What You Mean We, Paleface 2
by Qhml1
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A month and a half later, my loving husband was back in the States, and I immediately pressed for a court date, getting on the docket in two weeks' time.
He surprised me by wanting to set up mediation, which I almost refused, but my lawyer talked me into it. "It might save a ton of time if you can come to terms. You'll be able to tell in the first few minutes how it's probably gonna go, and I'll make sure they know if you think they're wasting your time, you can leave immediately."
She'd checked on him and found him living with his now 20-year-old baby momma. This pleased me, as it would make the divorce easier. What a foolish thought.
The first mediation evening set the tone for the rest of the divorce. He tried to kiss me as soon as I walked in, and I had to fight him off. "What the hell is wrong with you? Stay on your side of the table, or this proceeding is over." In response, he started crying and asking to come home, talking about how much he missed me and his children.
"The children? There was no contact with them before you left, and you never emailed or video-called them the whole time you were gone. I found out you'd been back three weeks, and still, no call, no show. I think you're overstating how badly you've missed your kids. You're living with Bimbo Barbie, so you see your new baby every day. I heard it was a girl. Congratulations. Now could we get on with it?"
He cried and sniffled, and I think the mediator was moved. "Is there any way you..."
"Nope. No. Not. Nein. Non, and every other foreign expression of the negative you can think of. Not a snowball's chance, not if he was the last man on earth; it filtering through yet?"
It went downhill from there. My lawyer finally stood. "We're accomplishing nothing here, and as much as I love billable hours, it's time to end this farce. Counselor, if you can get your client to listen to reason and act in a socially acceptable manner, reschedule. If not, see you in court."
He chose court. We drew the worst possible Judge, a sixty-something woman who wrote romance novels as a hobby, and before we knew it, we were hit with counseling. After a hurried conference, my lawyer addressed the court. "How many sessions?"
"As many as it..." I did a dumb thing and broke in on the Judge. "Eight sessions, and I'm done. If you promise that once it's over and I still want the divorce, you grant it immediately. Understood?"
Her face was so red I feared for her health. "Young lady, you don't get to..."
"And another thing. He pays, and he doesn't get to pick. Appoint one approved by the court and set it up."
There was a hurried conference at the bench, with death stares directed at me, until they stood back and returned to the table. "Ten sessions. When it's done, it's done, unless both agree to continue. If not, and an accord isn't reached, I'll grant the divorce. You'll get the counselor's name and a schedule in a few days. It will be bad for you if one is missed. So ordered!" She slammed the gavel down so hard it broke.
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When it was over, Jim was waiting for me, immediately whisking Jan, my lawyer, and me off to a nice, intimate bistro with booths designed for privacy. "How did it go?"
Jan grinned. "Your little honey roared like a lion, taking the Judge head-on. I was wondering how long it would take to get her out of jail when the judge folded. It seems she's up for reelection, and her opponent has been looking into her record. Allie will still have to listen to ten hours of bullshit in counseling sessions, and then it's over."
I thought about the little honey crack after she'd left. Jim had to go out of state for a couple of weeks just after our first date, and Simone set me up with a couple of her friends. Neither of them triggered anything that remotely resembled a spark, but they were pleasant company. Jim had been back two weeks before I found out, and I called him. "Hey, stranger. I heard you were back in town. Wanna do something Saturday?"
"Sorry, Allie. I already have a date this weekend. Maybe sometime later. It was good to hear from you." And just like that, he was gone. I asked Simone about it, and she grinned.
"He's hooked up with a little native honey. Navajo, I think. He met her at a native celebration, looking for some silver and turquoise pieces. She's hot, and I ran into them at a bar a few weeks ago." She frowned. "I don't think it will last long. She likes to drink, and Jim doesn't. Sooner or later, there'll be a clash over lifestyles, and it'll be over. Besides, what happened to you and what his name, Pedro, Pancho, I don't remember."
I frowned, reliving the experience. "We dated four times. In retrospect, it was three times too many. He was a little too macho for me, and he and the boys had a mutually dislike relationship. He smarted off about me being his bitch when we ran into an old friend of mine, and he felt threatened. I found my way home and haven't spoken to him since."
"Ouch! Well, you never can tell." Then she giggled. "Maybe you can catch Jim on the rebound."
I laughed and put it out of my mind, but three weeks later, the Lincoln needed servicing, so I took it to his shop. He was on the floor and rushed right over. "Allie! It's good to see you! How have you been?"
I grinned. Sometimes, he had the enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old. "I'm fine. I just brought the car in for service."
"Come on upstairs, and we'll catch up." He didn't give me a chance to say no, not that I would have, practically dragging me up the stairs. I asked for water, and we sat.
"Opened any more franchises?"
His business advisor had talked him into franchising. An experiment that could have gone better. "No! I abandoned that plan pretty fast over service issues. My lawyer put performance clauses in, and I repurchased them all. I've got them and four more since we talked last. How about you? Still married?"
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Really? How long has it been?"
"My one-year anniversary is coming up. The way it's going, I could end up a widow before a divorcee.
I finally decided not to worry about it and moved on. I even got a new career. I now work for Simone at one of her agencies. I went to school and got my real estate license, and it works well for me because I can schedule appointments around my kids. I'm good at it.
"Congratulations."
I bit the bullet and asked, "How has life been treating you outside the business arena? I heard you were dating an Indian Princess. How's that going?"
He laughed. "That's been over for a while now. She had a problem with fire water. And fidelity. It came apart when I caught her at a bar with another guy and asked if he knew he was drinking with an Indian Princess. He asked her what nation she was in, and I jumped in."
He stopped for a minute, savoring the memory. "I told him she was Navajo. Or maybe Arapaho, I couldn't remember, but she was some hoe. "
I giggled. "Did she take it well?"
"Not really. I think she would have scalped me if she'd have been physically able. It was the last time I saw her." He paused. "Open to dating a grease monkey again?"
This was going very well. "I'll think about it, but mister, the first time you get grease on my sheets, it better be the right kind! Call me!" His mouth was still hanging open as I walked off. So, we dated. Often. He got to know my boys. It was a gradual process, but they learned to trust each other. I smiled and waved when they told me he was taking them to ride horses and no girls were allowed. When the door shut, I collapsed into tears, happy they had a father figure in their life.
They came back bearing a gift. He had gotten them cowboy hats, and they conspired to find one for me, a narrow-brimmed, flat-crowned Stetson in gleaming white. They fussed over me, positioning the hat at just the right angle. Jim stood behind me as I looked in the mirror, grinning. "Tell her, boys!"
"We're going to a dude ranch! We're going if you say we can, and you have to go with us! It'll be great! Please, Mom?"