This Life: A Novel (2 page)

One gentleman in the
crowd didn’t look around for Zach, however. He kept his gaze riveted to Blake’s
face. She hesitated as she realized that all night he’d been looking at her
every time she happened to glance in his direction. He grinned, white teeth in
his fine mocha face matching his cream-colored shirt. As the other guests began
turning their attention back to Blake, the gentleman lifted one hand in a lazy
wave.

From somewhere near the
attentive gentleman, a wolf whistle split the air. Deshawn Thomas, lean and
graceful center fielder for the Pittsburgh Pirates, licked his lips at her, not
at all bothered to be seen doing so by about fifty of the most influential
people in the United States. Blake gave a slight shake of her head. She wanted
to tell him his moves for summoning street girls were no use with her, but she
didn’t want the words she’d choose quoted in tomorrow’s news.

Catching her gaze
again, her cream-shirted admirer pointed at the vulgar athlete and rolled his
eyes. She felt her mouth reward him with a broad smile, almost as if her lips
had a mind of their own.

Beside her, Edith
cleared her throat, watching Blake with an inquisitive expression on her
motherly face. Reminded of her duty, Blake shook off an odd nervous tingling in
her gut and spoke into the microphone again:

“As many of you know,
next week I have a court date to finalize my official status as a single woman
again.” Cheers and shouts of congratulations rose from the crowd, photographers
and reporters capturing her every move and word. “This is an exciting time in
my life, and I have plans that go beyond real estate developments. I’ve long
been called an inspiration to women and girls, especially women and girls of
color. In the coming year I will be starting some new projects to benefit women
in business. The
Blake
Tower
is grand, but you haven’t
seen anything yet. Stay tuned!”

She stepped down from
the podium to thunderous applause. Before she reached Uncle Thorne and Michaele
again, the cream-shirted gentleman moved to intercept her.

“Ms. Bertrand,” he
said, holding out his hand to shake hers, “I know you’re busy, but may I please
give you my card and maybe we can meet for lunch sometime?”

Blake frowned at his
extended hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t shake hands.”

Not only was he not
offended, he grinned and playfully slapped his own face. “Doh. I’ve heard that,
but I forgot.” He plunged the hand he’d offered her into a pocket of his
heather-gray slacks instead, and pulled out a business card. “We both do
Miami
real estate, and I’d
love to talk shop sometime if you’d be willing.”

She took the card but
didn’t look at it. “Who are you?” She was curious to know how he got in the
party, but didn’t ask in case she’d appear too interested.  Besides, she
thought,
Miami
is a small town, and
private really means what happens indoors stays there.

“Brett Skeet. I only
finished my certification half a year ago, but I’ve already sold three ball
players’ homes on
Star
Island
. You’re a hero to many
of us in real estate, you know. Myself included. I’d enjoy learning from a
legend over lunch. Or coffee, whatever.”

“I’ll have to check my
schedule.”

“Of course. Just one
thing, though, in case your schedule doesn’t seem to have any openings.”

Blake had half-turned
away from him. Now she turned back.

“I’ve just got to say,
your ex-Lang is proof positive that a man can live without brains or balls.”
Brett Skeet flipped another lazy wave at her and moved off toward the outdoor
bar.

For her part, Blake
watched him go, and wondered if she should find an opening in her schedule for
him. He’d said his one more thing without even a hint of a smile, and he
obviously didn’t hesitate to go after what he wanted. She couldn’t help but
respect him for both.

#

Toward
two o’clock
in the morning the
pre-opening party finally broke up, with some subtle encouragement from Edith
and the weary catering and security personnel. Blake, cheerily tipsy and still
thrilled to have her Uncle Thorne in town, invited him and Michaele to come
home with her and stay the night in one of her empty bedrooms.

“We want to make sure
you have a good night’s sleep,” Uncle Thorne said as he hugged Blake goodnight.
“But we’ll be over in the afternoon for a visit.”

