Let’s Play Make-Believe, Page 3

  I caught the bitterness in his voice. Recently, I’d been trying to judge if he was getting over his ex-wife and the circumstances of his divorce, or if he was focusing on them more. It was hard to tell. In a way it made him more human, like a regular guy. He wasn’t flawless, even though I found him engaging and caring.

  As we were standing by the covered front entrance to Charley’s Crab, I looked up and was shocked to see Brennan driving by us on Ocean Boulevard in his Jaguar convertible. It was the blue one that I’d picked out for him. I couldn’t keep a “son of a bitch” from coming out of my mouth.

  Marty looked up quickly and said, “What’s wrong?”

  I nodded toward the Jag and said, “There’s Brennan looking like he owns the world.” And he did. It looked like he should be wearing a commodore’s cap. Then he did the worst thing I could imagine him doing. It cut me like a knife and left me shaking.

  He waved to me.

  Not a nasty wave. Not a condescending wave. Just a casual raising of his right hand like we were old acquaintances passing on the street. Like I meant nothing to him. Not only was he over me, it was like I had never existed.

  I couldn’t let Marty see how this was affecting me, so I pretended to sneeze and put my hands over my face.

  Marty was too smart for that. He slid an arm around my shoulder and said, “Let’s find a place to sit back and talk for a while.”

  Chapter 10

  We walked across the street to the public beach and found a park bench on the south end. It was a breezy day and the sun was behind us as we looked out over the choppy Atlantic. A lot of people say the Palm Beach public beach is the least-enticing beach in Florida. Parking is expensive and the locals clearly don’t want people visiting from off the island, but our comfortable bench, just off the road, provided a vista most people can only see in magazines.

  Marty put his arm around me and didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to solve my problems or analyze me or give me advice. We just sat quietly, and I found my head rolling onto his shoulder. It was exactly what I needed. Before I knew it, I started to talk. I talked about Brennan and our marriage for maybe the first time.

  When people hear you’re going through a divorce, it’s almost like you have some communicable disease. They stay at arm’s length and let you know they’re still your friends, but that this is probably something you should get through on your own.

  Not Marty. He just listened.

  I said, “Brennan was so dashing the first time I ever saw him. He was playing polo in Wellington and I was there with a girlfriend. He looked like a knight sweeping through the pack and swinging his mallet, or club, or whatever they call that thing that hits the ball. It was almost like a dream, it was so perfect. And he was charming. I mean actually charming, not faking it. He had an accent like a yacht club member on Martha’s Vineyard, but he was also funny and extraordinarily polite. A sense of humor and good manners go a long way with most women.

  “Until about our third date, I hadn’t even known he’d been married before. They had been college sweethearts, and it sounded like she hurt him pretty badly. At least that’s how I interpreted it. I never heard many specific details, except when he’d tell me she never made him feel like I did. What a load of shit.”

  Marty didn’t seem fazed at all by my rambling as we both watched the few families on the beach build sand castles or run through the shallow water along the shore.

  “Brennan proposed to me after six months. Two days before the wedding, he said his father insisted on him signing a prenup with me. He assured me it was no big deal, but the family wanted to protect the assets that provided the income for him. I didn’t care about money. I really still don’t. At least not that much. Anyway, I never even bothered to consult an attorney. All I wanted was to be his wife, maybe have a few kids, and live with this dream husband. I signed the prenup. Ugh. What a rookie mistake.”

  Marty said, “You didn’t talk to any of your friends about it?”

  “None of them had any experience with prenups. They were all married to teachers, insurance agents, or firemen.” I wiped a tear from my eye and regained my composure. I hated that Brennan still got to me like this. Then I said, “He never really kept any promises. We were going to travel, have a kid, be a family. He never even took me to Disney World like I wanted. He said there was no time. It was Disney World, for God’s sake. Was that too much to ask? My parents couldn’t afford a trip from Jersey when I was little, and my husband didn’t have time for fun. I’ve still never been to the Magic Kingdom.” I looked out at the ocean in an effort to hide my emotions. Marty had done nothing to deserve this kind of baggage.

  After a long silence Marty said, “What happened in the end? I mean, why’d you guys break up?”

  “Maybe he wanted a younger woman, but I think the real reason is that he just got bored with me. Then he threw me out on the street. I was so stunned, I barely made a squeak.”

  Marty kissed me. “That’s where he’s wrong. You are anything but boring. You’ve revived me.”

  That was exactly what I needed to hear him say.

  Chapter 11

  Over the next few days, Marty and I got in the habit of walking the beach and talking. We always started from the north end of the public beach and strolled south, right past my former house. I liked being seen with such a good-looking man. I wanted people to know that my life wasn’t over just because someone like Brennan was trying to divorce me. It was simply a lot of fun to be with a guy like Marty, who listened and made me feel wanted. What a change from Brennan.

