The Complaint for Divorce hurled accusations with precision aim; adultery, extreme cruelty, desertion. Samantha could almost hear the hatred and betrayal jump off the pages as she hastened down the hall toward her office, coffee in one hand, papers hot off the printer in the other. She reviewed the causes of action she had drafted just a half hour earlier and muttered, "Ben Calloway, you are a slimy bastard."
Her secretary Carol sprinted two feet behind her, attempting to catch up. "What do you want to do with the Townley Property Settlement Agreement?"
"Call Mr. Townley and find out if he can come in at two. I need to review it with him, but I have some changes to make first."
"No problem," replied Carol, in her usual good mood.
"And call Judge Hurley's secretary to find out if the Russo motion can be heard at eleven on Friday, since I have to be in Judge Persky's courtroom at nine." She glanced over her shoulder to assure that Carol followed in her wake.
"I already confirmed that," said Carol, checking her memo pad.
Sam slowed her pace momentarily. "And did you call Mr. Hill to come in and sign his Complaint? He's going on vacation next week and I want that Complaint filed before he leaves."
"I called him yesterday and left a message."
"Well, call him again," she demanded, then thought better of her tone of voice. "Please." The stress of this business had a way of making her take her frustrations out on the wrong people. Stopping in front of her office, she turned to Carol with a sheepish grin. "It's only ten o'clock and I'm already behind."
Her attempt at an apology was graciously accepted. "I know. Mrs. Calloway's waiting for you in Conference Room Two. And Mr. Calloway and his attorney are out in the reception area," Carol whispered conspiratorially. "Mr. Calloway's pacing and snarling into his cell phone. He doesn't appear to be in a good mood."
"And he hasn't even seen a copy of this Complaint yet," Sam grinned as she held up the document in her hand. "He's the one who wanted a four-way conference this morning. I'm sure he was hoping to get his wife to cave in early and settle before she learned of his little affair. Now that she knows, that's not going to happen. I'm surprised she even agreed to meet with him. When she told me what she found out yesterday, the venom practically dripped from her voice. Unless her plan is to castrate him this morning."
"Sam!"
"Sorry," she smiled, a bit ruefully as Carol blushed. Her prim and proper attitude amused Sam. In this business, divorce attorneys felt they earned the right to be at least a little crass.
"Good luck." Carol handed Sam the revised Property Settlement Agreement in the Townley matter for her review. "I'll be at my desk if you need anything."
"Thanks," Sam called after her, knowing she would need more than luck to get through this day.
Samantha tossed the Agreement on her desk atop the other piles, if they could be called that. Just under them were a stack of at least ten phone messages that she had yet to return. But first, the Calloway meeting. She grabbed her suit jacket, a note pad, and three sections from her file, all the while thinking about the Calloways — and couples like them.
Why was it that the errant husband always hooked up with the younger woman who worked with him? What about the sanctity of marriage? What happened to the promise to love and honor til death do you part? Melissa Calloway was a beautiful woman - smart, charming, elegant. She had given up her promising career as a designer at Calvin Klein when she married Ben Calloway ten years earlier. She had to. Her new role demanded that she not only be available to him at a moment's notice, but manage his personal life as well. And she did so with dedication and loyalty. She ran his household, raised the children, catered his parties, and sat on charitable boards; all with an ease and grace that made him look like the perfect husband, father, and businessman. Too bad he hadn't returned the favor.
Sam headed toward the door but didn't make it out before her associate, Gina, stopped her in her tracks. "Did you see the front page of The Post today?"
"Of course not. Who has time?"
"This you'll want to see. The headline caught my eye when I passed the news stand." She held out the paper to Sam.
Ben Calloway stood front and center, wearing a tuxedo; his arm around a young beauty dressed in a designer frock. The Metropolitan Museum of Art served as the backdrop. The banner read, "Real Estate Magnate Calloway Escorts His Young New Assistant from Red Cross Event." In smaller letters just under the photograph queried, "Has Melissa Calloway been replaced?"
"Oh no!" Sam felt a trickle of anxiety sweep through her body. "Do you think Melissa has seen this?"
