Parted.

“Will you at least consider it? You don’t have to say yes or no. Not yet. Just that you’ll think about it.”

Janie reached across the table and took his hand, and as cliché as it sounds, “fireworks went off” inside of Mike when she touched him. She didn’t say anything but smiled gratefully and gently nodded her head. And with the soft lights shining through her hair, Mike thought she looked like an angel.

His heart was racing all the way back to Roslyn as he tried to brainstorm a way to afford the studio apartment. He couldn’t take a second mortgage against the house, not while they were in the process of house-hunting. And he couldn’t request an approval against the liquid accounts, not without Jennifer knowing and asking questions. And he’d never possibly convince Jennifer that they should buy a studio in Brighton Beach as a real estate investment.

A stabbing, wrathful anger struck him in tandem with those thoughts. He’d had spats and outright fights with Jennifer on several occasions in their marriage, but those tiffs had always, ultimately, resolved themselves. He’d never before despised Jennifer. But that exact sentiment had wormed its way into Mike’s heart, and it underscored everything he said and did that afternoon and evening. By dinnertime, he felt real hatred and distaste towards his wife; not even the hot meal she’d prepared, the sight of her and his daughters happily gathering at their kitchen table and the girls’ recaps of their uneventful but somehow harrowingly important adventures that day could snap him out of it. He barked at Jennifer for overcooking the roast, and at the girls for talking too much and even sent Emily to her room before dessert.

He felt trapped in the house and suffocating in his family’s presence. After dinner, he went for a run and though it quickly winded him, it also made him feel energized, and stronger than he had in a long while. When he came home, Jennifer was in the shower, and so he didn’t bother with cleaning up or even changing his workout clothes before sliding into their bed.

Jennifer came out of the master bathroom wrapped in a towel and let it fall to change into her night clothes. He felt disgusted at her soft, misshapen body.l; her breasts were too big and her belly was soft and pouched. Her arms and legs were too full and had no shape or muscle tone. Her thighs pressed together in all the places where there should have been a gap.

“Can’t you do that in the bathroom?”

Jennifer frowned at him. “You’re in a mood today. What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nice,” he spat, “Real mature, Jenn.”

She sighed irritated and finished applying her lotion. She put the cap back on and slid into her nightshirt and pulled the covers back from her side, and climbed in the bed. She snuggled next to Mike and though he didn’t push her away, her closeness caused him to feel even more irritated.

“I’m sorry. Really. But you are in a mood. And you were snappy to the kids tonight too…. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” Mike admitted softly. Jennifer snuggled against him draping her arm across his chest. “You know, I went for a run earlier. You should start doing the same. You should take better care of yourself. Don’t you care at all how you look anymore?”

Besides sending Mike to sleep on the living room sofa, Jennifer was tight-lipped with him the following morning too. He noticed his daughters’ quiet but worried gazes darting between him and their mother, but petulantly refused to acknowledge or say anything fatherly or reassuring. He poured a travel mug of coffee and muttered goodbye before rushing out the door.

He decided to walk to the train instead of driving. It was early enough that he could afford the extra time in his commute, and he felt invigorated and in need of exercise and physical release. His agitated thoughts were still set on purchasing the studio condo unit. And then it hit him: what if he took a loan against his own 401(k) to purchase the property? People did it all the time to purchase a new home. What if he did it to purchase an investment for his retirement portfolio? What say would Jennifer possibly have in a real estate investment of his own retirement money?

By the time he left the train platform and headed into work, Mike had convinced himself that his thinking was genius. He muttered quick hellos to the receptionist and his secretary as he darted by their desks and then holed himself up in his office, slamming the door behind him. Instead of calling the insurance adjuster, Abby Polk, or his investigator or building inspector, or his client, Mr. Bygazkya, he called his mortgage broker at J.P. Morgan.

His broker picked up on the third ring. “Chad Regan speaking.”

“Chad, it’s Mike Yarns. How the hell are ya? I have some questions I wanted to run by you about a property in Coney Island.”

