Let's Play Make-Believe (3 page)

The next morning I
was surprised to find myself alone in bed. Somewhere in my foggy brain I realized Allie had left in the middle of the night, but that didn't explain Marty's absence. For just a moment, it flashed in my head that he had left with her. But that wasn't how I recalled it. The night was a wild, sweaty, and exhilarating blur. I wasn't sure I could give any details if I was asked to. But I didn't regret it. Not for a moment. I just hoped it wouldn't be awkward with Allie. Then again, thinking about some of the things she'd done in bed made me realize she wasn't much for feeling awkward. And that last night hadn't been her first time in a threesome. Live and learn.

I sat up in bed, and it took a moment for my vision to catch up with me. I slipped into a sundress and looked through the apartment, trying to figure out if Marty had left a note or any clue about where he had gone. Then I noticed his wallet and keys on the desk in the living room. He had made coffee for me as well. I gladly took a cup and sipped it as I sat back on the couch and tried to piece together everything that had happened the night before. I had gone from feeling angry about the divorce and losing my house to the wild delight of a new experience that I would never get to brag about. Not bad for a Wednesday.

A few minutes later, Marty came through the door wearing his short swim trunks and an old T-shirt with the logo completely faded. He looked great. He was trim and tan and had just enough muscles to prove he wasn't a slacker. Every inch of him was covered in sweat.

I was surprised how relieved I was to see him. I couldn't explain the doubts I'd had when he wasn't in bed with me when I woke up. And I'm typically not that insecure.

“You were quite a ninja leaving this morning. I had no idea where you went.”

He grabbed his left foot and held it behind his back to stretch his quadriceps as he said, “You looked so peaceful when I woke up that I slipped out and used the workout clothes you let me keep here. I went for a run along the public beach and kept heading south, all the way to your former house. In the daylight, it's even more spectacular. I could see that even the bungalow on the beach was beautiful. Something about running on the deserted beach and seeing that big house really pissed me off. As badly as I was treated by my ex, I feel like you were treated worse.”

Obviously I agreed with him, but I didn't want to sound vindictive or petty. I just gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to show my appreciation. But the look in his eyes told me there was more to what he was saying. Seeing that house had sparked something in Marty. He wasn't exactly who I'd thought he was when I first met him. And I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

There was no way
I could risk the scandal of a dine-and-dash at a local restaurant, so when the bill came at Charley's Crab, I snatched it right out of Marty's hand. We'd had lunch and only had a few cocktails. I hadn't been a midday drinker since I was in college, but it was kind of fun and there was something about doing it with Marty that made it seem okay.

Before I could get to the bottom figure on the bill, Marty had grabbed it back and handed his American Express card to the waitress.

I didn't want money to become a problem between us, so I said, “We don't have to keep eating at fancy restaurants every day. I'm a simple girl from Jersey. A sub or a hot dog can keep me filled up for a long time.” I hadn't meant it as a double entendre, but the smile on his face told me that was how he took it. A typical guy. But in his case, he was so good-natured that anything I said to make him smile made me happy.

Marty said, “It's fine, I have jobs lined up back to back that will carry me through next summer. I may not be designing the next New York library or be considered the Addison Mizner of my generation, but at least I have a good reputation. And it's nice to have the money coming in.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Teal is happy about it too.”

I caught the bitterness in his voice. Recently, I'd been trying to judge if he was getting over his ex-wife and the circumstances of his divorce, or if he was focusing on them more. It was hard to tell. In a way it made him more human, like a regular guy. He wasn't flawless, even though I found him engaging and caring.

As we were standing by the covered front entrance to Charley's Crab, I looked up and was shocked to see Brennan driving by us on Ocean Boulevard in his Jaguar convertible. It was the blue one that I'd picked out for him. I couldn't keep a “son of a bitch” from coming out of my mouth.

Marty looked up quickly and said, “What's wrong?”

I nodded toward the Jag and said, “There's Brennan looking like he owns the world.” And he did. It looked like he should be wearing a commodore's cap. Then he did the worst thing I could imagine him doing. It cut me like a knife and left me shaking.

He waved to me.

Not a nasty wave. Not a condescending wave. Just a casual raising of his right hand like we were old acquaintances passing on the street. Like I meant nothing to him. Not only was he over me, it was like I had never existed.