"Probably not. She's sitting too calmly in the conference room. And I wasn't about to go in and ask her," admitted Gina, looking over Sam's shoulder at the bomb ticking in her hand.
"I better cancel this conference before it even gets started. War's going to break out when she sees this. Come with me. I need support."
The next few hours felt more like several days after Sam shared The Post photo with Melissa, who ranted, raved, cried, and threatened. But Sam finally managed to calm her, for the time being, although the public humiliation would stay with her long after she left the office. Some things life handed you just weren't fair, and Melissa Calloway certainly didn't deserve her husband's flagrant disloyalty and the mortification his careless actions brought with it.
Cases like this made Sam appreciate her marriage more than ever, and she acknowledged to herself that she was one lucky woman. Her husband, Tom, gave her the freedom to pursue her career without demanding that she cater to his needs. He understood the long hours and myopic focus which would eventually reward her with a partnership.
Matrimonial Law was a tough practice; the emotions high, the stakes even higher, and her clients' tolerance low. Yet Sam loved it. She managed to educate her clients and shape their expectations into something more reasonable - at least after a time. The fast pace of her calendar kept her energized. Every new legal or factual issue allowed her to hone not only her professional skills, but perfect the art of persuasion before judges and adversaries alike. She strove to be the voice of reason at settlement conferences, and she felt a sense of pride when she witnessed the transition of a person from total wreck to independent, strong, and free. The fact that Sam was making a name for herself as a matrimonial lawyer in New York City was secondary.
She glanced at the clock on her desk. Just past six. The day had sped by, with client meetings, phone calls and dictation intersecting each other willy nilly. Thank God Carol was organized. She kept Sam sane by making sure she got to where she had to be and did what she had to do, all with a smile on her face. But now she was gone, along with most of the other secretaries, who left at five-thirty. The buzz and hum of computers, telephones and voices had subsided. This was the time in the office that Sam liked most. No phone calls, no appointments, no distractions. She could sit at her desk and finally work.
At least that's the way it was supposed to happen. So why was her phone ringing? She glanced at the caller ID to identify the culprit. Her husband Tom's phone number flashed across the tiny screen.
"Hi Tommy," she teased, using the childhood name his mother still called him. "What's up?" She continued signing letters that Carol had left on her desk.
"I was wondering if you'd meet me for a drink at Winston's in a while." She could hear the honking of horns in the background and pictured him cruising down the sidewalk enjoying the spring weather as he spoke to her on his cell phone.
"Really? Why? Are we celebrating something?" Sam turned her focus from work to her husband.
"Can't I invite my wife out for a drink after work on a Tuesday night?" He sounded irritated that she had questioned his invitation.
"Sure. It's just that we never do that." She shrugged for her own benefit. "What time?"
"How about seven?"
Sam glanced at her watch. It would take her at least forty minutes to get there, so she would only have twenty minutes to get done what she needed for tomorrow morning's court appearance.
"How about seven-thirty?"
His annoyed sigh floated over the line. "Okay. I'll see you at seven thirty."
"See you then."
She placed the receiver in the cradle, curiosity momentarily interrupting her work. It wasn't like Tom to be spontaneous. And he didn't laugh like he usually did when she called him Tommy. But it was a beautiful evening at the end of April, and the longer days must have inspired him to leave work early and surrender to spring fever. A surge of excitement shot through Sam at the thought of joining the throngs of people maneuvering around each other on the populated sidewalks of Columbus Avenue. The bubbling crowds on the upper West side always managed to electrify her, setting her spirits high.
And a spontaneous date was really a sweet idea. He must have known that she could use the break. His thoughtfulness brought her back to her earlier conviction just that morning, when she had snapped at Carol. She had to try to improve her treatment of the people she cared about. The stress of her job was making her crabby and she, unfortunately, took it out on those who made her life easier.
