The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 02

"Do you still want to see me?" His office phone started ringing. He ignored it. Caller ID said it was Lori, and he was sorry it didn't have a Decline button.

"Hey, Watson, look. Right now, I get to have my cake and eat it too. My conscience is fine because you said you've served her papers—"

"I did!"

"—and I believe you. And she was already cheating. On the other hand, I get to feel like the wicked Other Woman, which is kind of a thrill. But I don't want to have to file a restraining order against someone, so keep me up to date, okay?"

His office phone went to voicemail. He heard a car horn start blaring outside. Looking out the window, he saw Lori standing by her car. She pointed at her phone when she saw him. "She's standing outside, Addison. I should go."

"Later, lover."

He picked up on the first ring.

"The doors are locked; I can't get in the building."

"They're locked until eight. You know that, Lori."

"Well, unless you want me to come in there at eight and have this out in front of your assistant, you need to come outside."

He settled back against the passenger door. Lori was holding a tight rein on herself, the anger she'd vented on Addison masked. "I don't appreciate you blocking me on your phone," she opened.

"I didn't. I was just ignoring you." Her jaw tightened.

"Last Thursday I gave you the chance to come clean. You didn't come home that night—I got up in the middle of the night and your car was gone—but you lied when I asked you about it."

"No, Lori. First of all, you made a statement, not asked a question. Second, I ignored it, not lied." The jaw got tighter.

"Okay, we'll let that go. Your phone said you spent the entire night at the Hilton. And I saw you in the lobby with that woman. So you flat out lied when you told me you'd give plenty of warning if you decided to see someone else."

Jim stared at her in astonishment and then broke out in laughter. "How is handing you divorce papers three weeks ago and telling you, 'We're done,' not warning you? Did you think I was going to become a monk or something?"

She changed tack. "Jim, we have a lot to work on. I know that. I also know that ninety percent of it is my fault. But we can't work on our marriage if we don't both try. I don't want you seeing other women, and I won't see other men. I want us both to see a counselor."

"Lori. Your percentage is off. As for the things you want: too bad, whatever, and no."

Now her anger started to bleed out. "Two wrongs don't make a right. I screwed up. I'm trying to make amends. Now you're screwing up. You need to do the same. This is our marriage."

"No. I'll say it again: we're done."

"Jim—"

He turned and opened the door. "I've got lots of work today. You know, like I've had for the last couple of years while you were fucking around." He ignored her angry hiss and slammed the door.

Breathe, he told himself. Remember the endgame. The first thing he did when he got back in the office was to tell his assistant not to take calls from Lori. She was the only one of his employees he'd told about his situation ... for just this reason. "I got your back, boss," she'd replied.

The second thing he did was turn off sharing his location on his phone. He didn't remember turning it on. I wonder if she turned it on when she started cheating so she could know where I was. She knows I'd never check that setting.

The third thing was to do what he was accused of: block her. That seemed the right course given his phone started ringing and the display had her name.

It was a chilly evening in the Watson house. Other than an icy, "You're making a big mistake," when he got home, she said nothing before heading to her bedroom.

Jim was sitting at the server end of the bar, eating his usual before taking over behind the counter. Two weeks ago, he'd started showing up early, telling Tom to get the hell out with Shannon for an hour or two. Tom's first response was, "I can't. I'm not even paying you."

Rather than argue, Jim had said, "True." He walked into the back. "Hey, Shannon. Tom's taking you out for some dinner. Frankie and I've got this." Shannon's helper and day-off relief grinned and nodded.

"I will, yeah," she said.

Jim laughed. "Nope. I know what that means when someone Irish says it. It means the exact opposite. No arguing. He's waiting out front for you."

Shannon's eyes open wide as if to say, "Can you believe it?" She pulled off her apron and pushed out through the swinging door. Ten seconds later, he heard her amused voice. "Are you calling your friend a liar?" Jim could picture the head cocked to one side, one eyebrow raised in mock anger.

She stuck her head back in. "He says you're a liar."

"Well, you're going, aren't you? She nodded. "Then obviously I'm not." A wink and a blown kiss. Now, they were on their third week of what had become an institution.

