What the Dog Ate (16 page)

In unison they finished, Maggie
adding in the reenactment while Helen drove: “And I clawed my way, hand over
hand, back to the top.”

After they finished laughing,
Maggie asked, “What do you suppose the ‘too much’ was? His accounting job? Or
his soon-to-be-second-ex-wife?”

“Don’t know. All I know is
he’s
too much.”

“I shouldn’t be so mean.” Maggie
got quiet and looked out the window. “I mean, anyone could say the same about
me.” She stared at the houses rushing past. What was going on inside them? Were
the people happy? “What have
I
got to live for? My
accounting career? My dog?”

“Maggie, you have tons to live for.
You don’t have to have a husband or kids to have a meaningful life.”

“Yeah, but a career I’m excited
about might help.”

“Then find something else.”

“I know. I should. I’m just worried
about money and retirement and all that stuff. I mean, who’s going to take care
of me when I’m old and drooling?”

“Tell you what, when we’re both old
single ladies, which you know we eventually will be, even if we remarry, since
women usually outlive their men, we’ll take care of each other. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“But don’t drool in my car.” Helen
shifted gears and they merged onto the freeway.

~~~

Tuesday morning Maggie sat drinking
coffee and reading the business section. Page two always had brief items about
local companies, and when she turned the front page the word BioHealth caught
her eye as if in huge, red type. The short paragraph said BioHealth had
received Fast Track approval for its diabetes drug. Since the drug appeared to
have fewer side effects than existing therapies, the FDA would make an effort
to get it to patients sooner.

Maggie knew that would send the
stock price up. It was only 7:30 in San Diego, but 10:30 in New York. She ran to her office and Kona followed, grabbing his tennis ball on the way.

“Hang on a sec, Buddy. Momma’s
busy.” She fired up the computer.

There it was on her stock-watch
list: up $3.50 already this morning. The price was almost $8. Almost $400,000.
It was tempting to sell, but there was no reason. This was just the start.

As she sat at the computer, a thought
hit her like a dog’s cold nose on a bare belly. A shiver of excitement ran
through her.

The plan didn’t die on D-Day. It
was alive; its pulse was strong.

She’d been so depressed about Dave
leaving that she’d given up on their plan; worried the shares would never be
worth much. But now it looked like the BioHealth scientists were right. The
drug could be a blockbuster. The shares were still the answer; the crux of a
new plan.

She’d work hard and save up as much
as possible for the next year (with Fast Track status that was likely the
longest the approval would take), waiting for the big payoff. The stock could
easily go to $20, and she’d have her million bucks. Sure, it would be less
after taxes, but it would be enough to quit her “safe” career and do something
else. Something fulfilling. Goodbye, accounting. Goodbye, retirement worries.
She’d work for the fun of it, while her ostrich-sized retirement nest egg
waited, growing bigger every year. God bless you, compound interest! No worries
about Social Security going bust. No worries about not having children to care
for her in her old age. She’d be entirely self-sufficient.

OK, minor detail that she didn’t
know what her dream job was, but she’d figure that out. It wouldn’t be the bike
tour travel idea. She loved the thought of starting her own business and not
being tied to a desk, but that particular idea had been Dave’s from the start.
She’d take some time to figure out what she wanted to do, and then create a
business plan. Everything would be in place by the time she cashed in on the
stock.

“Come on, baby, keep climbing,”
Maggie said to the computer screen. Turning to Kona, she said, “We’re gonna be
OK.”

He put his paw up on her lap and
she shook it.

Wait a
minute... Is Dave still going to mess things up?
She knew legally she
could be forced to give him half of everything.
But he
claimed he’d be reasonable. Of course, he’d said that while being unreasonable
about the TV
.

They’d been waiting for the sale of
the house to finalize everything, but she wondered if it was possible to start
getting things in writing.

She needed to call her lawyer, but
it was too early. Maggie had decided to use Paul Dickson on Helen’s
recommendation. Helen warned her not to be put off by his “baby-
merde
-brown” polyester suits. Maggie hoped he was too
caught up in his love of the law and getting his clients the best deal possible
to worry about making any fashion statements. He reminded her of a bulldog,
with his barrel chest, wrinkled brown suits and heavy jowls.

Maggie killed some time looking up
Entrepreneur
magazine online and subscribing. She had
research to do. She poked around on Amazon and ordered a five-starred book that
would supposedly help her find her dream job.

Later, she called Paul and asked
him to set up a meeting on Friday, her day off, with Dave and his lawyer.
“Let’s get this ball rolling,” she said, hoping it wouldn’t be a wrecking ball.

Kona must have heard her say “ball”
into the phone. He pressed the now-soggy sphere insistently against her leg. It
made a “schlock, schlock” sound as he re-situated it in his mouth.

“You think we’re gonna be OK?” she
asked. Grabbing the bit of ball that protruded from his jaws, she nodded his
head up and down while he hung on with his teeth. “I sure hope you’re right.”

Maggie dabbed a bit more powder
under her eyes. She’d taken a full fifteen minutes to put on her makeup, in
