Page 23 of My So-Called Perfect Life
Then it occurs to me. I bet he was planning on using the money from our Honeymoon savings account to fund this romantic getaway.
Not fucking happening!
Ignoring the pain in my poor bruised toe, I slip my feet into my flipflops. I snatch my purse off the hook by the door and slam the door to my apartment behind me. I march out of my building and down the block to the corner ATM like a woman on a mission.
I can’t believe him.
He’s got another thing coming.
How did I not see any of this side of him before?
He’s not getting another dollar from me.
There’s a person using the ATM when I arrive at the bank. I tap my foot angrily as I wait, everything stewing inside me.
The woman waiting for her cash looks back over her shoulder at me. Her eyes dart down to my tapping toe and up to my face. “I’m going to be a minute,” she says, clearly telling me to back off.
Realizing I probably look like a lunatic, I give her the politest smile I can muster. I probably look more like the Joker than a friendly neighbor, but it’s all I’ve got in me at the moment. “Take your time,” I reply. “Don’t mind me, I’m just plotting ways to murder my ex-fiancé and the woman he cheated on me with.”
She winces. “Oy. I’m sorry.”
“He was just about to take her on our honeymoon.”
“Wow,” she whistles. “I hope you stick it to him.”
An evil smile stretches across my face. “Oh, I plan on it. I’m about to drain our account. It won’t come close to covering the money my family lost on the wedding, but it’s something.”
She turns back to the machine and finishes her business. She places her card and cash in her bag before saying, “Clean him out, honey. You get back what’s yours.”
* * *
It tookme a little while to figure out what to do with the money. I don’t want him to have it, but I don’t really want it either. It’s tainted. Mercy thinks I should buy something lavish for myself, but that’s not really my thing. So, I do the one thing that actually makes me feel good. I call a few wedding vendors and convince them to refund my parents’ payment and accept mine instead. My parents would never take the money from me, but my dad will be thrilled to cash a refund check from the caterer.
Around six, my phone starts to ring. Scott.
Decline.
He calls back—fifty times! I’ve never seen him this committed to anything.
The calls stop, and I think I’m in the clear, until it sounds as though he’s trying to bust through my door.
“Danielle, you bitch! I know you’re in there! Open up and give me my fucking money.”
I pick up my phone and call the police. “My ex-fiancé is outside my door threatening me. I’m really scared. Can you send someone?”
“I’ve called the cops, Scott. Go home before this gets any worse?”
“Good!” he shouts. “I’ve got a few things to tell them about how you stole my money!”
It takes the police a little longer to get here than I thought it would. Scott’s rage intensifies with every minute that I don’t let him in. I worry my plan is about to backfire and I’m going to end up the victim on an episode of20/20.
Scott stops screaming, so I peek through the peephole. Finally, the police are here!
“What seems to be the trouble here?” a burly cop asks.
Scott, red faced and sweating, tries to pull it together. “My ex-fiancée has stolen my money. I want it back.”
The cop looks up and down the hall. “Well, we’ve gotten a number of calls about someone threatening a tenant.”
