Dr. D Spills the Tea

Pig

“Miss?”

     At the sound of that curious assertation, I promptly regretted hesitating when the cab had already come to a complete stop.

    “Is this the right place?  This is the address you gave me,” the older gentleman confirmed, giving me a slight frown.

    “Yes, thanks.”  Unfortunately it is, I thought.  Forcing a tight smile, I paid the cab driver, promptly hoisting myself from the backseat onto the sidewalk.  Always busy downtown, bodies always rushing quickly down the walk—I moved briskly across the sidewalk toward Whittiker Law, trying to ignore how immaculate the marble black building looked.  It was a small law firm merely taking up residence among other thriving LLC’s but it was in a highly visible location with Times Square merely blocks away.

    And that was where I would go after this jaunt.

    I’d gather the few items I cared to keep, toss the rest, and visit my favorite café on West 47th street.  It was a small ma and pop joint but they took great care in personalizing every experience.  Not only was the coffee frothy and delicious but the employees would even create different designs out of the foam.  Yes, once I was done here, that was where I’d go to treat myself.

    A place of comfort.

    One George had distinctly disliked for its apparently “cramped” atmosphere.  He didn’t enjoy the vibe since it wasn’t modern enough, spacious enough, current enough—even though people were practically lined up around the block waiting on a cup of joe and delectable baked goods which should be proof enough that it was worthy of all my praise.  George’s inability to appreciate it should have been my first warning sign that we might be incompatible.  After all, George Whittiker clearly cared more about aesthetics than quality.

    It felt safe to assume that was the reasoning behind recent events.

    With a ding, the door opened and, of course, I found myself stepping toward a familiar desk.  Victoria had looked up upon my approach, her reflexive smile taking a sour dip as she realized I wasn’t a new potential client.

    “Hello Victoria,” I said, offering her a sour smile of my own.  Kill them with kindness, that’s what my father always told me.  Other times it had seemed less difficult but still, I maintained a calm demeanor.  The calmer I was around opponents, the more frazzled they always seemed to become.

    “Diana,” she said, quickly lifting herself to her feet.  “What a surprise.”

    I quirked a curious brow, c*****g my head to the side.  “Is it?”  Her cheeks flooded with a bit of color.  I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or anger that caused the reddening of her cheeks but I made it a point not to ask, instead moving toward the moderate sized work space I’d once planned on claiming as my own.

    I saw the black wood door with the golden nameplate clearly marked so it would be easy for clientele to distinguish which room to enter and made a bee-line for it, never hesitating to enter the room, not even when I noticed that the door just adjacent to it was ajar.  George’s office was only left unlocked when he was inside the room—something I chose to ignore, instead focusing my attention on the young woman I found moving things about my space.

    “Audrey?” I wondered aloud.

    Startled, the girl dropped something with a loud thud.  It had been my mug that she’d dropped, I realized, watching her fumble to investigate the damage.  “Oh geez,” she said, looking relieved at the lack of cracks.  “I’m sorry, you startled me.  I wasn’t expecting someone to just come barging in—”

    “Why are you here?” I asked, surprised to find Theo’s new intern packing up my old office.

    Or rather, should I be surprised?  This was just like Theodore Blackwell to do something like this.  Somehow he always managed to overstep without ever having to actually show up.

    “Well,” she stuttered out, adjusting her glasses on her nose, “Mr. Blackwell sent me tickets to New York City and an address.  You can imagine my shock when I realized he’d sent me here to retrieve—”

    “Diana?”

    The voice that interrupted made me frown.

    I knew he was here.

    Audrey glanced nervously toward the door and, straightening just a tad, carefully putting on the same game face I slapped on every time I was about to cross examine a witness, I turned carefully to face my ex-fiancé head on.  Cold as ice and simultaneously sweet as candy, I answered back, “Whittiker.”

    George frowned, clearly unaccustomed to hearing me call him by his last name.  I hadn’t done that since our first encounter and even then I’d made a point to formally add “Mr.” to the moniker as a courtesy.  “Diana, dear—”

    “Huh?”  The noise was small, subtle, but clearly came from Audrey who gave me a confused look.

    George made a point to ignore the interruption, continuing on as if nobody had spoken at all.  “Can’t we speak to each other in a civilized manner?”

    “I see no point in having a conversation about your affair,” I offered, adding a condescending, “Dear,” to the end of the sentence.  My smile, albeit difficult to maintain, was still well intact.

    “Oh,” Audrey muttered, suddenly clearly uncomfortable with the new situation.

