Unbreakable Hart: Love in Midlife, #4

One

Alex

I need this new bag, my wife screeches into her cellphone. She never screeched like an annoying barn owl before we got married, now it feels like it’s all she ever does.

What’s the problem? I ask as calmly as I can manage.

Stephanie, my wife of seven months, hasn’t had the time to find a job, but she’s somehow managed to find the time to max out three of my credit cards.

Another card was declined, she spits through clenched teeth.

Make that four credit cards.

Do you really need a new purse?

I don’t think you understand. It’s a Dolce & Gabbana.

There’s a knock on my office door right before my boss pokes his head inside. Got a minute?

I’ve got to go, I whisper into the cellphone.

I need this bag, Stephanie shouts.

I’ll talk to you later. I quickly end the call right before my boss strolls into my office.

Charles Duncan is the founder of one of the most respected law firms in the greater Phoenix area. Even though he’s wealthy and well connected, Charles is still a good old boy at heart. He was born and raised in rural Arizona back in the days when there were more cactuses than people. He’s worth millions, but he’s one of the most down-to-earth guys you’ll ever meet.

My parents always called people like Charles the salt of the Earth. 

When my first wife, Amelia, and I moved to Arizona, Charles and his wife embraced us like we were part of their family. We’ve never had a conversation about it, but I don’t think Charles was very pleased when I divorced Amelia to be with Stephanie.

Of course he’s been married to his high school sweetheart for forty-five years.

Charles has a reputation for being a shrewd lawyer, and he’s still as sharp as the hunting knife he carries in his cowboy boot.

My boss always wears a three-piece suit, but he still sports his old cowboy boots. And he’s always packing. Charles takes full advantage of the liberal firearm laws in the great state of Arizona.

I’d like you to take over the O’Connor account, he announces.

That’s great. I try to sound enthusiastic. Aaron and Michael O’Connor are worth billions. Being appointed the lead attorney for their account is one gigantic step closer to finally being named a partner in the firm. 

But all I can think about right now is Stephanie, and her steady destruction of my credit score. 

I’d like you to meet with them sometime this week.

I’ll make it happen, I assure him.

When my cellphone starts to buzz on the edge of my desk we both stare at it.

Aren’t you going to answer that? he asks.

I shake my head.

The phone keeps buzzing. Stephanie won’t stop calling until I answer the phone. And I know she’ll keep phoning until I give her another credit card number to pay for the new purse.

Don’t you want to see who it is? Charles asks.

I shake my head. It’s Stephanie.

Even though he nods again, I can see the disapproval in his eyes. It’s the same look I saw in my parents’ eyes when I told them I was divorcing Amelia to marry Stephanie.

The phone continues to buzz until I reach over and shut it off.

Charles runs his tongue along his top teeth for several seconds. He always does it right before he’s about to give one of his lectures.

You know what I’ve always told my boys.

He and his wife have two sons who are in their early 40s, a few years younger than me.

I wait for him to continue with his story, because I can tell one is coming.

Those shiny new sports cars look really attractive on the lot. And when you take one for a test drive, you immediately fall in love with it. Maybe a few of your friends have traded in their old reliable cars for hot new models. You think you’ve got to have one too. What you don’t realize is that the sleek new sports car is going to cost. I’m not just talking about the monthly payment either. Those new cars require a lot of maintenance and upkeep. After a while you may wonder if it was worth it. Maybe even wonder if you can get your old car back. That’s why I stick with what I’ve got. High quality. Completely paid for. Very little maintenance. And I like driving it. It’s what I’m used to. Guys can run those fancy sports cars in front of me all day long, and I’m never tempted. Won’t even take one for a test drive. It’s much better to take care of that old reliable car you’ve got at home.

I wonder if he’s actually talking about the old Mercedes he’s been driving for years, or if he’s using the story as a metaphor. That I shouldn’t have left my wife of twenty years for a much younger woman. 

I don’t want to admit that he’s right.

Stephanie and I had a whirlwind romance that broke Amelia’s heart. Everything happened so fast, I hardly had time to process it. I still haven’t.

You’ve been staying at work at lot later than you used to, Charles observes. You never did that when you were with Amelia.

That’s because Amelia wasn’t just my wife, she was my best friend. And I lost both when I started seeing Stephanie.

The reason I work so late is because I hope Stephanie will be asleep by the time I get home. Anything so I don’t have to hear her whining about wanting more money.

I feel like a walking cliché. The middle-aged man and the twenty-something second wife. Amelia tried to warn me that Stephanie was just using me for my money. I laughed at her and told her she was wrong. I told her that things with me and Steph were different. I thought she really loved me. I know now that all she really wanted was access to my wallet. Stephanie played me like an expert musician plays her instrument. She hit all the right notes.

