What ho? Another chapter? It must be Christmas!

Sorry. I meant to have it up a couple of days ago, but better late than never I always say!


Love Is a Four Letter Word

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

I trudged angrily toward the solon, my purple summer dress flopping around by my knees. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. I hated that.

"Oho!" Charlie whistled across the nearly empty solon as soon as I crossed the threshold. "Why the bee in your bonnet, Sunshine?" he asked with his usual, annoying enthusiasm. I wanted to stab him in the jugular. I think he got the message as I shot him the nastiest look I could muster.

"Not today, Charlie," I growled, dropping my cloth bag into one of the many vacated seats. My protégé, Tanya, giggled and removed all pointy objects from my general vicinity.

"Nothing like an angelic lawyer to kick your morning off right, now is there?" Char sang, taking the spinning chair beside the one I'd just fallen heavily into and spinning with childlike wonder. I stuck my foot out, stopping him mid-spin and kicked him angrily in the shins.

As Charlie groaned in pain, Tanya laughed again and checked our schedule book for the day. It was just the usual line up of daddy's princesses, rich widows, and whatever poor soul saw my feature in Sunday's paper and thought they'd like to try someplace trendy. The game was on in about an hour… that was time enough to regain my gripping, right?

Charlie studied me as I sulked in my big squishy chair. "Oh c'mon, Jules. The Toad wasn't that bad, was he?"

I winced and looked at Char. "I'll never understand how you do it, Char. Men are the most disgusting sex in the entire world. If I didn't love them so much, I wouldn't go near them with a ten foot pole. But you! You choose to date them."

Charlie laughed. "I hardly chose, Jules." He got out of his own chair and grabbed the arm rests on mine, spinning me like he'd spun himself just moments before. Suddenly he stopped me. I was facing him dead-on and those big, brown eyes, that remind you of a sweet little puppy dog, burned into me. "Are we on plan?" he asked seriously.

I took a long swig of air. "I hardly know anymore. Kayce seems to be in, involuntarily, but still in. But the stupid Toad! Apparently, any kind of legal action to harm that nasty ex-husband of mine would require effort from the Toad, so that's basically out of the question. The only option is to draw out proceedings for as long as I possibly can, pay the Toad out my ear hole, and hope that CK Wilson falls into my ridiculous trap."

"Second thoughts?" Char asked, a singular eyebrow quirked halfway up his forehead.

I shook my head quickly. "Julie Grant does not have second thoughts."

"That's another thing." Charlie suddenly let go of my chair and backed off, clutching his chin in contemplation. "Your name. Are we changing that?"

I hadn't really considered the thought. Ok. That was a lie. I've considered it, but quickly changed the topic. You know, it's a rather difficult thing to distract your own mind.

"And what about that?" He was having a staring contest with the fourth finger on my left hand. That disgusting silver band was twinkling at us both in the fluorescent bulbs. "Are you going to wear it around forever?"

I looked at the sparkling, sickening diamond. I couldn't help but feel a bit fuzzy in the pit of my stomach. Or possibly just queasy. There was a time when that ring was more than just a ring on my finger. Suddenly there was a burning sensation in my chest. It literally ached. I thought that was just a myth. To add insult to injury, you can literally feel it break.

"I'll take it off," I replied defiantly. I didn't know who I was trying to defy, Charlie or my every aching impulse. "I'd forgotten it was there," I added feebly. I had the urge to fight this sudden sense of hopelessness. I don't like feeling weak, but this ring weighed a hundred pounds and I couldn't carry its weight anymore. Do you think this is how Frodo Baggins felt?

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Charlie supplied. I jumped slightly. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room.

"What isn't?" I asked suspiciously, hiding my left hand under my leg.

"This little plan for revenge."

I blanched. "Listen buddy! It was your idea."

Char lifted his hands in surrender, or possibly in a feeble attempt to protect his extremities. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the best plan of action would just be to get the divorce and move on."

I didn't want to concede to that plan of action. What if I couldn't move on? What if I became a bitter old lady that still complained about her cheating, bastard husband? What if Nick was my one and only?

"No Char!" I shouted, unable to grasp any of those possibilities just yet. "We'll go through with the plan. I want Nick to suffer. I want CK to rue the day he ever said that—"

Cue annoying phone ring. Why does that always seem to happen? Almost every time I get on a good tirade I get interrupted. It was probably for the best. I don't think Char really needed to hear my desperate plea for revenge. I felt kind of like Hamlet, consumed by revenge… but a lot less suicidal.

