Page 1 of Forbidden Fruit

Clive

Kay’s place looks even bigger from the driveway, a brick mansion in a neighborhood of brick mansions, with giant, white pillars out front that make it look like a southern plantation. I doubt she cares for it, but it’s the biggest one on the block, which she’s always wanted. I push the doorbell and wait with the folder of divorce papers under my arm, shifting from one foot to another. She opens the door, her blonde hair tied back like she’s attending a tennis match.

“You look the same as ever,” she says, meaning rich.

“Thanks,” I say. “This won’t take long, right?”

She lets me in, and I try to hide my distaste for her style, all glass, chrome, and furniture nobody should sit on. The place looks like it should be roped off and full of tourists. The rug beneath my feet is probably worth more than a car, but I don’t want to know. Kay waits until I close the door behind me before she plants a peck on my cheek.

“You never did appreciate this house,” she says.

“I’m a simple man, Kay. I like things I can use.”

Her laugh sounds more like a bark. “That’s why you’re leaving with the yacht.”

“Boats are practical,” I say.

Her heels click as she leads me into the kitchen. It’s too much, with all white marble, tall ceilings, and cabinets full of china that never see daylight. She has flowers delivered daily just to keep the vases full like anyone who’d ever been here would be impressed by something as small as fresh flowers.

“Coffee?” she asks, looking me over like she can’t figure out why I don’t look more defeated.

“I don’t think this will take long enough for me to finish it.”

“I can make it last,” she says.

She pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit down. It’s a big gesture, but they’re all big gestures with Kay. I put the folder on the table and pull up a seat.

“Not everything, apparently,” I say.

She waves me off like a dog that just peed on the carpet.

“So what are you doing these days, Clive? You have someone lined up already?”

I almost laugh. I have no one. No time. Not yet, anyway.

“Filling out my calendar with events like this,” I say.

“Oh, please. Do you know how many offers I’ve had? You won’t believe the men?—”

“I’d believe it. You’ll have to tell me all about it some other time. Now, can we get this done?”

She sighs. I’m just another thing she has to check off her list, and I’m okay with that. The papers are a thick stack. My lawyers said it would be the last batch, but I’ve learned never to trust a lawyer’s first prediction. I pass them to her.

She flips through the pages, hardly even glancing at them. It took years for us to get to this point, but now she won’t pretend there’s any mystery left. She was in this for the long haul. The money haul. I wish I’d been surprised, but that’s not what we did.

“A woman gets used to a certain way of life, you know,” she says.

“You can still afford the mortgage,” I say. “Probably a new place in Manhattan, too.”

She gives me a look that would scare most people. I stare right back at her. There was a time when I wouldn’t, but that time’s gone.

“You’re getting more than your mother ever did,” I add. It’s cruel, but she needs a reminder of where she came from occasionally. From the way her jaw sets, I think it worked.

“Now you sound like Jack,” she says, smirking a little.

I sigh and lean back in the chair, a huge white thing that makes me feel small. “Jack is still expecting to get half the company?” I ask.

“Clive. You know that’s not what this is about.”

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