There was lots of sex whenever I wanted, and wherever I wanted. I didn’t even have to ask. I was in awe of her. A gorgeous little twenty-three-year-old actually wanted to be with me. I didn’t get girls as hot as Stephanie when I was twenty-three. It was like a dream come true.

The minute I slipped the wedding ring on her finger everything changed. It was like some kind of switch got flipped and my life slowly turned into a living hell.

And I have no one to blame but myself.

I made my big, fat middle-life crises bed, and now I’m stuck with a twenty-three-year-old shrew lying in it with me.

***

I cringe when I see Stephanie’s Mercedes parked in the driveway. It was a car she just had to have, and she pouted for a week straight until I bought it for her.

When we met she was driving a Honda Civic that was nearly as old as she was. 

I was hoping tonight was her Ladies Book Club night.

Not that Stephanie actually reads any of the books. She just uses it as an excuse to drink wine and gossip with her friends.

But no such luck. She’s home and I have to deal with her.

As soon as I open the door I hear her squawk my name from the back of the house. Alexander! We need to talk.

We sure do.

She’s standing with her hands on her hips glaring at me when I enter the living room.

Stephanie is a raven-haired beauty with the body of a swimsuit model. She’d be perfect if she didn’t open her mouth.

You never called me back.

I was busy at work. You know that place I have to go so you can have everything you want.

She actually has the nerve to huff. I wanted that purse, and I didn’t get it.

Boohoo. I turn my back on her because I’m so tired of her and her ridiculous demands.

Are you actually walking away from me?

Yup.

I head over to the bar and remove a glass and a bottle of whiskey. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I pour myself a generous serving.

Then I chug it.

What do you think you’re doing? Stephanie points a well-manicured finger in my face.

How is it possible that she spends fifty dollars a week to get her nails done? I don’t remember Amelia ever doing her nails. Not that she would have ever spent that kind of money on herself. She was much too practical for anything like that.

What does it look like? I make a point of pouring another glass of whiskey and downing it.

You don’t drink.

I do now. Are you happy with yourself? You drove me to drink.

She reaches into the pocket of her very expensive designer pants and removes a credit card. She throws it at me. This is useless.

The credit card lands on the floor right at my feet.

Then she shoves an outstretched hand in my face. I need another card.

I laugh to keep from crying. There are no more cards, Stephanie.

She blinks rapidly like I’ve just slapped her. What am I supposed to buy things with?

How about getting a job and earning money like everyone else on the planet?

She crosses her arms in front of her. That’s not going to work for me.

I didn’t think so.

I pour another glass of whiskey and down that one too. Then I look into her greedy eyes. This isn’t going to work for me anymore either.

She frowns. What do you mean?

I want a divorce, I tell her. I’m not even sure where the words came from, but as soon as I say them I actually feel relieved.

You can’t divorce me, she spits.

I’m pretty sure I can.

I won’t let you.

I place the whiskey glass on the bar. I’m going to go back to New Jersey for my college reunion. That will give us some time apart to think about things.

She jabs a finger in my chest. You are not leaving me.

I just can’t do this anymore.

Stephanie’s expression changes completely. She gives me a seductive smile. Then she starts to unbutton her blouse. "Are you sure you don’t want to do me anymore?"

I gulp. As much as I enjoy fooling around with her, I know I can’t give into her charms. She’s like a siren luring me to my inevitable destruction.

I grab her hand. Stop. I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight.

She rips her hand away from me and grabs a small statuette from the mantel. She throws it onto the tile floor and it smashes to pieces.

Was that really necessary? I ask as calmly as I can.

Her face has turned red with anger. She throws two fists into the air and screams. You’re not leaving me.

Then she grabs a very expensive porcelain doll that she just bought a few weeks ago. The ridiculous thing set me back several thousand dollars.

Don’t do it, I warn.

Her eyes narrow to evil little slits as she smashes the doll to the floor.

Whatever feelings I may have still had for Stephanie were just smashed to bits right along with that stupid doll. I think she can tell by the look on my face that she’s pushed me too far.

Oops, she mutters.

Just go to bed, I tell her as I turn my back to her and storm out of the room. 

Two

Amelia

I’m not sure why I’m even looking at the menu. I always order the same thing at Coffee and a Good Book. An iced mocha latte.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot someone approaching. He comes to a stop a little too close for comfort.

When I step a few feet away, he moves closer.

He’s blond and buff. Tanned arms so muscular they are practically bursting out of his Bookman Athletics Department polo shirt. He’s an Adonis in the flesh.

And much too young for me. He’s not a college student, but he’s not that much older than one.

So what’s a guy have to do to get your digits? he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. Does that cheesy line ever work?

He gives me a panty-dropping grin. I got you to talk to me.

Talking is one thing. Getting my phone number is something completely different.

He closes the small distance between us. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his incredibly sexy body. I have to admit that I am very attracted to him despite our obvious age difference.

Go out with me. His penetrating blue eyes are filled with desire.

"I don’t make it a