And she was still wondering, the way she’d wondered every year since high school, if this would be the year she would turn it all around and get that career she always wanted. And get that good, hardworking brother she always dreamed about. And that she would either finally find true love, which was all she ever wanted in the first place, or would find, once again, just another true loser who didn’t know the meaning of love.
“Because love has everything to do with it,” she said out loud as if she was disputing the great Tina Turner herself.
But she couldn’t stop staring at herself. She looked every bit of her age, if you asked her. Although all those men that had come and gone in her life always said differently. She was the most beautiful girl in the world let them tell it. But they would tell her anything to get what they wanted. And it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with her body. They were stone-cold liars every one of them.
Her fellow beauticians disputed their assessment too. They insisted she had what it took, alright, but only if she’d slap a little makeup on that always super-serious looking face of hers, and if she got out of those jeans and “fixed” herself up to be more ladylike. As if she could be real cute if she became anybody but who she actually was, in other words. At least that was how she heard it. And that was why she would listen to them, and then tell them to kiss her ladylike ass. And they’d laugh every time. To them it was just mean old Ricki being mean old Ricki. But she meant every word.
She went back into her bedroom and got dressed in jeans and a tucked-in sleeveless blouse, and then threw on a jacket to blunt the chill in the air. After slipping into her sneakers, she corralled her thick, long hair into a ponytail and then went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, grabbed a croissant, and sat at the tiny table by her front room window and people-watched: another routine.
She lived in a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn and she could see the folks hurrying to get where they needed to be. Like her, they were living paycheck to paycheck too. But also like her, they were glad just to have a paycheck.
Some of the guys on the block kept trying to talk to her, but she wasn’t trying to hear it. She knew what they were after and it didn’t resemble what she was after by a mile. She wanted love. They wanted sex. She wanted commitment and trust. They wanted booty calls and lust. She’d been burned too many times before. A part of her, if she were to be honest with herself, had given up.
She had only one vice now, and it didn’t involve men the way it always used to. Every morning she’d smoke one cigarette, just one, to get her day going. She knew it wasn’t smart to smoke at all. She knew it was dangerous. But she never went beyond one smoke except when she was overly-anxious aboutsomething. Or super-worried about something. Then she might pick up another one. But only one more. She never went beyond her limits.
She pulled out her cigarette, lit up, and savored the moment. There was a time when she could smoke nearly half-a-pack a day. But when a guy she knew died from lung cancer, and he was a big smoker too, shit got real for her. She tried to stop completely, but failed every time. So she compromised. One every morning and only one. But one additional one if she was distressed. That was the deal she made with herself. She knew she needed to stop completely. She knew how easily one could turn into five and she would be right back in serious danger zone. But what could she do? Smoke weed? The brain killer? She’d rather take her chances doing it her way. Not smart, she knew, but nobody was perfect and she was nowhere near it. And since she’d given up on men, and wasn’t all that crazy about food, she had to have something to keep her going!
But after her smoke, and after eating half of her croissant, she ditched the rest, got up, poured her remaining coffee in the sink, and then went to her bathroom to brush and gargle. She stared at herself in that mirror again and exhaled as if she needed courage just to leave her house. Then she made her way to the homeless shelter until it was time for her to go to work.
It wasn’t that life she always dreamed she’d have.
But at least it was a life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cynthia Murdock and her attorneys sat quietly on one side of the conference table while George Grantham with his team of attorneys, representing her ex, sat on the other side. Although the arbitrator sat at the head of the table and was technically in charge of the proceedings, it was clear to everybody in that room who was really in charge. Or they wouldn’t be sitting up there like wooden soldiers, each glancing at their watches every few minutes, as they waited for the other party to this disagreement to appear.
“Honestly, George, this is ridiculous,” Cynthia said to the opposing counsel. “Where’s your client?”
George Grantham smiled. He knew her too well. “He’s coming, Cynthia. Keep your skirt on. He’s a busy man. He has a corporation to run.”
“And he has an arbitration to settle! Vincent Fontaine is not in charge of this. But when did that ever stop him? It’s always what he wants. We’re here, at his corporate headquarters building, because that’s where he insists we meet. And we all, like the idiots we are, agreed to do it.”
“You can always leave,” George said.
“Not until I get what’s mine, I’m not going anywhere. And I will prevail,” she said in that entitled way George could never abide. What Vince saw in that bitch was a mystery to him. Although, if he were to silently admit it, she wasn’t wrong about anything she said.
But he could never let that witch win. “Still in love, are we?”
“Love? With him? Please! What’s there to love?”
Her eyes, it seemed to George, showed that there was plenty to love.
“He’s moved on anyway,” Cynthia added. “What’s his new playgirl of the week? What’s her name?”
“Cecily?” asked George, although he knew she knew the name.
“Cecily Steinem?That whore? Talk about going low. She can have him!”
They always said that, George knew, but they always seemed to know exactly who Vince was dating, and where he was going, and what he was doing. Always. It was as if Vince dumped them, but those women never dumped Vince.
They waited nearly fifteen additional minutes before the door to the conference room finally opened and Vince walked in.
What just galled Cynthia wasn’t the fact that every lawyer on the opposite side of the table stood up: they worked for Vince. They were supposed to show due deference. But the arbitrator and her own attorneys stood up too! She could not believe it.
But she held her peace. She had bigger concerns on her mind than why men felt it their obligation to always kiss his fine ass. And that was the regretful part for Cynthia. His ass. Because although he was a bastard from way back and everything she abhorred in a man, he was still fine. And so gorgeous it was ridiculous. And so rich it was obscene. Nobody could take that away from him.
Vince sat down beside George and his other lawyers, and everybody else sat down too.