I couldn't let Marty see how this was affecting me, so I pretended to sneeze and put my hands over my face.

Marty was too smart for that. He slid an arm around my shoulder and said, “Let's find a place to sit back and talk for a while.”

We walked across the
street to the public beach and found a park bench on the south end. It was a breezy day and the sun was behind us as we looked out over the choppy Atlantic. A lot of people say the Palm Beach public beach is the least-enticing beach in Florida. Parking is expensive and the locals clearly don't want people visiting from off the island, but our comfortable bench, just off the road, provided a vista most people can only see in magazines.

Marty put his arm around me and didn't say a word. He didn't try to solve my problems or analyze me or give me advice. We just sat quietly, and I found my head rolling onto his shoulder. It was exactly what I needed. Before I knew it, I started to talk. I talked about Brennan and our marriage for maybe the first time.

When people hear you're going through a divorce, it's almost like you have some communicable disease. They stay at arm's length and let you know they're still your friends, but that this is probably something you should get through on your own.

Not Marty. He just listened.

I said, “Brennan was so dashing the first time I ever saw him. He was playing polo in Wellington and I was there with a girlfriend. He looked like a knight sweeping through the pack and swinging his mallet, or club, or whatever they call that thing that hits the ball. It was almost like a dream, it was so perfect. And he was charming. I mean actually charming, not faking it. He had an accent like a yacht club member on Martha's Vineyard, but he was also funny and extraordinarily polite. A sense of humor and good manners go a long way with most women.

“Until about our third date, I hadn't even known he'd been married before. They had been college sweethearts, and it sounded like she hurt him pretty badly. At least that's how I interpreted it. I never heard many specific details, except when he'd tell me she never made him feel like I did. What a load of shit.”

Marty didn't seem fazed at all by my rambling as we both watched the few families on the beach build sand castles or run through the shallow water along the shore.

“Brennan proposed to me after six months. Two days before the wedding, he said his father insisted on him signing a prenup with me. He assured me it was no big deal, but the family wanted to protect the assets that provided the income for him. I didn't care about money. I really still don't. At least not that much. Anyway, I never even bothered to consult an attorney. All I wanted was to be his wife, maybe have a few kids, and live with this dream husband. I signed the prenup. Ugh. What a rookie mistake.”

Marty said, “You didn't talk to any of your friends about it?”

“None of them had any experience with prenups. They were all married to teachers, insurance agents, or firemen.” I wiped a tear from my eye and regained my composure. I hated that Brennan still got to me like this. Then I said, “He never really kept any promises. We were going to travel, have a kid, be a family. He never even took me to Disney World like I wanted. He said there was no time. It was Disney World, for God's sake. Was that too much to ask? My parents couldn't afford a trip from Jersey when I was little, and my husband didn't have time for fun. I've still never been to the Magic Kingdom.” I looked out at the ocean in an effort to hide my emotions. Marty had done nothing to deserve this kind of baggage.

After a long silence Marty said, “What happened in the end? I mean, why'd you guys break up?”

“Maybe he wanted a younger woman, but I think the real reason is that he just got bored with me. Then he threw me out on the street. I was so stunned, I barely made a squeak.”

Marty kissed me. “That's where he's wrong. You are anything but boring. You've revived me.”

That was exactly what I needed to hear him say.

Over the next few
days, Marty and I got in the habit of walking the beach and talking. We always started from the north end of the public beach and strolled south, right past my former house. I liked being seen with such a good-looking man. I wanted people to know that my life wasn't over just because someone like Brennan was trying to divorce me. It was simply a lot of fun to be with a guy like Marty, who listened and made me feel wanted. What a change from Brennan.

Some days, I agreed to jog on the beach because I knew Marty preferred the faster pace. I wanted to prove I could keep up with him. It was the competitive streak of a girl raised by a man who had wanted a son. Some days I ran hard on the sand, making my heart race. Marty appreciated the effort. Brennan never would've even noticed.

I wondered why I was trying so hard to please Marty; then I realized just how serious my feelings were for him. He'd rescued me and changed the trajectory of my life, and I was actually happy. It was incredible.

The one thing that seemed to interrupt my joy was when I flashed back to my life with Brennan.

