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VIV: See you 2nite
It had slipped my mind; I’d agreed to meet my sister, Vivienne, for drinks. She was my rock, even if she was off-the-wall crazy half the time. I had canceled on her last week and didn’t dare invite her wrath by canceling again.
ME: Might be late
VIV: Then drink fast to catch up
The FedEx envelope was from the devil himself. I’d tried once to tell my assistant to stop signing for these, but it had only worked for a week.Hehad arranged for a process server to wait outside my office and added the fee to my bill.
My hand trembled as I ripped open the package and a single envelope slid out. It was an innocuous white; the return address was the problem.Forrester, Forrester & Jenkins attorneys at law: my ex-husband's choice of divorce lawyers.
Maximilian Forrester was the face of the firm. His ugly mug appeared on late-night commercials on every local television station. I doubted there was anybody in Boston who hadn't heard of Max Forrester, the divorce lawyer who specialized in handling the man's side of the case.
Translation: when you were done fucking your wife, and you really wanted to fuck her over in the divorce, Max was your guy. The man had no moral compass and knew no limits. Calling him a human shark was an insult to sharks. I shook hands with him once, and it took two applications of hand sanitizer to remove the slime. Just his name was enough to make me want to retch.
I dreaded what the letter inside would say. An envelope like this never brought good news.
Samantha Tiffany knocked on my door once as she invited herself in the way she always did. She reached my desk in three strides.
“Friday’s investment meeting just got moved to tomorrow afternoon at two. I hope that’s not a problem,” she announced.
“Sure, not a problem.” It would mean less time to prepare, but handling meetings like this was my job.
Samantha and I had started Tiffany's Fine Chocolates together three years ago. Her name was on the packages, but we were equals. Amy's didn't sound as sophisticated as Tiffany's, and T&A Chocolates didn’t make the cut either.
Our specialty was organic, preservative-free, GMO-free, kosher confections for those who cared to spend a little more for the very best. She was a wizard in the kitchen we called our lab and concocted kick-ass chocolates with her bakery background. I handled the marketing side of the business.
Samantha noticed the envelope. “What’s in it? Do I need to get my earplugs?”
The last time I’d gotten one of these fucking envelopes I had screamed bloody murder. It had scared our receptionist, Lucy, so badly she almost called 9-1-1.
I plopped my ass down in my seat. “Don’t know, and right now I don’t care.”
“Maybe Matt remarried, and you don’t owe spousal support anymore.”
“That’s about as likely as me winning the Mega Millions drawing.” An actuary would disagree——it was even less likely than winning the lottery.
Matt Hudson, my worthless ex-husband, knew a good deal when he saw it and was too mean to let me off the hook easily. He would milk this for as long as he could. Hard work and Matt were not well acquainted with one another.
“If you want to leave early and get shit-faced, I’m up for it,” Samantha offered.
With all the work we had piled up, she had to be seriously worried about my sanity to suggest leaving early, but I had to meet Vivienne anyway.
I shook my head. “Thanks, Sam, but no. I need to work on this presentation.”
The evil-Sam grin overtook her face, which always meant something totally out there was coming. “We can make a little voodoo doll and stick pins in him.” She giggled.
The doll didn't sound as good as going out with her to get drunk; the fun wouldn’t last as long.
When I didn’t go for her suggestion, she retreated. “I’ll leave you to it then.” She stopped before shutting the door. “You know, if you want to get back at him, Gary down in shipping has some pretty inventive ways.”
The suggestion tempted me to laugh, but I didn't want to encourage her. “I don't even want to know how you know that.”
Samantha closed the door behind her.
Knowing Gary, I imagined he might have perfected the exploding package of dog shit I’d seen on the internet.
I took a deep breath. The funding meeting, which was now tomorrow afternoon, was important——too important to jeopardize by taking time to feel sorry for myself.
