“Hey, I’m sorry,” Matt said, putting an understanding hand on the long-time employee’s shoulder. “Divorce, no matter why? Sucks.”
“Thanks,” Kurt nodded.
“I’ll find his number and text it to you,” Matt offered.
Kurt was completing his deliveries when Matt’s text came through. Kurt nodded somberly; Matt Spuntzin was a good boss. The text gave the phone number and was followed by ‘Appointment at 3:30 Tuesday afternoon.”
Kurt called Philip Turner’s office and Angela Barcia, Mr. Turner’s paralegal offered to email Kurt a list of what Mr. Turner would want him to bring for his appointment. Kurt thanked her and again felt the threat of tears coming on.
“Oh, grow up,” Donna’s voice sneered in her latest voice mail. “God, just because your precious little ego got hurt. So I fucked around, big God damned deal. You really had cut my cell phone off?”
“Oh, thank you, Donna,” Kurt said, realizing that Donna had just acknowledged her affair.
The offices of Norton, Turner, Bloomberg & Waitley was in a modern looking glass and black steel building on Highland Avenue. Entering the bright white and chrome reception area, Kurt saw a strawberry blonde beauty that made him forget Donna’s name, his own name, why he was in the lobby of the law firm. She greeted Kurt with a beatific smile and flipped her long pinkish hair back, a movement that caused her large breasts to jostle in her snug top.
“Um, turn, turn, Philip Turner,” she mused, studying her computer monitor. “Yes sir, I’ll let Angela know you’re here. Would you like coffee or water?”
“No thanks,” Kurt swallowed, looking at her large green eyes, pouting lips and large chest.
“Hi Angela, its Renee. A Mr. Schnauder is here for Mr. Turner,” Renee said into her headset.
A moment later, an attractive Latina woman approached, golden brown legs showcased to perfection in her short skirt. The woman paused for a moment and placed an affectionate hand on Renee’s shoulder and the two women smiled to each other.
“Mr. Schnauder? I’m Angela Garcia; Mr. Turner’s paralegal,” Angela smiled warmly, hand outstretched. “If you would follow me?”
“With an ass like that? I’ll follow you anywhere you want to go,” Kurt thought as the woman led him down a long corridor.
“Mr. Turner’s in a meeting right now; I had emailed you a list yesterday,” Angela said, escorting Kurt into a plush office.
“I uh, yeah, I, this is what I got,” Kurt said, pulling his folder onto his lap.
When Angela bent forward to glance at his papers, Kurt was looking down the front of her blouse. Her brown breasts were large globes dangling barely inches from his face. He could smell Angela’s light tinge of sweat, her floral shampoo. He could see the wisps of lace from her stark white bra. And felt a few strands of her dark brown hair as it fell onto his hand.
“Good; always makes our job so much easier,” Angela smiled approvingly.
“No, Hannah, Ms. Durst, as you can see, I’ve got a client in here,” Kurt heard from behind him.
Angela straightened, her face hard with disapproval. Kurt looked over his shoulder and saw a man roughly his age, dressed in an expensive looking suit of charcoal gray. Next to him was a young and very attractive blonde woman, dressed in cream colored blouse and knee length navy blue skirt. From years of observing Donna’s business attire, Kurt was willing to bet that this woman had a matching jacket draped over the back of her desk chair.
The woman had long whitish blonde hair, oval face with just a hint of makeup, big blue eyes and pouting lips. Her breasts stretched the blouse’s material taut and nipped down into a small waist. When she snapped an unheard reply to Philip Turner, she turned and Kurt admired her bubble butt in the snug skirt.
“Philip Turner,” Philip said, hand outstretched. “Matt and I? We go way back. He ever tell you I’m way better at golf than him?”
“Uh, no, no, he did mention he lets you win so you don’t feel too bad,” Kurt responded and Philip let out a hearty laugh.
“Sounds like him, that lying no good son of a gun,” Philip said, pumping Kurt’s hand. “Thank you, Angela.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Turner,” Angela simpered, large dark eyes gazing at Philip as he eased himself behind his desk.
“All these gorgeous women…How in the hell do you get any work done?” Kurt wondered as Angela sashayed to the office door.
“Now, let’s talk,” Philip said when Angela quietly shut the office door.
On Friday, Donna left another screaming tirade on Kurt’s cell phone, “You, you’re serious? You seriously think…”
The latest message alerted Kurt that Jeannie Childress, Philip’s process server had managed to locate Donna Schnauder. After seeing the five or six stunningly beautiful women within the offices of Norton, Turner, Bloomberg & Waitley, Jeannie Childress had been a bit of a surprise. She too was very beautiful, very elegantly dressed in an outfit that complimented her shoulder length red hair. But Jeannie was built like a boy, a very skinny boy.
“Not exactly what you were expecting a process server to look like, eh?” Philip had laughed. “But let me tell you, Mrs. Childress? She can find anyone anywhere, especially if they don’t want to be found. She is a whiz on the computer; Jeannie, how many words you can type?”
“All of them,” Jeannie responded, then giggled. “A hundred and five words a minute, Mr. Turner.”
“Sounds like a machine gun going off when she’s typing,” Philip praised.
Listening to Donna’s shrill message made Kurt sure that Donna wished she had a machine gun. It also made Kurt reflect on their marriage. From the beginning of their courtship, such as it was, Donna had always gotten her way. Kurt had always capitulated to Donna’s wishes.
“I wonder…you know what? I bet my, I bet Donna’s life there wasn’t never a pregnancy,” Kurt mused.
“I’m taking the fucking house, you hear me? You can sit there and say it’s your momma’s house, but I’m taking it,” Donna screamed in her latest message.
“Good luck trying,” Kurt muttered.
Maisy Schnauder had been a forty four year old librarian when she went to a writer’s convention in Little Rock, Arkansas. There, she met twenty one year old David G. McNaughton, an aspiring poet. Over the three days of the convention, Maisy and David made use of her hotel room; he was rooming with two other aspiring poets in a single room. Nine months later, the unwed woman gave birth to her only child.
Thirty three years later, Maisy’s nightly one or five gin and tonics finally caught up with her. Kurt agreed to refinance his mother’s home and assume the exorbitant monthly note to help pay for Maisy’s stay in an assisted living facility. Donna had been happy to finally move out of their cramped two bedroom apartment into a beautiful, well-maintained home. And now was threatening to take the home away from Kurt.
Their first meeting was nearly a month later. Kurt and Philip shrugged their shoulders and agreed to meet Donna and Jamie Tismann, Donna’s attorney at the offices of Werner, Franklin & Associates.
“That’s fine. Let them pay for the utilities,” Philip said.
Jamie Tismann would have never been hired to work at the offices of Norton, Turner, Bloomberg & Waitley. The woman seemed to go out of her way to make herself as unattractive as possible. Kurt had not gone to any psychology courses, but he assumed the fortyish year old woman adopted such a severe façade so that people would presume her to be a serious attorney. Quite the opposite was true; she looked clownish to Kurt.