Authors: Nancy Frederick
Later that week, Quentin Asprey walked confidently into the courtroom, Annabeth trailing
behind him.
Reviewing the document before him, the judge spoke, "We are here to determine support for Mrs. Welner.
And to agree upon a suitable division of assets before the final hearing.
He nodded toward the attorneys.
"Are you ready now?"
Asprey rose and walked toward the judge with more confidence than any television lawyer had ever mustered.
"Here is a document from the U.S. Vending Machine Association, your honor.
It details clearly the amount of income likely from the number of machines listed by Mr. Welner.
As you can see there's a huge discrepancy."
Would this tactic work?
Annabeth wondered why statistics would mean anything in light of reality and real numbers.
R.J., instead of gulping and offering to pay up, remained firm and so did his attorney who rose, "Your honor these statistics are meaningless.
Just as average attorney's fees mean nothing specific to any one of us.
You have Mr. Welner's tax returns for seven years.
They are consistent with his financial statement."
The judge nodded as Asprey continued, "Your honor, this is a cash business, much like waitressing.
We are certain that a substantial portion of Mr. Welner's income has never been declared."
Sennet's eyes began to bulge.
Taking a deep breath, he said, "We resent that allegation, your honor and if these slanderous remarks don't cease a lawsuit against Mrs. Welner and her attorney will be forthcoming."
The judge held up his hand.
"I see these statistics, however I can't base anything on general statistics.
Do you have other proof?"
Asprey shook his head.
"I'm going to grant increased maintenance."
Annabeth sat, nervous and ill at ease in the midst of all this drama.
Why had her dad and Hugh placed such faith in Asprey?
He seemed to be doing her no good at all.
She listened carefully as the judge ordered an amount only slightly higher than before and continued, "Should Mrs. Welner need to rent a house, she could find one about on par for that.
If you're going to keep the house, Mrs. Welner, as it says here you want to do, then please make arrangements with your husband and his attorney.
The rest of your joint assets have already been divided, and for that the court thanks you.
If, by the time of the final hearing you have not come to a reasonable agreement, then I will order the house sold and the profits divided.
Final hearing set for January thirty-first."
Annabeth swallowed hard, hearing the judge's words.
There was something so final about these proceedings, about seeing her life reorganized by this judge, this stranger, someone she didn't even know who had control over her future.
He would sign a piece of paper in a few weeks and she would be divorced, her past would no longer connect with her future.
It was so sad.
At least she could get a mortgage, well probably she could.
Maybe she would need to kick in a large sum, but not as much as she'd originally thought.
Her marriage would end, maybe she'd save her house, but she'd be living in it all alone.
Her whole life, her history was over, and she felt so lost.
Annabeth drifted through the days that followed, a sense of intense need always below the surface, yet unobservable to those around her.
She worked and smiled at everyone around her, she painted knick knacks, yet always in the back of her mind was the thought that although R.J. had become the past, George would be her future, and it was that vision that guided her.
She wouldn't be alone, she thought again and again, she would be with George and they would be happy together.
When, a few days later, George had pounded on her door after midnight and had swept her into bed as he always did, and she lay contented, her head on his shoulder, Annabeth worked up her courage and asked him, "Hon do I mean anything to you?"
She held her breath, awaiting his reply, which was slow to come, primarily because he was yawning and about to fall asleep.
"Of course you do.
You're a great piece of ass."
He squeezed her shoulder and managed a limp smile as he offered this praise.
Annabeth secretly thrilled to hear herself described that way, but she pressed on with her line of inquiry.
"So we do have some sort of future then?"
"I would love nothing better than to make love to you every night," he replied, yawning deeply once again.
"I wish I could do it again right now, but I'm too sleepy.
You'll forgive me won't you?"
Annabeth snuggled closer to him, smiling.
He wanted to make love to her forever.
That was her answer, wasn't it?
"Hon?"
George looked toward her, his eyes still partially open.
"Then would you meet my daughter and her fiancé?
Come to supper here and meet them?
It would mean a lot to me."
George nodded, then he began to snore.
There was an improbable rush on the ice cream counter the night of Annabeth's supper for George and Sally and Jackson, and she was unable to leave right away.
Trips to the bakery and the liquor store delayed her further, but Annabeth was not worried, since Sally had promised to go home right after work, and even if George were on time, which he never had been so far, Sally could easily let him in.
Thus although Annabeth felt badly when she pulled up in front of her house and saw both Sally's and George's cars, she didn't worry.
Walking quietly in the sneakers she wore to cushion her feet at work, Annabeth made her way to the back of the house where Sally and George would no doubt be busy chatting and assembling a salad.
This was going to be such fun!
Not only did she have a boyfriend, but they could host dinner parties and enjoy life together.
Neither George nor Sally saw Annabeth immediately, because they stood in the kitchen in an embrace, which Annabeth at first assumed to be a friendly father-daughter type hug.
