The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy

By this stage, our story was relegated to the public interest segment at the end of the news every second night or so. Our new friend Brian, looked real good that night on the news, the open neck shirt look came across well. Thinking about it, we had a classic Remora/shark relationship. Remoras are the little fish that follow the shark and gets protection and titbits. In return, the shark gets to live parasite free. If Mr. Coulson wanted to think he was the shark, that was fine by me.

That week and the first half of the next, passed with the only development being my increasingly missing my offspring and Wendy and my increasingly numb Gluteus Maximi. Mr. Coulson ensured there was media coverage of the filing of our claims for an interim order for the return of half our liquid assets, the overturning of my quit premises order, and an order for Tracey to deliver my children for some sort of visitation. The interest in our newly acquired celebrity ensured good coverage as well. Australians have always supported the underdog. I think the state news reporter fancied Wendy as well, which didn't hurt our cause. Maybe, it was the high profile nature of the case that got us hearings the Monday of the following week. I was to go first and Wendy was to follow immediately after.

In our preparations, during the second half of the week, I decided Mr. Coulson was a bit of a dirty fighter as well. That was only one of the things I admired about him. We stayed away from Shithead's business premises on Thursday, but after hearing that customers were sneaking back, we resumed our vigil Friday. I'm bloody glad we did. At 9:00a.m., Friday Shithead himself drove into the carpark. He was followed by the highway patrol with lights flashing. Having a flash Merc. with personalised plates wasn't such a good idea maybe. It took the boys in blue a good six minutes to find something wrong, but they managed it. I got a cheery wave as they exited the carpark after delivering his citation.

Wendy videoed me and I her, as Shithead walked into his business by the front door. We wanted to prove that any interaction was started by him and he had initiated the breaking of our restraining orders. An hour later, Wendy pointed to the carpark where two more suited gentlemen were exiting a car bearing the logo of a local bank. They headed into the store. Wendy wandered over.

"It's the 24^th today, isn't it?"

"All day."

"Guess who's loan repayment was due yesterday?"

I just grinned. We knocked off early. My holiday pay had just been deposited in my new bank account. That was cause for a modest celebration. We also took in a movie instead of our habitual TV night.

That weekend I found sleep difficult. With the first court hearing to decide the fate of my family on Monday, I was extremely nervous. Some unexpected visitors on Saturday distracted us; pleasantly though. An old friend of Wendy's had seen the publicity and looked up her old pal. Then, in the late afternoon, Tracey's mother, father, and sister showed up. I made a trip to the shop and we had an impromptu BBQ. Wendy kept them all entertained while I was gone. She was one of nature's hostesses. While out, I pondered the motivation of our visitors. I suspected that now they knew all the facts, Tracey's parents knew I had righteousness on my side and suspected I would win eventually. They wanted to ensure continued access to their grandkids.

A pleasant time was had by all. Beth managed to get me alone at one stage.

"Is your back feeling alright, Dave?"

"Fine, Beth."

"No sharp pains where a metaphorical knife is being rammed home perhaps?"

"What, your sister not happy?"

"No, you're not playing by her rules, Dave. You were supposed to be begging and pleading by now. Your little picket at the store caught them completely off guard. To say they're a little unhappy is like saying the Pope is a little Catholic. Tracey is ropable. She's blaming it all on you, though, of course. Butter wouldn't melt in my sister's mouth. Mum and Dad aren't speaking to her and Sophia was only the first of her friends to jump ship. According to my darling sister, she and lover boy are too afraid to go out to restaurants even. Things have been said by others, even at the country club. Keep it up, bro, you're winning."

"Oh dear, how sad, never mind. How are the kids?"

"Not bad, Dave. They're a little sad and confused, as you'd expect. I go over there every two days or so and play with them. Here; I've got some photos."

She pulled out her camera and I scrolled through them. That brought a tear to my eye. In only one of them was my little Maddy smiling and even that looked forced. I thanked Beth profusely for all she was doing and we joined the rest of the guests again. Just as she left the room, she pulled a bunch of keys from her pocket and with an exaggerated gesture, dropped them on the floor.