Overall, the conversation and the process went relatively quickly and smoothly. As Mike had assumed, he was in a position to use his 401(k) as collateral backing for a loan and mortgage. Additionally, since his retirement accounts were already managed by the same fund as his IRA, the conversion was a relatively quick turn around. Simultaneous to the conversion, he could secure a conditional pre-approval for a one-point-two million dollar mortgage.

The mortgage approval was enough for a studio unit in the Beach Walk Brighton Beach condo building. The unit was small, barely six hundred square feet, on a low floor and dark in the shadows of neighboring buildings, but Mike didn’t care. He was, as the saying goes, “over the moon.” However, the sole hangup was whether the condo sponsor would accept the offer with no money down.

“If the sponsor will entertain the offer, I’m willing to send this to the underwriter,” Chad advised absently, his tone already indicating the unlikelihood, in his opinion, that such a thing could occur. “Good luck with that, Mike. Let me know how things work out and how you want for me to proceed.”

Mike hated to call Janie, but besides his realtor, Barbara Kelly, she was in fact the only person that he knew in the industry. Fudging a bit, he explained to her that he was interested in a property at the Brighton Beach condo, but only on approval of a no-money down offer. “I’m good for the money. Quite good. But I’d prefer not to tie myself up for such a small property.”

Janie made a few adorable but useless observations, and then offered to call Chris Powell directly. “If anyone can help you with this, it’s Chris! He’s very close to the sponsor, and very respected. If Chris proposes it, I’m sure they’ll approve.”

Mike was on proverbial “pins and needles” waiting for Janie to call him back. But before the end of the day, he had a response. Though it wasn’t firm, Chris talked to the sponsor and had a gentleman’s agreement that the offer would be accepted if made for the full asking price of one million one hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Mike quickly called Chad, and he and Janie prepared a firm offer on the studio.

The sponsor’s acceptance was returned so quickly that it made Mike’s head spin. And it changed the way he thought about himself. That morning had started another average day, another in a series of being his usual, unremarkable self. But now, he was no longer just Mike Yarns; he was Mike Yarns, million-dollar landlord.

However, the thrill of his shift in economic position waned during the many weeks before closing. There were multiple credit inquiries, and a high, variable interest rate and monies that were due at closing for taxes and escrow despite purchasing the condo without a deposit. Hiding all such from Jennifer had been a gargantuan feat, and by the night before closing, Mike was a nervous, emotionally and physically exhausted wreck.

His eyes would close and his mind would drift; and then reality of his circumstances would crash back down on him! The studio was a huge financial commitment; what would he do if Jennifer ever found out?

She was sleeping on her side, turned away from him, her hair fanned haphazardly over her pillow, the lines of her shoulder and back rising and falling evenly with her breathing. It crossed his mind that she might die in her sleep—young, healthy people did all the time, and often, for no apparent reasons. Jennifer might die in her sleep, and set him free from all his looming worries!

Mike propped himself on his elbow, and looked at the clock on her nightstand. Eleven thirty. At least it wasn't too late yet. He could still get six hours' sleep if he could just calm his mind. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow his heart, relaxed his eyelids and tried to think of nothing.

Mike took the day off work for closing on the condo. The process was excruciatingly dull; he and Janie and Janie’s broker sat in a small office even dumpier than his own, as he alternated between listening to non-lawyers explain the mortgage and condo’s legal documents to him as he signed stacks of contracts and waited for other parties to drop off their documents. But all the while, Mike waffled between exaltation at the prospect of installing Janie in the condo and permanently into his life, and utter despondency at the quantities of money he was handing over. And of course, there was the darkly looming potential that Jenn, at any moment, could find out about the condo.

Once it was all finished, he and Janie went to dinner on Coney Island to celebrate. During the weeks preceding the closing, they’d gotten to know each other better, and as if in a classic romance, Mike’s feelings for Janie had only deepened. She told him excitedly that she’d received a bonus from his sales’ commission. Knowing that he’d helped her twice over made his heart swell as he handed her a set of key fobs to the condo.

“I still can’t believe this! When can I move in?” she asked excitedly.