  Some days, I agreed to jog on the beach because I knew Marty preferred the faster pace. I wanted to prove I could keep up with him. It was the competitive streak of a girl raised by a man who had wanted a son. Some days I ran hard on the sand, making my heart race. Marty appreciated the effort. Brennan never would’ve even noticed.

  I wondered why I was trying so hard to please Marty; then I realized just how serious my feelings were for him. He’d rescued me and changed the trajectory of my life, and I was actually happy. It was incredible.

  The one thing that seemed to interrupt my joy was when I flashed back to my life with Brennan.

  It’s hard to explain, but every time I saw the house from the beach, I got a little angrier. I know there are people in the world with much more serious problems. I had my health, a new boyfriend, and a lot more life to live, but it sure would have been nice if that house had been part of my life. I could picture Marty sitting by the pool or working on house plans in the den.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t get more annoyed, one day we noticed Brennan getting ready to pull out of the driveway. He wasn’t in the Jag. The bastard was driving a brand-new Bentley. A black Bentley Mulsanne that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. He’d bought a more formal car to go with his convertible.

  Marty and I were running out on dinner tabs and this son of a bitch had a car for every occasion. Something just wasn’t right about it.

  Marty said, “What an asshole. Anyone under seventy who drives a Bentley is, by definition, an asshole.”

  I reached out and gripped his hand. Marty really was on my side. His face was red and he looked like he was ready to burst through the gate next to the bungalow and charge Brennan in his brand-new Bentley.

  Marty said, “I could punch that guy in the face.”

  I stared at Marty, wondering how serious he was. He stepped toward the gate, and I reached out to hold his arm. We watched as Brennan, oblivious to the world as usual, pulled out and drove away in the Bentley.

  Marty took a breath and shook his head. “I should welcome you to the club.”

  “What club?”

  “The getting screwed in your divorce club.”

  His color had already come back, showing off his pleasant tan complexion, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. He looked like he had just been blowing off steam and Brennan was a convenient target.

  Then Marty said, “Don’t worry, i
t gets better.”

  “Really?”

  “It did for me.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “It got better as soon as I met you.”

  I had to kiss this sweet man.

  But thinking about the house and Brennan’s new car, I did wonder about what, exactly, that jerk deserved. Not just in the divorce, but in life as well.

  Chapter 12

  On Friday of that week, I saw Brennan again. This time at Family Court in the Palm Beach County Courthouse. Even though Brennan didn’t feel like family to me anymore. He gave me a smirk when I walked in with my attorney.

  The judge had read both sides’ briefs, and I felt confident he’d grant our motion to throw out the prenup.

  I listened quietly while the attorneys answered questions about the progress of the divorce and who would be testifying today. All three of Brennan’s high-priced attorneys against my cute little mama’s boy from Boca Raton, whose mother was my hairdresser and had said he was good and cheap. And that he needed the work.

  My attorney shuffled nervously through papers as I looked over at Brennan’s crowded table. Brennan was impeccably dressed in one of his many dark Ralph Lauren suits, but hadn’t been able to resist the typical Palm Beach touch of a turquoise flowered tie. Not a power tie. He didn’t need one.

  My chance to testify had finally come. It wasn’t in the witness box like I had imagined. The judge instructed me to stand right next to where I was sitting and answer his questions.

  The older, dignified man kept looking down at some notes, until finally he said, “Mrs. Moore, has your attorney explained the three main reasons that are grounds for dismissing a prenuptial agreement?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And you understand that duress means the agreement was presented too close to the date of the marriage, or some similar issue?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And coercion would be like offering ultimatums, and fraudulent financial disclosure explains itself.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge nodded. “Very well, let’s get started.” Now he gave me his full attention and said, “Mrs. Moore, what did you do for a living before your marriage?”

  “I was in marketing.”

  “And do you have a college degree?”

  “From Rutgers, yes, sir.”

  The judge said, “Ah, a Scarlet Knight, very good. I’m from Trenton. We’re the only state without a university named after it.”

  “Yes, sir.” I didn’t know what else to say. At least he was trying to put me at ease.

  “And would you say your income was low, high, or average?”

  I kept focusing on breathing and keeping cool. “Average, Your Honor.” I paused and added, “To low average.”

  The judge nodded and wrote down a few notes, and then, in a very calm and quiet manner, said, “How long before the wedding date was the prenuptial agreement presented to you by Mr. Moore?”

  “Two days before the date we had set.”

  The judge said, “Did Mr. Moore offer any ultimatums? Did he ever say anything like ‘If you don’t sign this, we’re not getting married’?”

  This was another important question. I gathered my thoughts and said, “Brennan said his dad needed the agreement signed, and if not, we’d start off our life together broke. I told him I was used to not having any money. He said he wasn’t and then just stood silently until I signed the agreement. I later learned that he was really concerned about his own assets.”

  I stood, trying to hide my smile at having been so concise in showing duress, coercion, and false financial disclosure in my brief exchange with the judge. I had hit this one out of the park.

  But then it was Brennan’s turn.