"Gosh, I appear to have dropped a Mercedes key, your wife's car keys, and a spare house key on the floor. How careless of me."

We both grinned again and re-joined the straight world.

I was just rousing on Sunday morning, when I heard, "Hey, sluggard, it's your turn to make breakfast," shouted across the corridor between my bedroom and the guest bedroom. I made breakfast and then wrapped a white towel around my waist and hung a tea towel over my arm in my best room service impersonation and made the delivery.

At 10:00a.m., on the third Monday of my holiday, Wendy escorted me to the Family Court sitting. That's when I first had a good look at Mick the Shit. I figured it was him when Wendy hissed and tensed as he walked in. At fifty, he was fat and balding. I learned later he looked quite trim when he seduced her fifteen years before. Not being Family Court specialists themselves, Slugden and Pyke had sent along an associate. He was an old friend of our Mr. Coulson but that didn't stop him doing his best for his client. Coulson presented my side of the financial stuff first and the opposition responded. Their tactic was that Tracey would need our assets to support our kids.

After Coulson had presented my petition for shared care, he tried to get an order for the children to be interviewed by children's services so their views could be heard. Through some legalese, the opposition quashed that. Then her bloke conferred with Tracey, who had been glaring daggers at me all morning, and requested a short adjournment. He and Coulson whispered together for a few minutes. Mr. Coulson then approached me.

"Your darling wife wants you to know that unless you back off, she will air all her allegations of your abuse against her and the kids. She is willing to give up all claims to the house and money if you sign over the kids."

I looked over at Tracey who wore a smug smile. I then looked over at Wendy for strength. She had been alternating smiling and frowning at me all morning depending on whether we won or lost a point.

Coulson continued, "You know what you have to give me, don't you?"

I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved the small voice recorder and handed it over. Sophia had authorised me to do it as a last resort.

Coulson returned to his opponent and I watched the bad guy's face drop as he was played some edited highlights. Their voices rose to the point I could hear some words. "Not admissible," "Fuck that...media," were among them. After a few minutes, Coulson's opponent left the room. Ten minutes later he returned and sat next to Tracey without saying anything. The judge was called back in from his snooze. The bad guy stood up and became a good guy.

"Your Honour. On behalf of my instructing solicitors, I have to inform you. that due to new evidence coming to light, we can no longer represent the defendant in this case."

Tracey looked stunned and confused. The judge acknowledged the lawyer's excusal and we all watched him pack up and leave.

I leaned in to Coulson and he whispered in my ear. "Rumour has it that Messrs. Slugden and Pyke have lost a shitload of business over this one and had a few more threaten to walk. I think our little tape caused them to run away from some bad juju. Don't worry; the judge will know what today's little performance was all about. He plays golf with my boss."

Before I could ask where that left me, the judge made it plain. He adjourned the case, giving Tracey two weeks to find other representation. He stated he was unwilling to rule on the financial issues until the custody arrangements were sorted and, of course, we hadn't got to that bit yet. He was unwilling to overturn the restraining order as there were allegations of abuse that had yet to be defended in open court. Shit, two more weeks of separation from my kids. He adjourned Wendy's case as well.

Outside the court, there was no sign of any reporters. They were chasing a juicy, rare story of lawyers abandoning a client. That night, Slugden and Pyke released a statement that mentioned the words, 'conscience' and 'the right thing'. Speculation was rampant. Any sense of victory from me was muted. I missed my kids. The strain was starting to show on Wendy as well. She was starting to feel guilty about surviving on my largesse. I allayed that by saying I couldn't have got this far without her emotional support.

I wasn't looking forward to two more weeks of sitting outside a bloody shop. It was getting harder and harder to attract the media's attention. I could imagine myself having to sit there naked by the end of the week just to attract a camera. I decided to give Tuesday a miss and just observe how many customers they had, several times a day. Just after lunch my phone rang. It was a mysterious guy called Henry, who wanted me to meet him in a coffee shop on the other side of town. I arranged for Wendy to observe us from afar with a camera to see that nothing unsavoury happened, or, if it did, that evidence was gained.