Mike beamed and chuckled. “Whenever you want. It’s your home.”

“But are you really sure?” Jeanie turned to him and chuckled, amused. “I mean, it’s your apartment!”

“It’s not mine; it’s yours,” he replied indulgently, feeling like the king of the fucking universe. “It’s your home for as long as you want it.”

Janie’s chocolate brown eyes darkened with feeling and she brushed her soft fingertips over Mike’s knee. Electric jolts went off everywhere through his skin and up his spine. He’d imagined and hoped for this happening many times over after meeting Janie, and in the following weeks of working with her to prepare for closing, his yearning for some returned showing of her own affection for him had only increased. But he’d not anticipated that the feeling would be so intense!

“I guess we’ll never agree about this, will we? What if we call it our apartment, then? Won’t you come over to see our apartment?”

Janie let Mike lead her back to the condo. The unit was entirely bare and smelled fresh and new with paint and polishing. Almost as soon as the door closed, Mike was on her, his arms embracing and holding her close.

“Oh Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

Janie giggled in reply as Mike buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed and then licked her soft skin. There was no furniture in the apartment; there were no pictures on the walls, and all their memories in the place were yet to be made. But still, a ghost of a feeling graced Mike’s heart that he would never be able to let Janie go now. All he wanted was to give her everything she could possibly want….

“Is everything ok?” Rich McNulty asked as he stopped by Mike’s office. Rich was the firm's managing partner, and one of "those guys" who’d made it to partner in an insurance defense firm without ever stepping into an actual courtroom. He was dressed in a grey pinstripe wool suit and holding a mug of coffee, and stood in the open frame of Mike’s office as if he were somehow Gordon Gekko, wheeling and dealing for the day, rather than just fielding calls from insurance companies to assign slip and fall cases to overworked attorneys.

“Never better. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that you’ve been out a lot these past few weeks. Abby Polk at ACE called me for an update on the Gastronom Russya case, and I don’t have anything to give her. She said that you told her that you did the building inspection. But I don’t seem to have either a case report from you or any report from the investigator.”

Mike flummoxed. He’d been swamped with other cases and with the closing for the Brighton Beach condo. He’d forgotten that he’d never updated the case file with a temporary report to tide things over until he could really reschedule.

He blustered best as he could to cover. “Well, not to say ‘I told you so,’ but I’ve been saying for a while that we should use a different investigation company. These late reports are starting to become par for course; next, I’ll bet you that the investigator will say he doesn’t even recall going out to inspect that building.”

Rich gave a groaning chuckle as Mike spoke, and rolled his eyes in commiseration. “You can’t make this stuff up, can you? With all the business we send their way, you’d think that stupid investigator could get things right once in a while.”

Mike felt a rush of relief. “This insurance law stuff is for babies. Us old guys, we need to write out our stories and sell ‘em to Hollywood.”

Rich nodded and grinned. “Do me a favor before you call Creative Artists, Spielberg. Write up a quick report of the inspection and send it to Abby Polk, please? She’s been up my ass all day about this case.”

It seemed awfully strange to Mike that a minor slip and fall case should suddenly garner so much attention. Though it seemed like a proverbial “can of worms,” Mike had proffered so many lies that all related back to that initial building inspection that he was, as the saying goes “in too deep”. He felt unable to do anything at that point but proceed with his carefully strung together lies.

And thus, he typed up a quick report for Abby Polk, relaying that the building inspection had gone easily and that the stairs were up to code and the fixtures in the building were well maintained and up to snuff. He informed her that there didn’t appear to have been any patent structural issues that could have been presented to the employee when she fell down the stairs. Mike alleged that he’d taken pictures on his Blackberry to supplement the report, but the photos must have somehow been deleted when he’d tried to upload and so he would have to add pictures later. He sent the report to Abby, and then, secretively, called Mr. Bygazkya and left a message asking the old man to call him back to reschedule the building inspection.