"Hey, Tom," Jim said, "before you go." When Tom looked over from restocking glasses, he continued, "I played football in high school, tennis up until a couple of years ago, so I never even thought about staying in shape. But now ..." He patted his belly and grimaced. "What's the best way to start?"

"Well"—Tom pointed at the cheeseburger and disco fries—"make that kind of thing occasional instead of your usual. Get some kind of exercise every day like, you know, get back into tennis or something. Find the time," he said firmly over the start of Jim's protest. "And if you want to add a little muscle tone, join over there." He jerked his thumb to point out the window.

Shannon pushed out from the back and looked at Tom expectantly. He nodded at her, and as he rinsed his hands, asked Jim, "This have anything to do with Addison?" Tom's grin was wicked.

"You still seeing her?" Shannon cut in.

"Yes." He turned to Tom. "And no, this isn't about her."'

Shannon leaned up and gave Jim a quick peck on the cheek. Quietly she added, "She seems a type. If you're not in it just for a bit o' fun, then think on it, and make sure she's one for settlin' down." Pushing Tom toward the door, she flung, "Thanks a million, and we'll see you in a bit," over her shoulder. Jim thought about her words.

"So why now?" Tom asked later that evening. "The weight thing, I mean." Wednesdays weren't busy and they were leaning against the counter.

"Last Friday, Mallory and Robin came in after spin class. You remember how that evening went ... the bachelor party? In five minutes, we were looking at each other like, 'What do we do now?' We could barely hear ourselves think. Robin suggested we take a walk along the river to Conti's and get some pizza."

Jim's expression was rueful as he told about getting there short of breath and sweating like it was a million degrees outside. "Mallory took one glance at me and asked the server for water. When he brought them, she shoved it in my direction without saying anything.

"I don't know how I let it get this far," he told Tom. After a beat, "Actually, I do know how. It was two and a half years of eating hotel food or, worse, fast food while on trips. That was when not spending long hours chained to the desk eating takeout and collapsing when I got home."

"That'll do it," Tom replied.

"Walking back, I could tell they were making a conscious effort to go a little more slowly. It made me feel like an invalid." He looked up at Tom. He was relieved to see understanding but no obvious judgment. "I'm not trying to look like you, Tom. But I should be able to manage a walk with my friends, don't you think? And maybe not have to buy new pants every year."

"Change what you eat. Get out and walk. Tone up the muscles a bit."

Jim's phone rang. Glancing at the ID, he answered. "Hey, Addison."

"Hi."

"Umm, working. Wednesday."

"Oh hell. I forgot. Hey, can you drive up to Ohio next week? I'll be in Akron. Maybe we could run up to Cleveland and hit the Rock and Roll Museum."

"I don't have much interest in that, honestly. But I'd like to see you and I'll go if you want. How about I call you later tonight?"

"Go talk to her out back," Tom insisted. "I'll dock your pay for the hour." The two regulars who overheard smiled. They knew Jim's deal with working at the bar.

"I thought you liked rock," Addison said once he was out in the alley.

"I do. I just don't have a great interest in memorabilia. How about the Cleveland Art Museum?"

"Snore!" The conversation stalled a brief moment. "A walk on one of the trails in Rocky River Reservation?" she asked tentatively.

Jim thought about that and decided to be honest. "I'd like to do that, but I'm badly out of shape. If you're willing to make it a stroll, I'm game."

"Deal!" She laughed. "I guess we're not the most compatible people for dates. I love touristy things and just seeing the Sgt. Pepper costumes would make my day. But paintings? God, I can't tell Bob Ross from Rembrandt. Guess it'll have to be food, walks, and scratching the itch for us."

She didn't sound perturbed at the prospect, but it caused Jim to think about Shannon's words. "What's your ... umm ... vision for us, Addison?"

"Wow! We're having this talk already?" Her voice was a little more serious but not upset. "Okay. My view of things is that we are having an enjoyable little affair. It's a little bit of fun for me. It's a little bit of fun for you and, at the risk of upsetting you, maybe a little confidence-restoration for you. That's not pity!" she added quickly. "I have zero interest in charity-sex. It's just an observation." She went quiet while he digested that.

