughed. “It was fun. Something different for me. And I thought you’d like it.”

  “Are you kidding? I love it. Is it finished? Can I buy it?”

  “No, it’s not finished, and we’ll negotiate whether you can buy it. Right now, I’ve gotta concentrate on our dinner.”

  He took hold of my hand again and walked me into the kitchen. There was a large pot of water on the stove and another pot filled with an aromatic tomato sauce. “We’re having pasta tonight. Hope that works for you.”

  I told him it worked beautifully and asked if I could help and continued to rave about the painting of Buster as I guzzled the pinot noir I’d brought. I wasn’t the hardy drinker Weezie was, and even one glass of booze gave me more buzz than I could handle if I drank it fast, but I was anxious and jumpy that night, struggling to focus on my host instead of drifting back to thoughts of Dan. No matter how attractive and attentive Evan was, my mind was elsewhere, and I kept socking back the wine in a futile attempt to steady myself.

  “Everything okay?” he said later, after we’d finished dinner and were sitting on the sofa. He was sipping decaf. I was polishing off what was left of the pinot.

  “It was delicious,” I said, slurring. I wasn’t drunk, but my tongue was thick and my brain scrambled. Okay, so I was drunk.

  “I’m not talking about the food,” he said. “I’m talking about the mixed signals.”

  “Mixed signals?” It came out sounding like “missed” signals. Not too far off for a person whose mouth wasn’t operating properly.

  “Yeah. You told me you were in a snit about Dan and the alimony, yet there you two were on Monday morning, looking all chummy. What’s going on?”

  “Actually, we’re getting along much better lately,” I said.

  He moved closer and put his arm around the back of my shoulders. “How much better?”

  Evan was a perceptive person, at least where I was concerned. There was no point in being anything other than candid with him, I realized. He was the one I kept turning to when I needed help. Why not trust him with the truth? I had to talk to someone about it or I’d burst. Weezie had her own nightmare to deal with, so I didn’t want to burden her further. Why not bare my soul to my neighbor and friend? Why? Because when you’re drunk, you shouldn’t bare your soul to anybody except a bartender.

  “I like you, Evan,” I said. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Like me how?” He leaned in, as if he was about to kiss me. I pulled away.

  He nodded. “Yup. Mixed signals. You like me, but you’re still into Traffic Jam, is that it?”

  “I’m still into him,” I confessed. “When we split up, all I cared about was getting back at him. Now, all I care about is getting him back.”

  Evan withdrew his arm from around my shoulders, his smile fading. “Wow. Okay. I’m disappointed.” He paused, then moved away from me as if I had a contagious disease. “What changed?”

  “He changed, Evan. He has a job now.”

  “Is that what a man has to do to win your heart? Have a job?”

  “It helps. He also took a hard look at his life and went out and improved it. I respect that.”

  “So do I. But what about the alimony? It was the big sticking point for you.”

  “I won’t be paying it much longer. In a month or so, it’ll be a nonissue.”

  Evan looked confused. “What’s happening in a month?”

  I giggled. “You really wanna hear?” I should have shut my trap right then, but no. The wine had made me stupid.

  “Hear what?” he said.

  “Well, you know that project you keep asking me about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s almost over.”

  “I’m not following you. How would a financial project relate to your relationship with Dan?”

  More giggles. God, this is embarrassing to recount. “See, Dan and I have this cohabitation provision in our divorce agreement.”

  “Kaitlin and I put one of those in ours.”

  “Uh-oh. Better be careful.” I wagged my finger at him. “Maybe she’ll hire Desiree and you’ll be out of luck.”

  “Who? You’re not making sense.” He picked up the wine bottle, saw that it was empty, and rolled his eyes.

  “I am so making sense.” I hiccuped. “In our agreement, it says Dan can’t live with another woman for ninety days or else the alimony terminates. The project was to find him that woman. And I did it.”

  “You found him what woman?” He was totally baffled now.

  “Leah Purcell. She’s a vet and she’s really, really in love with Dan. She’s been living with him for sixty-two days! And I can prove it! I have my spies!” I kept punctuating each example of my treachery with an exclamation point, as if I expected Evan to pat me on the back for every single one, as if I deserved cheers instead of boos. (For the third time, I was drunk!)

  His expression darkened. “Did you actually introduce him to this woman?”

  “No, silly. I hired Desiree. She’s expensive, but she’s the best professional matchmaker in New York. She fixed up my friends Weezie and Nards, and they got married, although Nards is sleeping with the new doctor in his office, so it’s not going too well.”

  Evan got up from the sofa and stood in front of me, his hands on his hips. “Dan doesn’t remember about the cohabitation clause, does he?”

  “Nope.”

  “Leah doesn’t know anything about it either.”

  “Leah doesn’t know anything about anything. She’s too busy repainting my apartment.”

  “So he’s living happily with this woman and has no clue that it’ll mean the end of his support money?”

  “He’s not living happily with her. He loves me and I love him, and as soon as I tell him how I feel he’ll tell her to move out.”

  Evan just stared at me for several seconds, as if I had six heads. And who could blame him? I’d never been a cruel person, but what I was admitting to him was unconscionable.

  “You think I’m terrible,” I said before he could.

  “I think—” He stopped to collect himself. “I think that if what you’re doing to Dan is your way of showing love, I’m glad I found out now.”

  “Oh, Evan. Come on. Don’t be like that. It’s only natural to try to get out of payin
g alimony. Men have been dreaming up schemes like mine for years. I bet Kaitlin’s sitting at home right now, crossing her fingers that you’ll violate your agreement.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Kaitlin isn’t paying me a dime.”

  “She isn’t?”

  “No. I’m supporting myself.”

  “By selling your paintings?”

  “Why not? You keep saying how talented I am.”

  “You are. It’s just that—”

  “Just that what? Being an artist won’t make me rich? It paid for the meal you didn’t hesitate to eat.”

  “But, Evan, you need more than food money.”

  “How much do I need?” he demanded. “Or I guess the better question is: How much do you need? Ask yourself: How much money does it take to make you happy?”

  I didn’t answer. My dinner was coming back up my throat. I was dying to ask if he had any Pepcid in his medicine cabinet but thought better of it.

  “Look, I know you grew up poor,” he said. “I know your father didn’t work. I know how hard your life must have been and how much it distorted your reality. But I’ll ask again: How much money does it take to make you happy?”

  I shrugged. “Enough to feel secure. We all need a sense of security. Even you.”

  “Yeah, but mine is in here.” He tapped his hand on his chest. “Not in a fancy title and not in a cushy corner office, but right here. It may sound New Agey, but when you believe in yourself, the money flows to you, Melanie. You don’t have to scratch and claw for it. You don’t have to manipulate people to get it. Maybe someday you’ll learn that.”

  I sat there listening. I mean, I heard what he was saying. But it wasn’t getting through. I wasn’t letting it, and the wine didn’t help.

  Convinced that I was a lost cause, he called for Buster to come. “Time to go home, doggie.”

  “Wait, Evan,” I said, panicking. “You’re not throwing us out, are you? I value your opinion and I admire your convictions. I just—”

  “I’m throwing you out,” he said, helping me up from the sofa and sort of pushing me toward the door. “I have nothing against Buster.”