had collected the $80,000 from Dawn Dugan.
“I’m finally here!” I announced as I entered the room. It wasn’t often that I felt a sense of buoyant pride. “I have big news!” I exclaimed. There was dead silence. Confused, I looked at the staff members, and I saw all seven pairs of eyes shift to another part of the room. I turned to see what they were gazing at.
There stood a beautiful blond who appeared to be around my age, looking at me with apparent shock. I wasn’t exactly ready for the cover of a magazine, but there was nothing I could do about it. So, without apologizing for my appearance, I looked at her and nodded a hello.
“I have some big news, too!” shared David, with his most charming smile. “This is Monica. During our ride around the lake, we decided to get married. We haven’t set the date, but when we do, you’re all invited.” David and Monica looked at one another as if no one else was in the room.
His news hit me like a ton of bricks. I found it utterly demoralizing that at the same time he was romancing his new sweetie, I was still emotionally reeling from the divorce. It had been a monstrously painful time, and my self-worth had never been lower. Like reliving a bad dream, those years of marriage flooded over me in a sudden, nightmarish flashback.
Not long after the honeymoon, David had begun to express hurtful criticism about my looks. He would routinely point out a young, pretty girl and suggest, “Why don’t you wear your hair like hers?” or “Why don’t you wear tight jeans and a tank top? Wow! Look at her!” It certainly wasn’t long before I began to believe that David looked at other women because I just wasn’t enough. As time went by, I found myself lacking in every way. After all, my husband—ten years older than I—was handsome, charming, funny, creative, and undeniably charismatic. I tolerated years of that abuse because I loved him; and, if the truth be known, I really didn’t want to be alone. I was also terrified that a separation would lead to the demise of the business.
David started spending most of his time away from home, either with friends or staying late at the office. When I tried to get him to talk with me about his feelings, or our relationship, his reaction was always a stony silence. There came a time when, apart from pitching new business, we didn’t see one another. I had become controlling because of my insecurity, desperately needy, and lonely. I routinely confronted him, pleading to know why I was so physically and emotionally lacking, and he would turn his back and walk out of the house without a word. Finally, one day, I decided that I simply couldn’t endure any more hurt, anger, rejection, or emotional melodrama. I reasoned that no matter what happened in the future, it would somehow be better than the lonely, living hell I had been experiencing. I realized that I couldn’t change the past, or make David the husband I wanted him to be. Nor could I waste any more time beating myself up over having stayed in the relationship so long.
And now, without a word of warning, my ex-husband was going to remarry so quickly—while I remained hopelessly single. I wanted to be reasonable. I certainly didn’t begrudge David moving on with his life. I had realized, of course, when I filed for divorce that he would very likely remarry. I truly didn’t care. His engagement had just taken me by surprise because it had occurred so soon after our breakup. I guessed that he had been seeing Monica while we were still married. He was going to enjoy a brand new future with gorgeous, skinny, adoring Monica—and I would spend the rest of my life alone, eating Chinese carry-out in front of the TV in a dismal apartment with my cat, Winston, as my only companion.
Shirley tapped me on the arm, holding out two aspirin and a small cup of water. I blinked several times, trying to neutralize the kaleidoscope of events and feelings that were threatening to make me cry. That was the last thing I wanted to do in front of Monica and all the staff members.
“Congratulations,” I told the happy couple, trying valiantly to muster a smile.
“So, Kim . . . what’s your big news?” asked one of the art directors, trying to diffuse the tension.
“Oh . . . the shoot ended up with Arthur in the spot,” I answered in a small voice, shrugging my shoulders. My news now seemed dull, anal, and unimportant. That’s me, I thought: dull, anal, and unimportant. “And . . . I was able to collect all the money that Hardcase owed us.”
“That’s nice,” casually declared David, without taking his eyes off Monica.
The agency staff, on the other hand, was delighted. They knew they were going to get their paychecks the next day—and have continued employment. They clapped for me in unison. Biting my lip to keep from crying, I silently nodded my thanks.
“Well, I guess we’re off to celebrate,” said David to Monica.
“W-W-What?” I stuttered. “You can’t leave! We have to create the proposal for the big pitch tomorrow—we haven’t even started it! We’re all going to stay late.”
“You can handle it,” he replied, nuzzling his new fiancé. “This is a big day, and I can’t disappoint my Baby Girl.” And with that, he led her from the conference room.
I felt all eyes on me. No one spoke a word. I was so incredulous at his behavior that it took me a few moments to get my brain around everything that was transpiring. Anger started to bubble up inside of me, and I was on the verge of exploding like a bottle rocket. I silently wished David a bout of a long, lingering, hideous disease that would cause painful hemorrhaging from every orifice of his body; and then, when all of his internal organs began to liquefy and he’d scream for mercy, I’d just watch and laugh at his misery . . .
“STAR PIZZA!” a young male voice shouted from the reception area.
“I’ll go,” said Shirley, and she scurried down the hall.
I gave a deep sigh and shook my head. I looked at the staff, and I could see the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. My knee started to throb again. I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I yearned to go home, pick up my cat, and feel him purring against me. Then I would eat at least three pounds of chocolate.
“Okay, guys,” I heard myself say, thankful that they were so loyal. “Let’s make this the best frigging proposal we’ve ever done. If we pull this off, I promise you all a big, fat bonus.”
“What will you give us if we don’t pull it off?” teased one of the designers.
“An evening with Chuck Dugan,” quipped Shirley, who had returned with the four large fragrant boxes and numerous cans of soda. The starving staff began to inhale the pizza. Then we settled in for a long night’s work.
The proposal was finished at 3:30 a.m. I sent the staff home and stumbled back to my apartment. I fed Winston and then took a long, hot shower to help ease the pantyhose off the wound on my knee. I threw myself on top of the bed, too exhausted to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about how David had walked out—not just on me—but on the whole staff.
I was suddenly so desperate to get away from David and the relentless stress of the agency that I decided to put a resume together and look for a job. I’d be starting all over again at ground zero. I fantasized about having a Mr. Wonderful, children, my own business, and the ability to earn an income—completely on my own—without someone always working against me and belittling what I was trying to accomplish. But that fantasy seemed a million miles away and completely unreachable. The thought of that made me feel so overwhelmed with fatigue, frustration and despair that I began to sob. Through my tears I pleaded aloud, “I need help! Why does everything have to be so difficult? What am I going to do with my life? I have no husband, no good friends, no children, no professional security, no savings, and I’m in debt up to my eyeballs! I’m thirty-two