I guess I'm okay with it. She's not wrong. "Okay."

"Great! Then we're having an affair. It's not going to be forever because I'm not a forever kind of girl, and you're not a not-forever kind of guy. I'll bow out the second you get a lock on something else. In the meantime ... food, alcohol, strolls, and itch-scratching. If you want to know more, ask me next week."

Thursday, Lori explained exactly why Jim was making a big mistake.

The doorbell rang. "Can you get that?" she called.

"Mr. James Watson? You've been served."

Bemused, he pulled open the manila envelope. "Complaint for Divorce" stared up at him from the first page.

"Look at the second page," came from behind him.

Without turning, he flipped the sheet and saw one of those sticky little arrows pointing to the word "adultery" partway down the page.

"My attorney included a few extras at the end."

He shuffled through. The first was a photograph of Addison and him in the lobby of the Hilton, her starting to settle back on her heels from a light kiss goodbye, face upturned, hand on his arm. The second was a series of phone screenshots, one each hour throughout the night, the time circled in red at the top. They were off the Find My app on Lori's phone, open to the page that showed Jim's location.

"I also have a lawyer now. It turns out that, in Pennsylvania, you don't have to prove adultery. You only have to show a disposition for infidelity—I think the two of you in a hotel lobby smooching at seven in the morning does that—and opportunity—you being there all night ticks that checkbox." Her voice was triumphant.

"And she told me that a spouse like you is barred from using adultery as cause if their own hands are dirty. We're back to no-fault, which means a minimum of one year and mandatory counseling if I ask for it. That will give us time for you to realize that you're throwing away too much that's good."

Jim just stared at her. Her eyebrow went up and her expression got slightly more superior.

"Not convinced? My lawyer pointed out that you seem in an awful hurry to do this, yet you only threatened adultery despite that that would've sped things. She wonders if that isn't because you only have suspicions, no evidence. And since I've stopped seeing Kevin ..." She waved to indicate "moot point now," then turned it into a gesture at the papers in Jim's hands. "But I have it. Maybe my charge will stick and yours won't. And then I'd have to thank your attorney."

"Oh?" Jim's voice was toneless.

"Sure. He was the one who hinted that judges are only human when it comes to close calls on property division, even though that part's supposed to ignore misconduct.

"Think about it. Most of that company you've killed yourself over is marital property. Your dad's shop was an inheritance; no question that part's yours. But the LLC it turned into was after we married, and all the growth has happened since then. And I worked there a lot in the beginning, and I'm told that counts a whole bunch, especially when the spouse is the sole owner of the LLC.

"No matter how this would have gone down, I think I'd have gotten a decent piece of that, and if the judge is human enough to want to rap the knuckles of the straying husband ..."

She threw her hands up to ward off protest, a protest that Jim never made. "Oh, I know! The courts wouldn't give me any actual ownership, but you'd have had to compensate me for my share. And that would mean a lot of loans because we don't have that kind of cash. And then if you add in alimony because your earning power is bigger than mine? And judges are explicitly allowed to consider misconduct during alimony?"

She tilted her head in a question that he read as, "See what I mean?" When he didn't say anything, she made it explicit. "Do you want to be slaving away just to pay the banks and an ex-wife?"

"Well," Jim was happy his voice remained level, "even though threats are not much fun, it's refreshing to hear your true colors."

The superior expression faded into a mixture of dismay and irritation. "Oh my God! Stop being a fucking idiot! I don't want to be that bitch. I don't want to do this. I want you to withdraw your petition and I withdraw mine. I don't want a goddam penny of your company, but you're backing me into a place where I have no way to go. Stop this. We'll go to counseling, fix our marriage, even if it takes a while. We'll come out of it a lot wiser and maybe a little stronger."

His eyebrows went up at that last, and the expression on his face made it quite clear what he thought of that possibility. A touch of hardness came back into her voice.

"I don't want this. I'm not lying. But you told me something a long time ago, back when you were dealing with that problem customer. You said, 'Don't ever make a threat you're not willing to carry out.'"

His jaw tightened. She waited for him to say something. Finally, she nodded. "Think about it for a while. There's time before this becomes unstoppable. I don't want your money; I want you."

