The Ditto List by Stephen Greenleaf Read Free Book Online Page B

Stone left the office just as Bobby E. Lee returned from lunch. Their eyes absorbed each other, their lips, similar shades of umber, smiled. After she had gone, D.T. returned to his office, took Mrs. Stone’s check from his desk and endorsed it, then took it out to Bobby E. Lee. “Deposit this in the office account and draw one payable to yourself in the same amount. How will that leave us?”
    â€œYou’re still a thousand light.”
    â€œShe’s a paying customer, Bobby, and she looks to be in need of some heroics. We should be square in a month.”
    Bobby E. Lee looked through the glass door thoughtfully. “Figured she was,” he said, and stuffed the check into the single pocket of his skin-tight shirt. “But be careful, Mr. J. When things tighten up, that kind throws in the towel.”
    D.T. started to object, then stopped. Bobby was too often right about the nuance of personality. His sense of which clients had firmly decided to divorce and which were only window-shopping was unerring, as was his sense of which of them needed tact and which a rather brutal shove. D.T. often wondered what he would do without Bobby E. Lee. The answer was always distressing.
    D.T. went back to his office and reviewed the monthly statements once again, reducing three more of them in light of the affluence of his most recent client. The statements ready for the mail, he changed the cassette in his deck and let his blood squirt to the beat of Doug Kershaw while he noted on his calendar the day that morning’s interlocutory decrees would become final. On that date, six months hence, Bobby E. Lee would send each participant in the Friday Fiasco a single red rose along with a certified copy of the final judgment of dissolution. Half the time the envelope and the flower were returned. Addressee unknown. No forwarding address. Starting over elsewhere.
    D.T.’s phone rang. When he picked it up he was greeted warmly by his only ex-wife. “Jazzercise?” D.T. said after she had said his name.
    â€œKeeps me trim, darling. I had to do something since I stopped having sex on a regular basis.”
    â€œOh? Religious reasons?”
    â€œMore aesthetic, I would say. Middle-aged bodies are so untidy. Present company excepted, of course. I always liked your body, D.T. It was your mind I couldn’t handle.” Her laugh reminded him of engines.
    They had been married over six years of wrangles, jousts, and contests, during which D.T. had failed to adjust to her money and she had failed to adjust to his misanthropy. Now they had been divorced over three years of weekly phone calls. Over that time, talking to Michele about subjects they had been too insecure to discuss while wed had been D.T.’s close-to-favorite moments and, he hoped and suspected, his ex-wife’s as well.
    â€œSo how are you, D.T.?” Michele asked as she always did.
    â€œGood-to-better, Michele. How about you?”
    â€œMy yeast infection cleared up so I’m fine and dandy and looking for love.”
    â€œGlad to hear it.”
    â€œHow was the Friday Fiasco?” she asked.
    â€œAbout average.”
    â€œThat bad?”
    â€œAfraid so.”
    â€œWhy do you keep on , D.T.? I know you’ve had offers from other firms. Landon Towers was telling me the other night that he’s been trying to get you to go in with him for over a year. They must have thirty lawyers now.”
    â€œForty-five.”
    â€œWhich means someone else could take care of your damsels in distress and you could do something dignified, to say nothing of remunerative.”
    â€œLandon Towers wants me to do bankruptcy work. Ever spend an hour in bankruptcy court, Michele? Compared to it, Queen for a Day was a noble enterprise. Besides, the Friday Fiasco’s as close as I’ll ever come to participating in the forgiveness of sins.” He shifted gears and hoped she would follow, stifling her instinct to reform