Chapter 13

 

 

 

Craig wasn’t able to fall asleep until late that night at the hotel. He wondered what Monique and his daughter were doing. He tried calling his wife, but she didn’t answer. On the following day, he started early to California. Arriving at his Beverley Hills villa, its beauty left him speechless. There was a big and spacious palm garden. He climbed the long winding stairs and had the feeling he was in a fairytale. His wife also seemed changed somehow. When he had gone home before, she always kissed him and asked how his day had been. Now, she only greeted him apathetically and then went out. She said she was going to play poker with some girlfriends.

Monique had never mentioned to him that she played poker. He didn’t object and accepted her announcement and spent the evening alone with his daughter. When Monique finally got home, Craig was still awake in bed, but she didn’t come to him. Apparently, she didn’t want to wake him up and so she had decided to sleep in the living room.

The next morning, he got up for work as usual at seven thirty. He expected his wife to be preparing breakfast, but instead found some woman cleaning in the kitchen.

“Excuse me, who are you?” he asked hesitantly.

The woman laughed.

“What kind of a question is that? The maid, Mr. Bloomingdale! Don’t you remember?”

“I guess not,” he muttered. Craig began to busy himself around the house. For the first time in many years, he didn’t know what to do. He checked his laptop and smartphone for any messages by Cisco Systems but, as Harry had told him, he’d never worked for them. He did find, however, some reports and contracts with Evernote, Twitter, and all the other companies in which he was an angel investor. He read through the whole correspondence and didn’t realize it was already ten o’clock. Suddenly his computer played a triumphant melody, and he saw a message appear on the screen: “11 o’clock – golf with Michael.” Craig turned it off and exclaimed, “God, what kind of music is that?”

“Hey, what was that?” Monique asked, still sleepy. She had just gotten up.

“Oh, you’ve woken up.” He went and hugged her. “What’s the matter? Why did you sleep so much?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter with you?” She immediately freed herself from his hug. “What are you doing?”

He laughed.

“What do you mean? Can’t I hug my wife?”

She gave him an ironic look.

“Craig, we’re getting divorced! Are you suffering from amnesia or what? Anyway, Lauren is preparing the divorce papers, and I hope everything will be over in a few weeks.”

Craig stared at her, flabbergasted. “Divorce?” he thought. “Papers… in a few weeks? What is all this supposed to mean?”

He wanted to object, or at least say something, but he felt a lump in his throat and had the feeling he was suffocating. At that moment, the triumphant melody was played again.

“For Christ’s sake, stop this noise, Craig!” Monique screamed from the corridor.

He went and violently hurled the laptop to the ground. To his utmost surprise, however, the music was still playing and the message “11 o’clock – golf with Michael” was still floating on the screen.

“Please, shut up!” Craig screamed.

This was undoubtedly the most nightmarish day of his life.