What's Not True

by Valerie Taylor

  Sure enough, Amelia was still doing her handiwork when he arrived home.

  “Amelia, where are you?”

  She greeted him in the kitchen with an ear-to-ear smile that stirred him below the belt.

  “Glad it’s you, not Karen again.”

  Mike walked to her, pulled her close enough to let her know how happy he was to see her, and kissed her slow and hard. The pressure of her breasts against him and the smell of her perfume reminded him of the last time they were together.

  “How far have you gotten?” he whispered, stroking her long dark hair.

  “Almost done. Why?”

  “Come with me, sweetheart.” Mike took Amelia’s hand and led her to the family room and the Pleasure Chair. History was about to repeat itself.

  “What about Karen?” She unzipped and slid his pants down and slung them on the couch.

  “She won’t be back for a while.” His breathing intensified. “I gave her my credit cards.” He chuckled as he returned Amelia’s favor.

  “I mean, if you’re going to marry her, should we be doing this?”

  “That never stopped you when I was married to Kassie.”

  “Actually, you still are.”

  “Oh, right. Then this shouldn’t be a problem for you, or me.”

  And it wasn’t.

  Amelia left the house at about four after straightening up the family room for the second time that day and after Mike wrote her a check for three times the normal cleaning charge.

  “Hope this isn’t for services rendered.” She waved the check and tucked it within her cleavage. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “I know you’re not. I’m just feeling generous today. And I missed you. Think of it as an anniversary gift.”

  Amelia kissed his cheek and held his hand. “Here’s Karen’s key. She asked me to lock up when I was done. Let her know I took care of everything.” Folding his fingers over the key, she winked and was on her way.

  Mike climbed the stairs two at a time. He felt better that day than he had since the transplant. As he showered, he realized he’d had sex three times in twenty-four hours. If his kidneys weren’t going to kill him, his sex life certainly would. What a way to go.

  Mike checked his watch. He had some time to kill before Karen got home and Charlie and Sarah arrived. They’d be lucky to get to the house by six if their plane was on time and Logan wasn’t insane. And then there was Friday night rush hour to battle.

  He patrolled the house, ensuring no evidence of his latest escapade with Amelia lingered. Kassie never had a clue. Now was not the time to slip up with Karen.

  Everything appeared in order, if order meant the way Kassie had liked it. Relatively little had changed since she’d moved out. Oh, there were minuscule changes, like the yellow towels Karen bought that reminded him of urine and the new blue sheets too. Nonetheless, the house decor was vintage Kassie. Each room appeared as if it had frozen in time, museum-like. Not a piece of furniture had been rearranged or removed. Bookcases throughout the house still shared their shelves with his favorite biographies and Kassie’s historical fiction and best-selling novels. Every nook and cranny in every room, including the bathrooms, contained reading material of one form or another. Mike was good with that, even if it irked Karen, who rarely picked up anything to read other than the latest supermarket tabloid. Maybe that would change after they were married and his habits rubbed off on her.

  Mike wandered into the room that had been Kassie’s office. He still thought of it as hers. Hard not to. Like Kassie, it was neat as a furniture showroom. Though uncluttered, framed pictures of various sizes of family and vacations were aligned like soldiers taking a stand along the credenza and sofa table. A lone eight-by-ten picture of Topher stood watchful guard on her desk. Was it his imagination or could he smell vanilla, her favorite bath gel? He soaked it in and rubbed a twinge in his chest. He parted the drapes, which Amelia must have closed, and pulled the door shut.

  Next stop, the dining room and the wine rack. Out of habit, he grabbed two bottles of pinot grigio. He removed Christmas gift tags that read “To Kassie, Love, Mike,” and put the bottles on ice. There was plenty more where those had come from.

  Mike picked up the checkbook he’d left on the kitchen counter and headed to his home office. He returned it to a small box and locked it in the bottom drawer of his desk. He sank into his big leather chair and flipped through the past week’s mail. Amelia had sorted the envelopes and magazines mostly by size, putting Playboy on top. A sticky note with a smiley emoji stared at him. He left it there.

