The Art of Divorce

"We will have 2 rooms. The front entry will be the normal gallery and will feature my new French collection. Further back we will have the special room; it will contain my new works," she continued. "Entry to the main hall will be normal policy with an extra admission cost for the 2nd room."

"We will work out all of the details when we meet tomorrow. We will need to change the contracts as well."

"Well, our agreement was only to show the paintings I brought with me from France, so it seems like the new paintings must require re-negotiation. But if you do not agree, we can do the show with the French works only as previously agreed upon and I can arrange for another showing of my other work with another agency," she said in a no nonsense tone. I had gotten used to Amanda the woman and Amanda the artist. But Amanda the business woman was a completely different animal.

"I have found several of your employees to be...how do you say it in English?...lacking." she said.

"Yes yes, we will meet tomorrow," she snapped, and then she hung up the phone and went into the bedroom. There she fed her sheets with the measurements into a scanner, and sent them somewhere. She followed this up by taking the memory card out of the camera and uploading some of the pictures somewhere.

"Raphe Jenkins, where shall we eat tonight?" she asked me.

Her smile was very different from the way she normally looked. There were far more teeth showing, but the overall expression wasn't happiness, it was victory, and conquest, and a hundred other more subtle emotions all rolled into one facial expression. It was like a hungry wolf staring at a cornered rabbit.

As she faced me, the smile morphed back into the expression I was used to seeing from her. This smile had fewer teeth and the sadness in her eyes was back, or maybe it was sorrow for me.

"I know you are not feeling very good right now," she said. "I will do whatever I can to make it better for you. But right now there are many, many things we must discuss, and as you know I like to talk over food."

"So where shall we eat?" she asked smiling.

"Texas Roadhouse" I laughed.

Kathy

Raphe didn't come home at all that night. Though I had listened to Smith's ideas on how to handle him, I had my doubts. My idea was to try and talk to Raphe anyway, and use Smith's plan as a last resort. What Smith didn't know was that Raphe had 2 things going for him. He had used these 2 things successfully even back to his high-school football days. The first one was luck, maybe it was because Raphe was a good guy at heart, so good luck just seemed to follow him. Even when it would seem like he'd screwed the pooch, it always seemed to work out for him, and usually by extension me. But this time it seemed that we were at odds so I couldn't count on that luck helping me out.

Raphe's 2nd benefit was the fact that he was unpredictable as hell. Even on the football field, defenders had a tough time tracking him because he just never seemed to run where they thought he would, or do what they thought he'd do. Smith should have known that from yesterday. I was sure that somehow Raphe would end up smelling like roses, and I'd be covered in shit.

So I waited up for him, to make sure he didn't do his little, slipping in after I'd gone to sleep trick, I stretched a blanket and pillows out in the doorway and slept there. That way he couldn't even open the door without waking me. I still tossed and turned all night. I woke at the slightest of noises looking for him. Finally at 3 a.m., I realized that my husband wasn't coming home. I also realized that I had driven him away from me.

For the first time in a very long time the tears rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn't stop myself from crying. I didn't want to be a tough strong woman any more; I just wanted my husband back.

I got into the office later than usual and there was a flurry of activity. Everyone from the temps to the secretaries to the agents, were scurrying around as if their jobs depended on it. I wanted to scurry too, but I really didn't understand what my job entailed other than sucking Smith's dick on demand. I wondered then what my daddy would think of my destiny for greatness. I know how my mom would feel though. She'd say quietly, because my mom never yelled, or even raised her voice, Well Kathy, you've succeeded and you've failed at the same time. Mom always liked to lead with something positive.

"You've succeeded beyond your widest dreams in a couple of areas, so kudos to you girl. You did fail in one minor area, though, so next time we'll have to be more careful there," she'd say.

"Let's look at your successes first. In terms of chasing away the only person who loved you more than your daddy and I do, you've succeeded, good job!"

"In terms of becoming the biggest whore the county ever produced, you've succeeded, good job."

"In terms of holding your marriage together, well we're probably going to have to write that one off as a loss, but we'll do better next time." I could hear my mom saying it, as if she was standing right next to me.

