Michelle Roman entered the office of Randall and Moore, Attorneys at Law. She had arrived a few minutes early for her four-thirty appointment. She was ready for her fifteen-year marriage to Charles Roman Jr. to become a faded memory and move on with her life. A friend had told her that Randall was the best. She doubted that Charles would contest the divorce, but she wanted to be prepared. After her first taste of hope yesterday, she had decided to move forward, regardless of Dominex’s fate.
The secretary glanced up as she walked in. Michelle introduced herself, and informed the woman that she was early for her appointment. “Just have a seat," the woman stated. “Mr. Randall will be with you in a moment." Michelle found a seat and began glancing through the magazines on the coffee table. She couldn’t help but notice that there was a lot of focus on “Today’s Woman" and “Single Parent" type publications. Makes sense.
The single parent problem was a non-issue. She and Charles had never had any children. Charles was never home; and even when he was, he never seemed to have the desire to do anything that would result in a pregnancy. His lack of interest in her had been the source of a lot of sleepless nights in the early years. Michelle was not drop-dead gorgeous by any means, but she was attractive in her own right. At five foot four, and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, she had always maintained her trim waistline. She had recently cut her long, strawberry blonde hair, which had run in corkscrew curls down her back, to a more mature shoulder length. She allowed it to assume a wild and untamed appearance that complemented her young face and crystal-blue eyes. Charles had not noticed the drastic change until he overheard someone else complimenting her on the new look.
Michelle had long since given up any need or concern for his approval. Even still, with each passing day of apathy she had grown to hate and resent him. She didn’t need any of these magazines to tell her what she already knew. A person who robs you of your right to be significant is not a husband; he is excess baggage. She had long since learned the art of self-validation. Now she was ready for the liberties that Charles had already taken all through their marriage.
“Mrs. Roman," a voice called out. She looked up to see a strikingly handsome man. She stood and met him in the doorway. The man was in his forties, with piercing brown eyes that seemed to look right through her. “I’m Mark Randall," he said, reaching out his hand. Michelle took it and introduced herself unnecessarily. She looked down to notice that he had a gold band on his left ring finger. Her friend had given her the referral, with one comment. She could still hear the words, “You will begin to notice how many wonderful guys there are and that they are all married.”
She didn’t care. She knew this was the right path. Michelle followed the dangerously good-looking, married attorney into his office. “So, tell me how I can help you today?" he began, giving her a million dollar smile.
“Well, as I mentioned on the phone," she began, “I want to file for divorce.”
She couldn’t help but notice how the attorney was staring at her. Men. They are all scum. Still, she found herself strangely drawn to him. “I haven’t told my husband," she continued, trying to stay focused. “He will be informed when the papers are served."
“Oh, ouch," Mark said, smiling at her once again.
“Don’t feel too sorry for him," she responded, warming up to the encounter. “Without the formality of a divorce it would take him a month to notice I was gone. He’s too busy with his extracurricular activities."
“The man’s an idiot," he confirmed. Michelle decided that she liked Mark Randall, whether or not he stared at her, and whether or not he was married.
“So, what do I do?" she said, returning his smile.
The attorney pulled out a legal size pad and said, “You just answer a few questions and I do the rest."
Michelle gave him all the pertinent information about herself and Charles, emphasizing that she wanted nothing in the settlement except the house and the clothes on her back. The attorney gave her an occasional nod as he continued to take it all down until she mentioned her husband’s line of work. Mark stopped writing and looked at her. “Your husband is the CEO of Dominex Pharmaceuticals"
“That’s right," she laughed, “but don’t hold that against me. I have nothing to do with that company."
“But I thought you said you weren’t asking for anything but the house and your personal possessions."
“Right again."
“Michelle," he said thoughtfully, “you might want to rethink this."
“If I ask for any part of his precious company, he’ll fight this," she warned.
“Your husband has had numerous affairs, is that right?" the attorney asked, jotting something down on the pad.
“Numerous affairs would be an understatement."
“Do we have any proof?"
“You mean besides the credit card bills listing hotel charges ten miles from our house and friends going out of their way to keep me updated on his activities?"
“That’s a good start."
“So, the occasional phone call from one of his girlfriends would be a good addition?"
“He had women calling him at the house?"
“No, he had women calling me at the house," she continued, “and then they would get upset when I confirmed that he was married.”
The attorney continued writing and looked up at Michelle. “Why don’t you leave the gory details to me," he concluded. “I’ll get you that divorce, but I’m guessing that you’d be okay with an extra few million dollars to start out with." Michelle thought about it for a moment. She had never considered a scenario that included one extra penny beyond her acquired savings.
