“Congratulations.”
“And I’m pretty sure,” Sewell said, “that being a builder who’s regularly featured in design magazines beats running a development company.”
“That may be true,” I said, “but you just came a lot closer to fulfilling Terry’s predictions than I have. You ready to give up lawyering?”
“Happily,” he said.
Although I didn’t necessarily want to end Jean’s discomfortwith our mutual admiration, I decided to employ my collegefund conversational gambit. Things had already gone way south with Jean, but I figured maybe I could endear myself to the soon-to-be Honorable John Sewell.
As it happened, Crash walked back into the room in time to hear her mother laugh. “Who is this college fund for? You? That youngster you live with? Alison has less than four years until graduation. What did you think I would do, wait for someone to die and will it to me?”
Sewell smiled in a neutral way. A thought occurred to me that must have already occurred to a smart man like him: this was a discussion we should have been having in private.
“That’s great,” I said. “How much do you need from me?”
“You’re already contributing,” Jean said. “I’m putting in your alimony. It’s not like I need it.”
Humiliation from my ex-wife wasn’t anything new, but it was particularly painful in front of her boyfriend. I considered my options. With Crash standing beside her mother, I didn’t have any. I could have asked Jean for a steak knife in order to commit ritual suicide, I guess.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Sewell said.
For a second, we both looked at him as though we couldn’t imagine how he had materialized in our lives. I managed a nod. Jean barely moved.
“The way things are going with the market these days,” he said, “it makes sense for both of you to have college funds. One of you could have a 529, and the other could start a trust in Alison’s name. Listen, if you want to talk sometime, Randy, I can give you some suggestions. I do okay with this kind of thing.”
Jean wasn’t happy to watch Sewell pull me from the fire. Shegathered up the empty bottles, and my own not-empty bottle, and took them to the kitchen. Crash followed her mother, probably to make sure she didn’t return with that steak knife.
“She hates you.” Sewell said it like he was telling me my truck needed new tires.
“I didn’t notice it while we were married,” I said, “because there was so much disgust, too.”
“I’m going to make her hate you less.” Sewell stood up, which I took as a signal that I should start heading to the door. “It’s no way to start
our
marriage. I’m good at this kind of thing, too.”
Leaving without saying goodbye to Jean was an excellent plan. I could call Crash from my truck. Shaking John Sewell’s hand, I felt grateful for his attempts to make my life easier. And that wasn’t even the worst mistake I made that night.
TURNING UP CHAPMAN TOWARD the toll road, I took a moment to enjoy one of the last pieces of open farmland in this part of Orange County. Thousand-foot peaks brooded over both sides of a box canyon that bottomed out into a lake. It was getting near dusk, and I almost didn’t mind being myself for a few moments.
On the way toward Laguna, though, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said MVP Entertainment, which didn’t sound like anyone who wanted me to build them a home, so I answered it.
“Randy, it’s Claire Monaco. I want to straighten a few things out.”
Call waiting cut in. It was MP. Considering our talk this morning, and the fact that I’d recently been seen soliciting prostitutesin Santa Ana, I figured I’d better take it: “Hold on a second, Claire. Hi, sweetheart.”
“Claire Monaco just called.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Did you, uh, give her my cell number?”
“No,” MP said. “I told her I would ask you to call her. Which is what I’m doing now. Do you
have
her cell number?”
“Yeah. I think so. I
“And I’m pretty sure,” Sewell said, “that being a builder who’s regularly featured in design magazines beats running a development company.”
“That may be true,” I said, “but you just came a lot closer to fulfilling Terry’s predictions than I have. You ready to give up lawyering?”
“Happily,” he said.
Although I didn’t necessarily want to end Jean’s discomfortwith our mutual admiration, I decided to employ my collegefund conversational gambit. Things had already gone way south with Jean, but I figured maybe I could endear myself to the soon-to-be Honorable John Sewell.
As it happened, Crash walked back into the room in time to hear her mother laugh. “Who is this college fund for? You? That youngster you live with? Alison has less than four years until graduation. What did you think I would do, wait for someone to die and will it to me?”
Sewell smiled in a neutral way. A thought occurred to me that must have already occurred to a smart man like him: this was a discussion we should have been having in private.
“That’s great,” I said. “How much do you need from me?”
“You’re already contributing,” Jean said. “I’m putting in your alimony. It’s not like I need it.”
Humiliation from my ex-wife wasn’t anything new, but it was particularly painful in front of her boyfriend. I considered my options. With Crash standing beside her mother, I didn’t have any. I could have asked Jean for a steak knife in order to commit ritual suicide, I guess.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Sewell said.
For a second, we both looked at him as though we couldn’t imagine how he had materialized in our lives. I managed a nod. Jean barely moved.
“The way things are going with the market these days,” he said, “it makes sense for both of you to have college funds. One of you could have a 529, and the other could start a trust in Alison’s name. Listen, if you want to talk sometime, Randy, I can give you some suggestions. I do okay with this kind of thing.”
Jean wasn’t happy to watch Sewell pull me from the fire. Shegathered up the empty bottles, and my own not-empty bottle, and took them to the kitchen. Crash followed her mother, probably to make sure she didn’t return with that steak knife.
“She hates you.” Sewell said it like he was telling me my truck needed new tires.
“I didn’t notice it while we were married,” I said, “because there was so much disgust, too.”
“I’m going to make her hate you less.” Sewell stood up, which I took as a signal that I should start heading to the door. “It’s no way to start
our
marriage. I’m good at this kind of thing, too.”
Leaving without saying goodbye to Jean was an excellent plan. I could call Crash from my truck. Shaking John Sewell’s hand, I felt grateful for his attempts to make my life easier. And that wasn’t even the worst mistake I made that night.
TURNING UP CHAPMAN TOWARD the toll road, I took a moment to enjoy one of the last pieces of open farmland in this part of Orange County. Thousand-foot peaks brooded over both sides of a box canyon that bottomed out into a lake. It was getting near dusk, and I almost didn’t mind being myself for a few moments.
On the way toward Laguna, though, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said MVP Entertainment, which didn’t sound like anyone who wanted me to build them a home, so I answered it.
“Randy, it’s Claire Monaco. I want to straighten a few things out.”
Call waiting cut in. It was MP. Considering our talk this morning, and the fact that I’d recently been seen soliciting prostitutesin Santa Ana, I figured I’d better take it: “Hold on a second, Claire. Hi, sweetheart.”
“Claire Monaco just called.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “Did you, uh, give her my cell number?”
“No,” MP said. “I told her I would ask you to call her. Which is what I’m doing now. Do you
have
her cell number?”
“Yeah. I think so. I
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