As an anonymous reader, I eagerly anticipated the stories in Randi's "Money Honey" invitational, scheduled for March 2022. Figuring there would be a good number of brilliant efforts based on the famous song, I left an anonymous comment on the announcement page expressing my enthusiasm for what was to come.
Imagine my surprise, then, when the number of stories based on that song turned out to be...zero. Now that I'm finally not only registered, but also submitting stories, thought I'd try to fill that gap with a "Money Honey" of my own.
And quickly learned why no one touched it for the invitational. After printing out the lyrics, found there's not a lot there to animate a story. Unlike, say, "Take It on the Run," "Lying Eyes" or "Billie Jean" (the latter two having been adapted masterfully by StangStar06). So the job here was to add content, and I used Randi's description of the "money honey" theme, and some padding, to flesh it out.
So...submitted for your approval, here is my take on "Money Honey"
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Spare me the lawyer jokes. Not all of us are prosperous shysters operating out of plush offices with a team of secretaries, paralegals and fellow attorneys at the ready. Some of us are hardworking sole practitioners, operating out of small offices, with no staff, not even a receptionist to greet visitors and answer the phone.
I came to the law a little later in life than the majority, who directly scaled the college to law school to law firm ladder. And graduating from an online institution doesn't exactly build a wall of contacts in the field. So here I was, an honest schlub, taking on any client or work that deigned to visit my little office in a strip mall.
You want a contract, a will? I'm your man. If you've been in an accident, I'll be as tenacious as those guys who can afford to advertise on TV or radio. You name it, I'll do it, so long as it's legal. So long as it's legal. Maybe I'm not such a natural at this as I'd like to think I am. By the way, that's a lawyer joke.
Anyway, it was early in the afternoon one day, and I had nothing on calendar, other than a little more wine at lunch than would have been advisable as work fuel. It wouldn't do to head home early, since Marianne wouldn't get back from school (as a third-grade teacher) until 5 or thereabouts.
While her work hours were regular, mine were not. Although today was a blank, oftentimes I'd have to stay late to research statutes or case law regarding a client matter. Marianne was very tolerant, and understood that I needed to do things when I could, regardless of whenever dinner was. So she would eat at a normal time, and if I wasn't back yet, she'd put my share of the food into the fridge for whenever I got there. And she knew better than to expect me to always call to let her know I'd be late, since once I got entangled in something, everything but the task at hand ceased to exist in my mind.
Thank goodness Marianne made a steady income. It's pretty touch and go with my fluctuating earnings, but we managed to keep our roof, and food on the table. She knew I was trying to build something that would give us a much more comfortable life once it got more established. I was a lucky man to have such an intelligent, not to mention attractive, wife.
Meanwhile, back to that early afternoon. I work hard when there's something to do, as noted above, but when there isn't, like many people who work for themselves, I allow myself to play. Since there were a few hours to kill, thought I'd spark up a blunt, and either read or write a story or two. So I retreated to the back room, put a towel under the door (wouldn't do to have a prospective client outside the front door smell the weed), and fired up.
Mellowed out, I opened up a blank Word page, ready to write something. Just as my fingers were poised on the keyboard, I heard the ring of my front door bell. It rang and rang for a long, long spell. I ignored it, figuring that whoever it was would get the message that no one was in, and try again another day.
But then the doorbell was replaced by loud knocking on the locked front door. Too high to speak to anyone, but still curious as to who would be so persistent, I snuck a furtive peek around the back office door to see who it was, while still not being visible to this would-be intruder.
Ugh. It was my landlord. Or, more precisely, the property manager. Obviously looking for the last few months' rent, which I hadn't paid. Funny how those other little bills (phone, insurance, electric, etc.) can crowd out the big boy--rent. Anyway, I quickly hid myself behind the closed door of the back room. Guess I wouldn't be doing anything creative today. Shit, that really harshed my buzz.
I was trapped. Couldn't leave to go home until I was absolutely certain he had given up and left. Stoned and paranoid, I figured he would be a sneaky bastard and lay low, hoping I'd emerge unsuspectingly, and then he could catch me. Who knows? Maybe he was looking to serve me a pay or quit notice. In any event, I was in no place to speak with him then. So I waited and waited and waited and waited, quietly in the back room, and read stories off the computer screen to occupy my time.
Guess the wine, smoke and stress caught up with me, because I fell asleep at the desk. Didn't wake up until it was nearly midnight. Shit. It wouldn't be too great for me to get home that late, in clothes that smelled like what I'd been doing. So I brewed up some coffee, aired out my clothes, and eventually snuck into my car to drive home.
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I finally made it home about half past three. Not wanting to wake her up, I eschewed the garage, instead parking on the street. That garage door opener isn't the quietest. Luckily our street had no restrictions on overnight parking, and there were a few other cars out there, so at least I was in good company.
Entering quietly, I navigated through the small house to our bedroom. As expected, the room was dark, since of course Marianne would be asleep at this time of night. So I silently removed my clothes, and not wanting to wake her, just placed them on top of the hamper. I could put them into it later when we'd both woken up.
Slowly I walked over to my side of the bed, ready to crawl in, when I found myself face to face with what I could see was a pretty big guy. WHAT THE FUCK??? How could another man take my place? Guess I didn't just think that "what the fuck," must have said it out loud, because they both woke up, looking startled.
"What the fuck is that ape doing in my bed, Marianne? What the fuck?" The big man stretched his muscled arms, like he was about to hit me, when Marianne spoke up and said "Pete, let me handle this."
"Jack, we didn't mean to be here like this, we accidentally fell asleep. But now that it's out in the open, I can tell you that from this day on, our marriage is through."
I was stunned, and could barely croak out a "why?"
"It's money, honey. I think I've been pretty patient for the past couple years, but it's clear to me that you're never going to make enough for us to move forward. I want to own a house, not rent it. I want children. I want a man with a steady income, not someone who raids our savings more than adding to it.
"I don't need a mansion, fancy cars, anything like that. But I want stability, I want to be able to budget, plan ahead. Peter here is a Phys. Ed. teacher at my school. So we'll never be rich, but with our two regular paychecks, we can build a future. I'm sorry, Jack, and I should have said something, instead of us fucking up and dozing off, and you finding us here this way.
"But maybe it's all for the best. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be. I'll file for divorce, and since we don't have much to divvy up, you just go your way, and I'll go mine."
"You fucking whore," I said, and could see Peter stirring, ready to jump out of bed and pop me one. "Sorry, but that's how it looks to me. How long have you two been fucking?"
"Three months, loser," said Peter, now sitting up and flexing his arms.
"Stop it, Pete. Can you just leave so I can have this out with my husband?"
"Sure, babe, but I'll go into the front room. Just in case he tries something with you."
"I don't think that'll be necessary."
