Brie put her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips. “After the season we need to have a long talk. Witch to warlock.”
He looked down and met her eyes. “Are all–”
“Witches lesbians? No, I am bi.”
“So–”
She let him go, laughing. “So, no, that’s not the reason why we — you and me — were never… whatever.” She tilted her head. “It’s… something else. Something very else…. Love you!” And she ran inside.
Bryan stood on the porch for a minute, summoning all of his warlock powers, trying to make sense of that. Then he decided that even the most powerful warlocks of all time, the Hall of Fame warlocks, would not have a clue about what made women work. Or witches.
**********
When Bryan got back to his house, he felt rejuvenated. He called a landscaper and arranged to have the neglected garden in the back replanted. He made a shopping list and ordered groceries. He called his parents to catch up on family news. He talked to both of his brothers and they each told him the same obscene joke.
Then he composed his mind and called his in-laws. He told them that he and Lauren had separated. Her mother took it very badly and burst into tears, apologizing over and over. Bryan though it interesting that she assumed the break was Lauren’s fault. Mr. Esposito was calmer but still obviously shaken. He asked what had happened, but Bryan told him that Lauren would have to tell them about it herself.
Bryan promised to visit them the next time he was in Texas, then disconnected. He felt a great loss. The Espositos were good and honest people. He would have been happy to stay related to them.
That chore done, he picked up the phone again. It felt like it had gained mass and now weighed ten pounds. He punched up his agent and told him the whole sorry tale.
“Gawd damnit!” Parker said, his Brooklyn accent still thick. Bryan was always amused to hear Parker Brannan’s voice. The guy had a degree from Stanford and an MBA from Harvard and still sounded like he was selling pizza out of a small store on Flatbush Avenue.
“She gone for good?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bryan said.
“No hope?”
Bryan thought hard about that but a convincing answer would not come to him. “Probably not.”
Parker sighed. “Gawd damnit! Okay — I’m messaging you the name of the lawyer who takes care of these things. I’ll get you a meeting….” He went faint and muttered to himself over the sound of a clacking keyboard, then came back loud. “Ten tomorrow. Their offices are down by the Common. You’ll have plenty of time to get to batting practice after.”
“Thanks, Parker.”
“No problem. I’ll see you day after tomorrow. I’m coming to Boston for a couple of weeks. We can go drinking. Chase some tail.”
“You are reprehensible. What would Fiona say if she heard you talking like that?”
Parker laughed. “Chasing and catching are two very different things, boyo. Good luck.”
**********
The Yankees were two games back.
**********
Juliette Martin’s office was on the tenth floor of a Milk Street office building built of dark amber stone that looked like it had been coated with high-gloss varnish inside and out. Bryan stood in the lobby admiring the art deco finishes to the interior and thinking that here was another perk of being a professional baseball player. A normal person would have to wait weeks for an appointment with anyone who had digs in a pricey coop like this. He had gotten a slot in less than 24 hours. It was the legal equivalent of not having to carry your own luggage.
The receptionist showed him into an office that was the square footage of many suburban homes. The early fall sun poured through ceiling-high windows. Bryan wished he had worn his flip-down sunglasses. In one of the shafts of light a woman sat on sofa reading a document. She rose and extended her hand. Maybe 50 years old, tall and elegant with dark hair to her shoulders, just a hint of grey. Even in the brightness her eyes shone out, polished brown and hard. They matched the stone of the building.
“Mr. Monnic, I’m Juliette Martin. Please call me Julie.” She smiled. Then she let go his hand and indicated a space behind him. “And my associate who will be working with us–”
Bryan turned his head and saw a figure. Another woman.
“–Ms. Lowell.”
Melody shook his hand. “You can call me Mel.”
“Why?” Bryan said, a bit peevishly. “I never did before.”
Julie glanced back and forth between them. “Mel told me you knew each other. Is that going to be a problem, Mr. Monnic?”
“Brian.” Bryan said without taking his eyes off of Melody. “Not a problem for me.”
“Good,” Julie said. “Then let’s get down to it.”
Bryan sat in an armchair across from the two lawyers and retold the events that had led him to need a lawyer in the first place as they scribbled notes.
“Any prenuptial agreements?” Julie asked when he was done.
Bryan shook his head. “When we got married, I had what was left of my signing bonus in a money market account. Not much.”
“Lauren can claim that.”
“She can have it,” he said. “She’s going to need it. She has a degree in early childhood education but she’s never worked.”
“She will want alimony, then. Unless she marries this….” Julie consulted her notes. “Owen Archer. Is that likely?”
“Don’t know. Don’t really care to know. I haven’t spoken to her.”