Mike was antsy to get to the condo that evening. He’d been easily persuaded that the condo’s finishes required equally appointed furniture, and had turned his platinum card over to Janie for shopping at Restoration Hardware and Best Buy. The costs were exorbitant but the small apartment was soon outfitted with a complete smart home system and top-of-the-line lighting and expensive furnishing, although, truth be told, Mike couldn’t care less about the smart mirrors that connected to his Apple Watch, or the 4K Sony Bravia TV or the bespoke down-filled leather sofa. All he wanted was for the bed Janie ordered to finally arrive, and the building management had emailed him that afternoon that not only had the frame and mattress arrived but also that the handymen had put it together. When he opened the door to the apartment and turned its narrow foyer, he was greeted by a sheer screen divider and behind it was the bed: a massive reclaimed Russian oak platform.

“Do you like it, daddy?” Janie asked. She was kneeling on the bed and giggled as she cocked her head to the side. She wore just a silk robe and matching bra and panties, and held the stems of two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of Barefoot Bubbly spumante in the other. Her hips rocked gently from side to side as she waited for Mike to answer.

“I do, baby girl, it’s a good bed,” he said, grinning devilishly as he undid his tie and took off his belt. “But like what’s on the bed better.” He sat on the bed against the headboard and she held the glasses as he popped and poured the sparkling wine.

They sat there quietly sipping the wine and as he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close against his side, he had a rushing thrill to realize that one could see a bit of the Coney Island boardwalk while sitting on the bed! “This is the life, huh,” he mused, feeling extraordinarily full and sated. He pulled Janie closer so that he could cup and squeeze her breast in his free hand. She made a small sound but didn’t pull away from his manhandling; instead, her eyes lowered to his slowly stiffening groin.

“Somebody likes having me close.”

“You think so, hmm?” As he asked the question, his voice artificially gravelly and dominating, he took Janie’s free hand and laid it on the growing bulge in his trousers. She artfully caressed its outline and then tried to move her hand to his thigh but he wordlessly moved her hand back, pressing down on her palm as he rotated his hips.

Janie set their wine glasses on the nightstand and began stroking his cock earnestly, and Mike closed his eyes, trying desperately to not get over excited with what was happening. He loved the way that Janie was touching him, even if it was only through his pants!

His lust for her drove him crazy and he laid her down on the new bed. He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her hard, darting his tongue like a piston in and out of her mouth. His hands roamed her body, touching her gorgeous breasts and long lean muscles and the delectable curve of her hips. He ran his hands over her lace-covered breasts and shivered, feeling her stiff nipples rub against his palms.

He then planted the bend of his knee firmly on the bed and pulled her hips until her thong covered pussy pressed against it. She let out a muted giggle as he started to move her hips awkwardly back and forth, until she understood that he wanted her to grind against his leg and rocked her hips of her own accord. She pulled aside her lacy thong to show Mike the glistening seam of her young pussy and he whimpered. He couldn’t hold back any longer and yanked at the fabric, intending to make a show of strength and intensity by tearing it away. When that didn’t work and the lace merely stretched, embarrassed, he lifted her hips and knees to tug the lingerie off of her.

His embarrassment at his soft weakness stung deeply. And so, when Janie playfully rubbed her dimpled knee against his thigh and asked, “Daddy, what’s gotten into you?” he was irritated with her, rather than triumphant at her sweet, seductive words. Wordlessly, almost mean spiritedly, he pulled her bra straps away from her shoulders, loosening the cups and exposing the full swell of her perfect, pale breasts and peach-pink nipples.

Janie instinctively moved her hands to cover her breasts and Mike pulled them away. “Stop being a brat,” he barked. His order was given partly jokingly, and he fully expected Janie to stiffen up and demand an apology for his brusqueness—an apology that he was more than willing to give.

But to Mike’s surprise, she merely mumbled an unsure apology!

At first, he wasn’t sure how to take her reaction. He realized that he was being more than a bit forceful with Janie, but the mystery of her unexpected response spurred him on. He had always been, what he presumed was, one of those frustrated nice guys who, as cliché as it sounds, could “never quite get it right” with beautiful women. From his perspective, it always seemed that sexy, confident young women like Janie purposefully brushed him aside.