Page 49 of The Perfect Divorce

“Fine. I need answers though, so I need to find Stacy.”

“What do you mean? Even if she randomly reappears, you don’t want to be seen anywhere near her until your divorce is finalized.”

“I get that would be messy, especially if I’m seen with her...”

“Messy? Bob, it would be a disaster. You’re trying to claim that this was a onetime screwup and that, at your core, you are still the loving husband and father you’ve always been. How is that going to play out if you’re seen getting cozy with the woman who’s the other half of this sordid affair? I can tell you how it’ll play out: Sarah will eat you alive, and we might as well just throw in the towel on all your demands.” Brad’s voice is steadily climbing to a near yell.

“But Stacy’s the only one who can tell me the truth about what Sarah did.”

“What Sarah did? What are you talking about?” His anger has changed to confusion.

“Sarah hired Stacy.”

“Yeah, we already know that, or at least someone on her staff hired her to work a gala. That’s old news.”

“No, not the gala. Sarah hired this woman to sleep with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You think your wife hired a prostitute to sleep with you?” Brad begins to laugh, his guffaws cracking through the speaker. “Come on, man!”

“I’m serious! I think she hired Stacy to seduce me. She set the whole thing up just to take me down. Probably gave her money to disappear too.”

“Why would Sarah do any of that?”

“To get full custody of Summer, obviously.”

“No, I mean, why do any of this at all? What’s the catalyst for her setting you up to cheat?”

I sigh heavily. “I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“I’m sorry, Bob, but what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. The whole reason Sarah filed for divorce is because you had an affair. If you didn’t cheat, no divorce. So, why would she set up a scenario to have you cheat? Do you see how clunky that all sounds?”

“You don’t get it. Sarah is always scheming. She’s two steps ahead in every situation.” I nearly spit because I’m so angry.

“No, I do get it. You’re making your wife sound like some evil mastermind out to get you, and you don’t even have an explanation as to why. I love you, man, and it pains me to say this, but it sounds like you just don’t want to take responsibility for your own fuckup. That’s all it was though, a screwup. And so what? You cheated. You aren’t the first guy to do it, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

“Brad, listen to me. You have no idea what Sarah’s capable of.”

“Right now, I think she’s capable of getting full custody of Summer and more than half of all your shit if you don’t get your head screwed on straight.”

I pound my fist against the brick wall and grimace.

Brad just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the full scope of what’s really going on. He doesn’t know what Sarah’s done or what she’s willing to do to protect herself. I check my watch and realize I’m late for my hair appointment.

“I’ve gotta let you go,” I say.

“Fine, but where are you at with compiling all your...?” Brad starts to ask, but I pull the phone from my ear, his voice faintly coming through the speaker as I end the call.

I arrive at the salon six minutes late, which isn’t like me. I’m always punctual, and I pride myself on that. It’s a small building with a glass façade. White calligraphy sprawling across the window reads,Cuts by Carissa, accompanied with a graphic of a large pair of scissors that looks like it’s about to cut the words in half. I pull on the door handle only to find it’s locked.

The lights are on inside though. I peer through the glass, looking for signs of movement, but there aren’t any. I wonder if she closed already. It is after hours. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I’m about to call her when movement in my peripheral view catches my eye. Carissa emerges from the back room, moving at a half jog with an apologetic expression on her face. She looks more like the lead singer of a punk rock band than a hairstylist, sporting a half dozen piercings in each ear and long bright-pink hair. She clicks the dead bolt out of its slot and pushes the door open.

“Sorry! I forgot I locked it up after my last client. Please, come in.” Carissa motions with her hand.

“Don’t apologize. You’re the one who’s keeping the salon open past hours for me.” I remove my suit jacket, hang it on the coatrack, and undo the top button of my Oxford shirt.

“You’re my most regular client. It’s the least I can do.” Carissa smiles and closes the door, relocking it.

I have a seat, and she takes her position behind the chair, peering at me through the large mirror hung on the wall.

---