  Without opening them, he set aside the gas and electric bills, water bill, trash collection bill, a Visa bill, MasterCard bill, AMEX bill, and Nordstrom bill. “You really should get e-bills,” Kassie’s voice echoed.

  He opened a letter from his lawyer. It simply confirmed completion of the work they’d done in conjunction with his accountant over the last month to finalize the divorce settlement and review his will. The divorce agreement with Kassie was pretty much locked down. With the court date set for September, they’d determined his will was in good standing until such time he might want to make any changes, perhaps after the divorce.

  As things stood, if something happened to him, Kassie would inherit a sizable amount of his wealth. It would have to stay that way. At least for now. That was okay with Mike. Though their marriage failed, he owed her a lot. Just because you can’t live with someone doesn’t mean you don’t care for them. Maybe he’d even leave her something in the revised will after the divorce, as a reminder he was a nice guy after all.

  At first, they both thought the divorce process would be complicated. There was a lot at stake. His business, the size of their combined and individual wealth, her inheritance from her mother, and the new tax laws. In one joint meeting they’d laughed when his lawyer said, “At least there’s no alimony or child support to fight over.” Mike figured Kassie went along with the joke only to be polite.

  And they didn’t have a prenuptial agreement. When Mike and Kassie married thirty years ago, prenups weren’t popular. Even if they were, they came into the marriage with little in the way of individual assets. All of their wealth came from working hard, building Ricci and Associates—now Ricci and Son—investing, and inheritance.

  Before negotiations got serious, his advisors warned him the business could be a bone of contention with Kassie. When he’d made Chris a partner, Mike gave him a small ten percent share, leaving ninety percent divided evenly between him and Kassie. If he were going to buy her out, the business would need to be valued and a cash payment made to her.

  Rather than get into a pissing match with the attorneys, one morning Mike invited Kassie to breakfast at Panera Bread. On his way he stopped at the florist and still arrived a few minutes early to snag a quiet booth away from incoming traffic. He placed a single yellow rose on the table and had her favorite English breakfast tea and a blueberry scone, warmed, on a plate with a knife and fork ready and waiting. Four brown paper napkins aligned the white kidney-shaped plate. The tea was double-cupped and sleeved just the way he knew she preferred.

  “Hope this is okay?”

  “Great. Thanks. What’s this all about?” She rubbed the tips of her fingers as she always did, anticipating the cup would be too hot to handle, then lifted it and nodded. “Perfect.”

  Mike talked about how the business was thriving and how Chris brought new energy to the office even though Bill was a little ill at ease with him.

  “Competition can be healthy,” Kassie said without mentioning Chris’s name.

  Mike complimented her, reflecting on how critical she’d been in making the firm a success over the years. He’d always admired her for maintaining her marketing career separate from his.

  “Thanks. I thought if we’d worked together, we’d have divorced much sooner than now.”

  Mike let that slide. Instead he moved on.

  “I’m wondering,” Mike said, “how to handle the value
of the business? Your forty-five percent could be a significant chunk of change for me to come up with or finance along with everything else.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that too. My attorney keeps telling me to get all that I’m entitled to. It’s been such a long haul. I have no desire to screw you, Mike. You must believe that.”

  “I do.” Mike resisted reaching across the table to touch her hand.

  “Where have I heard those words before?” They both laughed and shook their heads.

  “We’re both creative, Kassie. Surely, we could come up with an alternative that works for both of us and our attorneys. Don’t you think?”

  Kassie abruptly excused herself and got up. Mike could see her put her phone to her ear as she walked past the registers.

  Mike wasn’t sure who she was talking to or where this was headed, but he appreciated how cooperative she’d sounded so far. Bad Kassie was nowhere in sight.

  “Listen, Mike,” she said, sliding back into the bench seat. “Like I said, I have no appetite to make any of this any more difficult on you than it already is. You’ve had a helluva year. I get that. Looks like you’re doing okay?”