Before I could start crying again the door to Smith's office opened and I heard screaming coming from inside as one of the secretaries fled the room closing the door behind her.

"Don't go in there," she warned, "One of the partners, a family member is chewing Smith's ass out."

"I thought Smith was a partner," I said.

The woman scurried away laughing. A few moments later the door opened again and I heard a fragment of the conversation.

"And do something about your fucking face!!"

"You look a goddamned circus clown!"

I saw Smith come out, following a smaller man. The man had graying hair and was wearing what appeared to be a very cheap suit. His shoes weren't expensive or shined. Next to Smith he looked like a bum; but he radiated a sense of power like I'd never seen. He politely spoke or nodded to every one he passed, regardless of their function. He was even polite to the elevator operator. Where had I seen behavior like that before?

It was the way Raphe acted, he was polite to everyone we met. I used to be that way too, before I became important. Smith saw me and motioned for me to join him in his office.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"We don't have time for questions right now," he snapped.

"For some reason we've been cut out of the loop. Something major has happened with Amanda, and as her representative from the agency, I should've been the first to know and to handle the problem."

"That little idiot Marcel came in here and told me something was going on, but when I called the bitch about it, she told me everything was fine. Now there've been new developments, she wants to re-negotiate, and she called the main office."

"Brandon was just here, he smells money and he is never wrong," said Smith.

"The fact that she wants to re-negotiate also means that she has something new," he said, hesitantly.

"According to Brandon, she hinted at going to another agency because we're not doing our fucking job. I have to do something to fix whatever happened, but I don't know what it is. If I can somehow make the little bitch happy again, I can still make this a success. But if I can't or God help me I lose this account, I could be out on my ass," he said seriously.

"But what would you do?" I asked.

"What would we do?" he snapped.

"If I'm gone, so are you, so get your head out of your ass worrying about your red-neck husband and let's get to work," he spat.

It was the first time he'd ever spoken to me in that tone or in that manner. I didn't like it, and again the comparison between him and Raphe was obvious. Smith, the sophisticated, rich man I'd idolized, when upset by business concerns started talking down to me with veiled threats, like I was a piece of shit. Why did this matter to him anyway, he'd told me so many times that this was all just a game. He had millions of dollars and he didn't need any income.

On the other hand even when Raphe's life was crashing down around him, caused by my betrayal, he'd never spoken to me like that. I realized that Raphe probably had known about Smith and I, and had continued coming home and had to sit there and be civil, even knowing what I'd done to him. He did it just hoping, I'd come back to him. I was a fool.

"Maybe she called and needed something and we weren't here. It could have been yesterday while we were at your doctor's office," I said.

"Yes," said Smith, "That is entirely possible."

"And that's the angle we can play up," he said trying to smile, "My face may actually help us."

"I'll go over there, and let her see me like this, she's not like you; she's a woman so she'll be sympathetic," he snapped.

"I'll explain to her that this injury was why I wasn't available to her," he said.

Smith sat back in his chair and motioned me over to his desk. He swiveled his chair around to give me access and pointed towards his zipper.

"Smith, we got caught last time, just yesterday," I whined.

"Then lock the door and get over here," he said.

"But," I started

Smith cut off the rest of my statement with a look. I should have expected it. The little man, Brandon, had taken Smith's balls, taken his power, so Smith needed to lord it over someone else, to feel good about him-self in turn. It wasn't about sex, I told myself, but even so, I knew it was wrong.

The hard knock on the door saved me. I turned quickly and opened it. The woman from before came rushing in carrying several papers.

"This was all I could get," she said excitedly, "Apparently she has a new concept, and a partner for something very radical."

"How radical can painting be?" asked Smith.

"I don't know, they won't give you any information," said the woman.

"You mean they won't give "you" any," snapped Smith.

"Nope, when I mentioned "your" name they clammed up," said the woman, "Before that everyone was all excited, and talking."

"They're building a separate room and charging more to get into it. The 2nd entrance fee will be donated to a big charity. So there's lots of buzz about it," she said.