“I’m so glad you’re
here.” Wishing she didn’t have to, Blake stepped out of the hug. “Even if it’s
only for the weekend, it means the world to me.”

He ruffled her hair. “You
getting yourself free from that son of a bitch you called a husband means the
world to me, girl. To your mother, too.”

“I know. Let’s not talk
about him, though.” She blew a kiss to them. “I’ll see you in the afternoon.
Love you both.”

Blake turned to go
inside the apartment building, stopping when Michaele called, “What’s wrong?
Did you forget something?”

“No.” Blake grinned. “I
just need to use the bathroom, that’s all. I drank a few too many Grand Marnier
Sidecars tonight, I think.”

“Yes, I think you did.”
Uncle Thorne laughed and motioned her to go on. “We’ll wait here and walk you
to the parking deck.”

“You don’t have to—”

“We know that,”
Michaele said, smiling as she leaned against Thorne. “But we want to, so that’s
that.”

Blake opened the door
from the courtyard and stumbled a little on her way to the bathroom at the end
of the hall.
Lucky I’m wearing flats instead of stilettos. And lucky I’ve
got a chauffeur waiting to drive me home. I’m tore up from the floor up, I do
believe.
She plunked herself down on a toilet and let the floodwaters rush
out of her.

At first she didn’t
think anything of the master bathroom door opening, and a pair of feet coming
to a stop. Thankfully, the toilet area was private, encased between two walls
and a door.

Then the realization
penetrated Blake’s alcohol-fogged mind.
Michaele wouldn’t be wearing Allen
Edmonds loafers.

Icy fear burned in her
gut. She knew it wouldn’t be, but she asked, begging it to be so, “Uncle Thorne?”

Finished with her
business, she swung the door open, and there stood Lang. Her soon-to-be
ex-husband. Soot-colored eyes searing twin holes in her soul. “Afraid not, my
darling wife.”

She stood, knowing
herself trapped. Just as she’d been throughout ten years of a marriage made in
hell. “What do you want, Lang?”

“You.” He shrugged.

“Let me out.”

“Sure.” He kicked the
door open, grabbed her arm, and hauled her out. Then he punched her in the
stomach.

Even as he clutched a
fistful of her hair and kicked her feet out from under her, part of her couldn’t
believe this was happening, here and now. On the evening of her return to solo
real estate development. Just a week before her divorce was to be finalized.

He kicked her legs, her
back, her arms protecting her head. She cried out, begged him to stop.

“Get the fuck away from
her, you microscopic dick.” It was Uncle Thorne’s voice.

“Who’s going to make
me? Huh?” Lang’s expensive dress shoes turned around to face Uncle Thorne’s
sneakers. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your musician’s hands, old man.”

“See, that’s where you’re
wrong. I’d love to beat the shit out of your punk ass, even if I can never play
a guitar again.” Uncle Thorne’s leather jacket fell to the floor. “Just throw
the first punch, so I can honestly say you started it.”

“And I’m warning you,
he’ll have help.” Michaele’s even, calm voice somehow seemed more threatening
than Uncle Thorne’s barely restrained fury.

Blake struggled to
stand up. Every inch of her ached, screamed protests when she moved. A moan
escaped her.

Nobody else made a
sound for what seemed an eternity. Finally Lang snorted. “Some other time,
maybe, when it’s just me and you. I’ve got no feud with your wife. I don’t want
to wreck her pretty face.”

“Excuses, excuses.”
Uncle Thorne’s sneakers paced toward Blake. “You’d best clear out before I
decide I don’t care if I go to jail, Lang.”

“Fuck for brains.” Lang’s
high-end shoes tapped across the marble tiles, the sound stopping when he
reached the carpeted hall.

Uncle Thorne slid one
hand under Blake’s shoulders, the other under her knees. He grunted as he
lifted her. “You’re not heavy, you’re my niece. But my back isn’t young
anymore.” He smiled at Blake, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Blake managed a smile
back at him. She tried to say thanks, but her mouth wouldn’t do what her brain
told it to.