It's hard to explain, but every time I saw the house from the beach, I got a little angrier. I know there are people in the world with much more serious problems. I had my health, a new boyfriend, and a lot more life to live, but it sure would have been nice if that house had been part of my life. I could picture Marty sitting by the pool or working on house plans in the den.

Just when I thought I couldn't get more annoyed, one day we noticed Brennan getting ready to pull out of the driveway. He wasn't in the Jag. The bastard was driving a brand-new Bentley. A black Bentley Mulsanne that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. He'd bought a more formal car to go with his convertible.

Marty and I were running out on dinner tabs and this son of a bitch had a car for every occasion. Something just wasn't right about it.

Marty said, “What an asshole. Anyone under seventy who drives a Bentley is, by definition, an asshole.”

I reached out and gripped his hand. Marty really was on my side. His face was red and he looked like he was ready to burst through the gate next to the bungalow and charge Brennan in his brand-new Bentley.

Marty said, “I could punch that guy in the face.”

I stared at Marty, wondering how serious he was. He stepped toward the gate, and I reached out to hold his arm. We watched as Brennan, oblivious to the world as usual, pulled out and drove away in the Bentley.

Marty took a breath and shook his head. “I should welcome you to the club.”

“What club?”

“The getting screwed in your divorce club.”

His color had already come back, showing off his pleasant tan complexion, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. He looked like he had just been blowing off steam and Brennan was a convenient target.

Then Marty said, “Don't worry, it gets better.”

“Really?”

“It did for me.”

“How long does it take?”

“It got better as soon as I met you.”

I had to kiss this sweet man.

But thinking about the house and Brennan's new car, I did wonder about what, exactly, that jerk deserved. Not just in the divorce, but in life as well.

On Friday of that
week, I saw Brennan again. This time at Family Court in the Palm Beach County Courthouse. Even though Brennan didn't feel like family to me anymore. He gave me a smirk when I walked in with my attorney.

The judge had read both sides' briefs, and I felt confident he'd grant our motion to throw out the prenup.

I listened quietly while the attorneys answered questions about the progress of the divorce and who would be testifying today. All three of Brennan's high-priced attorneys against my cute little mama's boy from Boca Raton, whose mother was my hairdresser and had said he was good and cheap. And that he needed the work.

My attorney shuffled nervously through papers as I looked over at Brennan's crowded table. Brennan was impeccably dressed in one of his many dark Ralph Lauren suits, but hadn't been able to resist the typical Palm Beach touch of a turquoise flowered tie. Not a power tie. He didn't need one.

My chance to testify had finally come. It wasn't in the witness box like I had imagined. The judge instructed me to stand right next to where I was sitting and answer his questions.

The older, dignified man kept looking down at some notes, until finally he said, “Mrs. Moore, has your attorney explained the three main reasons that are grounds for dismissing a prenuptial agreement?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And you understand that
duress
means the agreement was presented too close to the date of the marriage, or some similar issue?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And
coercion
would be like offering ultimatums, and
fraudulent financial disclosure
explains itself.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge nodded. “Very well, let's get started.” Now he gave me his full attention and said, “Mrs. Moore, what did you do for a living before your marriage?”

“I was in marketing.”

“And do you have a college degree?”

“From Rutgers, yes, sir.”

The judge said, “Ah, a Scarlet Knight, very good. I'm from Trenton. We're the only state without a university named after it.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn't know what else to say. At least he was trying to put me at ease.

“And would you say your income was low, high, or average?”

I kept focusing on breathing and keeping cool. “Average, Your Honor.” I paused and added, “To low average.”

The judge nodded and wrote down a few notes, and then, in a very calm and quiet manner, said, “How long before the wedding date was the prenuptial agreement presented to you by Mr. Moore?”

“Two days before the date we had set.”

The judge said, “Did Mr. Moore offer any ultimatums? Did he ever say anything like ‘If you don't sign this, we're not getting married'?”

This was another important question. I gathered my thoughts and said, “Brennan said his dad needed the agreement signed, and if not, we'd start off our life together broke. I told him I was used to not having any money. He said he wasn't and then just stood silently until I signed the agreement. I later learned that he was really concerned about his own assets.”

I stood, trying to hide my smile at having been so concise in showing duress, coercion, and false financial disclosure in my brief exchange with the judge. I had hit this one out of the park.

But then it was Brennan's turn.