"A couple of the critics who've seen pictures of the exhibit are raving. And she and her new partner threw this together over night," said the woman.

"Maybe Ms. Jenkins can help you" said the woman pointing at me.

"How the fuck, can she, help?" asked Smith.

The woman turned around and got ready to leave the room, she stopped only when Smith bellowed "where are you going?"

"I don't have to take that kind of abuse from you Mr. Benson, I don't work for you, I work for the firm," she said curtly.

"I'm sorry," said Smith, "Please, I'm just upset, forgive me," he whined.

"Well Ms Jenkins' husband is overseeing the construction of the special exhibit room," she said.

"I guess they need a good contractor to make sure they do whatever Amanda wants," she continued.

"He's so nice" she said smiling at me, and then she left. Apparently everyone except me could see that my husband was special, I thought.

"He's so nice," mimicked Smith after the woman left. "If he's so fucking nice, why'd he do this to me?"

"OK you go over there and try to get whatever information you can get out of Lil Abner," said Smith.

"I'll go and try to charm my way back into the bitches' good graces. If there is money to be made here and we can pull this off, we'll come out on top," he said viciously.

I drove over to the Art gallery on the east side of town where the exhibit would be held in 3 days. There were a lot of vehicles outside of the venue, and people were running around looking busy. I approached the door to go in and was stopped by security.

"What do you want, the venue is closed to the public," said a very cultured sounding man in a tight suit. The suit was tight because the man was a giant.

"I'm from the agency that represents Ms. Anderson and we need some information," I said showing my ID badge.

"Ms Anderson is not on sight," said the man

"Can I see Raphe Jenkins?" I asked.

"Mr. Jenkins is very busy," said the man

"Tell him, it's his wife," I said, showing my ID badge again.

He looked at it again then took my badge and gave it to another giant man, spoke to him briefly and left. The 2nd man looked at me as if he was waiting for me to move so he could crush me. As I waited at the desk I thought about the irony of the situation. I neglected my husband and alienated him, finally betraying his love for me in the worst possible way. I did it because I wanted to be like Smith, and thought that Raphe just didn't have what it took to make it in that world. And now I had to wait begging for him, to agree to see me.

In a few moments the first giant returned, the expression on his face gave me no information. He politely returned my ID badge to me and smiled and told me to have a nice day.

As I moved towards the door, he blocked my entrance.

"Mr. Jenkins doesn't want to be disturbed," he said.

"But" I sputtered.

I got ready to start trying to plead my case, and watched as a teenager pulled up and got out of a car, with bags from Burger Queen and went right into the building.

Raphe had obviously sent out for lunch.

"But" I began again.

"Have a nice fucking day, ma'am," the guard re-iterated more firmly, through clenched teeth.

As I walked away dejectedly a car pulled up to the doorway. It was brand new 2011 Shelby GT 500 Mustang convertible. The car was so loud the engine's exhaust note drowned out the stereo. A tiny little woman jumped out, she was wearing a long blue smock-like shirt with a green t-shirt under it, pink jogging pants and purple fuzzy slippers. Her face was angelic and beaming, it was Amanda. Only Amanda could dress like that in public and get away with it.

"Nice car Amanda," said the giant.

"It's not mine," she smiled, "It's a gift for my new partner."

Amanda disappeared into the building, if she saw me waving at her she gave no sign, but I was sure she saw me. That meant that Smith's conclusion was correct, he was being frozen out for some reason, I wonder why I was included in that.

Well at least I had some information for him and an idea to talk to him about later.

When I got back to the office to compare notes with Smith, he was in an awful mood. He looked apprehensive as he saw me come into his office.

"So what did "Joe Redneck" have to say?" he asked.

I stiffened visibly at hearing the way he referred to Raphe, inside I wondered how he referred to me when I wasn't around.

"I couldn't get in to see him," I said softly.

"What?" bristled Smith "We pay his fucking checks, how dare he refuse to see you? And you're his wife," he snapped, "No wonder you're so crazy about me."

"What did Amanda tell you?" I asked

"The bitches' assistant's assistant told me that she was busy," snapped Smith.

