for Robbie. Sort of an
all or none clause. You can challenge, but if you’re unsuccessful, you’re
out—with nothing. Being disinherited can be a powerful psychological
deterrent.” Martin took a long pull on his own cocktail, no doubt savoring the
flavor before he sprinted for the door. “Like I said, the guy is brilliant.”
Robert took a bow, even though Martin was probably referring
to Jackson Burke.
Now it was Amanda’s turn to gulp her drink. Bet she wished
she had something stronger. She’d probably like to blame the scene she was
about to cause on drunkenness.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” she sighed. “This is so
like Robert. I wonder if the whole point was the hope that I would challenge.
If the media got a hold of the news, I’d be branded as a heartless gold-digger
like Anna Nicole. Or that bitch who scammed Paul McCartney.”
“Robert’s not that smart.”
Hey!
“Are you kidding?” Amanda said. “Remember when I asked him
to drop his damned exclusive clause in my contract? Do you have any idea what I
might have earned in endorsements? But he couldn’t stand the idea that I might
make more than he paid.”
“Well, there isn’t anything in the trust about that. Maybe
you still could.”
“What am I going to endorse now? Hormone replacement
therapy? Depends?”
“Come on, Amanda. You’re still a beautiful, vibrant woman.”
Martin reached under the table.
What the hell? Robert slipped his head through the
tablecloth. His attorney had his hand on his wife’s thigh; and she was letting
him!
“Look at all the cosmetic companies with their rejuvenating
facial creams. Or weight loss programs.”
Under the table, she laid her hand on top of his. It was
about time the true Amanda showed herself. Robert watched to see her manicured
claws dig into Martin’s knuckles until he dragged his paw off her body. But she
guided his hand farther between her thighs and squeezed!
“You think someone will pay for a testimonial about how,
with the right man, a woman can do anything. Even lose a hundred and thirty
seven pounds?” She giggled.
Martin gave her a big smile. “We could show before and after
pictures of both of us. You in a moo-moo and me in a dorky wool blend suit.”
Just like that, she reached across the small table and
grabbed Martin’s tie. She literally pulled him out of his seat, rising up from
her own chair as well, and planted a deep lingering kiss on his mouth.
Queasiness washed over Robert that he hadn’t felt since
those first moments after his death. His chest felt tight, and a high-pitched
squelch rang in his ears.
He’d never seen it at home growing up, but he’d watched
enough movies, he’d heard enough songs to know what he was seeing. Love.
He ran. Through the cut-glass doors of Harrison’s, across
the parking lot, and up Peachtree Street; running as hard as he could to get
away from what he’d witnessed. Questions tumbled over each other: How? When?
And the most painful of all: Why Martin
and not me ?
CHAPTER SIX
Exhaust-belching trucks and careening cars flowed beneath
Robert like a polluted river. He stood on an overpass of the northern section
of the beltway, miles from Buckhead. The setting sun perched just above
Marietta to the west. Had he run all this way? He didn’t feel the least bit
winded. Only defeated.
After debating the possibility of finding a cab this far
from the city, he began aimlessly walking. He killed hours at a sleazy strip
club featuring girls with too much belly fat and sagging breasts. All of the
strippers came out for the finale, strutting and squeezing to Donna Summer’s ‘Last
Dance’. More like last chance for the remaining drunks to slip dollar bills
into panties, while fumbling fingers drifted clumsily toward restricted areas
and got slapped playfully away.
Then it was on to the Waffle House on Piedmont where drunks
hung out after the bars closed down, combating the booze with scrambled eggs
and
all or none clause. You can challenge, but if you’re unsuccessful, you’re
out—with nothing. Being disinherited can be a powerful psychological
deterrent.” Martin took a long pull on his own cocktail, no doubt savoring the
flavor before he sprinted for the door. “Like I said, the guy is brilliant.”
Robert took a bow, even though Martin was probably referring
to Jackson Burke.
Now it was Amanda’s turn to gulp her drink. Bet she wished
she had something stronger. She’d probably like to blame the scene she was
about to cause on drunkenness.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” she sighed. “This is so
like Robert. I wonder if the whole point was the hope that I would challenge.
If the media got a hold of the news, I’d be branded as a heartless gold-digger
like Anna Nicole. Or that bitch who scammed Paul McCartney.”
“Robert’s not that smart.”
Hey!
“Are you kidding?” Amanda said. “Remember when I asked him
to drop his damned exclusive clause in my contract? Do you have any idea what I
might have earned in endorsements? But he couldn’t stand the idea that I might
make more than he paid.”
“Well, there isn’t anything in the trust about that. Maybe
you still could.”
“What am I going to endorse now? Hormone replacement
therapy? Depends?”
“Come on, Amanda. You’re still a beautiful, vibrant woman.”
Martin reached under the table.
What the hell? Robert slipped his head through the
tablecloth. His attorney had his hand on his wife’s thigh; and she was letting
him!
“Look at all the cosmetic companies with their rejuvenating
facial creams. Or weight loss programs.”
Under the table, she laid her hand on top of his. It was
about time the true Amanda showed herself. Robert watched to see her manicured
claws dig into Martin’s knuckles until he dragged his paw off her body. But she
guided his hand farther between her thighs and squeezed!
“You think someone will pay for a testimonial about how,
with the right man, a woman can do anything. Even lose a hundred and thirty
seven pounds?” She giggled.
Martin gave her a big smile. “We could show before and after
pictures of both of us. You in a moo-moo and me in a dorky wool blend suit.”
Just like that, she reached across the small table and
grabbed Martin’s tie. She literally pulled him out of his seat, rising up from
her own chair as well, and planted a deep lingering kiss on his mouth.
Queasiness washed over Robert that he hadn’t felt since
those first moments after his death. His chest felt tight, and a high-pitched
squelch rang in his ears.
He’d never seen it at home growing up, but he’d watched
enough movies, he’d heard enough songs to know what he was seeing. Love.
He ran. Through the cut-glass doors of Harrison’s, across
the parking lot, and up Peachtree Street; running as hard as he could to get
away from what he’d witnessed. Questions tumbled over each other: How? When?
And the most painful of all: Why Martin
and not me ?
CHAPTER SIX
Exhaust-belching trucks and careening cars flowed beneath
Robert like a polluted river. He stood on an overpass of the northern section
of the beltway, miles from Buckhead. The setting sun perched just above
Marietta to the west. Had he run all this way? He didn’t feel the least bit
winded. Only defeated.
After debating the possibility of finding a cab this far
from the city, he began aimlessly walking. He killed hours at a sleazy strip
club featuring girls with too much belly fat and sagging breasts. All of the
strippers came out for the finale, strutting and squeezing to Donna Summer’s ‘Last
Dance’. More like last chance for the remaining drunks to slip dollar bills
into panties, while fumbling fingers drifted clumsily toward restricted areas
and got slapped playfully away.
Then it was on to the Waffle House on Piedmont where drunks
hung out after the bars closed down, combating the booze with scrambled eggs
and
Similar Books
