This is a preview story for the December 2 event, my next, exploring the themes of the Moody Blues' song, "In Your Wildest Dreams." Just wanted to write a story that was fun for Randi. I hope it's fun for you, the readers. If not, I tried. Leave a comment and a like if you feeling it. If you want people to see your comment, don't fuck with me. Be polite. Not capping. Check the tags if you have doubts. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. Thanks to my team over at Socratic Interrogations for the reviews and editing. Love y'all, Randi.
I woke up alone. That was pretty rare for me. One of my two lovers was usually with me, a majority of the time, both. I loved them both very much and I was completely committed to both of them, although I wasn't married to either of them, and neither of them were married. I used to be married, and it wasn't to either of them. I wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, and in the best of all possible worlds, I wondered what it would feel like to have what I thought I had while I was married.
I didn't have what I thought I did. I thought I was living the dream. I was dark-skinned, pretty face, slim waist and big old bang, straight teeth, dope hair, my world. Not that dark: some white people were darker, but the features, you know. I worked out like a ravening beast, and it showed, but more importantly, I had a gorgeous man I adored and two little clones of myself. Then I didn't. The man part, anyway. He worked for a large and influential law firm. Most people don't really understand how big some law firms are. They don't do shit like celebrity lawsuits and trials, and most people have no idea how much money pours through those firms.
They can make shit happen, and they do. Lots of people do shady shit; those people do it on levels that are almost unbelievable, unless you've seen it in operation. If you're that good and that connected, they'll bring you into the fold. If you tell them to fuck off, take their persons for the offense they are, and walk away, they really can't do shit. People do it all the time. Some don't. They see fame and fortune, even though they are more like mob bosses of criminal countries. Minor ones, but yeah. Martin Sobel was one of them.
"No, I don't think I will," I said to Mr. Sobel. I felt certain he didn't hear "no" all that much. People like him were under the impression they moved on different levels than the "ordinary." He had no clue. They never do. They think money, influence, power, are untouchable. Ordinarily, he would be pretty much correct.
"You know you won't win," he mentioned.
"Keep on believing that," I said. I got up, retrieved my bag and walked out of his office. He really didn't know, but he'd learn.
There are different sorts of circles in the world. He knew the rich and powerful, had served in the cabinet of two governors of California, knew people on the national political scene and headed a huge law firm.
He demonstrated his power the next day at my first divorce hearing. "I'm not inclined to grant this petition," Judge Thomas said. "I see indications that this can be resolved with some hard work in counseling. I believe it would be in the best interests of the children and the state."
What Thomas failed to think we knew was that he owed his appointment to the governor, who, in turn, was a former partner at Sobel, Johnson and Banks, where my husband was a money train.
I had a good attorney, but I didn't plan to unleash her quite yet. We knew this was coming; well, she did and told me. We had it rehearsed. "Your honor, there is no possibility of my client reconciling with her husband," she said. "My client would like this matter resolved as soon as possible."
The judge shook his head. "I'm ordering 12 counseling sessions. I will allow Ms. Nash to select from a list of reputable family specialists."
That was it. I had it to do. Sorta. I wasn't ready. Few people are. When you find out your husband has been fucking his boss for four months, it's usually a surprise. If you have no clue, it's always a surprise.
I had no doubts about Blake. Why would I? I was in love, and I had no doubt that he loved me; even after Julia Reins, I still had no doubt. What had become apparent was that we had very different basic philosophies. He loved me, but he loved me not. He thought I wouldn't find out; it would be good for the two of us if he made partner and Martin Sobel knew he had a rising star. Sobel also knew what Julia Reins was. He tolerated her because she was a rainmaker. She was also completely amoral, and he knew that, too.
Hell, Blake knew her, and he'd complained a million times to me. She was also hella sexy in that mature way: immaculately tailored, slender, big tiddies, not a hair out of place, make-up always perfect and that supremely confident air that she knew who she was and she could take what she wanted. Those eyes were dark and mysterious and contained no soul.
I guess Blake didn't stand a chance. I now realized he'd always regarded me as the junior partner in our marriage. He would do the heavy lifting, make all that bank, gain all that influence. He was wrong about all that. It was interesting.
I knew exactly what he did at work, what he made and mostly, what he did with his money. He knew nothing about me, not because I wasn't an open book; he just never believed I did anything important. That pissed me off, and I never enlightened him. He did seem devoted to me, and that made the difference. I loved the man with all the worship I had in me, until I didn't.
I was meeting him after work for dinner. The restaurant was only a block from his office, I was shopping in the area and I found a seat at the bar, ordered me a mimosa and I was scrolling through TikTok on my phone, just killing the half-hour until he got there for our reservations.