Sam was late, of course. She was always late if coming from the office. She knew it irritated Tom, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never stop herself from dictating one more letter or reading one more memo. When she walked through the door into the mahogany and stained-glass bar, people were standing three deep. Chattering customers took up every bar stool and space available. Her eyes moved around the smokey room taking in the happy scene as she sought her husband. And there he was in the thick of things, talking and laughing with a trio of twenty-somethings, as he intermittently drank from a long neck bottle of beer.
What a flirt, she thought, as she squeezed her way around the bar toward the back corner. By the time she made her way to him, her annoyance had risen to the surface. The noise and smoke contributed to her mood, but the casual friskiness with which Tom interacted with the female patrons grated on her nerves.
"I see you started without me." She moved to kiss him, but he turned his head and she grazed his cheek.
"You're late. As usual." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What would you like?"
"A glass of Chardonnay and a quieter spot."
"That could be arranged," he said as he ordered her drink and asked for a table in the back.
Once seated, the cool liquid slid down easily, and Sam's mood elevated with the liquor and the calming peace. "This is much better," she said smiling at her husband across the booth. "So why are we here? Were you working in the area today?"
"No. I just thought that we needed to get out and talk."
"Talk? About what?" And why would they need to get out to do it?
"I've been meaning to tell you." He looked down, avoiding her eyes, as he shifted in his seat.
She leaned forward. "Tell me what?" A twinge of anxiety shot through her system.
"I'm leaving for California for business on Saturday."
The twinge turned to a pang. "This Saturday?"
"Yes."
She didn't respond immediately, allowing his words and demeanor to settle in. Something was off. And the silence seemed to make him squirm even more.
"When will you be back?"
"I'm not sure. I'm planning on staying until the end of August. Maybe September."
"What?" Her voice escalated with her shock. "You can't go for the whole summer. What about the weekends we usually go to the Hamptons? What about our vacation?"
She fleetingly realized that they had no vacation plans yet. She had been too busy to book anything. But she still had time.
He ignored her questions. "Prince Computers is in talks with a similar company out in San Diego. We want to see if they're compatible with us. We're going to spend the next few months meeting with the president and vice-president, the company's accountants, you know. Doing the due diligence and determining whether we should purchase it or not."
Tom played with his beer bottle as he spoke, not looking at her. There was obviously more to it than he let on.
"Why are you just springing this on me now? I'm sure you must have known about it for months."
"I wasn't sure that I would be going. Joe and Sherry were originally going."
"That makes more sense. He's the president of the company and she's the accountant. What happened to change that?"
"I talked Joe into letting me take his place."
Stunned, she looked at him hard, trying to gauge his reasons while attempting to keep her cool. "Why? Do you have some burning desire to see the sights in San Diego?" She knew she sounded sarcastic, but she couldn't help herself.
"No. I just thought that I needed to go."
His voice was tight, as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. And his choice of words pricked at her skin from the inside out, as she felt a tingling sensation crawl over her. "What's really going on here?" she asked quietly, in measured words.
It took more than a few moments for his response. "You're married to your job, Sam. You work twelve hours a day, including Saturdays, and when you are home, you're either reading a law publication or working on some file."
Anger bubbled up inside her, but she battled it back. It would only make matters worse. "Of course I'm always working. I'm a lawyer. I work at a big law firm. I want to make partner. You know that." Her effort to calm down evaded her. "I thought you understood. You never said that my hours bothered you before."
"Well, they do. They did. But you were too busy to notice." Now he was angry.
"So when you finally do tell me, it's on your way to California? How are we supposed to work on a problem, if the second you tell me about it, you disappear?"
"I'll probably be back in September. I think some time away from each other might be good for us."
"We've only been married for three years. How could time away be good for our relationship? And what do you mean you'll 'probably' be back in September?"
She sounded like a shrew, but this conversation had turned wicked and Sam couldn't understand where it came from. Was he that unhappy? They both worked hard, although if truth be told, she did spend substantially more hours at the office. He never complained. He just went off to an art show opening or movie without her. And didn't they always go out together on Saturday nights? As a matter of fact, they often double-dated with Sherry and her boyfriend, Dave. And on Sundays they lounged around their co-op drinking coffee and reading The New York Times. It was comfortable; easy. A few hours each evening during the week spent doing the things that each of them liked to do, hardly seemed like a problem. So, what was he talking about?