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

It was, perhaps, an apt verb given now much Jim was sagging. Robin had seen him Monday morning, doing the new-customer orientation with one of the trainers. Now, wiping her face with a towel as she came out of a spin class, she saw Jim on the treadmill. He paused, glad of the excuse. "I thought you came in lunchtimes with Mallory."

Robin shook her head. "I come in sort of random times because my work meetings are random times." She looked at the sweat-soaked T-shirt, then back to his face with a rueful expression. "You look like you could use something from the juice bar. How far do you have left?"

He glanced at the display. "Half a mile."

"Get moving. I'll go stretch a little more and then meet you there. I'll buy."

"And then I'll owe you, right?"

"Of course! Get moving!" All said with a smile.

He flopped onto the stool next to her about ten minutes later. "The Mango Tango is good," she said. "So, how are you making out?"

"Here or in general?"

"Both?"

"This place is killing me. Life is good except for every part of my body hurts from this place killing me."

"This place'll get easier. Good to hear about life." They sipped their smoothies in silence for a moment. He self-consciously used a small towel to keep mopping his face, something she ignored. "Holding up about home life okay? And feel free to say, 'Nice weather we're having.' I'm not too blonde to get the hint that our talk in the courthouse was the end of it."

Jim smiled at her reference to their first meeting. "I'm doing fine. A little aggravated, but that's to be expected."

"Has she finally seen the light?"

"Nope. Not even close."

She studied him for a long moment. "You know, you don't seem like a guy who's in the middle of a contested divorce with an unfaithful wife. And really feel free to tell me to butt out because I'm the kind of person who doesn't always notice limits. Was there a long build-up to this?"

"No ... I ... well ..."

Robin raised her cup in a toast. "Yep. Nice weather we're having. So, how often are you here?"

"No. It's not that I want you to butt out. I'd like to explain but it's just that there are some things I'm not sure I want talked about and ... oh crap, that sounds like I'm saying you'd—"

"Hey!" Her tone was firm. "First, you don't talk about anything you don't want to talk about. You hear? It's none of my business. I'm just a friendly face. Second, anything you do talk about is between us. It's not going to go to Mallory or even DH. Hell, promise you'll hand me a dollar after we're done here, and ask me a legal question about your situation, and I'm legally bound never to open my mouth."

"Is that true?"

She waggled her hand. "There are some fine points, but pretty much."

"I promise to give you a dollar later." She nodded. "Is it correct that legal separation starts when you move to a separate room as long as you refrain from intimacy and other actions indicating she's your wife?"

Robin cringed. "Ah! Trust you to ask a question I don't know the answer to off the top of my head. I don't practice family law. But"—she adopted a serious expression that belied the twinkle in her eyes—"as one of your attorneys, I will find out that answer immediately and get back to you."

He laughed with her. "As for your first question, it's both no and yes. No in that the decision to divorce wasn't a long, drawn-out thing. It was made suddenly the minute I knew what she was doing. It's yes in that that happened a while ago. I just needed some time to get things in order."

Robin's face turned serious for real, no laughter coloring it. "Jim, maybe you should make it two hundred dollars you're going to give me later instead of a dollar because that's what I charge an hour, and I'm going to give you some real lawyerly advice. Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to lie to the court and hide assets. The penalties when they catch you are severe ... and that can include jail when they throw a perjury charge at you. Bite the bullet and play by the rules. It may hurt but it will be less than—"

As Robin spoke, Jim's face fell lower and lower. Finally, he interrupted, "I'm not hiding anything." She broke off. "My financial disclosure statement is already done and it's one hundred percent accurate. There's nothing in another name, or offshore, or conveniently forgotten." His hand went up. "I swear."

Robin studied his face for a long time.

"Robin! I am not going to try to cheat her out of a single penny. She'll get half, or whatever the judge awards her, of what we have."

They stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "I believe you. I've been listening to clients lie to me for a decade and ..." She shook her head. "I believe you." Her smile came back, not as high wattage as normal, but firm. "I'm sorry I killed the mood. I'd like to use my incredible wit and charm to salvage it, but I gotta rush through a shower and get back to the office. Another time?"