Tim tried to reassure him. “Don’t get discouraged. We’ll go for a variance of your first support order.”
“Remember—I told you I tried that already?” Garth couldn’t believe he had to, once again, explain this to his own lawyer. “The judge refused and told me: ‘Mr. Hodgson, you have only been out of work for a short period of time. I don’t feel your situation has changed sufficiently to warrant the granting of a variance.’ All that stinkin’ judge had to do was just be fair and give me a reduction. Then, I wouldn’t be in arrears and the SOE and Davis wouldn’t be persecuting me.”
“Well, Garth, it’s worth a try. What do you have to lose?”
Garth sighed sadly. “Nothing, I guess. Guess when you ain’t got nothin’ left—you ain’t got nothing left to lose.”
Tim invited him for a drink, but Garth passed. He was in no mood to drink with a drunk. Besides, he couldn’t afford it.
Garth walked out into brilliant sunshine. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the tall elms lining the street in front of the courthouse. He headed for the bus stop on the corner. He leaned forward, checking up the street for his bus. A silver Mercedes zipped around the corner, forcing him to jump back. He recognized the driver. Garth gave him the finger. “You’ll get yours one day, Davis!” Lorne looked into his rear view mirror and returned the salute.
Several people at the bus stop were staring at him. Garth glared back at them. They quickly looked away. Experienced public transit riders have learned it’s best not to make eye contact with a demented person.
Garth did a lot of thinking on the long bus ride home. He wondered if life was worth living.
CHAPTER FIVE
Retainer
The opulent offices of Dixon, Floyd, Beswick & Swain occupied the entire seventh floor of 100 Sandford Plaza. Overstuffed leather furniture, ornate sculptures and beautiful paintings decorated the waiting area. An elegant receptionist smiled at everyone who entered. The firm considered themselves to be the most prestigious law firm in the city. In reality, however, they were not yet established enough to assume the top spot. Their family law division was small, consisting of only four lawyers. One of them was Mark Floyd, an old high school friend of Craig’s. He was their realtor when Mark and his wife purchased their first home.
Craig was stuck in gridlock and officially late for his ten a.m. meeting with Mark. Traffic was backed up for blocks. Must be an accident up ahead, he thought, as he looked for an escape route down a side street. Always happens when you’re late. Craig wondered if his life would ever go smoothly again. He had been served with divorce papers a week ago. I wonder how Chrissie found out I was staying at Barry and Mona’s? I guess more people know about this mess than I thought.
* * *
Craig moved out of the Sunset Motel when Barry and Mona offered him the basement room vacated by their teenage nephew. Craig and Barry were old friends and played hockey together when they were in college. They were not only line-mates but also roommates on the road. Teammates in sports develop a special friendship—roommates become like brothers.
“How did you track me down—here at the spacious and luxurious Sunset Motel?” Craig asked.
Barry explained he and Mona heard about the break-up. “Nobody knew where you were. I finally called your brother Brad.”
Good old Brad, Craig thought. That’s a switch, the kid brother taking care of his older brother.
“We were worried about you,” Barry said. “So were all your friends. By the way, you have more friends than you realize.”
“Sorry about causing everyone so much worry. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems.”
Barry chuckled. “My friend Craig—the big hero. Just get your tail over here, okay?”
Craig settled into the basement room and enjoyed the ambience of a teenager’s room: lava lamps, imitation bear skin rug and an eclectic assortment of posters on the walls from sports teams and hot cars, to AC/DC and The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.
He was relieved to be away from the Sunset Motel and back to modern times.
* * *
Craig finally passed the minor accident causing the traffic chaos. Amazing, he thought, how something as minor as two cars blocking a lane of traffic could alter so many lives. Then, he wondered how this meeting with his divorce lawyer would alter his own life.
Because he was so late, Craig was not surprised he had to wait for Mark. Understandably, he had moved someone’s appointment ahead of his.
