this is going to seriously suck big balls.
I recognize the fact that announcing my intent to get a divorce publicly is a shitty thing to do. I get it, I know, blah-blah-blah. But in the spirit of being honest, I did only marry her for her dad’s money. Yes, I am a terrible person, one who probably deserves cancer. However she has never had to work in her life, never had to make decisions and sacrifices, never wanted for anything. Ever. So I think the half-billion dollar payout that’s sitting in her bank account, right about now, is enough to completely compensate her for the emotional damages I may have caused. Believe me; she’ll forgive me when she sees that. Also, I really fucking hate her.
I lean back in my seat a little and hold my breath as we set down on the roof. The most dangerous times during a flight are at takeoffs and landings, and helicopters are pretty fucking scary things to do both of those in. I tell the lead security guy—James, I think his name is; I don’t really know because they rotate out so frequently, and also given the fact that I don’t care—that he should wait for my signal to escort her out of the building.
He nods and whispers something into his watch that isn’t really a watch, and the rest of the security guards nod in unison. I’m not sure, but I think we built those watches, too.
She’s waiting, trying to hold her whatever-the-fuck haircut in place. My lawyer stands off a little further from the landing pad; he looks like a robot, still and unwavering. Not even a single hair is misplaced by the downdraft from the chopper as it lands. He has a tablet like mine, they are both synched to each other and I update him with real time. Not fake real time, mind you, not three-, or five-, or even half-second delayed “real time.” I mean as-I-see-the-world-through-my-eyes, nanosecond real time. Let me put it to you this way: by the time I’ve typed it, he’s already read it. It usually makes dealing with issues such as this much easier.
As the rotors die down I can almost hear her screaming at me and telling me to get out. The windows are completely blacked out so that you can’t see in, but she’s flown in the chopper before and knows exactly where I sit, exactly where to look me in the eye. I sigh and pull out my pack of smokes, check my count and realize that I have to grab another pack before I head out again. My hand moves towards the latch on the door, and I pull it down and then slide it open.
She starts, “You’re divorcing me?”
“No, I just said that because I thought it would be a lark, a laugh, something to do,” I sigh and then add, “Yes,” without looking at her. I’ve never threatened to hit anyone before, especially a woman, but if I look at her right now, I might have to break that streak.
“Jesus Christ, Jeff, you just announced that you were going to divorce me at a press conference. What the hell were you thinking?”
I continue to walk past her. I don’t have to look at her; our contract has been fulfilled and we’re through. I pull out the tablet and continue to walk towards my lawyer. She insists on following me. I look over at my lead security guy. He does the curt sort of nod thing and then motions for two of his men to take her by both arms.
“What are you doing, Jeff?” she asks. Then she realizes what’s going on and begins to yell at the silverbacks in suits that follow me around. “Get your goddamn hands off me! Do you throwbacks even know who I am?”
Neither of the two men says a word. They continue to usher her past me and my lawyer, towards the door.
She starts kicking and screaming at me. “Fuck you, Jeff. I want a divorce so I can take this stupid company, that app and everything you own away from you.” She says all of this and more as the shaved apes parade her through the access door and into the stairwell.
I wait until after she’s gone and then look up at my lawyer, Phil Goldstein, the only man I trust more than
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