In a moment of sudden clarity, I call Monty from my office. When I tell him my plan and what I need from him, he denies me.
“That’s fine,” I say, not willing to give up this last bit of fortitude I’ve found. “I’ll just hire someone else.”
Monty sighs over the phone. “First of all, I’m a criminal defense lawyer. I don’t do divorces. Secondly, all I’m saying is give it time. I don’t think you’re thinking clearly.”
Oh, but I am, I am. “You don’t understand. She’s… She… When we have sex, it’s as if she… If she doesn’t get it, she gets suspicious.”
“Lots of women get a little crazy when they don’t get sex.”
“No, that’s not what-”
“I know, I know. Listen, all I want to know is, is she forty million crazy? That’s what her old man’s worth. I checked. Are you willing to give up that kind of money? Seriously.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“You don’t? Not the money, not the house, not the car, not the job? Oh, you thought, after you label his daughter as psychotic in divorce court, her father would say, ‘No, Adam, your job is safe; as a matter of fact, we’re promoting you. Keep the car, too. In fact, keep the house; we’ll put the crazy bitch in a loony bin. I’ll adopt you. You’ll be my heir.’”
But I didn’t care, not then, I really didn’t. “Are you going to file the divorce papers for me, or do I go to someone else?”
In my mind’s eye, I could picture Monty on the other end of the line, grinning one of his famous smiles, all teeth and blindingly white. “Okay, okay. Do this. Wait three months. Three months. Can you do that? If you still feel the same way, I know a guy in family law. One of the best.”
I acquiesced, certain that I would feel even more strongly about it in a few months.
But I didn’t. The months came and went, and I didn’t feel the same sense of urgency. My moment of clarity had passed.