A man sat beside me and engaged me in conversation for about five minutes, when I noticed Julia come in. I didn't know her well, just having chatted briefly at a party when she was recruited about a year earlier to run mergers and acquisitions at Blake's firm. I knew her, though, after about ten sentences. Not my type of people.
She didn't look at me, but they were seated at a table just behind me. She was with another woman I didn't know, but I gleaned from the conversation I couldn't help overhearing she must have a similar position as Julia in another department at the same firm.
They were talking shop. I really wasn't interested and I was distracted by the guy talking to me. My ears perked up when I heard the word "Nash."
"He's delicious," Julia said to her companion.
"Nash? I always imagined he would be. I also thought he was too wrapped up in that mysterious wife of his to be seducible."
"Yes, he kind of is," Julia said. "It's not like I'm trying to take him away from her. We're just playing a game. He fucks me, I promote him. One of these days, he says, he's going to get that smoke show involved with us. Can you imagine?"
Her companion laughed. "No. I mean, I can imagine you or me wanting that, but she knows what she has going on. I have the feeling she won't put up with anything she doesn't like. At all."
"I can see that," Julia said. "We also both know why she's got Nash. I can only compete in the "forbidden" area and by doing things she probably wouldn't."
The fuck? I stopped paying attention to them, my erstwhile drinking buddy and everything else. All I could hear was my pulse, roaring in my ears, causing a shadow on my vision, casting a shroud over everything I thought I knew. I sat there for a moment in abject misery. It didn't last long, I grew resolve, although it felt like the shroud would never vanish.
Embers, long dormant, sprang up in my heart; anger, then rage, all blunted by sadness. I noticed my bag was slipping off my shoulder. That brought me back to life and I shrugged it back into place. I took one more drink of my mimosa, stood, turned around and poured the remnants, about half, down Julia's back.
That produced a little screech, she jumped up and turned to look at me. I saw the lightbulb go on. "Got anything to say, bitch?" I asked.
Her mouth opened and shut. No sound came out. I turned and walked out. I was still ten minutes ahead of our reservation. I had the thought that it would be interesting to know if the two women would stay until Blake got there, and of what that conversation would consist if they did.
They brought my car and I saw Blake's Caddy at the light as I turned right out the exit. I hoped he wouldn't notice me. The blue and white of my 1970 Chevelle SS is hard to miss, but then Blake wasn't the most observant dude, I realized.
I wondered again if they were still there or they had left to get Julia out her ruined dress. Oh, well, I'd find out soon. It didn't take long. When I was five minutes late, I got a text. "Where u @?"
I had voice to text, and used it. "Suck my dick," I sent. I turned my phone off. Yeah, petty, but that's just how I roll.
I didn't remember driving home, I realized, as I pulled into the garage. Damn. I needed to get it together. I went in and changed, cleaned up, got some snacks and a 4x espresso, cut one of my 50mg gummies in fourths and ate one.
I grimaced a bit and looked at the package. "Orange Creme," it said. I guess it did taste a little like some kind of citrus flavor some dude who had never tasted an orange would dream up in a laboratory somewhere. Mostly, it tasted like weed. And sugar.
I chuckled a bit at the mundane things I was thinking. I was definitely off my game. It took Blake maybe an hour to figure it out and get home. I loved the feeling of dread I imagined he was feeling on the drive home. What would really suck was if he just didn't give a fuck. Oh well, I really couldn't imagine that, either.
I heard him come in from the garage and drop his keys in the tray. I was listening to Taylor Swift's "Tortured Poets Department," just lost in my thoughts until I heard the door. I suspected this would be the most unpleasant moment in my life. I wasn't wrong.
He came in looking... green. "You finna puke, dude?" I asked.
"I may," he said. "I need to sit down." I was occupying the sofa, all of it, so he had to sit in his chair. I had been strategic. I was feeling the gummy pretty good. In fact, I felt like I was unflappable. We'd see. He slumped there for a minute.
"I can't imagine how you're feeling," he finally said. "I regret that so much."
"Yeah. Well, shit happens," I said.
"That's what you want to say?" he asked.
"What's to say?" I asked. "There was a hell of a bunch YOU should have said. At this point, there's just what? Sorry, dude, that bird has flown. I don't have shit to say to you."
"I know you're upset, hurt, angry. I'm sorry I caused that. You're absolutely right. Can I tell you something?"
"You have the ability," I said. "You can certainly speak words. Whether I listen to them will be up to me, how I'm feeling at the moment. Get used to it, dude. That's the way it's going to be from now on. I'm no longer interested in how you feel. Understand that. Act accordingly."
He winced. "Okay, I deserve that. Believe it or not, Kavanaugh, I would have said something long ago, but I love you."