Henry turned out to be the assistant manager from the store. The cloak and dagger was so word didn't get back. Unbelievably, he urged me to resume my post outside his store. It seemed the bank was forcing Mr. Smith to sell the store quickly and cheaply to service their debt. They couldn't see themselves getting any loan repayments back with him in control. Henry and many of the other staff were negotiating secretly with the bank to do an employee buyout. For those happy tidings, Wendy and I were happy to resume our seats.

More good news from the lawyers later in the week. Wendy had handed over a bunch of paperwork when we engaged them. Seems one of the items was an agreement from when she had handed over her inheritance. It had bought her a share in the business that was supposed to pay a monthly dividend. That amount had been ploughed back into the business and the compound amount was astronomical.

We actually had Saturday off 'work'. The store had started closing on that day to save overtime payments. We invited Beth and her parents over for another BBQ, as well as Wendy's new, old friend. Beth briefed us all on the latest mood in the Smith mansion. Things weren't good, apparently. Fine with me. Beth thought it was paranoia that made Tracey suspect her of being a double agent and not welcoming her visits for the last week. With no news of my kids, I was a little anxious.

We'd just finished eating when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to Tracey.

"Are you supposed to be here?"

"Apparently, if I visit you it's okay."

I invited her in. She walked in but stopped when she saw her mother and father. Wendy stared at her with hatred, then went upstairs, where, I presumed, Beth had snuck as well. The looks her mother and father gave her weren't much better. Tracey started to look really uncomfortable and urged me into the kitchen.

"Dave, for old time's sake, can't you back off a bit?"

"Why, dear? Isn't trading up working out like you thought?"

"You know it isn't. I just thought taking all the money and the house would force you to give in and let Mick adopt the kids. Then, when I was re-married we could..."

"Reveal to the poor prick you were no longer capable of having a child of his and take him for everything he was worth."

Tracey looked at the table for a long moment.

"After I had his money, I was going to come back to you, honest, Dave. I thought in the meantime, I could enjoy being a rich man's wife. But you ruined that. His business is going bust and we can't even go out in public after the smear campaign you started. The last time we went out to a restaurant, an old lady actually spat on me. Don't mention the police. They have pulled me up three times this week. I'm three points away from losing my license."

I couldn't believe it. My darling wife actually had a tear in her eye.

"Can't you back off and just let me live part of my dream, honey?"

"I thought you were a history major, Tracey. Who was it that said, "Those who don't learn the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them? I liken your surprise attack on me and our family to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour and the British colonies in Asia on December the 7^th 1941. Due to the nature of the attack, Churchill and Roosevelt had no option but to demand the total surrender of the attackers. If you had asked nicely for a divorce before doing the dirty on our marriage, and that Shithead you are shacked up with had done the same, we could have divided everything nicely and you could be living the highlife. Instead, you took the Pearl Harbour approach and now I'll accept nothing but total surrender. I can't believe you would think I would trade my children for money. Don't you know me at all?"

I could see the realisation hit home that she'd been so focused on her long game, she'd glossed over some minor details. Then, awareness hit she wasn't going to get anywhere with the emotive approach. Her face hardened into something more recognisable to me.

"Right, Mick wants to talk turkey tonight. Can you come over?"

"Yeah, and I was born yesterday. Come to your place and get arrested for breaching the restraining order?"

"Well, we could come here."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if Michael Shithead Smith comes within one hundred metres of me, I will rip off his head and spit down his neck."

Tracey looked shocked at this. She'd never seen this side of me.

"Why? What has he ever done to you?"

"Let me see now, dear. Fucked my wife for god knows how long, and encouraged her to light off with all my money. Stole my children. What's not to like?"

Tracey was back to looking at the table. The thought of negotiating for my children and not having to rely on the vagaries of the legal system, prompted my next comments.

"How about Skype?"

"Yes. That might work. What time?"

"Hang on. I have to clear it with my partner."

"What partner?"

"Wendy. We make all decisions together."

"That old bitch."

"Who are you calling old? Have you looked at what you're sleeping with lately?"