He didn't answer her question. "Is Sherry going for the whole summer too? Does Dave know?"
"Sherry and Dave broke up." If their table hadn't been so dimly lit, Sam would have sworn that Tom's face tinted red. "As a matter of fact, I've been seeing Sherry." His words came spilling out, unchecked, unasked for.
"What do you mean you've been seeing Sherry?" Then the light dawned. "You mean you're having an affair?"
He barely nodded.
A false laugh escaped. "You're kidding. Right?"
"No. I'm serious."
"Does Joe know about this?"
"Yes."
Sam's blood pulsed through her veins to the beat of the throb in her head. She squinted her eyes as she looked at him, trying to find a shred of doubt on his face that would tell her he was joking. He had to be.
"When did you start seeing her?"
"A few months ago."
"You mean to tell me that when the three of us went to the movies two weeks ago, you were already having an affair with her? You took us out together?"
Tom's face burned even redder. He lowered his eyes.
"You bastard. How could you do that to me? I thought Sherry was our friend. How could you sneak around with her behind my back — or should I say — right in front of me, and yet pretend that we're all friends?" Bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep control. How could he do this to her? Cheat on her with one of their friends. It was unconscionable. Despicable. Uncharacteristic. When did he change?
She tilted her head as if to see him in a different light. "When did you become such a snake?"
"Stop name-calling, Sam. It doesn't become you. And could you please try to lower your voice?" he hissed, glancing around as heads started to turn their way.
"You expect me to be charming when my husband tells me that he's moving to California for three months, maybe more, to carry on with one of our friends?" She felt the hysteria rising in her voice. "You're not supposed to be looking for love on the job. You're supposed to be married to me. You're supposed to be in love with me."
The silence was deafening. She had to get out of here, but she couldn't seem to find her legs. "Why would you bring me here to tell me this? Why didn't you tell me at home?"
His red face turned sheepish. "I thought it would be easier in a public place."
"Easier for whom? You? Did you think that I might stab you if you told me this in the privacy of our home?"
"No, of course not. I just knew it wouldn't go over very well and I didn't want to...to...."
"You didn't want to what?"
"Shhhh...Calm down." He looked around again to see if anyone was watching. The look on his face made his words even more injurious. "I didn't want to be alone with you." She stared at him with her mouth open, her face burning with indignation and anger. Tears stung the back of her eyes and she blinked to keep them well-hidden. She wanted to scream; lash out with hurtful words; words that would slice through his heart and cause him to feel just one-tenth of the pain he was inflicting on her. But the right words were nowhere to be found. How could she deal with this inconceivable betrayal in a sentence, or even a paragraph?
He continued through her haze. "I know I'm a coward, but I was afraid you would cry and beg me to stay. I didn't want you to try to dissuade me. I packed my clothes today and moved into a hotel. I'll be leaving Saturday. There just didn't seem to be any point in dragging this out."
Retorts swirled and collided in her mind. Some angry, some panicked, some pleading, some irrational. But she was in a public place and she refused to be humiliated as she attempted to make some sense out of his bombshell while sputtering non-sequiturs and begging for more time to deal with this issue. All the while, his words echoed through her being, tearing through every shred of her loosely held composure, grating on her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. He didn't want her to try to dissuade him? He thought she would beg him to stay?....He didn't want to be alone with her!"
She slid out of the booth, never taking her gaze from his. Poise and steadiness seemed of utmost importance to her at this very moment, as she stood slowly, testing her legs for support before she turned and walked through the bar toward the door.
It felt as if she were under water. The sounds of lively chatter among co-workers and friends were strangely muffled with no crisp delineation of one person or another. A blur of color and form wavered in slow motion. Mottled. Like an impressionist painting.
Out on the sidewalk, Samantha pointed her body in the direction of their apartment and placed one foot in front of the other as she willed herself to get there without collapsing.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Step left. Step right.
Look straight ahead. Don't think. Just move....
Keep moving.