"Julie Grant Salon and Style, this is Charlie, how can I help you?"

I fell back against my chair, drowning out the sickening cheer of Charlie and the brief escape from his penetrating eye.

I tried to focus my life onto the backs of my eyelid, like watching a movie being projected right there in my own psyche. It kind of came in flashes. There were my parents kissing my cheeks at my high school graduation; my frat boy boyfriend kissing me in his dorm room; the laughter from my baby sister when I announced to the family that I'd dropped out of school to become a hairstylist; the day I met Vivian Warwick and my entire life had changed; the day I met Nick; the day Nick told me he loved me; the day Nick proposed; our gorgeous white wedding; burning pasta almost every night for our first year of marriage whenever I'd try to cook for him; laughing with him as we watched movies in our cute little apartment; waking up beside him every morning; the day I'd come home just a little bit early… The day the chain of happy memories stopped.

I mildly acknowledged that the latter memories all involved Nick. I'd been happy. The tense of that thought made my heart do that achy thing again. Oh no, were the corners of my eyes really prickling? I wasn't going to… going to cry, was I?

Impossible! Julie Grant does not cry.

…Or should I say Julie Simon. My maiden name felt oddly foreign. I'd been Julie Grant for three years; compared to the lifetime that it was supposed to stick, three years felt horribly unimpressive.

"Yes Trudy, she's right here."

The name Char muttered bounced around inside my empty brain. I quickly and instinctively jumped to my feet to snatch the phone away from him. "Trudy!" I squeaked into my sleek little salon phone.

"I just heard," Trudy's gasped back across the phone lines and thousands of miles that separated us. "What a rotten little pisser that bastard was. I'm ashamed to call him my son."

I smiled slightly. Well, at least I had Trudy on my side.

"Please tell me you have plans to castrate the little jerk. Or shoot him! You know I have the number of a very discreet—"

I laughed. It felt normal. Huh. That was an odd sensation. Normalcy. "I'm not going to kill your son."

"Of course you're not." She almost sounded disappointed. "You have far too much class to sink to such a level. I do expect some sort of karmic retribution on your part. I know! Do you want me to tell him he's adopted and that it's possible he's a descendant of the devil?"

I laughed again. I love Trudy. She's my second mother. If it wasn't for her I never would have met Nick. I'm not sure that's a good thing anymore though…

I suddenly realized I hadn't responded to Trudy's offer and she was still rambling on about her plot to tell Nick he was adopted. "I'll just fly on down to Florida, look that cheating bastard in the eye, and say 'Nickolie Grant! I did not raise a cheater. You're no son of mine.'"

My jaw dropped. I was suddenly hit over the head with a frying pan. Never mind. That's not a frying pan! That's an idea. I was hit over the head with a sly, tricky, slimy, pesky little plan. It was the absolute perfect solution to all my problems.

"Trudy, I appreciate the gesture, but"- I looked around the deserted salon- "I'm kind of swamped at work right now. Mind if we plot the imminent demise of you son at another juncture?"

Trudy was off the phone in a flash. I slammed the headset down into its cradle and whirled around, grabbing my bag in one quick swoop.

"Where are you going?" Char asked as I threw my bag across my shoulder.

"To see my lawyer," I replied sternly. "Take care of my appointments for the day."

I rushed out of the salon. I was no longer a woman floundering in a sea of her own troubles. I was a woman on a mission. I relished in my momentary sense of urgency.

What was I thinking? I'm Julie Grant… or Simon, or whatever. It really doesn't matter what my last name is. I'm Julie. I'll always be Julie. Of course I'll get over this!

I hope.


I wore my favorite black satin dress the next day. We had a meeting. A very important meeting with none other than the bloodsucking Mr. CK Wilson and I had a point to prove.

I'd put more effort into my appearance than was strictly necessary, but in war you spare no expense.

But… because I'd taken so long putting myself together, I was just a tad late to our little meeting. I walked breezily in, pausing dramatically by the door to let the whole look take effect. The Toad's mouth dropped out and he looked a bit star struck. Mr. CK Wilson, however, hardly noticed. He just pierced his lips and growled, "You're half an hour late, Mrs. Grant."

I was a bit upset. He hadn't even noticed.

"Would you like to take a seat so we can proceed with these… proceedings."

