It's Not Prostitution

Angel's meeting is not what she expected.

Abbie pulls into the parking lot of Java Joes, a tiny coffee shop in one of the shittiest areas of downtown. I'm surprised it hasn't gone out of business by now and I sit for several moments trying to figure out how it hasn't, more to just distract my mind than because I actually care anything about this shithole. Abbie turns to face me from the driver's seat, giving me that half concerned, half angry look of hers, wishing I would tell her what the fuck was going on, and furious that I wouldn't. It's not that I don't love and trust her, I just don't want her to have to get involved in any of this. I didn't even want her to come with me, but she nearly pulled my hair out as she refused to let me go alone. I tell her to stay in the car, but Abbie doesn't listen, of course she doesn't. It was a futile request, but I had to try it anyway. I might as well have been kneeling down in front of a guy with his pants off and been asking him to not think about me sucking on his cock.

It wasn't going to happen.

Abbie was the first one out of the car, but I quickly followed, putting on my sunglasses to hide my bruised eye. I could tell just by Abbie's confident stride that she had already gone into bitch mode and was looking for a fight, like a mother bear knowing that one of her cubs had been threatened.

She certainly knew how to make an entrance, thrusting open the door and just standing in the threshold, inspecting each and every person that inspected her. I couldn't help but watch silently as nearly every set of eyes turned to face her, nearly all of them saying the same unspoken thing. It was easy to see in their eyes, and if they were well enough endowed you could literally see it in their pants as dicks rose to attention at the sight of her in a skirt that only barely covered her panties, and a tube top that didn't even entirely cover her chest.

All sets of eyes except for one.

It... it was kind of difficult to describe Elizabeth Facelli. At first, or at least on the surface I would have described her as a cold, heartless bitch, her blue eyes like sheets of ice and her face almost devoid of any emotion at all. She had almost a psychopathic lack of emotion, or at least that is how she came across from her seat in the far corner of the coffee shop. Her daughter Ally and I were only superficial friends back in high school. As two of the popular girls we hung out at the same parties, and knew most of the same people, but never really had anything we actually liked about the other. I remember Ally on a few occasions talking about her mother and how wonderful she was, but those times were horribly outnumbered by the times Ally was bitching about what a fucking cunt she was. The word of a crazy, bi-polar, probably psychopathic cunt herself, however, was not all that confidence inspiring. Her son Brad and I were little more than fuck buddies, and only on a few occasions. I honestly doubt he would even have remembered my name. He was a player in the truest sense of the word, and in a high school of over a thousand girls, he must have dated at least forty of them, and fucked well over two hundred.

I couldn't help but remember with a hint of amusement when I saw her in the corner of the coffee shop, that between her daughter Ally, her son Brad, and her husband, Elizabeth Facelli was the only member of her family that I hadn't fucked.

The truth was, however, I really didn't know much of anything about this woman, other than what was known in general about her. She was a Facelli, and thus was no stranger to the public's eye, admired by the fashionistas for her beauty, her elegance, and her class, and loathed by most others simply for being her husband's wife. Her face had probably been on the news or in the newspaper at least a dozen times in the past year, and yet I'd bet most people didn't even know what her voice sounded like. Now that I thought about it, I don't know if I even would have had she not called me directly earlier this morning. She was a prominent figure in the public's eye, and yet was nothing more to them but a dutiful wife standing at her husband's side.

I had this deep feeling in my gut that I was going to despise this woman, and my gut is rarely wrong.

One thing I did know for certain about Elizabeth Facelli was that she was born into money, and then she married into money, having never been left to want for need for anything, just like her daughter, Ally. It just made me hate her all the more.

So why did I even come? I've been asking myself that the whole of the day since I answered my phone, and so has Abbie. To be honest I do not know. Part of me has been trying to convince myself that it was because I believed she would carry out her veiled, subtle little threat from the phone, but the truest part of me knew I didn't care. Anything I don't want to face I don't, and it eventually goes away, or Trevor deals with it. Either way I don't have to. She may not have said it explicitly, but a talk with her and her lawyer? How is that not a threat?

No, the truth was, I just felt angry. I hated her husband, and I got the sense that she did too.

I didn't know it at the time, but it was the first of quite a few things we had in common.

"What the fuck do you want?" Abbie's vicious voice broke me from my thoughts, drawing even more attention to herself than she had already. Her hand slammed down upon the table that Mrs. Facelli was sitting at, though Mrs. Facelli's demeanor never wavered. She merely peered up at Abbie from behind her sunglasses and spoke her words simply.

"You are not her," Mrs. Facelli said plainly, looking beyond Abbie and meeting eyes with me, oddly as if she knew me, as if she knew exactly who I was.

I stepped forward towards the table as if I was being summoned, and I did my best to keep Abbie at bay, at least for the time being.

"Angel," Mrs. Facelli didn't ask as I approached, but rather stated with a sense of knowing. "I am Elizabeth Facelli," she introduced herself, actually rising from her seat and extending her hand to me in greeting, a gesture I couldn't very well hide my surprise towards. "And this is my attorney, Steven Granger. Thank you for meeting with us this afternoon," she went on, never breaking the facade of her elegance and class, even though I figured she must be despising me inside. Even here, even now, she treated this as though it were nothing more than a business meeting.

I stood there silently across the table from her, letting her outstretched hand linger ungreeted in the air. For a moment longer I let Abbie do my talking for me.

"What do you want?" Abbie wasted no time getting straight to the point, crossing her arms over her chest impatiently, as did I.

"Well, yes," Mrs. Facelli returned, retracting her hand and returning to her seat, still without even the slightest crack marring her grace. She had to have been, after all, used to being despised, used to such contempt. "Please, have a seat," she offered to the both of us. We both remained standing.

"Elizabeth," her attorney interceded, placing his hand on her arm and placing a brown file folder onto the table. Graciously Mrs. Facelli ceded to him, both of them noting that the air between us was far too tense for anything productive to take place.

"I understand you must be incredibly uncomfortable being here with us today," Steven began very diplomatically, his voice so tame and unthreatening that one couldn't help but at least let their guard down a little bit. "Given the situation," he went on, stammering uncomfortably for just a moment. "But we do not mean to in any way harm you. In fact we hope that this meeting may be mutually beneficial to the both of us," he went on, smiling faintly as Abbie and I both did appear to grow a bit more at ease at being here.

"Unfortunately, due to the nature of this meeting we cannot offer you drinks," Steven began again in time, a bit nervously, bumbling with his words for a moment. "I mean coffee, as we're at a coffee shop. We don't mean to seem rude, but..."

"What do you want?" this time I laid out bluntly, tired of their ramblings that went everywhere but straight to the point. It was, after all, the only thing I needed to hear.

Steven looked over at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked back over to Steven, before they both looked towards me.

"I want a divorce from my husband."