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13
I spent exactly thirty minutes at the conference Saturday afternoon, grabbing up pamphlets and free swag to take back to Genesis like a mad woman before joining a group of attendees, some of which I was familiar with from the conference circuit, as they ventured off into the city to shop. I didn’t really feel like shopping, but I also didn’t feel like sitting through any of those boring presentations. So I climbed into the Uber SUV with three other women and ended up at Stanton’s Department Store where we met up with five or six other ladies from the conference. I quickly located the plus section, found a blouse I liked, and decided to check out the cosmetics counter. Tested the perfumes, and had decided to go ahead and buy the blouse when a scent slammed into my nose, causing me to swoon a little—warm, earthy, woody, familiar. I whipped my body around, expecting to see Lorenzo somewhere in close proximity, but instead, an older lady with gorgeous walnut-colored skin stood a few feet away from me at the men’s cologne counter flapping one of those little white sample cards under her nose.
That scent lassoed me, pulling me to her. “Excuse me, what cologne is that?”
She looked up at me and smiled. “It’s the new one from Prada. I’m thinking of getting it for my husband.”
My eyes rested on the black bottle sitting on the glass-topped counter. I pointed to it, asked, “This one?”
She nodded. I lifted it and removed the cap, holding it under my nose and smiling as I closed my eyes and let my mind form an image of Lorenzo in all white, kneeling before me in the kitchen, his head between my—
“It’s a gorgeous scent, right?”
I opened my eyes to find a clerk smiling at me.
“Yes!” the older lady agreed. “I’ll take it.”
“One-point-seven ounces or three-point-four?”
“Oh, I’ll just take the smaller one.”
About fifteen minutes later, I met my shopping mates outside the store, a bag whose contents included the blouse and a large bottle of the Prada cologne in hand, and made the suggestion that we head to the book store just down the street next. Everyone agreed, with most of them mentioning some bestseller they wanted to get.
I was looking for a bestseller, too, finding not one but three that I happily purchased. After grabbing a bite to eat together at a local restaurant, we all headed back to the convention where I made myself sit through a panel discussion which turned out to be a heated debate regarding being a midwife versus being a doula.
Later, back in my hotel room, I sprayed the cologne in the air and sank into the bed with a bag of my favorite potato chips and my copy of Bulletproof 2: The Queenpin. This was the story of Monty’s daughter, Montine, who was born to his girlfriend at the end of book one. Set fifteen years later, it chronicled Montine’s rise to power after her father is murdered by a rival drug dealer. I was halfway through the book when I drifted off to sleep.
*****
“What?! You want what?!”
Up until that point, Danielle and Robert’s lawyer, Parker something or other, had done all the talking, but after Parker laid out Robert’s requests, no, his ridiculous, insulting demands, I found it impossible to hold my tongue. This total and complete asshole was asking for the house, which his ass could have since all it held for me was bad memories of a bad marriage, and his car. I couldn’t give half a damn about that either. But then his lawyer fixed his pink little mouth to say Robert wanted spousal support. Spousal support! What. The. Hell? Our salaries were comparable, and I said so.
“Yes, but due to the stress he’s endured from you abandoning the marriage, Mr. Mattison has had to take a leave of absence. So he’s unable to make the commissions that usually round out his income.”
“Huh?” I said. Was this man insane? “I left because you cheated on me repeatedly and made a damn baby with another woman!”
Robert eyed me and then leaned in and whispered something to Parker as Danielle rested her hand on my wrist in an attempt to calm me. It might’ve worked had Parker not added, “The baby is part of why Mr. Mattison finds himself in financial distress. He is having to pay child support, handle the mortgage and household bills alone. It’s been overwhelming for him.”
“Move! Sell the house! Learn to keep your dick in your pants!” I shrieked.
“You’re the reason I made that baby. If you’d only been there for me, I wouldn’t have gone looking for affection outside our marriage…you should be paying the child support, not me!” Robert screamed.
“There for you? All I did was sit my dumb ass up in that house night after night and wait for you! And as far as me paying child support? You must have lost your fucking mind!”
Robert shook his head. “There you go with the abuse again. Yelling at me. Cursing at me. I don’t have to sit here and take this. Not anymore, Renee!” He was trying to sound all wounded and fragile, but was giving a horribly poor performance.
“Abuse? What the hell are you trying to pull up in here?! I have never been anything but a weak fool for you, and you know it!”
He flinched and shook his head. “What’s next, Renee? You gonna hit me again? Well, you won’t get away with it this time! There are witnesses!”
“Hit you?! You’re the one who put his hands on my sister! I knew I should’ve let her tell the police, but my dumb ass protected you as always. Always thinking about you! Well, that’s over, you lying asshole! And I tell you what, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I pay you spousal support!”
He shrugged. “Fine. Then I guess we’re going to court.”
“We sure as hell are!”
I went to work after the meeting despite the fact that I was so angry I could’ve wrestled a damn tiger. Entering the waiting area, I was instantly hit with his scent, which seemed to fill the huge space. A strange sense of relief washed over me as I thought to myself that this man just seemed to know when I needed him. Sure, I’d told him we couldn’t be in contact with each other anymore, but I’d broken that rule when I drunk-dialed him, and besides, I needed him to contact me, to pursue me, to ignore my request. So there was a smile on my face when I approached him in the waiting area.
