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Adler and Holt
Copyright © 2012 Adler and Holt
Edited by Dawn
Cover Art by Adler and Holt
All rights reserved
Glass Towers Book 2
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We would like to thank everyone who has supported us and helped to make this book possible.
(you know who you are)
We are eternally grateful to our wonderful husbands and amazing kids for your patience and understanding through this whole project. Without your love and support, none of this would be possible.
Thank you to Dawn Carroll for all of your skilled editing.
My flustered attorney, Tanya Newell, pulls me out of my scattered thoughts.
“Danielle, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting! When Bradley and his attorney were here, they laid a bomb on me, well us, and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with this new information.”
“Oh great, now what?” I wince.
“Well, there’s no way to sugarcoat this, but that woman Bradley was having his extra marital affairs with is now claiming to be pregnant with Bradley’s child.”
My insides turn upside down and I think I am about to choke on my intestines. Am I hearing this right? He knocked up his home-wrecking mistress from Spokane. Wait, I thought she lived in Boise…or was it Bend. Oh, that’s right, he had women in all of those places.
“So, is this news going to jack up finalizing the divorce?” I barely manage to squeak out. I begin to feel lightheaded.
“Well, he is going to get a paternity test once the baby is born, but until then, he’s worried about having to support her and the baby. He wants to change the amount of support he’s giving you per month.”
Gulp. This is obviously going to mess up my plans.
I can barely breathe, “What is he proposing and why can’t they find out now if he’s the father?” I can’t believe this. What the hell?
“He wants to forego the spousal support altogether and only give you the house and joint funds disbursement. She apparently won’t agree to an in vitro paternity test. She feels it’s too invasive.”
feeling green. My pulse quickens and while I resume twisting my hair, I start pacing along the wall by the table.
“So, let me get this straight, he wants to take away my comfort and security and give it to one of the many women he was having affairs with?”
Moreover, he doesn’t even know for sure if she’s pregnant with his child. It would serve the jackass right. And what irony for someone who doesn’t want kids.
”Wow, I feel like I’m embroiled in a cheesy soap opera storyline.”
Tanya coolly responds, “Listen, I know this is shocking and upsetting for you. The way it stands, if you object to this, we’ll have to haul this back into court and that will incur more fees and time. The fact is, I suggest you take the lump sum, ask for him to pay all of the legal fees, and move forward from there.”
I stop pacing and walk over to the window. I notice something and I turn my head to see a black no.2 pencil minus the black eraser. The pencil has been bitten beyond recognition to where the lead inside is raw and exposed in places. It brings a bitter smile to my lips, as it’s an ironic reminder of the chewed up mess that is my life.
What remains of the pencil sits on the corner of the sleek glass table next to the neat stack of papers, which I presume are there for me to sign. Disgusted, I pick the pencil up and examine it. Yep, it was
. His trademark teeth marks are the only trace left behind. Tanya rises, reaches for a box of tissues and stiffly hands it to me. I have shed many tears throughout this process in private. I have been so angry and in shock over the truths revealed about my husband and my marriage. My whole existence. The funny part is that I have not allowed myself to wallow in my own self-pity in someone else’s company until now, much to Tanya’s discomfort.
Interrupting my last sob, Tanya says in an anxious tone, “I know you’re upset and this has been a lot for you to shoulder. You should take a few minutes to collect yourself. When I come back, let’s talk about getting this finalized.”
With that, she pats me on the shoulder and exits the room, leaving me to sort my thoughts. Great!
I now have approximately 5 minutes to decide my financial future. Well, at least for my immediate future. I know that the money I’m getting as a settlement is ample enough to get myself settled into a new life with a little left over for that nest egg. I was just hoping to treat myself to a little vacation and the luxury of buying some new furniture and maybe get myself a personal makeover. I want to reinvent my life and myself. No more of this mousy homemaker with a milk toast life. I want to re-enter the world a new woman. The monthly support I was going to receive would have ensured that this new and improved woman would hit the scene.
Humph, now to forge a new plan. Forget the vacation and furniture; I must now embark on a job search first thing next week. Although, it’s going to be tough, as there aren’t many job openings in Portland for interior designers. The memory of that Thursday night in early February that heralded the end of my marriage begins to take over.