contrast to her usual three minute routine.

Got to look perfect, she thought as
she pulled on her new steel gray, form-fitting dress.
Make
that rat see what he’s missing.
What Maggie was missing was someone to
do up her zipper. She danced around the bathroom, contorting herself until she
finally managed. She slipped on her burgundy three-inch heels, knowing they
would make her two inches taller than Dave.

An hour later she paced Paul
Dickson’s conference room. He invited her to have a seat, but she said she
preferred to stand. She wanted Dave to see how tall and powerful she looked.
When he finally walked in, followed by his gawky lawyer, she noticed the sweat
on his forehead. It was blisteringly hot that September day.

Dave looked at her. She held his
gaze; pushed her shoulders back. He dragged the back of his hand across his
beaded forehead as he sat down. She sat and crossed her legs. She felt
confident in her steel dress. After all, Dave had said he’d be reasonable and,
besides, she was certain her bulldog-look-alike lawyer could eat Dave’s
whippet-of-a-lawyer for lunch.

But the whippet turned out to be a
biter.

After discussions of grounds and
timing, Dave’s lawyer, whose wrists reminded Maggie of the stir sticks at Tea
Time, suggested they move on to the “disposition of marital assets.” He read
from the notepad in his leather binder. “My client is willing to concede the
furniture and paintings to Ms. O’Connell.” Of course he is, Maggie thought.
The paintings only have sentimental value, and I’m sure that’s
worth nothing to him
. “But will be seeking half of all the remaining
assets, including the proceeds from the sale of the house, the savings and the
50,000 shares of BioHealth.”

“The shares?” She lurched forward.
“You said you weren’t going to go after me just because I make more than you.
Those are
my
shares. You know what I had to go
through to earn those.” She tried to stay calm but could feel herself rising,
almost against her will, out of her seat. Paul put his weighty paw on her arm
and she dropped back into her chair. She dug her nails into the armrests while
she envisioned sliding across the conference table’s glossy surface, coming to
rest with her hands firmly around Dave’s neck.

“Yeah, believe me, I remember. I
earned them, too.” Dave pointed at her. “They’re as much mine as yours.
Besides, I am not ‘going after you.’ Tell her,” he said to his lawyer.

“Against my advice, my client,” the
whippet turned his long thin snout toward Dave, “is not seeking spousal
support.”

“Spousal support?” Maggie looked
from her lawyer to Dave and back. Her mouth tasted like she had chewed an
aspirin without water. She threw her hands up. She waited for her lawyer to
leap out of his chair and cut them down with his rapier knowledge of divorce
law. But he sat, taking notes in his loopy cursive writing on his yellow legal
pad.

Dave’s lawyer continued, “As would
be well within Mr. Baxter’s rights, since he worked and supported Ms. O’Connell
while she obtained her MBA.”

After graduation, Maggie had worked
for two years while getting her accounting license. After that, she and Dave
agreed an MBA would make her more marketable, so Dave had worked while she took
eighteen months off to get her Masters. She couldn’t believe he was throwing
that ancient history back at her. She glared at Dave.

He returned her stare and said,
“And I’m not pushing for shared custody of Kona. I’m being very reasonable.”

“Of course you’re not pushing for
it. You said yourself when you left he would stay with me. He’s
my
dog. You gave him to me for my birthday!”

“Technically,” Dave’s lawyer said,
“since my client can prove that he paid for the dog, we would have a strong
argument for the dog being his property.”

Dave gave her a curt nod as if to
signal, “So there,” but she couldn’t believe it.
He just
sat there and smiled like a smug bastard while this idiot referred to our fuzzy
baby as “property!”

She could not glare at him with
enough venom. Her left eyelid began to twitch. Dave squirmed, looked down at
his hands in his lap.

When does it
become
justifiable
homicide? Who decides that? The
judge? Or the peers? You get me a jury full of divorced women, and they’ll see
my killing him as justifiable
.

She stood and went to the windows;
she crossed her arms to keep Dave from seeing that her hands shook. She
couldn’t look at him anymore.
How did we get here?
She wondered what the shortest distance was between loving someone more than
yourself, and having them make your insides curdle with anger. Paul said
something, concluded the meeting, but all she heard was her blood pounding in
her ears. She looked at the parking lot below, where the sun beat down on the
cars. The glare hurt her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She felt the heat
radiating off the glass. Or was that off of her?

When they were gone she asked, “Is
it true; can he take half my shares?”

“I’m afraid so. He is entitled to
them.”

She watched out the window until
Dave drove off. She limped to her car, a blister eating at her heel; her feet
weren’t used to these stupid pumps. The lining of her dress clung to her sides.

At home, Kona greeted her. Not in
the mood for kisses, she pushed him down.

“Get down. I’m sorry you have to
hear this, Buddy, but your daddy’s a dick.”

She filled the tub with cool water
and climbed in with a beer. She closed her eyes and slid down into the bath
until her head was underwater, then scrubbed away the mask of makeup.

When she came up with a gasp, Kona
stood next to the tub, lapping up her bath water.

