Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

I had been summoned by Dudley Thomson to a meeting at his office. It was three weeks after I had been discharged from Greenwich Hospital. I was staying with my brother at his apartment on Sullivan Street, curling up every night on his lumpy sofa. As one of the senior nurses at the hospital had warned me, I would probably go through a period of depression and grief after my release. She was right. I had spent most of the three weeks inside Eric's apartment, only occasionally venturing outside for groceries or an afternoon double feature at the Academy of Music on 14th Street. I really didn't want to be around many people - especially those friends of mine who were married with children. The sight of a baby carriage on the street chilled me. So too did passing a shop which sold maternity outfits or infant paraphernalia. Curiously, I hadn't cried since that outburst in Greenwich Hospital. Instead, I had felt constantly numb, and wanted to do nothing more than sequester myself within the four walls of Eric's place. Which, with my brother's tolerant encouragement, was exactly what I had been doing - squandering the days with a stack of pulp thrillers, and working my way through Eric's extensive record collection. I rarely turned on the radio. I didn't buy a newspaper. I didn't answer the phone (not that it rang very much anyway). Eric - the most patient man on the planet - didn't worry out loud about my solipsism. Though he made subtle enquiries about my well-being, he never once suggested a night out. Nor did he pass a comment about my dazed gloom. He knew what was going on. He knew it had to run its course.

Three weeks into this period of self-incarceration, I received a letter from Dudley Thomson. He explained that he would be representing the Grey family in the divorce settlement and asked me to arrange an appointment with him at my earliest possible convenience. He said I could have my own legal counsel present at this meeting - but suggested that I not go to the expense of hiring a lawyer for this preliminary discussion, as the Greys wanted to settle matters as quickly as possible.

'Hire a lawyer', Eric said after I showed him this letter. 'They want to settle for as little as they can'.

'But I really don't want anything from them'.

'You're entitled to alimony... or at least a sizeable settlement. That's the very least those bastards owe you'.

'I'd rather just walk away...'

'They exploited you...'

'No, they didn't'.

'They used you as a battery hen and...'

'Eric, stop turning this into a class warfare drama. Especially as the Greys and ourselves are basically from the same damn class'.

'You should still take them for every penny possible'.

'No - because that would be unethical. And that's not my style. I know what I want from the Greys. If they give it to me, then this entire matter can be settled without further grief. Believe me, what I want more than anything right now is no further grief'.

'At least find some tough divorce lawyer to have in your corner...'

'I need nobody. That's my new credo, Eric. From now on, I'm depending on no one'.

And so, I made an appointment to see Mr Thomson, and walked into his office without a legal entourage. He was rather surprised by that.

'I actually expected to see you here today with at least one legal counselor', he said.

'Really?' I said. 'After advising me that I needed no counsel present at this interview?'

He flashed me a smile, showing bad dental work (a true sign of his deep Anglophilia). 'I expect no one to really follow my advice', he said.

'Well, I have. So - let's get this over with. Tell me what you are proposing'.

He coughed a bit, and shuffled through a few papers, trying to mask his surprise at my directness. 'The Greys want to be as generous as possible...'

'You mean, George Grey wants to be as generous as possible. I was - am still - married to him, not his family'.

'Yes, yes, of course', he said, sounding a little flustered. 'George Grey wants to offer you a most reasonable settlement'.

'What's his - and your - idea of a "most reasonable settlement"?'

'We were thinking of something in the region of two hundred dollars a month... payable up until the time you remarry'.

'I'm never getting married again'.

He attempted a benevolent smile. He failed. 'I can understand you're upset, Mrs Grey, given the circumstances. But I'm certain an attractive, intelligent woman like yourself will have no trouble finding another husband...'

'Except that I'm not in the market for another husband. Anyway, even if I was, I am now, medically speaking, damaged goods - to use my mother-in-law's kind words'.

He looked deeply embarrassed. 'Yes, I heard about your... medical difficulties. I am dreadfully sorry'.

'Thank you. But back to business. I'm afraid two hundred dollars a month is unacceptable. My salary at Saturday Night/Sunday Morning was three hundred a month. I think I deserve that'.

'I'm certain three hundred dollars a month would be agreeable'.

'Good. Now I have a proposal to put to you. When I told you that I am never planning to marry again, I'm certain you realized that George will, in effect, be paying me alimony for the rest of my life'.

'Yes, that thought did cross my mind'.

'I would like to simplify matters in that regard. I am willing to accept a one-off payment from George. Once that is made, I will ask for no further financial maintenance from him'.

He pursed his lips. 'And what sort of sum were you considering?'

'I was married to George for almost five months. I was with him for two months before then. Let's call it a total of seven months. I would like a year's alimony for each of those months. That works out at...'

He was already scribbling figures on his desk blotter. 'Twenty-five thousand two hundred dollars', he said.

'Precisely'.

'It's a large sum'.

'Not if you consider that, all going well, I should be alive for another forty-five or fifty years'.

'That is a point. And is that sum simply an opening offer?'

'No - it's the final offer. Either George agrees to pay me that amount upfront, or he can support me until the day I die. Are we clear about that, Mr Thomson?'

'Exceedingly. Naturally, I will have to discuss this with the Greys... sorry, with George'.

'Well, you know where to find me', I said, standing up.

He proffered his hand. I took it. It was soft and spongy. 'May I ask you something, Mrs Grey?'

'Of course'.

'This may sound strange, given that I am representing your husband, but I am nonetheless curious to know one thing: why on earth don't you want ongoing alimony?'

'Because I want nothing to do with the Greys ever again. And you can convey my feelings to your clients, should you so wish'.

He let go of my hand. 'I sense they know that already. Goodbye, Mrs Grey'.

On the way out of the offices of Potholm, Grey and Connell, I saw Edwin Grey, Sr, walking towards me in the corridor. Immediately, he lowered his eyes to avoid meeting mine. Then he passed by me without saying a word.

As soon as I was out of the building, I hailed a taxi and headed back to Sullivan Street. The meeting had drained me. I wasn't used to playing the role of the hard negotiator. But I was pleased with the way I had handled things. Just as I had surprised myself with the statement that I would never marry again. It was said off the top of my head, without premeditation. I hadn't considered the matter before making this declaration. But it evidently reflected what I was thinking right now. Whether I would still be thinking this same way about marriage several years from now was another matter. What I did know was this: it didn't work when your heart led your head. It didn't work when your head led your heart. Which, in turn, meant...