A Way to Get By by T. Torrest

fantasized about a time or two. But having him actually say the words kind of blew my mind a little bit.
       An unexpected and unwanted side effect of dating a rich man was that I suddenly felt like a prostitute. And really, couldn’t an easy case have been made to support that? The man had paid my ex-husband for the chance to date me. He covered the money for our divorce to make me available to him like a concubine. Well, not exactly, but when you broke down the events of the past months, that’s pretty much what the situation boiled down to.
       I was shaking as he ushered me inside the car.
       “You look gorgeous, Brenda Rosalinda,” Beau teased as I settled into the plush leather seats. He always used to tack my middle name onto my first back in the day. “I knew that dress would look perfect on you.”
       I looked down at the bronze evening gown he’d bought for me the day before and smoothed my hands over my legs, ironing the shiny fabric with my palms. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
       “ You’re lovely.”
       I smiled shyly, then accepted his offered glass of champagne.
       As if to hit the ground running, our date was taking place at The Shermer Heights Country Club. It was only a town away, but it may as well have been on another planet. I’d worked there as a waitress ever since high school, and always considered it a decent job. But once all my former classmates finished college and started frequenting the place as members, it started to become humiliating. How could I serve eighteen-dollar steaks to people who used to worship at my feet? I was grateful when Beau suggested I quit on our very first date. I’m ashamed to say he didn’t need to ask me twice.
       Beau ushered me out of the car and into the grand ballroom. I’d worked numerous receptions over the years, always able to keep the thought from my mind about what a fairytale princess I’d been in this very room once upon a time. But tonight, I couldn’t seem to forget it was the room where Eddie and I had celebrated our wedding vows. Tonight, I was celebrating my divorce. It made me wonder if Beau picked this place on purpose.
       His mother and father were already waiting at a prime table near the edge of the dance floor and rose to greet us as we came near. Mr. Brummel was a rather tall man, and save for the bit of middle-aged pooch across his waistline, was essentially a stretched-out version of his son. Mrs. Brummel was dripping in jewelry, the large, colorful rocks at her neck and around her wrists entirely out of proportion with her tiny frame. I hadn’t seen either of them in years, but I remembered enough about his mother to see that she’d surgically altered the ravages of time. Her face was pulled tighter than a drum; I was surprised I wasn’t looking into her eyes through her nostrils.
       “Hello, Mrs. Brummel,” I offered, clasping her outstretched hands in my own before nodding toward her husband. “Mr. Brummel.”
       Beau beamed with pride as he announced, “Mother, Father… You remember Brenda Rinetti.”
       Brenda Rinetti . The distinction wasn’t lost on me. I wasn’t Brenda Edwards anymore and Beau seemingly couldn’t wait to shout that information from the rafters.
       Beau’s mother smiled politely as we took our seats. “Yes, of course. How have you been, Brenda? It’s been so long!”
       “I’ve been very well, thank you.”
       “Gary and I were so very pleased when we heard that you could join us for Thanksgiving supper.”
       “I was very pleased to be asked, thank you.”
       “Is your family away for the holiday?”
       The fact was, my parents were away for every holiday. Although amnesty was offered to all the draft dodgers years ago, my family remained in Canada. Even after President Carter granted a full pardon they stayed away. My parents didn’t want to come home to a country that was so willing to risk their son’s life, and my brother didn’t