Playing By The Rules

“Maybe tonight.”

“Ah. There’s the floor that makes the feet feel cold.”

“I’m not hung up and I don’t have cold feet.”

“Mandy, you’re jumping around like a ballerina here. Whose idea was this anyway—yours or Sam’s?”

I thought about it as we collected our coffee. “His.”

“That makes it even better.”

We sat at a table and reached for the sugar canister at the same time. We both took our coffee black except when we were at the courthouse. The brew there is abysmal. I got to the little packets first and plucked out a whole handful of them. We divided them up, four apiece.

“I have another ulterior motive,” I said suddenly. “I’m thinking maybe it will get back to Mill that I’m seeing someone.”

Grace very rarely made a move that wasn’t smooth, but this almost made her snort her first sip of coffee out her nose. “What does Mill have to do with it?” she asked.

“He’s suing me for custody of Chloe.”

She went very still. “Bastard.”

“It’s the election.”

“Of course it’s the election. That’s what makes him a bastard.”

I felt the tension continue to uncoil and relax inside me. That’s the thing about friends. The good ones, the real ones, don’t just talk you down when you’re nervous about something and they don’t just reserve comment about why you need four sugars in your coffee and what that might do to your health. Real friends are always on your side. If you take it into your head to shoot someone, a real friend will help you hide the body before she asks you why you did it.

“What are you going to do?” Grace asked me now.

“Tear him limb from limb and use him for fertilizer.”

“You should ask Sam to represent you,” she said. “He’s got that amazing winning percentage.”

A lot of it had come at my expense, too. “He offered,” I said. “I think if Judge Larson is going to hear this, I’ll probably take him up on it.” The complexion of things had changed since we had talked about it last night and I had declined his offer. We had an arrangement now and I wanted Mill to know about it. And Larson would probably give Sam the moon and the stars if he batted those blue eyes at her just the right way.

Grace finally drained her coffee—courageous soul that she is—and stood. “I need to get back upstairs. The criminal element calls. If tonight turns out to be the big night for you two, would you like Jenny to take Chloe off your hands?”

Some people might have thought it odd that she would offer up her roommate’s services that way. I was used to it by now. “I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t use Mrs. Casamento,” she warned. “She’d be knocking on your door on an hourly basis, and that would be very tough on the libido.”

“Sam’s or mine?” I asked, standing as well.

“Sam’s. Yours is so primed, a scud missile couldn’t take it out.”

I didn’t even try to argue that one. I had been ignoring the little shock waves he created inside me for quite some time now. So I just nodded again. My neck was starting to hurt from all the up-and-down jerks I’d given it in the past twenty minutes or so, but I knew I could probably count a good neck rub in my immediate future.

We went back to the elevator bay, and Grace rode up while I headed down. When I hit the lobby again, I rooted my cell phone out of my briefcase. I called the office and told my secretary that something personal had come up so I wouldn’t be back today. It wasn’t really a lie. This was definitely personal with a capital P.

Wine had gotten me into this, I decided, and wine would get me through it. I stopped at a liquor store on my way home and hit the front door of my building at the precise moment a cab pulled up to the curb, toting Chloe and three other classmates whose mothers I’d made kiddie-travel arrangements with for purposes of school. It was my week to pay. Mrs. Casamento was waiting at the curb to collect Chloe for me and I took back the money I’d given her for the taxi.

“I’m home early today,” I explained. Then Chloe bulleted out of the taxi and threw herself into my arms. I caught her neatly and didn’t even come close to bobbling the bottle of Cabernet I’d bought.

“How come, Mom? This is cool!” Chloe shouted. I felt a spasm of guilt that she was so glad to see me. I wasn’t around after school nearly enough.

“Hard to make a living if you don’t work normal hours,” Sylvie Casamento judged.

“I don’t get paid by the hour,” I assured her. “It’s okay.”

“Thing is, I count on this money every afternoon,” she complained.