“That wasn’t very ethical.”
“Oh, chill out,” he replied. “Brett’s been talking about buying some property. And this’d be a good investment.”
“I don’t think he’d like you using his name like that.”
“I didn’t,” Trip said.
I thought back and realized he was right. “A technicality,” I said.
“Still…”
“Okay, but… what if Brett doesn’t want to get involved?”
“Then I’ll figure something out. I just need his name to get the guy to the table. Once I start negotiating, I’m sure I can convince him. But don’t worry, I think Brett’ll be thrilled.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“And besides,” Trip continued, “the old list price was more than you and I can afford on our own. We can leverage it, but… We’ll need another investor if we wanna buy it outright. Brett’s the logical choice. But we’re putting the cart before the horse,” he finished. Then he picked up the phone and started to dial.
“Lemme call and leave him a message. Then I need to make reservations for dinner. Oh, and invite Christy, if you don’t mind. She’s a real closer, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
* * *
Nana Choate was already planning to avoid taxes on her estate when she eventually died, and her financial advisors had suggested something called a gift in trust for each of her heirs, which included Christy. Nana C. had plans to transfer more of her wealth as part of several family trusts, but the gifts were the start.
“It’s a lot of money,” Christy said. She told me how much.
“Hold on,” I said, “is that the whole trust? The family one?”
“No, that’s the gift to us. It’s enough to buy the property, isn’t it? Our share, I mean.”
“And then some.”
“I thought so.” She beamed. “You know how I am with numbers.”
“Speaking of which… Are you sure that’s the right number? Maybe you added a zero or something?”
“No, I wrote it down,” she said brightly. “She made me read it back to her. She knows I’m bad with numbers.” She grimaced but then brightened again. “I’ll show you!”
She ran out of the bedroom and returned with a Post-It. “See?”
“That’s… a lot of money,” I said.
“I like ‘a lot.’ And it means we can buy the land. Trip said we’d form a partnership to do it, and my name would be on it!”
“Of course. It’s your money.”
“Our money,” she stressed. “I told you, remember… For the rest of our lives?”
“That’s my line.”
“Well, it’s mine now too. So there!”
* * *
Trip and Wren came up with the money as well, but their story was a soap opera more than a fairy tale.
Her father had been involved in a minor scandal a couple of years earlier, when his then-girlfriend had traded her birth control pills for Benadryl. They were both pink, and he hadn’t known the difference. She’d become pregnant and then tried to force him to marry her. He’d told her to get an abortion instead, but she’d had the child anyway.
Wren’s father had been “less than gentlemanly” about his obligations. (He was a chauvinist asshole about it, but I knew better than say that around Wren.) The woman had gone to court, and the paternity test had backed up her claim. Wren’s father had been ordered to pay monthly child-support. The money was enough that the woman didn’t have to work, which was probably what she’d wanted all along.
“My little bastard half-brother,” Wren called him.
I couldn’t really blame her for being upset, but the little boy hadn’t done anything wrong. His mother, on the other hand, deserved everything Wren said about her. She was a piece of work.
To make things even more interesting, Wren’s father wanted to marry his current girlfriend.
“Gold-digging tramp,” Wren swore when she found out, although she truly lost it when she learned that he’d asked her mother for a divorce.
Wren had never been in the Navy, but grizzled sailors would’ve blanched if they’d heard her. Honestly, I was a bit surprised that her language didn’t blister paint. Trip was comically impressed. He leaned toward me in the middle of her tirade.
“How many of those d’you think are real words?” he asked under his breath. “Doxy whore? Mangy bitch?”
“Oh, they’re real, all right.” Still, I couldn’t hide my admiration. “My favorite so far is ‘come-gargling trollop.’”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, “that was good. ‘Slack-jawed skank’ too. But… what did she mean by ‘fucking neighborhood bicycle’?”
“Anyone can ride…”
“Oh, yeah! Right. Heh. That’s good.”
“What did you say?” Wren screeched.
“Nothing, babe, I swear!” Then he threw me under the bus. “It was Paul.”
She eventually calmed down, but not before she’d come up with some truly creative swearing. I’d always said she could take a few simple ingredients and turn them into something special. I just hadn’t realized that swear-words were on the menu.
At that point she started making arrangements to secure her inheritance. In exchange for an uncontested divorce, her father agreed to hand over 50 percent of the restaurants’ parent company to Wren’s mother. It was rightfully hers anyway, since she’d been the first investor and had supported him in the early days.
He brought in Wren as the senior partner for the 50 percent he still controlled. He had good managers and wasn’t interested in running the business anymore. He wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labors, plus his young girlfriend.
Wren hired a lawyer to draw up an iron-clad prenuptial agreement before she’d let her mother finalize the divorce. Her father’s new wife wouldn’t inherit a dime, although he insisted that part of his estate be set aside to support her after his death. Wren reluctantly agreed.
In the meantime, she used a portion of the restaurants’ profits to pay him a monthly buyout, and the checks were enough to let him retire in moderate luxury.
“I swear,” Wren said when it was all over, “I don’t care how long he lives, as long as I never have to see that fucking gold-digger again.”
“Babe, relax,” Trip said. “Take a deep breath. All’s well that ends well.”
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You didn’t just help your father divorce your mother.”
“No,” he said calmly, “my mother died when I was ten.”
That hit home, and the fight went out of her.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, “it could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “At least now we can buy the land, right?”
“Who cares about the land. I only care about you and Davis, Paul and his family. The rest is just stuff.”
I was really starting to like this new Trip.
* * *
Christy and I started talking about children again. We both wanted more, but not if it meant several months of hell after they were born. I could handle the lack of sleep and even the lack of sex, but I couldn’t handle watching her suffer, especially when I couldn’t do anything about it.
“But I love being pregnant,” she wheedled. “And you love it too. You know how I am.”
“Our sex life’s pretty good now,” I said.
“Think how much better it’ll be when I’m a nympho and can’t get enough. Mmm, penis.” She reached for it. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I caught her hand and stopped her, something I rarely did. “We need to talk about this.”
She sighed but nodded.
“I’m not worried about you getting pregnant,” I said. “I’m worried about what comes after.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“What? So? It took me some time to get used to being a mother. Now I am. We’ll be fine. I promise. Besides, I want another baby. You know I love them.”