Fiona Maazel - Woke Up Lonely

He could not discuss these things with Kay — she was his wife, not his therapist — but he thought it best to talk to someone. So he’d cruised his office building, looking to offload. Except just having to walk the hallways, which were girthed for a bus, maybe two, and traverse the floors — caramelized rock, cream and liver diamonds — to pass eyes across the framed photos on every wall (nature is beautiful!) and the pastorals of farmers harvesting the land: this safari through Interior was to trade the humdrum of nine-to-five for a venture in self-pity.

“So were there lots of Helix there?” Kay said.

“I don’t know. I only have eyes for you,” and he kissed her on the cheek.

She swatted him away but smiled.

“And another thing,” he said. “I am doing something at work. I’m setting a big meeting up now. With the Cayuga Nation. We need to bring everyone back to the table, else one of these days there are actually going to be mini sovereign states all over the country. Wouldn’t that be insane? And wouldn’t that mean something if I could help?”

“I guess,” she said. “Though you’ve been saying that about the home front, too.”

“Hey, I offered. I told Erin she didn’t need a lawyer.”

And with this he stood up tall. Lawyers were adversarial by design — they did not know how to compromise — and so what his daughter’s divorce needed was the smooth handling of a man with skill.

“Must be some lawyer, though,” Kay said. “They’re meeting on a Sunday. Maybe Jim’s having an affair with her, too.”

“Kay!” He spit a little by accident. “I hope this mess doesn’t affect Tenn badly. Divorce is awful. Just look at her.” Though he was still looking at Kay, pleased to have fired a killer word of his own— divorce —which no happily married woman could hear without it reaffirming her vows in silence.

They looked. Tennessee was whaling on the frog and attracting other kids to the game.

Kay said, “I wish Erin weren’t coming with Jim. That guy is such a creep. All those Defense Department guys are creeps.”

“He’s not coming to socialize. I guess he has Tennessee for the rest of the weekend.”

“He’s a creep.”

“You liked him when they got married.”

“I liked you when we got married. What’s your point?”

Olgo blinked.

“I’m kidding,” she said. “But don’t look now — here they come.”

He turned. His daughter’s hair was cantaloupe and often gathered in a high ponytail, so that in a crowd you tended to spot it well before she spotted you. This had its benefits — for instance, the chance to wrest Tennessee from the execution of Mr. Parker (she’d given the frog a name because, she explained, every frog has a name ) and to present her in fine form, shaped by an hour’s exposure to her grandparents, their bonhomie and warmth.

Erin kissed him on the cheek.

“How did it go?” Kay said.

Olgo surveilled his wife’s face. Was she thinking about the lawyer bills, too? Because they were funding this thing until the judge took from Jim everything he owned.

“It might have gone fine,” Erin said, “if Jim hadn’t shown up with his new sugar-mommy girlfriend. At least, she’d better be a sugar mommy, because otherwise he’s lost it. You ought to see this woman. She’s older than him, and she looks like someone beat her face in from both sides.”

Olgo looked down at his shoe. Female jealousy, awful. Probably Jim’s girlfriend was Brigitte Bardot.

Kay said, “It’s okay, honey. So she’s a troll. You get what you deserve. What did the lawyers say?”

“Standard stuff. They couldn’t agree on anything. We’re going to court.”

“What do you know,” Olgo said.

Erin closed her eyes. “Like you could have done better? I get the bed, he gets the sheets?”

“See,” he said, “that off-the-cuff thing you do, that’s exactly why you need a mediator. A compassionate, trained mediator.”

“Dad, try to think of something besides how useful you are to the world. I’m getting a divorce, remember?”

Kay said, “So where is Prince Charming?”

Erin pointed. Good God. Jim and lady friend were in a clearing of children by feed-the-monkey, the children giving berth to the lady because, while she was only slightly taller than the tallest, she was clearly not of their kind.

“Wow,” said Olgo.

“Wasn’t kidding, was I? Sugar mommy.”

“Let’s be cordial,” said Olgo.

“No way,” Kay said.

“I disagree. We should set an example for Tenn. Divorce is not the end of family.”

He said this and shuddered, while Kay made for Jim and Sugar Mommy.

Olgo regarded his daughter, who looked tired. At work, on his corkboard, among the push pins, list of log-in names and passwords, phone numbers and extensions, was a photo of Erin with Tennessee. And next to it, a JFK quote— Let us never negotiate out of fear, but let us never fear to negotiate —because it was smart and also a tribute to the syntactical conceit known as the polyptoton, a redeploying of the same word in different form, fear as noun and verb. It was JFK’s genius to use the polyptoton as much as possible, and Olgo had tried to use it to rear his child as she grew from adolescent to teenager to woman. They’d be sitting at breakfast over Cheerios. She might have gotten a bad grade in algebra. He’d say: Erin, when you’re upset, it upsets everything you do. And she’d say: What are you talking about? They’d be on the porch swing. She might have broken up with Jake, high school lothario. He’d say: You don’t need to love a love like that. And she’d say: Oh, Dad, enough.

He touched her sleeve. “Are you sure you don’t want to give me a chance?”

“Yes, Dad. This isn’t your fight. Jim’s been cheating on me with that troll. And he’s at work the rest of the time, anyway. Thing is, I know he’s up to no good at the department. I should just use that shit against him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Helix? Earth to Dad? Jim’s up to something. And you know what? Toasters will fly before it’s legal.”

“You shouldn’t get involved.”

“I am involved. God. I gotta say, this head-in-the-sand attitude of yours isn’t doing you any favors.”

“Just because I don’t care about the Helix means I don’t live in the world? Five seconds ago you were railing at me for being too involved.”

“I think you missed the point on that one.”

“I always do, right?”

She snorted. “It’s just so perfect you work for the Department of the Interior. ”

“Did you really just make that joke? What has happened to all the women in this family?”

“Just be glad you’re not related to her ”—which made Olgo smile despite it all. Jim’s new girlfriend — she could probably pop balloons with that dagger of a face.

Enough. He walked over to Jim. Inroads would be made.

“Jim!” he said. “So nice to see you. Lost a little weight, I see. No one to cook for ya, huh? Har har.”

Jim was in jeans that were cinched below the waist and bunched favorably at the groin; a V-neck cashmere sweater; crisp white T; and leather boots. His affect was self-conscious casual, which typified the way he belittled Erin — the offhand remark hatched in his head hours or years before.

A nod, not hostile but distanced. “This is Lynne,” Jim said, and he motioned to his woman, who produced a hand gloved in tweed. The shake took longer than Olgo intended, and throughout, she gazed on him with an ill will whose aura was unwholesome. Smutty, even. He withdrew his hand.