Thorne looked at
Michaele. “Her phone is probably in her purse. Edith should be “1” on her speed
dial. We’ll spend the night in Blake’s place after all. And by the time we
leave, she’ll have round-the-clock professional bodyguards.”

Chapter
Two

February 13

Miami
,
Florida

Her BlackBerry rang at
7:15
 A
.
M
.
, just as Blake finished
applying her blue eye shadow. Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money”
alerted her that it was her business manager, Charles Douglas, calling.

She skipped the
niceties of saying hellos. “I’ve got to be in court at eight,” Blake reminded
him.

“I know that, but I’ve
been waiting since closing time yesterday to tell you this. The Wishman family
is ready to make a deal.”

Her heart galloped in
her chest as she strode out of the bathroom and plunked herself on a corner of
her bed. “How much are they asking?”

“A billion.”

Her galloping heart
came to an abrupt halt. “I wouldn’t have that much even if Lang gets nothing
from me today. What’s the FMV?”

“I had to dangle some
carrots to get that info for you after business hours yesterday, but here you
go. Six hundred million.”

Blake winced. She’d
have that much only if the divorce order ended up heavily biased in her favor.
Otherwise she’d be forced to borrow some money or recruit investment partners
if she really wanted to make this deal happen. Which she did. Desperately.

“Offer four hundred
mil. Maybe by the time the haggling is all done, we can bring the price close
to actual fair market value.”

“I’m on it. Good luck
today.”

“Thanks, Charles. You’re
the man.”

“You’ve got no idea,
even after all these years.” Charles clicked off, and Blake shivered with a
lovely tingling in her palms and spine.

The Wishman Spears
building could really be hers, soon!
Maybe it’s a good omen for the day.

#

“All rise,” called the
bailiff. “The Honorable Judge Eliza Stone, presiding.”

Blake stood, as did
Carmen M. Morales, the attorney she’d hired to represent her in her divorce.
Morales was regarded as the best family law attorney practicing in the
Florida
counties of
Miami
, Dade, and Broward.

Lang stood across the
aisle, next to his own attorney. Thorne Martin Gruber specialized in
representing the wealthy in divorce cases. Usually Gruber practiced in the
Tampa
area, but for the kind
of money commanded by Lang and Blake Bertrand, he’d been willing to travel.

“You may be seated,”
the bailiff announced when Judge Stone was settled on her bench. Blake, Lang,
their attorneys, and the packed courtroom of spectators all sat, rustling
skirts and jackets and thumping purses and briefcases.

No journalists were
present in the courtroom. This was to be, by Blake’s request, a sealed decree
of divorce, its exact terms known only to judge, attorneys, and ex-spouses
Blake and Lang.

“In the matter of
Bertrand versus Bertrand,” Judge Stone intoned, “let me start by making an
observation. Which is—rarely does anyone get everything they want in a court
case.” She paused, then added, “Today will be no exception.”

Stone plopped a thick
stack of paper, obviously numbering hundreds of pages, onto the desk in front
of her. “There is simply no way I’m going to read this order of divorce in its
entirety. I have provided both parties with a copy of the order, and I hereby
enter this copy into the permanent court record. I don’t envy you that task.”
The last statement was an aside to the court reporter, who grimaced as the bailiff
picked up the order and handed it over to the reporter for audio recording and
written transcription.

“This is the first time
I’ve presided over the divorce of a couple whose holdings jointly total in
excess of a billion dollars,” Stone continued, “and I hope and pray it will be
my last time doing so. Most of my order consists of an itemized division of
property, since the two of you couldn’t reach agreement in mediation.” Stone
indulged in one scowl for Lang and another for Blake. “I have been as fair as I
possibly can. To sum up, you each asked for everything, and neither of you can
have it. Blake Bertrand owned assets of approximately $40 million prior to the
marriage, and those she will keep. Everything else was earned during the
marriage, and by law you each receive half.”