I was working for the Davenport’s Design Firm at the time and had stayed to work late that night. We were finishing a pitch to a retirement home for re-decorating their dining room, reception, and activity hall. Not my aesthetic, but it was a job and the firm was in trouble with lack of business. If we didn’t get this account, I was in danger of losing my job.
Bradley was out of town like he always was during the week as he covered Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Northern California. That week in particular, he was in Spokane.
My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID to see that it was Bradley. I thought it strange that he would be calling me at 7:30. When we had spoken earlier in the day, he had mentioned that he would be out late with clients. He had said that he was wining and dining them and he would call when he was back in his room if it wasn’t too late.
I could only think that something had happened to the meeting with this big-ticket client or that there was an emergency. Either way, it couldn’t be good. He wasn’t the type to call me just because he missed me. I rarely would hear from him past three o’clock most days during the week. I knew he had many stops to make on his routes and the more yes’s he got the more his company paid him. I gave him that space and made no demands.
I quickly answered the phone but when I tried to speak, my voice came out in a whisper, “Hey honey, everything okay?”
“Hello? Hello… Bradley?” Then I heard it… Bradley’s voice.
He spoke in a husky voice that dripped with honey, “Hey babe, come here and show daddy how much you missed him… Daddy missed you… Why don’t you and your pouty lips give daddy and his big dong a kiss?”
I felt bile at the back of my throat… I knew instantly that he hadn’t called me. Apparently, his big dong had.
I then heard a female voice giggle and say, “Oh mama missed daddy… Let’s make up for lost time…” Her voice trailed off.
The next thing I heard was a slurping noise, followed by moaning. I had heard enough to know that he hadn’t had a meeting after all. I couldn’t bring myself to hang up. I just sat there like an idiot, dazed and transfixed by the sounds I was hearing through the speaker of my smart phone.
The female voice, sounding more winded said, “Oh, does daddy want mama to ride his big dong? Oh baby, get ready! I’m going to ride you like the bucking bronco you are!” And with that I heard her make an almost heehaw sound followed by her moans and groans at a variety of high pitches. At the same time, I could hear the ‘bucking bronco’ letting out strange guttural sounds that seemed to be caught at the back of his throat.
They were so loud that I thought he was having a heart attack. In the three years of
being married to
him, I had never heard him make such a noise. In fact, he never made any noise when making love with me.
The female voice sounded winded and almost pained as she muttered things like, “Oh daddy, oh daddy, I’m riding it, oh take me, now, now now!”
I thought and then it occurred to me how absurd and twisted this whole thing was. I was actually listening to my husband have an affair with some bronco riding mama. The humor of it escaped me at the time. It struck me that I should have hung up. I felt creepy for eavesdropping; I was sickened, as well as numb and empty.
Then, more guttural moans and groans from Bradley.
It continued for what seemed like an eternity, but was actually about 45 minutes. During that time, I had a flurry of thoughts… When we had our scheduled Friday sex sessions
it usually lasted maybe a total of ten minutes and that included the prep and clean up time. It was very matter of fact, in and out and done. It was perfunctory at best. No romance, but nothing naughty either. It was very normal sex. Missionary style, lights off. I wore a simple silk knee length negligee and he wore a rubber. Yawn.
After audibly witnessing ‘Daddy and Mama’ have orgasms with what sounded like fists pounding the mattress, I envisioned her head-flailing front to back and her eyes rolling to the back of her head. I heard Bradley let out some more primal howls followed by a few expletives and then all was silent. All I heard then was my heart shattering and the pangs of jealousy, outrage, and betrayal. Meanwhile, some home-wrecking woman actually got an orgasm out of that jackass. I usually had to finish myself off if I wanted a happy ending.
When we were dating, we had screwed like bunnies. We had tried out every surface, room, or public location
that we could get away with. I had screaming orgasms handfuls of times. He used to send me flowers, and I gave him blowjobs. All was fantastic in the sex department, though that was before we were married.
I hung up the phone and then sent him a text.
Hey bucking bronco. We are over.
My thoughts drift back to the present.
With no kids and a relatively easy marital assets distribution, almost 4 months later I stand here gazing out onto the Portland skyline waiting for my attorney to come back into the conference room so I can sign my marriage away and start afresh. Yes afresh, that’s it! I’m starting fresh. I’m still young at 27, vivacious, and ready to tackle the world! Alone, betrayed and swearing off men. Is it too late to join a convent?