“Okay," she said finally. “Why not?"
“Then I’ll be in touch," Mark said, extending his hand once again. “He’ll be served with divorce papers tomorrow. I’ll have the process server present them at his office."
“That’ll be a nice touch," she said, accepting his hand. “Thanks."
“My pleasure," he said, holding her hand a moment too long before releasing it.
Michelle’s head was swimming on the way home. She felt certain her friend had set her up. Someone without a ring on his finger might’ve been a better choice. She was going to have to contact the woman and give her hell. Aside from the strange flirtation, she felt good about the meeting. Her freedom from that repulsive little toad of man was in sight.
It had only been two days since the article had hit the paper and Dr. George Donovan was already in a deep hole. It was an early Tuesday morning, and Sally was home worshiping the porcelain god. The added stress of the past two days had not helped to improve her condition.
He read the letter from the Georgia State Medical Board for the third time. It was basically informing him that he was currently being investigated as a result of a patient’s complaint against him. He was being required to submit a copy of Brian Carter’s file and to be prepared to submit other files if needed. He knew full well that this investigation had nothing to do with one patient. The newspaper article had opened up the floodgates of hell. There was no tangible proof, only people’s perception and the validity of their word.
Donovan didn’t even remember who Brian Carter was. He got up to retrieve the file and brought it back to his desk. Carter had been in to see him only once. He had been given Suprame under the guise of “the vitamin” scam and had not returned. His revised chart stated that he had been given the option to resume or withdraw off the sedative and chose to terminate the drug. The chart documented one follow-up contact by his staff and stated that the patient had refused further treatment.
Brian Carter’s version of the story would be very different from his. This in turn would open up a whole new investigation. What had he been thinking when he’d agreed to the stupid idea of treating addicts with vitamins? He had no choice now but to comply with the Medical Board’s request. They usually leaned in favor of the doctor, but in this case he was pushing his luck. It was still too early for his staff’s arrival. Donovan carried the file to his receptionist’s desk and left her a note instructing her to have a copy of it ready for the courier. He couldn’t revise the chart any further. It would have to go as is.
There were only a little over three weeks left before Dominex could turn in their research study results. The data had been prepared months in advance, but the final product could not be released until the appropriate amount of time had passed. Charles Roman sat at his desk reading the letter he received from David Manning at the FDA, confirming the good standing of the interim data. We’re home free. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks.
Charles walked out of his office and down the hall to find Sheila. He had been under a lot of stress lately and he was ready for a little tension breaker. He found her in her office giving some final instructions to an employee. The CEO stood at the doorway propping himself against the wall. The employee spotted him first and quickly greeted him. Sheila cursed under her breath.
“Just wanted to check on some of my favorite staff people," he said charmingly.
“Oh, Mr. Roman, thanks," the employee stuttered. Sheila did not respond to the empty compliment.
“I guess were done here," she said finally. She had wanted to retain the poor girl as a bodyguard, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason. The girl hurried out the door.
“Bye, Mr. Roman," she giggled, as she trotted past him.
“Bye, bye," he said, closing the door.
“So, what can I do for you?" Sheila asked with no enthusiasm.
“Charlie," he stated. “You used to call me Charlie, remember?"
Sheila just gave him a sick smile.
“Yeah, seems like a long time ago."
Charles closed the distance between them and was now inches from her.
“I think about you all the time," he whispered.
Sheila could feel her breakfast trying to escape and backed away a few feet.
“Listen, I have been meaning to talk to you."
“Great," he said, “but I was thinking about more than conversation."
Sheila moved around to the left, putting her desk between the two of them before continuing. “The thing is," she began awkwardly, “is that I’m involved with someone else now."
Charles just looked at her questioningly.
“So?" he asked finally. “I’m not proposing to you. I’m just asking for your companionship.”
“That’s a nice metaphor," Sheila said, feeling herself getting angry. “Do you ever think about your wife?"
“She doesn’t seem to mind."
“You can’t be serious," Sheila stated. “Unless she’s in a coma, she minds."
“So, what are you saying?" Charles asked innocently.
Sheila let out a long exasperated flow of air.
“I’m saying that I’m involved with someone. I’m saying that it means something to me and I’m saying that when you care about someone you don’t go around screwing other people." Sheila was now livid. She had spent her whole life using whatever means she had to in order to get whatever she wanted, and for the first time she could see how that lifestyle had impacted others. Charles just continued to stare at her as if she were speaking in Chinese. “Charles," she said more calmly. “Go home to your wife. I saw the picture of her in your office. She’s beautiful and she must really love you if she’s put up with you all these years."