Oh ha, ha. Mr. CK Wilson was trying to be funny. What a sad little life he must lead.

The Toad was still staring at the door in shock, as if he were still studying me as I'd come through the door. I sat down in the seat directly across from the comedian so I had a prime angle to kill him with looks, and so he could ogle my beauty. I blinked at him furiously, expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Before I knew it, we'd been sitting there like such for a grand total of three and a half minutes… and no one had said a word.

"Mrs. Grant, are you merely wasting my time?" Mr. CK Wilson asked with a sigh and a quick shuffle through his file folder. "Or would you just sign these papers so this whole thing can be done with?" He pulled out the giant wad of a divorce settlement that they'd pulled together. I laughed as he pushed the papers toward me.

"But Mr. Wilson!" I gasped theatrically. "I can't sign these!"

Mr. CK Wilson looked as though someone had just dropped an anvil on his head. Secretly, I wished someone had.

"Why not?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"Because." I grabbed a pen and circled the name at the top of the page. "This man is not my husband."

Mr. CK Wilson took the wad of disgusting papers that outlined the fact that Nick was going to be taking me to the cleaners. There was no way I could allow that lying, cheating bastard to do that. I'm a fighter.

"I don't see what's wrong here," Mr. CK Wilson replied, squinting at the tiny print on the paper. It was a size seven text and twenty-six pages long. Twenty-six pages! Who knew twenty-six pages could ruin your life?

"That's not my husband," I pointed out as Mr. CK Wilson continued the squint at the paper.

Mr. CK Wilson looked up at me in exasperated futility. He seemed prepared to argue my point. I was quite prepared to squash him like a bug.

"Yes it is." He was trying very hard to control his anger and frustration. I almost laughed at his attempt. "Nicholas Jeffrey Grant. That's your husband."

I shook my head slowly and sadly then reached into my purse to remove my hidden weapon. "Why no, Sir, that's not my husband." I laid my sheet of paper on the table. It was a single sheet to his twenty-six, but I felt it was just a powerful and life-determining. "I don't recall ever marrying a Nicholas Jeffrey Grant."

I slowly slid the sheet of paper across the table and poor Mr. CK Wilson snatched it up.

"You see, my beloved husband's name was Nickolie Jeffrey Grant."

If Mr. CK Wilson had heat vision, I believe he would have set my precious copy of my marriage certificate on fire. But since, sadly, he was quite superpower free, all I got to see him do was clench his jaw and take a very deep breath. He slammed the sheet of paper back onto the table, trapping it between the wood and his palm, then slowly slid it back across the surface to me. "That's a technicality, Mrs. Grant."

I smiled sweetly, killing him with kindness. "Technicality? Oh no, Mr. Wilson. I think you'll find it to be very consequential."

I noticed that the Toad had missed his cue. He was still staring at the door in the exact same manner as he had been when I'd first entered. The man was hopeless. I kicked him under the table to snap him back to reality.

"Wha—" Ew. Was he drooling? He wiped his mouth quickly and stared at the heated looks between Mr. Wilson and me. "Oh," he shuffled through his own papers, trying desperately to regain his composure. Finally he found what he was looking for. "Under California State law," he read off the paper, "a full and accurate legal name must be provided for any official contracts, criminal charges, written accords, etc."

"Which means," I interjected, finishing off the perfect triple axel. "That it very much does matter, Mr. Wilson. Officially, Nickolie Grant has never filed for a divorce. Officially, I have a restraining order between myself and a person that does not even exist. Officially, you are representing a mythical person."

Suddenly, as if on cue, Mr. CK Wilson's phone rang. I smirked as he had a brief and grunting conversation with some sort of high pitched voice that was probably 3,000 miles away in a subtropical paradise.

Before he could hang up, I made one last request. "Tell my darling husband that I miss him ever so much," I suggested with wanton glee.

Mr. CK Wilson glared at me as he flipped his phone shut. "Mrs. Grant. Please explain to me why your husband is being chased around Florida by a process server?"

I smiled. "Well, I figured it was time one of us filed for a divorce, considering he's screwing another woman and all."

Mr. CK Wilson tugged on his hair and released all the breath from his chest. I don't think it helped. He still looked very angry.

I smiled, silently thanking all the bohemian women who named their children obnoxiously bizarre names, and relishing in the discontent of my adoring husband's lawyer.

Things were looking up.