No excuses and no more stalling." He hung up.
Charlotte clenched her fists. The man had the sensitivity of a python. She refused to be his rat to swallow. There must be a way to avoid this. She had just bought herself three days to find a lawyer.
The first lawyer Charlotte tried told her she had no case. The second said not to waste her time or money. To forget about it. The third didn't return her calls.
So Friday afternoon Charlotte found herself on the front stoop of a small gray bungalow in a part of town that was slowly unraveling. Sandwiched between a laundromat and a shoe repair shop, the cottage was one of the few holdouts against the encroaching blight of commerce. Mark had said his aunt was a fireball in her day. Charlotte hoped that day hadn't passed. But she had no other options. So here she was, waiting for the fireball aunt to answer the bell.
The woman who opened the door barely came to Charlotte 's shoulder. A frizz of apricot hair framed a deeply lined face. She wore no makeup, a boy's button down shirt tucked into her jeans, and glasses on a red plastic chain dangling from her neck. She beckoned to Charlotte. "Come in, dear," she said in a voice that was too deep for her slight body.
"Dear?" She sounded more like a waitress at a small town diner than a fiery lawyer, Charlotte thought.
Charlotte followed her to a large sunny living room. "Make yourself comfortable. I was just brewing a pot of tea." She picked up a sleeping cat from an overstuffed sofa, spanked cat hair from the seat, and gestured to Charlotte to sit down.
The sofa sat in the middle of the room facing several unmatched chairs, as if the furniture were set for a discussion group. French doors opened onto a small garden that, although it was November, was aflame with color: lush oleanders, camellias, even roses.
Charlotte sat on the edge of the seat. "Your nephew suggested you could help me."
"Oh yes. Mark. Delightful young man."
"Mrs. Diamond,.."
"Call me Freya, please." She sat on a chair facing Charlotte. "It used to be Frieda, but I changed it. Freya means Queen of the Gods. Much more interesting than Frieda, don't you agree?"
A teakettle whistled from the kitchen. Freya excused herself and disappeared through a narrow door and returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with a bright Italian pottery teapot and mugs. With a nudge of her elbow, she knocked magazines off the lamp table next to Charlotte and set the tray down. "Milk or lemon?"
"Lemon, please."
Once the tea was poured, Freya settled down, perched her glasses on her nose and leaned forward. "What can I do for you?"
Charlotte handed her a copy of her divorce decree."My husband - my ex - wants to sell my house."
Freya's lips contorted into fleeting shapes as she read silently. "This looks pretty straightforward, my dear. You can stay in the house until your son graduates from high school." She peered at Charlotte over the top of her glasses. "And when might that be?"
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her chair. If she read the document carefully, she'd see that more than enough time had passed. Obviously the fireball had lost some of her spark. "He's at college in the Midwest."
"It looks like your only option is to buy him out."
Charlotte laughed bitterly. "Fat chance of that. Besides, I shouldn't have to. That house has been in my family forever. It was left to me."
Freya looked back at the papers. "It seems a little late to argue that." She looked up at Charlotte. "How did that happen?"
Charlotte took a deep breath and explained. "Boy, was I gullible."
"Of course you trusted him."
"Big mistake."
"But understandable. Maybe you can work out a payment plan with your ex."
Charlotte sighed. Not that suggestion again. "Impossible. I'm living on his support, and now he wants to cut that.
"It isn't as if I haven't tried to get a job. After the divorce I applied for several, but I got nowhere. Nobody came out and said it, but I think it was my age. Plus I have no recent experience. I put Craig through graduate school teaching first grade, then quit to raise our kids. I even tried to go back to school to get a new credential, but the college admissions office couldn't locate a thirty year old transcript."
Freya pursed her lips and gazed off in space. "Well, then," she said after a few moments, "here's what you need to do." She pointed an arthritic finger at Charlotte. "When that real estate agent comes, make sure the house looks its very best."
Charlotte's eyes widened. "Why?"
Freya smiled."Let's just call it guerilla tactics."
"Gorilla?"
"Guerilla. Like the soldiers. Rebels."
Fixing up the house seemed more like total surrender than guerilla warfare. "I don't get it."
"Trust me. I know what I'm doing. This is in your best interest."
Charlotte was flustered. "You do understand I don't want to sell?"
"Of course, Charlie."
Oh my God. This woman was senile. "It's Charlotte."
"I know that, dear. But Charlie suits you better."
Charlotte felt uneasy. "Have you ever handled a situation like this?"
Freya leaned forward. "I used to, my dear. All too often."
'Used to' is not what Charlotte wanted to hear. She reached for her purse. Craig was a bulldog when he wanted something, and she needed a Rottweiler to deal with him. Freya was more of a poodle, and a miniature one at that. "I appreciate your time, but it sounds as if you no longer do these cases."
Freya rested a hand on Charlotte 's arm. "Ordinarily, I don't litigate any more, but I don't like to see bullies pushing people around. Now go spiff up your house and make it look pretty."
Charlotte pulled her checkbook out of her purse. "How much do I owe you?"
Freya waved her off. "Don't worry about that now. We'll work it out later."
Charlotte wasn't planning on there being a 'later'.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Freya said as she walked Charlotte to the door. "Whatever you do, don't let the realtor show the house to anybody until you've called me." She held out her hand. "I'll be waiting to hear from you."
Charlotte walked briskly to her car. With each step she took, her hopes that someone could help her grew dimmer. Now she had a new problem. She had to diplomatically disengage herself from Freya, who seemed to assume Charlotte was now her client. But first, she had to find her gladiator to take on Craig. She didn't have much time left.
CHAPTER 2
Despite her misgivings, Charlie decided to follow Freya's advice. Freya was right about one thing. If she had to sell, she might as well get the most out of it she could. The house would sparkle.
