ection>DISPATCHES
FROM PARADISE
A NOVEL BY SHELLY GITLOW
Dispatches from Paradise Copyright © 2014 by Shelly Gitlow. All rights reserved. Printed in Canada. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Books & Books Press
Publishing Consultant: Ausbert de Arcé
Creative Director: Petra Mason
Cover: Lapidus Infinitus © Carlos Betancourt
Interior Design and Typesetting: Kaile Smith
Dispatches from Paradise
by Shelly Gitlow
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013937788
First Edition
ISBN 9780983937876
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For:
Howie, who entertains and inspires me,
Ali, who makes me incredibly proud,
and
in memory of my mother and grandmother
(not to be confused with any of the characters in this book)
–ONE–
Liz
D-DAY
Aside from the visual blight of the flabby guy in a thong biking past me, it’s another beautiful day in Miami. Zipping through Coconut Grove on my Rollerblades, I feel lighter than usual. Maybe that’s because I’ve declared my life a do-over, and I’m excited about making the changes. Looking out over Biscayne Bay, I take in the spectacular sunrise and wave at some kayakers. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be joining them soon.
First item on my agenda: Richard. I walk into the bedroom and find him sleeping with Susu’s butt in his face. She’s a bag of bones with a flowing blond mane, and Richard adores her. When she sees me, she starts yapping, and he wakes up, squinting and disoriented. Perfect. I strike while he’s weak and pull the blanket off him. He’s sleeping au natural and has an erection (yikes!). I forge on.
“Morning, sunshine.”
“Whaa?”
He glares at me and reaches for his darling dog.
“You came in late. Again. I’ve had it.”
Richard thinks it’s my typical tirade and ignores me. He has no idea it’s D-Day.
“Twenty years of cheating on me is enough. I can’t do it anymore.”
That gets his attention. He sits up.
“Didn’t think it bothered you, Lizzie.”
The dog is now yelping at a feverish pitch.
“Don’t call me that. And shut the damn dog up. I’m pulling the plug, Richard. I want you out!”
He jumps out of bed. I’m a tad distracted by his “happy organ.” It’s not easy having meaningful dialogue with a naked person, so I pick up his boxers and hand them to him.
He holds them, frozen in disbelief.
“I have to leave?”
I nod vigorously and plant a determined look on my face.
“Can you please put on your shorts?”
He obliges, then picks up Susu. He buries his face in her neck, and she finally stops barking.
“But it’s such short notice, babe. Where will I go?”
I shrug and fight to maintain the “face.” I’m weakening, but I reach out for my anger. It’s standing by and gives me an assist.
“I don’t care where you go. This isn’t about you. It’s about me and the rest of my life.”
Did I really just say that? I’m proud of myself.
“Wow. That sounds serious. Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s that dense, thinks he can turn on the phony concern and make this go away. Sorry, mister, that’s not going to happen.
“What’s the point, now?”
“Jeez, I was just trying to be nice. What’s with you?”
“Me? Uh uh, Richard. That’s not going to fly this time.”
I’m on a roll.
“Okay. I’ll see if I can stay with Janice.”
“Whatever. Tell her it won’t be for long. You’ll find a new bimbo in a couple of months.”
“That’s cold. Maybe we can work things out, babe. You never know.”
Am I being too mean? The thought passes quickly as I trip over his shoe. I pick up the rest of his clothes and throw them on the bed. Richard snuggles the dog some more.
“It’s sickening, you and that dog. You pay more attention to her than your own daughter.”
“Not true.”
“Oh yeah? Then where were you when Darcy was in rehab and she and I did the whole Family Therapy thing?”
Because I sure felt like all of her problems were my fault, and it was really hard for me.
“You know I was busy with the Gutman case. And she’s fine.”
Boy, I hope you’re right. I’m terrified that she’s on her own. I should have been a better mother. All the therapists told me not to beat myself up, so I won’t (at least not now).
“How would you know? When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“I sent her some money. That’s all college kids want.”
He says this like he should get a “Father of the Year” trophy because he’s so insightful about the younger generation. I look at him with disgust and shake my head. He’s smiling broadly. I’m confused.
“I
