Dan was late bringing Buster back the Monday morning after New Year’s. I was expecting him at eight-thirty. It was eight-forty-five, and there was no sign of him. I called him at the apartment. No answer. I called him on his cell phone. No answer there. I even called him at the dreaded Ernie’s, figuring they’d been out together the night before and might be sleeping it off at his place, but no answer there either.
Straining to keep the hysteria out of my voice, I called Steffi, asking her to make my apologies to Jed Ornbacher, whom I was supposed to meet in our conference room at nine-thirty so I could introduce him to our department heads, all of whom would be in attendance, as would Bernie. Even if Dan breezed in right that very second, I might not make it to the office with enough breathing space. I liked to prepare before meetings. That’s what top guns do.
“In case I don’t get there in time, just say I’m running a little behind schedule, due to a family emergency,” I instructed her. She seemed surprised, and why not? As I’ve indicated, I was never late. But now Dan was causing me to be late. I hoped he had a good reason.
At five after nine—I was having a flat-out panic attack by then—Dan finally put in an appearance at my apartment. Since the Heartbreak Hotel did not have a doorman, he simply materialized at my door.
“Where in the world have you been?” I demanded, fanning my sweaty face with the newspaper. Actually, my whole body was sweaty. I was sure the black silk blouse underneath my wool tweed suit jacket had pit stains. And I’d taken such pains getting dressed that morning. I’d wanted to look smart, neat, and professional for the meeting.
“Should I stand here while you read me the riot act or would you rather say hello to your dog?”
God, he made me nuts. And not just because he’d shown up late. Because he’d shown up late without looking the least bit repentant. In fact, he was looking resplendent. Along with the creamy new white cashmere sweater he wore with his jeans, he had a shiny new watch on his wrist that was the size of my head.
But I would not, could not, let him goad me. Not again.
I bent down and folded Buster into my arms. “Here’s my sweetie boy,” I said as he licked me. “Such a sweetie boy. Mommy missed you so much.” I glanced up at my ex. “Was he okay in Puerto Rico?”
“He was great. I was the one who took the hit.”
I studied his face. No bruises that I could detect. No swelling. “What hit?”
“In the casino. A bunch of us stunk it up at the blackjack table.”
“You were gambling?” I said, feeling my fury bubble back up. I know, I know. I needed to stay cool and calm, but gambling? Come on.
“That’s what people generally do in a casino, yeah,” he said. “I was winning there for a while, but then my luck went down the toilet.”
What was he thinking? He wasn’t in a position to gamble. He wasn’t in a position to take an expensive trip. He was in a position to stay home and redo his résumé!
As I stared at him with a mix of disdain and disbelief, there was an instant when I wished he were still the unspoiled, idealistic young man I’d married instead of this…this…child. But I quickly came to my senses and reminded myself that this was the same man who’d allowed himself to self-destruct in front of a national television audience; the man who was convinced that coaches were losers; the man who was draining my bank account.
“Just curious,” I said. “How much did you lose at the blackjack table?”
“Too much.”
“But you were still able to afford a new watch?”
“Uh-uh-uh,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Not Melanie’s business anymore.”
“Just tell me this, Dan: does the watch keep good time?”
“Perfect time. It’s a Rolex.”
“Then why were you late this morning? You were supposed to be here at eight-thirty.” Of course I shouldn’t have stayed and nagged him. I should have dashed out of there and rushed to my meeting as soon as he’d dropped off Buster, but, as usual, he’d managed to suck me in. There was something about him that always sucked me in.
“I got a slow start,” he said.
“Lame excuse,” I said.
“Fine. I was coming all the way from Ninety-second and York, not from my place. I spent the night at a lady friend’s. She worked the flight back from San Juan, we hit it off, and she invited me home with her.”
My brain exploded. He’d kept me waiting because he was banging the flight attendant he’d picked up on the way back from Puerto Rico? I was turning over half of my salary every month to a person who actually banged flight attendants?
“What? Are you jealous?” he said, smirking at me.
“Oh, please. Did it ever occur to you that it might be healthier for Buster if he didn’t have to wake up in strange settings all the time? Even a steady girlfriend would be preferable to your one-nighters.”
You know what? I wasn’t thinking about Desiree Klein at that moment, I swear. I really did have our dog’s well-being at heart.
“A steady girlfriend, huh?” he said, full of skepticism.
“So Buster would be able to sleep in the same bed for a couple of nights in a row.”
He found this hilarious. “I know you want out of the alimony,” he said between guffaws, “but I’m not about to do you a favor by getting married again. I’m on top of that little loophole, so nice try.”
Getting married again? He thought that was the loophole? Had he forgotten all about the cohabitation clause?
“Okay, I do want out of the alimony,” I said, fishing. “But you’re right, Dan; that won’t happen unless you take another walk down the aisle.” Maybe he really didn’t remember what was in our agreement. I was suddenly transfixed by this possibility.
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me, because I’m done with marriage,” he said.
