“You and Wendy shoul
d make a great team,” Shane muttered. He turned to Magda and Tyler. “Are you ready, guys?”
“So you’ll be back tomorrow. At five,” Wendy said.
“Yes, Wendy,” Shane said, annoyed by the question. “When are you going to Cannes?” he asked, giving her back the same attitude.
“On Monday night,” Wendy said. He knew when she was leaving, and she knew what was coming next.
“I don’t know why you can’t just let them stay with me until you get back,” he said. “This shuttling back and forth is stupid.”
“You’re lucky to have them at all, Shane,” she said.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Shane said, looking past Wendy at Tessa. Then he gathered the kids and went out.
Wendy paused and stuck her head out the door. “Only organic food, okay?” she shouted after him. “And firm bedtimes.”
Shane nodded, not bothering to turn around. She watched her little troupe as they walked down the muted hallway, until they stopped in front of the elevator.
“Bye, Mommy,” Tyler said cheerfully, turning back to wave.
“Bye-bye,” she said warmly. “See you tomorrow.” She watched until they got in the elevator, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration, but mostly anxiety. Her kids, it appeared, didn’t seem to need her at all. They didn’t even seem to be that interested in being with her.
But that was only because she was still living in the hotel, she thought. When she got a new apartment, it would all change and their lives could go back to normal. As soon as she’d returned from Palm Beach, she’d hired Tessa, and Tessa had arranged for the children to split their time between her and Shane. That too was temporary. Wendy hoped to be able to get Shane out of the picture completely.
She closed the door and turned back to Tessa. “Who could ever have imagined that two people could hate each other so much?” she asked, referring to Shane. It was a rhetorical question, and she didn’t really expect an answer.
Tessa gave her one anyway. “He hates you all right,” she said, gathering up her things. “In any case, he’s not going to give up easily.”
* * *
“THE PROBLEM IS SHANE’S lawyer,” Tessa said, fifteen minutes later when they were seated at a small table in the lobby bar of the hotel. A long gauzy curtain billowed at their feet.
Wendy looked out the window at the assortment of passersby on the street outside; it was a Saturday afternoon at the end of April, and Soho was filled with tourists. “I’m not afraid of his lawyer,” Wendy said, stirring her espresso with a small metal spoon. “He has to know that Shane doesn’t have a case.”
“Viewed traditionally, perhaps, he doesn’t,” Tessa agreed. “But Juan Perek is a man, and he spends most of his time getting huge settlements out of rich men for their wives and children. He’s been waiting for a case like this for years. It’s an opportunity to prove that the law really is blind, neither racist nor sexist. In other words,” she added, sipping a plain black coffee, “he wants to make an example out of you.”
“But he’s already done that,” Wendy said, crossing her arms. “I’m giving Shane the apartment. It’s worth over two million dollars. That’s a lot of money for a man who hasn’t worked for ten years.”
“I know,” Tessa said, nodding sympathetically. “But that too is a problem. If Shane had worked, this would be easier. It would mean that he was capable of supporting himself. The courts tend to look on these kinds of situations as indicating that the spouse shouldn’t be expected to work, having been out of the job market for ten years.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Wendy said. “Shane is a healthy forty-year-old man. He can get a job like everybody else in the world. He can be a waiter if he needs to.”
“I wouldn’t bring that up in front of the judge,” Tessa said cautiously. “It won’t go over well.”
“Why not?” Wendy demanded. “It’s true. He can get a friggin’ job for a change.”
“You have to try to understand this from a different perspective,” Tessa said soothingly. “Shane contends that he already has a job—and has had one for the past twelve years—being a father to your children . . .”
“Oh please,” Wendy scoffed.
“I don’t know how much child care he actually did, but it doesn’t really matter. In the eyes of the court, taking care of the children is a job. And if the situation were reversed, if Shane were a woman, well, telling the judge that he should go out and get a job as a waiter would be like a successful man telling his suburban wife that she should go out and get a job at the local carwash.”
Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose he wants more money.”
“It isn’t exactly money,” Tessa said. “He wants alimony. And child support. He wants those kids, Wendy.”
Wendy emitted a harsh laugh. “There’s no chance of that. They’re my kids. I love them; they need to be with me. Children belong with their mothers, and that’s that. Shane can do what every other divorced man does and see them every other weekend.”