  Chapter 13

  The judge had some of the same questions about background and how we met. Brennan pointed out that he’d graduated from Georgetown and worked in finance. I guess if you manage your family’s hedge fund you are, sort of, working in finance.

  Then the judge asked him about the intent behind the prenup.

  At that moment, I wished Marty was sitting next to me so I could hold his hand. Also, I wanted him to see firsthand how pompous Brennan was.

  Brennan finally got to the meat of his answer. “The intent of the prenuptial agreement was to protect not only my assets, but assets that had come to me through my family. The prenuptial agreement was something I had discussed with my parents and lawyers long before I’d ever met Christy.”

  “Did you feel you waited too long to present the agreement?”

  “No, Your Honor. Not at all. We’d talked about it for months before I presented it to her.”

  That was a lie, but my lawyer’s death grip on my arm told me we’d get a chance to straighten out the record.

  The judge said, “Would you still have married Mrs. Moore if she had not signed the agreement?”

  This was what I was waiting to hear. This was a question I had been asking myself since Brennan had tossed me out.

  Brennan said, “It never came to that, Your Honor. Christy signed immediately. I never had to consider any alternatives. I loved her, Your Honor, but I do have certain responsibilities. I’m glad I didn’t have to make that choice.”

  The judge said, “Do you feel the absence of a prenuptial agreement would have affected the marriage in any way?”

  I had never even thought about the agreement until Brennan dumped me. So clearly the damn thing had not affected our marriage one bit. At least from my perspective.

  Brennan said, “Looking back, Your Honor, I feel Christy might have been more interested in my lifestyle than me. And the fact that we’re having this hearing confirms that theory.” Then he added, “I can’t say she ever showed any genuine emotion toward me.”

  There was no reason for Brennan’s last remark. He knew it wasn’t true. I’d loved him and thought he loved me.

  He just stood there as if he expected applause.

  I felt a tear well up in one eye. Why was I crying now? Maybe because not only was it over, but I was realizing that nothing had ever actually existed between us. I was just some kind of trophy for him.

  The judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Moore. You may sit down now.”

  My husband, because he was still my husband, in fact and in the eyes of the law, turned in his chair and looked right at me. When he had my full attention, he winked and gave me a smug smile.

  The judge considered everything he’d heard and told the attorneys to hold their questions. Then he looked up and cleared his throat. This was it. He had recognized that I’d signed the agreement under duress, I’d been coerced, and Brennan had presented me with false financial data. I looked at my attorney, who was also smiling. He was optimistic too.

  The judge said, “Gentlemen, I have carefully considered your motions on behalf of your clients, and after hearing from both Mr. and Mrs. Moore, I’ve concluded that Mrs. Moore is a very intelligent, educated woman who signed the agreement willingly, without undue pressure or while under duress; therefore…”

  I didn’t hear the rest, but then again, I didn’t really need to. All I heard was the judge’s final comment. “Mrs. Moore’s motion to dismiss the prenuptial agreement is denied.” He looked up at both tables and said, “Let’s start to move this along now, shall we.” Then it was over. My best shot at recovering part of my old life had been a failure.

  Brennan stood with a broad smile on his face and shook all of his lawyers’ hands like he was O. J. Simpson and had just avoided a double murder rap.

  I spent the next few moments consoling my attorney, who felt like he had let me down. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and hugged him. He sniffled and nodded.

  As Brennan passed me on his way out of the courtroom, he stopped and leaned down. “You look great, babe. Sorry about your little motion.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why humiliate me on top of everything else?”

  Brennan just grinned and sa
id, “Because I can, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Chapter 14

  Outside the courthouse, my lawyer said it was all his fault. As I looked at him and his off-the-rack suit and Supercuts haircut, my thick file tucked under his right arm, I realized he had no idea the hearing had been fixed. He’d followed the rules and assumed everyone else would as well. I’d done the same, and look where that had gotten me.

  My lawyer said, “I’ll keep looking for something we can exploit. But at some point you have to get on with your life. Christy, you’re a beautiful woman, and you shouldn’t let this experience sour your outlook on love.”

  That was an easy thing for a father of three who had been married twenty years to say. I gave him a hug and sent him on his way.

  That evening Marty had to work, so I sat in my quiet room at the Brazilian Court Hotel and did nothing but search the Internet for legal precedents and articles about situations like mine. I wanted to explore every possible option I had.

  That night I barely slept, tossing and turning, my stomach tightening every time I thought about the hearing.

  The next day, Marty came by around lunchtime, when I was only barely starting my day. He talked me into taking one of our usual walks along the beach. I was quiet for a while; then, after we had gone a way in the soft sand, he said, “Sorry I didn’t sleep over, but I had a ton to do. But because I worked during the night, now I have a few hours to spend with you on a beautiful day like this.”

  I said, “It’s all right. I was on my iPad all night doing legal research anyway.” That seemed to catch his attention.

  “I thought your attorney was supposed to do that kind of thing for you. Did you at least find anything interesting?”