“Mr. Floyd is ready for you now, Mr. Andrews,” the receptionist purred. “Would you like a refill on your coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Craig winked and handed her his empty cup. He couldn’t resist flirting with such a beautiful woman. Then he asked himself, what are you doing, Andrews? Will you ever learn?
Mark Floyd walked out from behind his desk and shook Craig’s hand. “Well, if it isn’t the late Craig Andrews. C’mon in and sit down. Tell me how you’ve been, my old friend.”
Craig apologized for being late. Mark waved his hand, indicating it was not a problem. He asked Craig to tell him what had happened between him and Chrissie. Craig gave him a quick version of the story including the day he left, the Sunset Motel and his current reincarnation as a teenager at Barry and Mona’s.
“Listen, Craig, the best thing for you to do is to write this whole thing out. I need to understand the story of this marriage and the events leading up to your separation. Start at the beginning of the marital troubles, and don’t leave anything out. The more information I have, the better our case will be. Understand?”
“Sure,” Craig said. “But not intimate details, right? I mean, like—about our sex life?”
“No. I’m interested in fact, not fiction.” Mark was trying to lighten the moment. He checked to see if Craig was smiling. He wasn’t. “Actually, I need an indication of your normal frequency and when it changed. By the way, as your attorney, I must ask if you were faithful to Chrissie during your marriage?”
“Yes,” Craig said.
“You never strayed?”
“I was totally faithful to her the whole time we were together.”
“Sorry,“ Mark said. “I had to ask. I hate surprises in court. Now, do you have any reason to believe Chrissie was unfaithful?”
“Not really. I mean, she worked long hours and certainly had lots of opportunities, but I never suspected anything.”
“I think we should have a look-see,” Mark said. “Then, we’ll know one way or the other.”
“You have someone who can do this—without her knowing? I don’t want her to find out and have it affect my kids in any way.”
“Understood, and speaking of your kids, how are Robbie and Heather holding up through this?”
“It’s been hard on both of them,” Craig said. “Never thought my kids would come from a broken home.”
“What’s worse? To come from a broken home or live in one?”
Craig hadn’t considered that. The time leading up to the physical separation must have been tough for Robbie and Heather. Children know a problem exists before their parents do; they feel the tension building, they watch as their parents stop showing each other any love or affection and they hear the arguments. We fool ourselves into thinking our kids don’t know what’s going on. But—they do. They live with us, and they’re not stupid. Mark was right; Robbie and Heather were better off without all that. Craig felt an unexpected sense of relief.
“Are you still with me, Craig?”
“Sorry, Mark. I never considered a divorce could be the lesser of two evils for the kids.”
“Absolutely. But like I was saying, we should have a look at Chrissie. We may find some valuable evidence. Our P.I. does a lot of work for our firm. He’s professional, extremely discreet and thorough.”
“How much is all this going to cost? I’m not working right now, and money
is tight.”
Mark wanted to alleviate Craig’s apprehension about paying for this divorce. “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep the costs down. I’ll have my law clerk Charmaine Robinson do the bulk of the work. She bills a lot less per hour than I do. And speaking of billing—I’ll require a retainer of five thousand dollars. We do accept credit cards.”
“I want to get this thing over and done, as soon as possible.” Craig handed Mark his only credit card with sufficient available funds. He was glad he and Chrissie had kept separate credit cards and bank accounts. “Oh, one more thing. I’d like to see my kids this weekend, but I don’t want any contact with Chrissie right now. I’m afraid I might say something I’ll regret.”
Mark told him he would contact Chrissie’s attorney and make the necessary arrangements. He reminded Craig to complete his statement of facts as soon as possible. Their meeting was over.
“Take care, buddy.” Mark shook Craig’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you through this.”
As he passed her desk, the receptionist smiled at him. Craig smiled back. I’ve still got it, he thought, whatever it is. But I’d better be more careful what I do with it.