Well, how about that. The ninety-days thing had slipped his mind. I should have known. He’d never paid attention to the fine print of his football contracts, so why should he pay attention to the fine print of his divorce papers? My God, this was incredible news! There was a chance, remote though it was, that I could be off the hook for the alimony forever! No more worries about money. No more living in a fleabag. No more distractions at work.
Of course, the chance of his cohabitating with a woman for ninety days would be a lot less remote if I hired Desiree to find her for him.
No. I couldn’t do something as down and dirty as that. Not unless I had no choice.
“Look, I’ve really got to get going,” I said. “Could you please leave, so I can lock up?”
“You’re the one who seems to want to talk, darlin’.”
He didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there with this annoying grin on his face, flustering me.
“Dan. I asked you to leave. I have an important meeting this morning. I’m late enough as it is.”
He cocked his head at me. “Do you ever take a day off for no reason? Just to have fun?”
“You’re having enough fun for both of us,” I said. “Now go!”
I literally started shooing him out of the apartment with my hands, like some woman in an old western movie shooing varmints off her land.
Finally taking the hint, he left, but I was so frazzled by then that as I turned to grab my briefcase, my right hand clipped the side of the “I 
the Giants” coffee mug that was resting on the little table near the door. The mug was three-quarters full, and I reached for it in midair, hoping to catch it before it crashed and broke, spilling the coffee all over the floor. What I succeeded in doing was to redirect its path; the mug did break as it fell to the ground, but the coffee splashed onto my black silk blouse before it did. And I was worried about sweat stains.
“I don’t believe this!” I wailed, gazing down at myself as Buster snorted and sniffed and wondered what all the ruckus was about. I was soaked with Folger’s Instant. Yes, Instant. I wasn’t a fan of spending time in the kitchen and that included learning how to operate some high-tech brewing contraption. Wasn’t making coffee Starbucks’s job anyway?
As for the mug, I cursed myself for having saved it. I’d thrown out the rest of my Giants memorabilia when I moved and couldn’t imagine why I’d hung on to a stupid cup. But now it was in pieces, just like my sanity.
Frantic that I would miss the meeting entirely, I raced into my closet, found another suit to wear, changed clothes, blew Buster a kiss, and flew out of the Heartbreak Hotel.
Everyone was already in the conference room when I got to the office. The door was closed, but the room was decorated with glass block panels, so I was able to see inside. The four department heads were all accounted for; Bernie was there, nibbling on one of his fingernails as if it were a chicken wing; Steffi was sitting in the chair that was meant for me, covering for me, bless her heart; and Jed was laughing and coughing and winking lasciviously at Steffi.
I nearly died as I watched them. Where were my priorities? Why hadn’t I left my apartment the second Dan had shown up with Buster? He was the one who was always late, not me. Where was my head? Up my ass, apparently.
I paced back and forth outside the door, trying to decide if I should go in and face the music or let the meeting proceed without me. I had to at least put in an appearance, I decided. I couldn’t just slink away and pretend they weren’t all wondering where I was.
I gulped some air, let it out, and opened the door. Everybody turned.
“Hi. Hi. So sorry,” I said, sweeping into the room and walking directly over to Jed. “Family emergency. Couldn’t be helped. Please forgive me.”
He cupped his ear. “Say it again?”
“I had a family emergency! Please forgive me!” I shouted, feeling like a fool and a fraud.
While Bernie shot me a less-than-thrilled look—he knew there was no family emergency because he also knew I had no family—I debated whether I should have just shown up wearing the coffee-stained blouse instead of changing clothes. The blouse would have been easier to explain.
“Of course I forgive you,” Jed bellowed at me, much to everybody’s relief. “I’m a Christian.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, figuring it wasn’t the best time to tell him I was half-Jewish.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair, Melanie?” Bernie suggested from between pursed lips. His expression made it clear that he was less forgiving. “We’re almost finished here, but you might as well listen in.”
“My pleasure,” I said as I sat between him and Steffi, to whom I mouthed a silent thank-you.
When the meeting was over and everyone had left, I took Bernie aside and apologized profusely for being late.
“The divorce is getting off to a bumpy start,” I told him. Well, why not be honest. Yes, he’d fired Roberta Chapman for losing it after her divorce. But I wanted to prove to him that I was dealing with my problems, not flipping out about them the way she did.
“You and Dan have been apart for over a year,” he said, scratching his red goatee. “Shouldn’t you have adjusted to the separation by now?”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “But it’s not the separation that needs adjusting to. It’s that I’m paying Dan spousal support and it’s causing me a lot of aggravation.”
He nodded as if he understood, even though he was single and had never paid an ex-spouse anything. “What are you doing about the situation?”
“Doing?” I asked.
“I’m behind you, Mel. You know that. You’re important to this company, and one missed meeting isn’t the end of the world. But…”
“But what?” I thought of Roberta Chapman again and how quickly she’d fallen out of favor with Bernie. Despite his words of assurance, I felt a sudden shudder of fear.
“If the spousal support is creating a distraction, then you’d better get yourself some professional help,” said my boss.
So. In the end, I was only following orders by calling Desiree to assist me. You can see that, can’t you?