Annabeth smiled until she saw George's hand slide down her daughter's back and squeeze Sally's backside, at which point Sally jumped and pushed George away and Annabeth gasped, causing the other two to turn and see her.
Sally, her face filled with revulsion, turned and fled the room as her mother followed her.
"Wait," said Annabeth.
"That guy's a major creep," said Sally.
Annabeth gulped.
"You are kicking him out, aren't you?"
Annabeth nodded.
Sally walked into her mother's arms.
"Thank God.
I was afraid for a minute you were going to make an excuse for him.
I'll come back with Jackson in an hour or so--is that okay?"
Annabeth nodded, then closed the door behind her daughter and went to confront George.
"What kind of person are you?" she asked quietly.
George looked sincerely at Annabeth.
"I didn't want to tell you this," he said haltingly, examining her face for any sign of relenting, "But I suffer from Sam Malone's disease."
That name sounded familiar to Annabeth, but she couldn't quite place it.
"What?" she asked.
"It's an--um--sexual problem.
It's not my fault.
Really.
I just can't help it around women.
I get turned on."
Annabeth was tempted for an instant to take pity on George until her rational self interceded.
Suddenly she remembered who Sam Malone was--that character on television.
Her voice still quiet, but filled with scorn, sounded confident, although she did not feel that way, and she said, "Get out of here George, and don't come back."
Instead of turning tail and running, he attempted to take a step toward Annabeth, but she raised her hand and said again, "Get out.
Now."
Her visions of the future shattered, Annabeth sank down in one of her kitchen chairs.
Holding onto the emotions exploding inside her, Annabeth would not allow herself to break down and weep.
Sally and Jackson would soon be back and she couldn't reveal to them the dire sense of foreboding she felt.
She was all alone, without anyone, all alone.
She tried to envision her future as bright, but instead all she saw was blankness, an empty life with no one to care for her and no one for her to love.
It must be her fault.
It was her.
Something was really wrong with her.
A pallor settled over her like a heavy fog, and each day she dragged along, unable to meet life with the grace that had always been expected of her.
She continued working at her job, but it took all her strength to do so, and there was nothing left over.
She could not paint.
Each night she retreated to her bed early and clung to the covers, a sense of terror in her heart.
Charles noticed her glumness and each day he'd ask her what was wrong, but Annabeth refused to admit anything until his prodding weakened her resolve.
She needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her, so finally Annabeth opened up and shared the story about George, in a very watered-down version.
"He actually said Sam Malone's disease?" asked Charles, laughing.
Annabeth laughed too, although her heart was not in it.
"You know," continued Charles, "You deserve a lot better than a creep like that.
The right man would want to give you the world."
He reached his hand toward Annabeth and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.
"You need a little pampering after all you've been through, and tonight I'm taking you out for the nicest supper we can find."
Unable to reject her employer's kind offer, Annabeth soon found herself sitting across from Charles in a restaurant several miles away from the center of town, one she had never visited before.
"I hope you like it here,"
he said, "I've only been here once myself, but it seems quite a bit nicer than the Rusty Lantern."
Annabeth nodded at Charles, "Yes, it's lovely."
The waitress arrived with a basket of warm biscuits and some water and smiled at them, asking in a polite way, "Are you ready or should I give you a little more time?"
"Annabeth," asked Charles, "Do you like champagne?"
Annabeth blushed and then admitted, "I've only tasted it once in my life."
"You know," he continued, "I don't think I've had it but once myself."
He shook his head wryly although there wasn't much mystery to why someone with his lifestyle, or Annabeth's either for that matter, had drunk little champagne.
"Bring us a bottle of your best.
And how about some oysters too?
Okay with you?" he asked Annabeth, who agreed because there was no way to refuse politely.
The waitress nodded and went off to retrieve their order as Charles discussed dinner.
"I love lobster, do you?"
"Oh I don't know.
It's way overpriced I think."
"But you do like it?"
Annabeth nodded, although reluctantly, and Charles ordered lobster when the waitress returned with the champagne and oysters.
"That comes with a baked potato and salad.
Is that okay?
We do have rice pilaf if you prefer.
Pepper parmesan is the house dressing."
Charles looked toward Annabeth who said "Rice pilaf I think.
If it's no trouble.
And the house dressing is just fine."
"No trouble at all," answered the waitress, nodding.
"Potato for me.
And house dressing," ordered Charles.
There was time for pleasant conversation while they ate their salads, and Charles smiled frequently at Annabeth as they talked about nothing.
"I'm happy to have you all to myself," he said in a confidential tone after they'd each consumed a glass of champagne.
"There's something about you that has really touched me," he revealed after the second glass.
"A woman like you could fill a man's life with hope and happiness," he said after the third glass.
Annabeth blushed after each comment, although as the champagne worked its magic in her bloodstream, it became easier and more pleasant to hear the compliments that Charles was lavishing on her.
They had talked about many things in the months since she had come to work for him, and some of the things they had shared had been quite personal.
Now it seemed almost as though they had an intimate relationship.