On the way home to his basement retreat at Barry and Mona’s, Craig was contemplating Mark’s request for details. The document would take a lot of thought to complete. Every life and marriage has so many twists and turns. Over the years, facts can either become distorted or forgotten entirely. Even more difficult, would be recalling hateful episodes he intentionally tried to put out of his mind; like the horrendous fights and vicious insults exchanged as their marriage deteriorated.
This was not going to be an easy process. He had so many unanswered questions. What was the real cause of their separation? Was it his fault? Didn’t he show her enough love … or didn’t he satisfy her sexually? Or was it her fault? Was it her drinking or was she having an affair?
Craig hoped Mark’s investigator would find some answers. He needed to know. He was hurting, and the truth would help him heal. He hoped he had the strength to face the truth, deal with it and move on.
He had to—for himself and his kids.
CHAPTER SIX
Craig and Chrissie
Craig stood and stared at the poster of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. “Well, ladies, what do you think? You’re right. If I don’t start, it will never get done.”
He sat down at the old typewriter Barry had set up in his basement room. Craig was about to go through the extremely painful exercise of documenting his marriage to Chrissie. He was afraid he would have difficulty keeping his emotions under wraps. He wasn’t sure he was ready to do this. But I have to get it done. Mark and I have to prepare a strong case.
Craig hoped he could remember all the details—at least the details he was aware of. He glanced up at the poster. “Right again, ladies. I’ll start at the very beginning of this mess—back in college when I met her.”
* * *
“Hey, Andrews! Wait up!” Craig turned and saw Grant heading towards him across Wesley Square. Grant Chambers was his best friend. He was tall and gangly with a heart of gold. He was also out of breath and excited about something. “Man, you’re a hard guy to catch. I mean—you give a guy an MBA, and you can’t catch him.”
Craig was about to answer, and then it struck him. “MBA? You mean the marks are posted? I passed?”
Grant put his arm around Craig’s shoulders. “Passed? Are you nuts? I can’t believe you. You made the Dean’s list, you knucklehead! You’re at the top of the friggin’ class!”
Craig couldn’t believe it. He had worked hard to earn his MBA, and now he had it. Without so much as a thank-you or a see-you-later, he left Grant standing on the Square and ran over to the bulletin board in Memorial Hall. A large group of students were gathered around looking up names. Some were excited and giggling while others were disappointed and morose.
Craig tried to make his way up through the crowd to see his marks. His pal Eddie Brankowski spotted him. “Well, if it isn’t our Mr. Andrews—number one on the old hit parade. Way to go, buddy.”
“Thanks, Eddie.” Craig was embarrassed by the attention. He managed to move in close to the bulletin board and found his name on the list. His heart was pounding as he read his final grades. He could hardly wait to tell Chrissie.
Craig walked out of Memorial Hall and across Wesley Square. He took in the beauty of the place: the majestic oak trees, the bright flowerbeds and the ivy-covered buildings. I’m going to miss this place, he thought. Made some good friends and had a lot of good times. Best of all, this is where I met my soul mate.
* * *
Craig and Chrissie’s first encounter was at the campus pub. On that particular night, Craig and Grant were celebrating after submitting their economics papers just before the deadline. Actually, they didn’t need a special occasion to drink. Sunset would do.
It seems all campus watering holes share the same interior decorator. This one was no different. Clusters of wooden chairs and tables adorned with a cluster of condiments and small metal pails of unshelled peanuts. The walls were decked out with expired license plates, beer company neon signs and pictures of championship sports teams from by-gone eras. When the pub was crowded the air was full of smoke, and the floor was covered with a mixture of sawdust and peanut shells. Television sets around the room were invariably tuned to some kind of sporting event from just about any place in the world. On the wall beside the kitchen door, a cartoon picture advertised the house special: a mug of cold draft and a pastrami sandwich for $3.95. The place was heaven for a college student.
