Forcing the Orphan Wife Out With Nothing

In the private room of the home-style restaurant, Richard Whitney filled my glass with whiskey, his eyes full of envy. "Brandon, you old dog. Not bad at all." I picked up the glass and swirled it gently, watching the amber liquor turn under the light. "Of course." "She walked away with nothing? She actually agreed?" Richard clicked his tongue. "Leona Pruitt always seemed like such a good, quiet woman. I figured she'd put up a fight." I snorted and knocked back the whole glass. "A fight? With what?" I touched the gold watch on my wrist, the one Arlene had gone with me to buy in the Harbor District last year. Over eight grand. Leona couldn't even name half the brands. "House is mine, car's mine, savings are mine. She dragged those two little burdens out the door and that was it." Richard picked at his food, chewing as he asked, "You're not scared she'll make trouble?" I laughed out loud. "Honestly, no. She's an orphan with two kids. What's she going to pull off?" Richard gave me a thumbs-up. "Brandon. You're the man." I poured myself another. A few rounds in, the drink had gone to my head, and out of nowhere the scene from the courthouse that day flashed into my mind. Leona sitting across from me, looking at the divorce agreement, asking one thing. "The kids stay with me, right?" I said they're yours. All yours. She nodded, picked up the pen, and signed. No crying, no scene. Her hand didn't even shake. When she was done, she set the pen down softly on the table, stood up, and left without looking back. For a second in that moment I froze, feeling like something about it was off. But thinking about it now, what was there to feel strange about? Other than accepting her fate, what else could she do? I picked up a slice of braised pork belly and chewed, grease running down my chin. Ten years. I'd finally shaken off this burden. From here on out, my life, Brandon Gutierrez's real life, was only just beginning. That night, after the drinking, I drove home past the old marriage apartment and stopped downstairs for a while. The lights on the twenty-eighth floor were dark. I rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and looked at that pitch-black window, and suddenly I remembered how it was ten years ago when I'd first met Leona. Back then I was flat broke, and she was even worse off. Ten years. Not long, not short. Long enough to size a person up from head to toe, inside and out. Long enough to see clearly that she didn't deserve the man I was now. Ten years ago I was hauling bricks on a construction site, fifty bucks a day, burned dark as coal. I lived in the inner-city slums back then, three hundred a month, a little restaurant next door. Leona waited tables in that restaurant. The first time I saw her, she was carrying a tray past me, slipped on a wet patch on the floor, and dumped a whole bowl of spicy noodles all over me. I yelped from the burn, and she went white with fright, wiping me down with a rag, saying sorry, sorry over and over. The boss came charging out to dock her pay, and I said forget it, forget it, no need. That bowl of spicy noodles was eight bucks. I covered it for her. After that, every time she saw me she'd duck her head, cheeks flushed. Over time I found out she'd grown up in an orphanage, come out to work at eighteen, without a single relative in the world. Back then I thought she was good. Honest, decent, willing to take the hard road. I'd come home wrecked after a full day on the site, and she'd press a lunchbox into my hands, warm white rice with two fried eggs on top. "The boss gave me two extra today. You eat them." I knew she'd saved them from her own share. Later we got married, renting a place in the slums, a hundred and fifty square feet, not even room to set the bed straight. She got up early every day to cook and pack my meals, and came home at night to do laundry and tidy the place. Those two years I was studying for my contractor's license, working days and reading nights, and she'd sit beside me sharpening my pencils, pouring my water. It took me three tries to pass, and every registration fee was money she'd scraped together. Thinking about it now, that was just two poor people getting by together. Love, feelings, whatever you want to call it, it was nothing but making do. Five years ago I got into this building-materials company I'm at now, starting in sales. I could hold my liquor, I could talk, my head was quick, and in three years I made sales director. The fourth year the boss brought me in on equity, and I became a partner in the company. My income multiplied who knows how many times over, and I suddenly realized Leona couldn't keep up with me. The company held its annual banquet, and I brought her along. Those bosses' wives were in evening gowns and jewels, every one of them polished and glowing. Leona stood in a corner in a dress she'd bought online for under two hundred, the collar already pilling. Someone asked me, "Mr. Gutierrez, this is your wife?" I smiled and nodded, but inside I was thinking, how embarrassing. On the way home I blew up. "Can't you buy yourself something decent to wear?" She kept her head down and said quietly, "Those clothes are too expensive. We still have the mortgage to pay..." "The mortgage, the mortgage, that's all you ever think about!" She went silent, just sat there in the passenger seat with her head down, quiet the whole way home. That night I tossed and turned, the more I thought the more it grated on me. I was out schmoozing, drinking and talking with those bright, polished women, and then I'd come home to Leona at the sink in her pajamas and slippers, scrubbing dishes, hair a mess, not even lipstick on her face. I started to think marrying her had been a case of me being blind. Three years ago the company got a new client liaison, named Arlene Fox. Twenty-eight, ten years younger than me. The first time we met, she was in a white work dress, makeup flawless, two little dimples when she smiled. She called me "Brandon," her voice sweet enough to cloy. "Brandon, here's the contract from Mr. Donaldson's side, take a look." "Brandon, there's a dinner tonight, Mr. Donaldson asked for you by name." "Brandon, your tie's crooked, let me fix it." When she leaned in to straighten my tie, there was a faint scent of perfume on her, not that mix of laundry soap and cooking grease that clung to Leona. I looked at her and thought, now this is a woman worthy of me. The first time I took her to dinner alone was at a Japanese place. She picked up a slice of salmon and said with a smile, "Brandon, you're really something, making partner this young." I said no, no, just luck. She shook her head. "It's not luck, it's ability. I'm a good judge of people." I enjoyed that meal thoroughly, humming to myself on the way home. Leona was waiting for me in the living room, and asked why I was in such a good mood today. I said it was nothing, the dinner had gone well. She nodded and went to the kitchen to heat up my food. Watching her back as she went, I suddenly found her an eyesore.