'I'm trying to tell you--last Friday before I left, yes, I filed for divorce.'
'Before?'
'You gonna tell me you're surprised, with the way things've been? I finally decided if I didn't file, you would.'
'Before--' Mickey said. 'So when they were talking to you about the money--'
'Now wait a minute,' Frank said.
'When they threatened to kill me, you'd already filed for a divorce? God, no wonder.'
'No, you're absolutely wrong. That had nothing to do with anything.'
He repeated nearly everything he had said about being sure they were bluffing as Mickey wondered if she should sit down. But she also felt like moving, she was excited and it was a strange mixed feeling: one defeating, the other stimulating, as though her feelings and not her mind were giving her a choice. She could play poor-me and wring her hands and roll over, or she could go after the son of a bitch and let him have it. The rotten son of a bitch--but, that was enough of that. It was all right to be mad, furious; God, she had a right to be. But not if she became emotional and cried and played into his hands. (She could hear him say, 'Christ, how can you talk to a woman?') There was no other Mickey perched there watching, prompting words the nice Mickey would never say. There was only one Mickey here--the Mickey she wanted to be-- and it was about time to let her loose.
She said, 'Is that why you went to Freeport? So you'd be gone when I got the--what's it called?'
'I think it's a summons.'
'A summons. And you filed last week?'
'Yeah, Friday. If you'd been here, well, you would've been served by now.'
She closed her eyes and opened them. He was still there, with still the blank expressionless gaze, never to change, never to know even when he was funny. She imagined telling someone (Louis?) that if she had been here, see, if she hadn't let herself be dragged off and held in a room for three and a half days, she would've been served with the divorce sumnons. Summons. As though she was being accused of something.
She said to Frank, 'I'm sorry the guy from the court will have to make another trip.'
He said, 'Well, I guess they run into that. You don't always find people home.'
There, that was the old Frank she knew so well. Mickey said, 'No, you don't, do you?' (Did you get that one, Louis? And Louis would say, Is he for real?)
'I wanted you to have time to read it over,' Frank said. 'Then you can see about a lawyer, if you think you'll need one. I mean before there's any discussion about the settlement.'
'I see,' Mickey said. 'That's what I started to ask, if you sneaked off to be with what's her name, Melanie, while I read the divorce papers.'
He seemed to flinch, not expecting her to say the name. 'I didn't sneak off. I went down on business.'
'Are you gonna marry her?'
'Well, instead of discussing what I feel is personal--I think it was Henry Kissinger who said, 'Never complain, never explain.'' He looked a little smug as he sipped his drink, the son of a bitch.
'It was Henry Ford the Second,' Mickey said, 'the time he was arrested in California for drunk driving, with another woman in the car. Did you bring your girlfriend with you or not?'
'I just said, I'm not gonna discuss it.'
'Okay, then let's see,' Mickey said. 'You think I should get a lawyer, huh?'
'Unless you want to use mine,' Frank said. 'They do that sometimes, people getting a divorce, when the settlement's agreeable to both parties. Saves expenses.'
'Who's your lawyer?'
'Sheldon. The one I use.'
'Your business lawyer?'
'He's a good man.'
Mickey said, 'Frank, you're too much.' (Louis would say, Jesus Christ, he must think you're a fucking moron.)
Frank seemed to be having trouble: frowning, trying to figure her out, her tone, and still maintain an open, honest expression. He said, 'I'm trying to do it without strain or pain, if you're willing to cooperate.'
'Yes, but how do I know you aren't trying to screw me?' Mickey said.
It stopped him cold for a moment. 'Why would I do that?'
'What is the settlement?' Mickey said. 'What exactly do I get?'
'Well, basically what it is, we sell the house and divide the equity, which is close to two-hundred thousand. Plus, there's alimony and child support. I'm not gonna fight over Bo. I don't think that's fair to him, have to make him choose. So you don't have to worry about that.'
'How much alimony?' Mickey said.
'Two thousand a month.'
'Are you serious?'
'Am I serious, that's twenty-five grand a year. Plus child support, $200 a month. I pay for school, his college, his tennis, within reason.'
'How about your business?' Mickey said. 'FAD Homes. What's that worth?'
Frank shook his head and said patiently, 'No, you see, I derive my income from the business, and out of that I pay the alimony and child support. That's the way it works.'
Okay, now.
'And we divide the money you've been sneaking into the Freeport account?'
It didn't have the effect she wanted. Frank paused, but he was ready. He didn't ask her what she was talking about or look puzzled. He said, 'There is no Freeport bank account in my name and no possible way anyone can prove there is. If you heard some kind of wild story or speculation, that's all it is.'
'I'll bet somebody could cause you a lot of trouble though.'
'No way,' Frank said.
'Maybe not anybody,' Mickey said, 'but I bet I could.'
Frank came close to smiling. 'You want to look at my books?'
'No, but I'll look at your apartment buildings and the refrigerators and ranges, all the appliances.'
Frank said, 'I don't own apartment buildings.'
'What if the person you bought all the stuff from was arrested and identified as a kidnapper on top of everything else? Are you following me?'
Frank was not smiling now. He stood very straight, his hands on the counter, and still insisted, trying to give it some conviction, 'You can't prove anything.'
'But if I started talking to people about it, all your apartment buildings, how you save on stolen materials and stuff, how you pay your old buddy Ray Shelby to front for you--without even getting into the kidnapping I could probably stir up enough to nail your ass,' Mickey said mildly, 'couldn't I? I mean if I were that type of person and wanted to see you go to jail.'
She had him and knew it with a feeling of pure satisfaction. He could protest, deny, make sounds, shrug and shake his head, fool with his glass, but she had him--Mr. Wonderful, the country club champ, scared to death his wife was going to turn him in.
She waited a moment before saying, 'Frank?' Quietly.
'What?'
'Are you gonna marry what's her name?'
He was looking down at his glass. 'I hope to.' 'You mean if you don't go to jail?'
'No, I don't mean that.'
'Frank, to put your mind at ease,' Mickey said, 'I don't want any of your Freeport money. And I'm not gonna tell on you ... I don't think. That's something you'll have to live with.' He began to protest again about nothing anyone could prove and she waved it aside. 'If you say so, Frank. But there is a question about the settlement. You said $2,000 a month?'
'Well, that's what the lawyer put down.' 'It's low, Frank. You want to try again?' 'What were you thinking, around 3,000?' 'I guess we're wasting time,' Mickey said.
'Let's wait till I get a lawyer.'
'That's fine, but if you go out and get an expensive divorce lawyer, just remember,' Frank said, 'it comes out