Craig and Grant usually sat at the bar. The bartenders were friendly, and the service was faster. The bar was all wood and brass, with decorative draft taps and a huge mirror behind rows of liquor bottles.
Craig was instantly captivated when he spotted Chrissie. She was sitting at a table across the room with a group of young ladies celebrating someone’s birthday. They were all laughing and guffawing as the “birthday girl,” identified by her silly “birthday girl” hat, opened another gift. Chrissie was facing Craig. She caught his eye a couple of times but quickly looked away. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Can’t tell if she’s interested or just flirting. But man, oh man—is she drop-dead gorgeous or what?
Chrissie had dark, curly shoulder length hair, beautiful brown eyes and the whitest teeth Craig had ever seen. She was petite and although she was wearing an extra-large Harvard sweatshirt and baggy khakis, Craig suspected a killer body was hidden underneath. I have to find a way to meet her, Craig thought.
“Nice, huh?” Grant said.
“Who is?” Craig was trying to appear nonchalant. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“C’mon. You know who.” Grant glanced over at Chrissie’s table. “Raven O’Hair.”
“Hate to burst your bubble, but a woman that beautiful would never be interested in you.” Craig turned his head to hide his smile.
Grant laughed even though he expected silly twists like that from Craig. “Not me, numb nuts!” Grant said. “She’s been looking at you.”
Craig knew Grant was right. He turned and caught a glimpse of Chrissie laughing and holding her beer mug up for a group cheers.
“No way, man,” Craig said. “A chick like that wouldn’t have anything to do with a schmuck like me. Bet you ten bucks.”
“You’re on.” Grant hopped off his bar stool and headed over to Chrissie’s table. “Be right back.”
Craig reached to grab him, but Grant was already halfway across the bar. He watched as Grant approached her table. How could I forget who I was talking to? He knew I was bluffing. He’s right. I am a numb nuts.
Grant strolled back and Craig tingled with anticipation. “You were right.” He watched Craig closely for his reaction. “She’s not interested. I can’t believe it.”
/> Craig tried to justify her rejection. “She’s probably taken—a woman that beautiful always has a guy.”
“Nope, not this time.” Grant handed Craig a ten-dollar bill. “Sorry, big guy, but I asked her. She’s single. I even told her about our bet. I don’t think she’s interested.”
Craig pocketed his winnings. “Well, thanks for doing your best to embarrass me. I really appreciate the effort.”
“Anytime,” Grant said. “Anytime.”
They finished their pitcher of draft. As they stood up to leave, one of the young ladies from Chrissie’s table walked up to them.
“For you,” she said. She handed Craig a piece of neatly folded paper. Craig looked and realized Chrissie and her other friends were gone. He unfolded the paper and couldn’t believe his eyes as he read the note:
You owe me ten-dollars. Call me at 647-3852 to arrange payment—Chrissie
“So. Are you going to tell me what that note was all about—or will I have to read about it in the paper?” Grant asked, when they were outside.
“Let’s just say, don’t ever give up hope, Grant my friend. You never know what can happen.” Grant mumbled something inaudible and staggered away into the night.
“You okay, buddy?” Craig asked.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Nightie-night, Craigie.”
“Later.”
He watched Grant disappear into the shadow of Robson Hall. Craig paused on the square for a few minutes. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach. It was like a weird form of butterflies. He decided he liked the feeling. He looked up at the clear night sky. He had never seen so many stars. He felt like those stars had lined up, and his life was about to change. He was right.
* * *
Craig and Chrissie were married two years later. Chrissie looked absolutely stunning as her father walked her down the aisle—like she was right out of one of those bridal magazines. Her mother made her bridal gown according to the exact specifications Chrissie had supplied. When the organist began playing “Here Comes the Bride”, all the wedding guests turned to watch her. Craig heard a “group gasp” as she appeared. He stood at the front of the church waiting for this beautiful, intelligent woman to join him and pledge her never-ending love. Craig Andrews was convinced he was the luckiest man in the world.