"Well did you try to talk to her by phone?" I asked.

"The assistant's, assistant's flunky, is handling all of her phone calls, and told me she was out, and to call her private cell phone," said Smith tensely.

"So did you?" I asked again.

"I don't have that number," he sneered. "Apparently with all of the increased publicity generated by the buzz about the new material, only those she considers important to the show are given the number."

"People like, Brandon, who I won't call to ask for it" you've seen how that would go. Her head of security has it. Her assistant has it. Her new partner has it," said Smith.

"And" he snapped at me "Your fucking husband has it."

"Well that brings me to my idea," I said.

"You have an idea?" said Smith incredulously.

I wondered as he started at me, if he thought I was such a moron, why did he hire me?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

"All artists and performers have managers and agents, right?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," said Smith.

"Who represents her new partner?" I asked.

"I don't know" said Smith; I could see that the wheels in his mind were turning.

He reached across the desk and pulled me to him. He started trying to undo my top again as we sat there. I pulled away as if I had another idea. It was fortunate because the door opened and Brandon stepped into the office.

Smith went white, seeing Brandon.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Brandon politely extending his hand.

"Brandon Benson, this is my assistant, Kathleen Jenkins," said Smith formally.

"Ah Jenkins, any relations to Mr. Raphe Jenkins," asked Brandon.

"He's my husband," I said.

Brandon looked at me a lot more intensely then and simply said "Interesting."

I got the idea suddenly that he'd seen me before, or knew something that I didn't know.

"Would you excuse us Ms. Jenkins?" asked Brandon.

"If you haven't got your dress for the show tomorrow, or need to do anything related to it, you might want to take the afternoon off to do so," he said.

"I wasn't aware that I was going to the show," I said.

"Oh yes, you really must attend," he said.

"I have a feeling that one way or another, you're going to be there so why not look your best," he added.

As I closed the door I heard Brandon's voice change as he started yelling at Smith again. Maybe he was just hard on Smith because they were related. Smith was probably the black sheep of the Family and they expected the best from him and were harder on him as a result.

But his idea was a good one; I did need to look my best if I was going to the show. Especially if there was a chance that Raphe would be there. I didn't think he would, after all he was just the head of the team of contractors, just an employee. But maybe he'd be there working, and If he saw me all dolled up, he'd realize that he still loved me.

Then I could promise him that I'd changed, and that things would be far better between us.

Raphe

"Amanda I don't want a suit" I whined.

"But you must have this one," she said.

I had already realized over the past couple of days, that if Amanda wanted something, she got it.

That Morning I'd gotten a hair cut, and not at a respectable Barber shop, either. It'd been at one of those frou-frou salons, where they serve cappuccino and all that crap.

I had to admit though that my hair and face did look far more presentable. My scraggly half shaved face was a clean as a baby's ass. And Amanda had hidden my truck. She said I could have it back after the show. That was how she got me to go to the show in the first place. Right now I was driving her around in an amazing car. A Mustang you had to see to believe. This was a midnight blue, Shelby GT 500 convertible. To tell the truth I really didn't miss the truck while I drove it.

Being with Amanda had taken my mind off of all of my problems with Kathy. Her lawyers were working with mine to assure that everything, about the divorce would go smoothly. She, with her artistic nature had seen to it that I'd have my revenge against Smith, without having to bust his ass again, and still keeping mine out of jail. It would also be a more long lasting revenge that was far more satisfying. He'd taken the thing that was most important to me, my marriage and destroyed it. So we'd take the things that were the most important to him and do the same.

But back to the suit; "Amanda, George says he never wears suits to anything, even when he met the President," I said.

"Very well Raphe Jenkins, when your band sells 50 million dollars worth of recordings, you can stop wearing suits too," she said smiling.

"But for now this is your first show as an artiste, and you must make a good impression. And this suit will look perfect, with our overall impression."

"The blue color of the suit really brings out the lighter blue of your eyes," she said staring at me.

"I'm an artist?" I said, "When did that happen?"

"Zee other day when you set the art world on fire, by completing my paintings," she said.