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“What she said,” Wendy agrees, reaching for a deep-fried pickle. “Gabby, tell me everything about Nicky Z. Unless she’s a huge bitch, in which case I don’t want to know; I prefer to hold onto my illusions.”
I give her a surprised look. “I didn’t realize you were a fan.”
“When ‘Save Yourself’ came out, I had it on endless repeat. I’m a huge fan.”
She wasn’t the only one; I love that song. “Nicky is not a huge bitch,” I assure Wendy. “Or even a little bit of one. She’s really nice. You should drive down one of these days, and I’ll get you tickets to her show.”
“That’d be amazing.” She sits up in excitement, and then her face falls. “Assuming I can get away.”
“Work?” I ask sympathetically. Wendy works impossible hours in her quest to become a partner at her law firm.
“Yeah. Most of my clients are okay, but there’s this one couple…” She shakes her head. “Bitter divorce. She’s called the cops on him, alleging abuse. He’s accused her of starving the kids. Both of them want sole custody and will do anything to get it.”
She says custody, and it reminds me of Carter. Which then reminds me of the way he’d played with the Jacuzzi controls, directing streams of water at my oh-so-sensitive clit.
“I don’t get it,” Piper says, her voice snapping me back to reality. Just as well. “Sure, feelings run high in a divorce. But doesn’t everyone want what’s best for the children, at the end of the day?”
Wendy refills her glass of wine. We’ve been here for little over thirty minutes, and the first bottle is almost over. It’s going to be that kind of day. “It’s never that simple,” she says. “Yes, in the abstract, the vast majority of parents want to act in their children’s best interests. But it breaks down in the details. Last year, I had a client, a meat-and-potatoes rancher from Wyoming, who was getting divorced from her vegan wife. My client thought that depriving her son of a hamburger was abuse. The spouse thought eating meat was murder. Each one dug in. Things were already complicated because one of the moms was the biological parent, and she wanted sole custody.”
“What happened in the end? Who won?”
“There’s only one winner in an acrimonious custody battle,” she says wearily. “And that’s the lawyer. It’s the depressing part of my job.” She turns to Piper. “Your lease is expiring?”
“Soon,” Piper confirms gloomily. “It’s keeping me up at night.”
I help myself to a handful of chips. “Are we trading depressing work stories? Because my boss told me that they’re shutting down the Manhattan office. They want us to work from home.”
Wendy gives me a quizzical look. “From your tone, I take it that’s bad. Why?”
“I’m already sidelined at work.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I should have been promoted to Account Manager three years ago, but Francisco won’t hear of it. Maybe I’m a pessimist, but going remote is only going to make things worse.” It’s my turn to refill my glass. I drain the last of the bottle.
Piper, good friend that she is, takes the wine bottle to the recycling bin in the back and returns with a new, full one. “Still, it’s not for long, right? You’re going to start your own firm. You’ll only have to put up with their bullshit for what, six more months?”
The delicious, crisp, cold Chardonnay turns bitter in my mouth. My dreams had been so close to becoming reality. Things had almost been within my reach. And then I’d lost a hundred thousand dollars in one night of hubris, I had to beg my dad for a loan to pay Sammy, and I have no start-up capital left. I’m not in any position to strike out on my own. Not for another five years, at least. “No, I changed my mind. I’m going to stick it out.”
“Why?” Wendy frowns at me. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to say something about changing the company culture from the inside, Gabby. Shit like that only happens in the movies.”
“I just think I have more to learn before I’m ready to go off on my own.” I feel terrible lying to my friends, but I can’t tell them about my stupidity. They’d insist on helping me, and I would hate that. As it is, I feel like a complete shit for asking my parents for a loan. “Can we talk about something else? Work is too depressing a topic for a Monday night.”
“Sure thing.” Piper’s expression turns mischievous. “Gabby, tell Wendy who you’ve been hanging out with.”
Well, I did bring this upon myself. “Thank you, Piper,” I say dryly. “Remember the guys I had a threesome with? I ran into them in Atlantic City.”
“And?” Piper queries innocently.
“And we’re doing it,” I confess.
Wendy’s mouth has fallen open. “Whoa,” she says. “Define ‘doing it.’”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Wendy, do I need to tell you about the birds and the bees?”
She rolls her eyes. “How often, for how long, and are feelings involved or not?”
Trust Wendy to get to the heart of the matter. “As often as our schedules line up,” I reply. “For as long as I’m in Atlantic City. And no, no feelings.”
“Hang on,” she says. “Aren’t you in Atlantic City for six weeks?” She gives me a searching look. “Are you sure about the no-feelings thing? Is that really what you want?”
“It’s just sex, Wendy. What else could it be? There are two of them. Anything else is too complicated.”