“I guess she does," he admitted.
“She’d have to," Sheila continued, “and bring her some flowers."
Charles thought about courting his wife for a change. It wasn’t a half bad idea.
“Can I get a goodbye kiss?"
“How about a goodbye hug instead," she countered.
“I’ll take what I can get," he said, and moved around the desk to her. The hug was one of those sleazy hugs that men give women when the woman is small enough for the man to wrap his arms all the way around and still reach breasts. Sheila put up with the short molestation, knowing it would be the last time he could touch her.
“Be good, Charlie," she said backing away from the embrace.
“Okay. If I have to."
“You have to!’
Charles left the office of the woman he had been lusting after for months. Maybe he should start paying more attention to his wife. The truth was that he was getting worn out from the chase. It required more energy than he had these days. He headed back down the hall and was intercepted by a man he did not recognize.
“Are you Charles Roman?" the man inquired.
Charles nodded.
“Consider yourself served," the man said, handing him a large envelope.
Sheila felt more connected with Jerry than ever before. Her own revulsion at being touched by anyone else had surprised her. She knew she had fallen for the man, but she hadn’t realized how hard until Charles tried to hit on her again. She would never again be able to use her physical appearance to get what she wanted. She had experienced something deeper. She could never go back.
Sheila went down the hall to Jerry’s office and closed the door. “Hey," he said cheerfully, “what’s up?"
“This," she said, moving to him and kissing him thoroughly.
“Wow," he said, after a few moments. “What’d I do to deserve that?"
“I love you," she said running her hand through his hair, “and I just wanted to tell you that."
Jerry looked at Sheila. All the silliness and clowning around was replaced with admiration.
“I love you, too," he said solemnly and kissed her again.
Sheila would tell Jerry about the encounter she had with Charles that afternoon. Just not right now. She absorbed the warmth and closeness. It was her rebirth.
Michelle Roman hung up the phone with her attorney. He’d called to confirm and forewarn her that the papers had been served. “What do I do now?" she asked him nervously.
“Don’t answer any questions," he instructed. “If your husband insists on asking you about any details, tell him to contact me."
“This should be interesting."
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine," he assured. “When this is all behind you, we’ll go out and celebrate.” Michelle was speechless. “I’ll call you tomorrow," he concluded.
“Bye," she said, and hung up. Her two eyebrows had merged together in complete confusion. “This is nuts," she said, and picked up the phone to contact her friend. Peggy Anderson had been her best friend and confidant since high school. She’d already been through her own divorce and was now coaching Michelle on hers.
When Peggy answered the phone, Michelle jumped to the heart of the call. “Do I have moron tattooed on my forehead?"
“No, what’s wrong?"
Michelle told her about the meeting with attorney Mark Randall the previous day and about all the flirtatious behavior.
“Michelle,” her friend began, “I’m not sure that a man flirting with you constitutes a major drop in your I.Q.”
“He was also wearing a wedding ring."
“Oh." Peggy responded.
“Oh? Sorry, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that."
“Oh, shit?" Peggy added, questioningly.
“Yeah, that’s much better," Michelle laughed. “So, what do I do?"
“Right now you do nothing."
“Are you implying that I do something about him later?" she asked in alarm.
“Well, not exactly," her friend countered. “I don’t know what I’m saying."
“Thanks," Michelle said. “You’ve been helpful."
“Sorry,” her friend offered. “Maybe he’s just like this with everyone.”
Michelle just sighed into the phone. “It’s just that it’s been such a long time since a man has noticed me."
“I know sweetie," her friend said. “That’s because it’s the first time you have allowed yourself to be noticed. It’s also the first day in a long life of encounters. Wait and see how this plays out."
“Guess I’ll have to," Michelle conceded.
“Wanna stay at my house tonight?"
“No, thanks," Michelle said. “I’m going to wait for His Majesty, face the issue, and then the man can go stay with one of his girlfriends.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me," her friend said, “but if that plan goes south…”
“I know, thanks."
Michelle hung up the phone and busied herself by dusting areas of the house that had no dust. She was scrubbing a clean pot when Charles walked through the front door. Its show time. Charles wasted no time. He walked to where his wife was standing and held the crumpled papers up in front of her face. “What the hell is this?" he asked angrily.
Michelle looked at him somberly and said, “Those are the papers informing you of my decision to divorce you."