~~~

The next morning the phone rang
before seven, waking her from a nightmare that Dave was driving off with Kona
while she screamed obscenities at him. Her heart pounded as she reached for the
phone. Ever since that morning her freshman year when Mom had called with the
horrible news about Dad, she’d always hated waking up to a ringing phone.
Oh God, Grandma’s in the hospital... or worse
...

“
Hola
,”
Helen whispered. “I can’t go with you to the gym this morning.”

“Are you sick? What’s with your
voice? Why are you calling so early?”

“No, I’m not sick. I’m in Raul’s
bathroom. Don’t want to wake him.”

Raul? Who the
hell’s Raul?

“I know you’re wondering who Raul
is; we just started dating.”

“Since when?”

“Since a couple of weeks ago. I
should have told you, but I didn’t want to jinx it. Anyway, I wanted to let you
know about the gym. I’m going back to bed.”

“Wait—”

Helen hung up.

Now Maggie was wide awake,
picturing her friend crawling back into bed with a hunky, naked man, while
she—she glared at Kona, as if this were his fault—lay in bed with an overly
large chocolate Lab. Kona looked at her and thumped his tail on the mattress.
She knew that look. It was his “Feed me?” face. She reached over and scratched
his belly while studying her ceiling.

She was happy for Helen. Really.
Happy. She knew Helen had been trying to meet someone for a while. But she
wondered what this would mean. Was Helen going to cancel their standing
Saturday morning trip to the gym? What about their weekly yoga date?

OK, you’re
getting ahead of yourself. Calm down. Might as well go work out anyway
.

As she fought her way into her
workout bra, she replayed yesterday’s meeting in her head.
He
thinks he earned half of my shares. Un-freaking-believable
.

“
Earned
them,” she said aloud to Kona, who galloped after her to the kitchen.

She slashed at the peanut butter
with a knife and stuffed his rubber Kong toy full of it. “I’m leaving,” she
said, as she flung it to him.