  “Yes, I am. Thanks. Go on.”

  “Here’s an idea. Obviously, if I received a huge lump sum from the business, I’d get screwed tax-wise. Why don’t we amortize my share over a period of years?”

  “Spread it out, you mean, over time? How many years?”

  “I have no clue. Why don’t we have those that do have a clue value the business and then give us several different scenarios?”

  “Good idea. See, that’s why I married you,” Mike said.

  “It’s important they know what our goal is.”

  “Which is?”

  “Minimization. The burden on you, and the tax impact on me. It could be a win-win, I think.”

  “And then there’s our retirement accounts?” Mike rubbed his hands together.

  “Isn’t that out of our hands? As I understand it, soon after the divorce we’ll need to retain a separate consultant to value and distribute those accounts. From the statements I saw last year, the size of those accounts is pretty equal. There are laws and formulas. It is what it is.”

  They’d finished their meetup by talking about Topher and how Kassie was thinking about going to Venice with Annie in July.

  “I need to get going.” Kassie moved to leave.

  “This is for you,” Mike said, sliding the rose toward her. “Still friends, right?”

  “Ouch.” A thorn pricked Kassie’s finger as she picked it up.

  “You okay?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” Kassie said, sucking the slight cut. “You doing okay?”

  He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Yup. And Karen’s fine.”

  She stepped back, her neck and head rising like ET. “Really? I don’t recall asking.”

  Mike shook his head and touched her arm, reminding himself that Bad Kassie was never more than a heartbeat away.

  The doorbell and a knocking woke Mike. It was 6:23 according to the digital clock on his desk. He gathered up the mail and shoved it in a drawer and shuffled to the front door.

  “Hey there, you two. Come on in.”

  Charlie crossed the threshold past Mike as if he owned the place, leaving Sarah and their bags on the front porch.

  “Let me help you with that,” Mike said, picking up the largest gray roller bag and guiding Sarah into the entryway.

  After hellos and how are yous were exchanged, Mike rolled the biggest bag in front of Charlie and directed the Gaineses to their upstairs bedroom in case they wanted to get settled and freshen up. Where the hell is Karen?

  “Where’s the lady of the house?” Charlie said.

  “Charlie, you know Karen and Mike aren’t married yet. Technically, Kassie’s still the lady of this house, am I right, Mike?” Sarah piped in.

  “Yes, she is. Legally. For a few more months anyway,” Mike murmured as he showed them their room and the adjoining bath, hoping to change the subject.

  “Once you and Karen are married, I’m sure you’ll change all that and make a proper woman of her. You’ll make her part owner of Ricci and Son too, right? How about that? You could change the name again to Ricci and Family.” Charlie laughed.

  Neither Mike nor Sarah shared his joke.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Excuse me.” Mike left his houseguests to unpack. He pulled back the white lace curtains covering the narrow window next to the front door. He didn’t recognize the redheaded woman whose back faced him and hoped she wasn’t trying to sell him something he neither needed nor wanted.

  “What took you so long? Charlie and Sarah should be here soon.” Karen spun around and sped past him.

  “Uh, they’re here already. Where have you been? What’s with the red hair?”

  “You like it?” Karen primped in front of the small blue-framed antique mirror in the hallway.

  “Why’d you ring the doorbell?”

  “I had to give Amelia my key. Speaking of, how well do you know that broad?” Karen closed in on Mike.

  “Later, Karen, okay?”

  “Oh my God, thought I heard your voice. Look at you!” Charlie descended the stairs two at a time and spun Karen around. “Hey, Sarah, doesn’t Karen look fabulous?” Charlie said, never taking his eyes off her.

  Leaving Karen and Charlie behind, Mike touched Sarah’s arm and led her to the family room. “How about a drink?”

  4

  Let the Games Begin

  Charlie grabbed Karen’s ass, curled a strand of red hair around his index finger, and whispered in her ear. “How about a kiss?”