Charles did not relax his death grip on the papers and began shaking them in front of her nose.
“If you think you can just decide this on your own you’re nuts."
Michelle wanted to hit him with the pot she was holding, and decided to put it down and leave the room instead.
Charles followed her into the living room. “This is not going to happen," he announced, slamming the papers down on an end table.
Michelle turned and looked at him. He was shaking and his face was an alarming shade of red.
“Charles,” she said calmly. “It’s over and, quite frankly, I don‘t understand why you‘re so upset about it."
“Why would you say that?" he countered.
Michelle looked at him in amazement and decided to cut to the chase.
“Because you don’t love me and I doubt you ever did."
The words were out and she waited for him to disagree with her. Instead, there was silence. His lack of a denial hit her harder than she thought it would. Michelle waited for several painful minutes, but no argument to the contrary was offered. “You bastard," she heard herself say. “You can’t even put out a good lie to defend your position. Why the hell would you want to stay chained to someone you don’t even love?"
“I never said I didn’t love you," Charles said weakly.
“Ha," she spat back at him. “You can’t say that you do. Isn’t that right?"
“You have to give me some time to think about this," he interjected.
“You’ve had fifteen years," she yelled. “If you don’t know how you feel by now, then tell me, when will the magic moment arrive? Maybe by our fiftieth wedding anniversary you’ll have this difficult issue worked out in your head."
“Michelle," Charles said, “I do love you."
“Bullshit," she yelled back. “Your behavior is the only thing I need to see. And if you had loved me you wouldn’t have had all those affairs." Charles began to shake his head and Michelle cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t," she stated. “Do not insult me with a denial. Those women called me on the phone. My friends saw you with a different one every other month and our credit card bills are itemized.”
Charles was wide-eyed and speechless.
“You’re such an asshole," she continued, “You never stopped to think about who paid those bills."
“Oh shit," Charles whispered.
“Yeah, oh shit. And, you aren’t just an asshole, Charles," she continued, “you’re a stupid asshole if you are just now realizing how blatantly obvious your affairs were."
“I never meant to hurt you," he offered.
“Save it. You went after anything in a skirt and ignored me since the day I married you.”
“So, how can I make this up to you?" he asked lamely.
“You can make it up to me by packing yourself up and moving out tonight."
Charles went to the sofa and sat down, making himself comfortable.
“I’m not going anywhere," he laughed. “You want the divorce, you get out."
Michelle just looked at the man she had once loved. She never thought she could hate a human being as much as she hated this man right now.
“Fine Charles," she countered. “If that’s how you want to play this, we can go at it. But trust me on this, you’re in for one hell of a fight."
“I’m the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company," he announced. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with." Michelle couldn’t help herself and started to laugh uncontrollably. Maybe it was a needed tension release. After fifteen years of torment, she was certainly entitled to it.
“Charles," she said, after catching her breath, “I’ve seen the results of your managerial skills. Do me a big favor, and stay on the opposing side."
And with that, Michelle Roman went off to find a suitcase and a happier existence.
The CEO of Dominex Pharmaceuticals sunk into the couch. His company was in trouble and in debt up to its eyeballs. They were making arrangements to pay people thousands of dollars to stay quiet during the last stages of the research study, and now this! That bitch, she couldn’t have picked a worse time. He knew his active lifestyle had been flagrant and obvious. He really didn’t have a good reason for his past behavior. He had always thought that money plus power equaled entitlement. He still did.
Now he was facing another potential drain on his financial security. He knew how attorneys operated, and if his wife had found herself a good one, he was going to have a field day with Charles’s rampant love life. That bitch. Charles Roman went to the bar to fix himself a stiff drink.
Carol was ready to go home for the day. She only had seventy-two hours left before her last day on Friday and she was tempted to just blow it off. Her withdrawal was unrelenting. It had been almost four months since she’d stopped taking the drug and she was still weak and constantly dizzy. The warm weather had made it even worse. The air conditioning in the dilapidated building hadn’t worked right since the 1960’s. In past summers, she had bitched and complained along with the rest of the staff. But the only real problem she’d ever had with it was the excessive sweating. Now, the lack of AC was intensifying every symptom. She’d even had to escape to her car occasionally and run the air conditioner full force to keep from throwing up. This, combined with the sixty thousand plus dollars they had made on the Dominex stock, had left her ready to bolt out the door. The patients were the only motivation keeping her there. They all knew that Friday was her last day and she didn’t want to abandon them.