Blake grumbled noises
rather than words. Her only comfort was seeing Lang’s color go ashen and his
hands curl into fists.

“Fortunately there were
no children at issue in this marriage, so custody matters are not a concern.
Which brings me to a few motions filed by one side or the other, that I need to
dispose of.” Stone shuffled a much smaller stack of papers, cleared her throat,
and held one sheet up for her own reference as she continued.

“It has been requested
by petitioner Ms. Blake Bertrand that a gag order be imposed on all present in
this place at this time, and that the terms of the divorce order be sealed.
This motion is granted.”

Morales flashed a smile
at Blake. She smiled back at her attorney. This was an important win for them.

“Also requested by
petitioner Ms. Blake Bertrand is a restraining order against Mr. Lang Bertrand.”
Stone lowered the sheet of paper and leveled a stare at Blake. “My
understanding is that you allege your husband attacked you only a week ago, at
a party you were hosting. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor,”
Morales answered for Blake.

“It is also my
understanding that you did not phone the police to report the attack. Correct?”

“Your Honor, my client—”
began Morales, but Judge Stone cut her off.

“Answer yes or no,
please, Counselor.”

Morales sucked in an
audible breath before replying, “Yes, that’s correct, Your Honor.”

“I must, therefore,
regard the allegation as hearsay. Your photographs and attending physician’s
reports are accordingly dismissed from evidentiary consideration. However,
there have been previous incidents when Petitioner did call law enforcement
regarding her husband’s attacks on her. On the basis of that history of
domestic violence, I hereby grant the motion. Bailiff will please present both
parties with a copy of the prepared restraining order, valid for one year from
today’s date but renewable if circumstances merit it. Lang Bertrand, you are
ordered to stay a minimum of five hundred yards away from Blake Bertrand, except
if you should decide to dispose of any property awarded to you that was
acquired during the marriage. In that case a duly sworn police officer must
witness the contact you have, and any proceeds from the disposition of property
shall be divided equally.”

“Shhhiiiiit,” hissed
Lang.

“Use such language in
my courtroom again, and you’ll be spending the night in jail for contempt of
court,” Judge Stone warned Lang, with a withering glare.

“To continue, a motion
has been filed by Respondent asking that Petitioner pay him monthly alimony,
unless and until such time as he remarries to a spouse of equal or greater net
worth as Petitioner.” Renewing the withering glare, Judge Stone informed Lang, “Don’t
be ridiculous. As of today you’re worth almost half a billion dollars of your
own assets. Motion denied.”

Beside Lang, Gruber
actually looked as if he’d just bitten into something sour. Morales winked at
Blake, who struggled not to giggle.

“Finally, Petitioner
has filed a motion asking that this court order Respondent’s last name be
changed. My decision regarding this matter requires some explanation.”

Absolute silence
prevailed in the courtroom. Everyone gave Judge Stone their full attention,
waiting with breathless curiosity to hear the outcome.

“When a man and woman
marry, it is common for the woman to legally adopt her husband’s surname as her
own. If the man and woman subsequently divorce, the woman may keep her former
husband’s last name if she wishes, or as part of the divorce order may change
her surname back to her maiden name or even a different name of her choosing.
The former husband cannot make that decision for her.”

Blake glanced at
Morales, whose lips were turned down in a frown of disapproval.
Uh-oh. My
attorney doesn’t like the sound of this any more than I do.

“It doesn’t happen
often, but occasionally when a man and woman marry the man legally adopts the
wife’s surname as his surname also. I find no reason why a wife should have the
power to strip her former husband of her name that he chose to adopt, when a
husband does not have the same power with regard to his former wife. Petitioner’s
motion to order Respondent’s surname changed is therefore denied.”

