If I Did It by O.J. Simpson Read Free Book Online

pry.
If she had something to tell me, she'd tell me in due course.
A few days later, when I was in New York, she called. “I need
to talk to you,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I'm pregnant.”
That kind of threw me a little. “With the guy you're so crazy
about?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Someone else.”
“So you're not crazy about that other guy anymore?”
“That ended a long time ago.”
“Oh,” I said. I didn't know what else to say.
“I guess I'm going to have an abortion,” she said.
I didn't know what to say to that, either. Was I supposed to
give her my blessing or something? “I'm sure you'll do what you
think is best,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“I don't know,” she said. “For listening, I guess.”
One night, not long after, I was busy in my home office,
working, and I could see Nicole was trying to reach me. She called
my cell, my home phone, the cell again. I finally picked up, angry.
“What?” I barked.
“I want to read you something,” she said.
“I don't have time for this Nicole.”
“It's from my will.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said. “I'm listening.”
“This is in my will, word for word,” she said, and she quoted
directly from the document: “`O.J., please remember me from early
in our relationship, before I became so unhappy and so bitchy.
Remember how much I truly love7d adore you'.”
“That's very nice,” I said.
“Don't forget,” she said. “I mean it.”
“I won't forget,” I said.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
In October of that year, 1992, the divorce became final.
Everything had gone pretty smoothly. Finances, custody, visita-
tion—all that stuff that divorced parents are only too familiar with.
As part of the custody arrangement, we agreed to spend the first
Thanksgiving and Christmas with the kids, as a family, to give
them a little more time to get used to the idea that we were no
longer together. We figured we'd celebrate Thanksgiving in New
York, at my Manhattan apartment, and Christmas in L.A., and
Nicole and I discussed every little detail—down to where I was
going to get the turkey, what side dishes the kids liked hest, and
    how many pies she thought we would need. Two days before
Thanksgiving, with all the travel arrangements in place, she called
to tell me that she wasn't bringing the kids to New York.
“What do you mean?” I snapped. “I changed my whole work
schedule for this! The network rearranged things so I wouldn't have
to go to Detroit so that I could spend Thanksgiving with my kids!”
“Well, we're not coming,” she repeated.
“Why? You've got to give me a reason!”
“I can't,” she said. “Just, you know—the trip's off.”
I couldn't believe it. This was the same woman who would call
me two and three times a day, to walk down memory lane, to talk
about feeling sad and lost, and here she was, telling me she wasn't
letting me see my kids over Thanksgiving—and not even bothering
to explain herself.
“We decided this in court!” I shouted. “In front of the judge!
You can't change the deal on me!”
“I don't like it when you raise your voice to me,” she said, and
hung up.
I was furious. I called my lawyer and he called her lawyer,
but by then it was too late. I didn't get to spend Thanksgiving
with my kids, and I ended up going to Detroit for the network, as
originally planned, which made them happy. Still, I decided I was
never going to let anything like that happen to me again, and
after Thanksgiving my lawyers called her lawyers and read them
the riot act. They agreed to let me have my kids over Christmas,
alone, just me and them, and I was immensely relieved and
immensely excited. I went shopping for presents, got tickets for
shows, and arranged to do all sorts of fun stuff with the kids. It was
going to be a nonstop party. I was going to make it a Christmas
they'd never forget!
I called my older daughter, Arnelle, and asked her to fly the
kids to New York, and I booked the