She looked up at the clock. One more hour and she could escape. Carol logged into her computer and went in to access the Internet. She wasn’t supposed to play on the computer during work hours, but she’d been drawn to a support group she had found while researching sedative withdrawal. There were currently thousands of people from all over the world communicating on this one yahoo website. Each one of them was in a different stage of the withdrawal process. These were the lucky ones. They’d found the heartbeat of sedative awareness and most of them had been able to avoid making the ultimate mistake. Stopping this drug abruptly was the ticket to withdrawal hell.
This group had made an art of the tapering process. They had the power of each other’s knowledge and support every step of the way. Carol wished she had found this group before the desperate need to search for answers had led her to them inadvertently. But even with all the information and support on the Internet, there were many of them in Carol’s position. People who had innocently walked into an addiction that now had a choke-hold on their souls were frantically writing messages to each other. They called themselves “accidental addicts.”
The messaging had a regular pattern to it. People would describe their horrible symptoms and beg for confirmation that the illness was normal sedative withdrawal. Numerous people would respond, telling the writer that it was. Then the writer would return, begging for a time frame. “How long will this last?" the writer would plead, unrelentingly. Carol wondered the same thing. The whole experience would be so much easier to live with if she knew that in X amount of time she would feel normal again.
She was trapped in an unknown world with thousands of strangers. All of them crying out for answers. Carol began reading one of the postings. It was entitled, “Please Help."
I have been off the medication for four months and I’m not getting any better. Could this be something else and not withdrawal at all? I feel like I’m dying. Should I see a specialist? My family doctor said this is all in my head and that sedative withdrawal doesn’t last this long. I’m really scared - someone please help!
Carol was about to respond when her phone rang. She groaned as she dragged herself from the message board to answer it. “You have a call on line three," the receptionist announced. Carol reluctantly retrieved the call.
“This is Carol Freeman."
“Carol, it’s Brian. Have you had a visit from the grim reaper yet?"
“I’m waiting for the punch line," she laughed.
“The attorney for Dominex," Brian clarified.
The smile left her face as she answered, “No, why?"
“Because they are on a cleaning rampage," he continued. “The guy came to see me yesterday. Offered me one hundred thousand dollars to stay out of any further investigations."
“No shit! These people have no conscience."
“Well, it would have been a simple process. They would have tried to bribe me and I would have sent them away,” he explained, “except Pam was there.”
“Uh oh. So, now what are you going to do?"
“I don’t know," Brian said sadly. “It’s a simple problem. If someone offers you a wad of money to bury the truth, you tell them to go to hell."
“I would agree with that."
“Yeah, any idiot can figure that out. The problem is that I have no idea when I’ll be able to go back to work."
“That’s an important factor," she agreed.
“It’s the only factor as far as my wife is concerned."
“In a way," Carol reasoned, “they do owe you some kind of compensation."
“Yeah, they do," Brian agreed, “but by their terms I would also have to keep quiet about what happened to me. And not only that, if I don‘t come forward for the AJC I can probably kiss my future job goodbye."
“What a mess," she concluded.
“You will probably find yourself in a similar mess," Brian warned her. “You’re into this as deep as I am and they must know that." Carol began to see the bigger picture. They were paying off all of the volunteers who could provide damaging information and she was probably on the top of that list. “So, what will you do?" Brian interjected.
“One hundred thousand dollars," Carol repeated incredulously.
“Suddenly gets real confusing, doesn’t it?"
“You got that right," she agreed. “Thanks for the heads up, though."
“Let me know what you decide," Brian said. Carol told him to hang in there and ended the call.
She continued to ponder the problem. They would probably have to decide what to do together. It would make no sense for only one of them to come forward while the other claimed temporary insanity. The issue had a simple moral solution. The fact that the drug had caused an indefinite disability made the issue much more complicated. They had been damaged as a result of what Dominex had done to them. Now they were being offered reasonable compensation. The fact that they were expected to drop the fight after accepting the money was not an unusual request. Weren’t most court settlements conducted in the same way? She could accept what she had coming to her, or she could hold out for a higher purpose. She would have to think long and hard about what to do.
Michelle pulled into Peggy’s driveway. She was halfway up the walkway with her suitcase in hand when her friend met her at the door. “I didn’t think the worm would quietly go away," she said, reaching to help Michelle with her bag.
“I guess I always assumed that he’d have another place he’d rather be."
“You can stay here as long as you like," Peggy offered. “This big empty house swallows me up. It’ll be fun having a housemate."
Peggy had been divorced for five years. Her two children were both off to college and the house had be