She couldn’t help
herself. “Judge Stone, please—”

The judge rapped her
gavel on a wooden block sitting on her desk. “Order in the court!” sang out the
bailiff.

“I understand your
reasons for filing that motion, Ms. Bertrand, and I sympathize with your
disappointment. However, I can’t rule any other way than I’ve done,” said Judge
Stone. “This court decrees the marriage of Lang and Blake Bertrand dissolved.
It is so ordered. There will be a ten-minute recess.”

Judge Stone stood and
retreated into her chamber, and everyone shuffled out of the courtroom. Morales
groped for her purse and briefcase with one hand, tapping away on her iPhone
with her other hand. Blake let her breath out slowly, gathering her purse and
retrieving her BlackBerry from it.

A text message awaited
her, from Morales: breathe until I call your name.>

Damn it, I need to
call Charles and ask how negotiations are going with the Wishman family.
Blake bit back all the expletives invading her thoughts.
But I’m paying
Morales too much to ignore her advice.
She trailed after her attorney, one
of several women moving toward the women’s bathroom. Here and there a supporter
congratulated her on being single again, and she murmured her thanks.

Inside the bathroom,
Blake took a stall as Morales had directed her. Morales positioned herself by
the window, and Blake could hear her carrying on a series of brief
conversations: “
Hola
, Miguel. I’ll be back at the office within the
hour. Everything set up for the deposition with Señor Ruiz this afternoon?
Good,
bueno
.” “Nicole? Hi, Carmen here. Listen, I’m still waiting for
your… Yes, that’s right. I can’t really proceed without that. Lunchtime? Sure,
that will be fine, just leave it with Miguel.” “Good morning, who am I speaking
with? Oh, Stephanie, I’m sorry, you sounded different just now. I need to talk
to someone in the DA’s office…”

While Morales took care
of business, Blake summoned up local news on the BlackBerry. Every local
television station was broadcasting from the courthouse steps, where Lang and
Gruber were answering questions:

“Lang, can you tell us—”

“Mr. Bertrand, please.”
Lang grinned like a cat that just ate someone’s pet hamster.

“My client and I can’t
comment on specifics of his divorce,” Gruber announced, “and by the judge’s
order neither can anyone else. However, my client’s name remains Lang Bertrand,
so please address him accordingly.”

“Bastards.” Blake
killed the BlackBerry’s Internet connection.

Gradually the bathroom
emptied of occupants except for Morales and herself. Her attorney wrapped up
her latest phone call, and then said, “Blake? Let’s talk.”

Blake emerged from the
stall and leaned against one of the sinks. She didn’t know what to say, so she
simply watched Morales expectantly.

Morales examined Blake
for a moment. “I thought I told you to take some breaths.”

“You did, but I don’t
understand why.”

“Because you’re
off-balance and need to center yourself.” Morales gestured at the mirror over
the sink, and Blake looked at her reflection. “See what you’re doing?”

Shaking her head, and
watching herself do so, Blake replied, “Just waiting for you to explain what
this is all about.”

“
Mira que cosa tiene
la mujer esta.
” Morales gave Blake a quirky grin.

“This isn’t
I Love
Lucy
.” Blake couldn’t help grinning back, though.

Morales pointed to the
mirror. “You’re touching that scar on your forehead. I know what that means. Do
you?”

Blake shrugged her
shoulders. “That I should get plastic surgery to remove it?”

“You do that when you
feel insecure. Breathe, Blake.” Morales took a deep breath and beckoned to Blake
to follow her example. They breathed together a few times, and then Morales
nodded satisfaction. “That’s good. Now listen. I know you wanted to take the
Bertrand name away from Lang, but we talked about what you can do if that
request was denied. Let him have it. The name Blake is still yours alone. Roll
with that.”

Again, Blake breathed.
She felt like screaming instead. “But the raven—”

“Per Judge Stone’s
divorce order, neither of you can use the raven logo anymore. Find a symbol
that represents Blake to you, and make a new logo from that.”