  “Not here, not now.” Karen giggled, cupped Charlie’s crotch, then pushed him away. “So, you are glad to see me.”

  “I am. What’s with the new ’do?”

  “Thought I’d shake things up a bit. I’m tired of being compared to Kassie. I’m finally getting Mike on my own terms. I want all that he is all to myself.” Karen nudged Charlie toward the family room. “I’ll be there in a second. Behave.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  Karen retrieved from the refrigerator a cheese plate she’d arranged earlier that morning and threw two different types of crackers around the periphery. She grabbed a cheese knife and opened a drawer, looking for cocktail napkins. Staring back at her were three unopened packages of purple napkins with K and M embossed in silver. Biting her lower lip, she considered using them—after all she was the K of the household now—but then thought twice, tossing them in the recycling bin. She opted for plain yellow napkins that would have to do until they were officially K and M.

  “Aren’t you the brave one?” Sarah said, helping herself to a slice of brie from the plate Karen offered to her.

  “Regarding?”

  “Your hair. I’ve thought about going red, but I hear it’s not easy going back if you don’t like it.”

  “I like it,” Charlie chimed in. “Don’t you, Mike?”

  “Karen looked fine just the way she was.”

  “Oh, honey, that was the old me. Wait till I introduce you to the new me. Later.” Karen winked at Mike, then smiled at Charlie.

  “It’s after seven. Bill and Nancy should be here soon. You guys hungry? Thought we’d order in,” Mike said.

  The three couples gathered around the dining room table, taking their assigned seats. Boy-girl, boy-girl. Mike at the head, Nancy to his left, then Charlie. Karen at the other end, Bill to her left, then Sarah. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a reenactment of The Big Chill, without the funeral. Wait a minute? Was that Marvin Gaye playing in the background?

  Though it may seem otherwise, Karen wanted dinner to be a success, or more precisely, needed it to be. By hook or by crook, she had to build a relationship with Bill, Mike’s best friend and now her coworker, and to chink away at any connection his wife, Nancy, had with Kassie.

  When Charlie called and said he and Sarah had to be
in Boston for client meetings, Karen jumped at the chance to host them. If she could reestablish the friendship she and Sarah had when they were in college, Karen believed Chris would come around and accept her as his mother sooner rather than later.

  Karen concocted the seating arrangement without consulting Mike. She figured they’d agree it was a great way to stimulate conversation. They were all adults, right? But she had an ulterior motive, and it worked. Right on cue, Charlie curled his ankle around hers. She didn’t pull away, relishing the tingling sensation running from her toes all the way up her leg to her nether region.

  Dinner fare was anything but your typical takeout meal. She’d seen a menu from Tryst in Arlington in the same drawer she’d found the monogrammed napkins, and though it smacked of Kassie, it would save her from having to research caterers. Boring! As she was still new to the area, Tryst would have to do. Karen ordered prime rib tips and scallops, mashed and sweet potatoes, green beans and broccoli, and an enormous garden salad with three different salad dressings. She wanted something for everyone.

  “This is fabulous, Karen,” Nancy said as Mike filled her wine glass with pinot grigio. “Thank you for remembering I don’t eat red meat.”

  “Wish I could say I cooked it all myself, but I’m a working girl, you know.”

  “You left early today. You had all the time in the world to prepare this meal,” Bill said.

  “Not necessarily. Didn’t you notice her hair?” Sarah jumped in.

  Is she really trying to defend me for once? Karen’s eyes widened in hope and with doubt.

  “A haircut and dye job doesn’t take all afternoon, does it?” Bill said.

  “You don’t like it?” Karen tilted her head, running her fingers through the back of her hair.

  “Down, you two. Let’s leave the sparring at the office.” Mike picked up his butter knife and tapped his water glass. “I’d like to make a toast. To old friends and older friends.” He lifted his wine glass first to Bill and Nancy and then Charlie and Sarah. “May we all live long and healthy lives in peace and harmony.”