    George tipped his chin, his eyes taking on a malice I’d seen numerous times in the courtroom.  “Audrey, was it?” he asked, quirking a brow.  Audreys’ eyes widened a bit in surprise and she went to respond but he didn’t wait for the answer, giving a tight-lipped grin. “Would you mind?”

    Audrey, reading the room, immediately rushed for the door but I said, “I mind.  Anything you have to say to me can be done in front of a witness.”  George’s lip twitched, eyes moving back to me.  They widened just a bit, suddenly offering a show of innocence.  Like an actor, he’d adjusted his features to mask all the ugly behind his handsome face.

    I saw him clearly now that my vision wasn’t shrouded with “our potential”.

    The signs had been there all along.

    Red flags really, waving about, plain as day.

    After a few glasses of wine last night, sitting in front of the city view reminiscing about the relationship of convenience George and I mistakenly flaunted in our social circle as something more meaningful, I realized that I should have taken off the rose-colored glasses long ago.

    “Diana, honey—”

    “Honey is for bears, George.”

    He reached for me, gripping my arm in his hand.  “Hey, c’mon, you know I’m just trying—”

    “And hey is for horses,” I added sharply, stiffening at the way he’d grabbed me.  He’d never grabbed me before, not like this.  Close, it felt like he was playing at trying to reign me in like some stallion in need of being broken.  I felt threatened.  Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the place he’d felt he had the right to put his hand on me and, thankfully, he read the room and dropped it to his side.  Softly, much softer than any of the verbal jabs I wanted to cut him down with, I said, “I apologize for not posting a proper notice but, in case I haven’t made myself clear enough, I quit.”

    Shock.

    The audacity of this man to look so surprised at my decision.

    “You’re overreacting, Diana.”

    And the audacity to sound so scolding.  Almost as if he was ashamed of my decision.

    As if his decisions weren’t anything to bat an eye at.

    I reached out, plucking the framed photo from my desk of my family, the beautiful sleek black pen my father had inscribed with my name, and the mug Phil bought me for graduation that simply said “allegedly” with a period since he’d always called that my favorite word—

    “You’re just being emotional right now.  We both know how sensitive—”

    Picking up the nameplate for my desk, the one George had made for me with what was meant to be my new last name, I simply tossed it into the trash where it clearly belonged.

    “—just think of all of the clientele that we’ve built, our investors—”

    Audrey, an entire box filled with various records and notes gave me an anxious look and I gave a slight nod, both of us moving toward the doorway which was unfortunately filled with a very sophisticated looking pig.

    “—seriously, now, what will our families think?  You wouldn’t want to—"

    Some people visualize people naked to ease their anxiety—I imagine them as animals.

    And the man before me was definitely a pig.

    “I wish you would be less rash and just listen to what I’m proposing for a moment.”

    “I’ve already heard your proposal, Whittiker,” I said, turning to look him over carefully, pulling the now tarnished looking ring from my pocket and handing it back, “but all I’ve gotten out of your tirade is that you need some time of self-reflection.”

    “Diana, maybe you don’t understand—”

    “I’m highly skilled in terms of comprehension, I assure you.”

    He grit his teeth, seeming to read my expression, reassessing his quickly dwindling options here.  He’d attempted gaslighting, guilt trips, to steamroll me with false promises—and I took pride in the fact that I hadn’t broken down at all.  Not in front of him.  If I were to show an ounce of emotion, of self-doubt, he’d be more forceful, try to weasel his way back in to my good graces.

    No, I had to be firm.

    Finite.

    Heartless, even.

    Relaxing my features, I gave a warm smile.  If he was allowed to wear masks, I'd mold one of my own.  “Good day, Whittiker.”

    And I could see it.

    The moment the pig before me realized he’d lost.

    Taking a step backwards, he looked momentarily torn as he realized that Victoria was standing just outside off the door, clearly listening to the proposal being made as well.

    Her cold blue eyes never left him as I brushed by, moving quickly toward the elevator.  Footsteps followed me at a quick gait but I took refuge in the realization that it was just Audrey.  My witness.  And in the elevator, staring hard at the reflection of the woman that hadn’t broken, the one with tears now running down her face, I heard Audrey mutter, “Mr. Blackwell was right about that guy.  What a douche.”  The laughter that bubbled out of me seemed to surprise both of us and Audrey bit her lip, seemingly aware of what that douche had once been to me.  “Sorry.  That was rude.”

    Shaking my head, I muttered, “It’s okay.”  Wiping at my eyes, aware of the mess I was probably making of my makeup, I added, “Want to get some coffee?”

    Audrey shifted her weight, offering a small smile.  “Of course.”