"How old is she?"

"You know, I don't care. She's been a good friend when I needed one, so what does it matter?"

I went upstairs and discussed it with Wendy. She was all for it. After all, what did we have to lose? Back downstairs, I agreed 9:00p.m., with Tracey. She left after casting a dirty look at her parents. The last thing she did was look around the house. Again, I swear she had a tear in her eye.

I returned to the party, which broke up about 8:30. I set up my laptop with two chairs on the side of the table but Wendy said she was going to sit off camera. She said if she didn't clap eyes on Michael Smith for the rest of her life it would be too soon. At exactly 9:00p.m., I logged on to Skype and the happy couple appeared on the screen sitting side by side. Wendy had showered and was sitting in the entrance to the kitchen in her dressing gown. There were no opening pleasantries. It was obvious from their actions and body language that here were two personalities battling for dominance. But then I already knew they both had different agendas. By the end of the session, I gathered he was slightly more dominant than her. From Smith's opening gambit it was obvious he thought he was still in a position to bargain.

"Right, Brown, let's talk turkey..."

"Let me make one thing clear right from the start. It's Mr. Brown or David, okay? I don't care which."

Shithead didn't expect my firm voice, obviously. His eyes opened in shock and he looked at Tracey out of the corner of his eyes. He knew he'd lost the first moral point.

"Okay, David. Where is my skinny-assed, barren former wife?"

"Again, I must remind you to be polite. She's listening, but didn't want to look at you. Apparently she's never liked snakes. If you can't manage to be polite, I will pull the plug on this right now. Understand?"

Point two to me and everyone knew it. I heard Wendy titter quietly at my use of the word snake. Tracey couldn't help herself. She looked at Mick the Shit and frowned at him.

"Here's the deal, David. You lay off your petty little vigil at the store. Maybe, you even call a press conference to say it was all a misunderstanding, okay? I'll sign over the house to you and return half the money. Then I'll agree you can see the kids every second weekend. There, I can't be much fairer than that, can I?"

"What about Wendy?"

"Why do you give a shit about her?"

At this point, Shithead nudged Tracey off centre stage.

"I'm willing to divert 10% of the profits to her once the business is back in the black."

I looked over at Wendy. They do say a picture paints a thousand words. Wendy's picture was a middle digit firmly raised above the rest. I smiled.

"Wendy says no to your kind offer. At least, I think that's what this means."

I repeated Wendy's gesture to the camera.

"As for your offer of visitation, I have to tell you I've decided neither of you are fit to even see my kids, so you can stick your offer up your arse."

"Be reasonable, Mr. Brown. Once I have a child of my own, I won't give a shit about yours and you can have them back."

I looked at Tracey's reaction to this. She turned towards Shithead and frowned. But it wasn't the frown of someone who was pissed off their chosen partner had just written off her kids. It was the frown of someone annoyed because a cat had just been let out of a bag.

"So, you want me to leave my children in the care of someone who looks on them as bargaining chips twelve days a fortnight? It's your choice whether or not you use Vaseline when you shove your offer where the sun doesn't shine."

Both my opponents started talking at once. Tracey won that contest.

"Oh, come on, Dave. You're not still pissed off that I left you for a better man, are you?"

At that point, Smith rose and stood behind Tracey. He reached around under her shoulders and grabbed a breast in each hand, tweaking her nipples between his thumb and forefingers. I looked on dispassionately. This was clearly a prearranged tactic and meant they were recording our talk, hoping to elicit a violent response to show in court somehow. I was completely unmoved by the sordid sight in front of me. I wasn't unmoved, however, when a pair of bare arms reached over my shoulders from behind and some things very soft and warm pressed into the back of my neck.

"Be a gentleman and don't look behind you for a minute," was whispered in my ear.

Wendy then turned my head and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips. After a moment or two, she broke the kiss and we both looked at the screen. Tracey's face had a look of thunder. Most people delude themselves, to some extent, when they look in the mirror. The difference between what Tracey saw in the mirror every day and what she was seeing on the screen was too great for any delusions however. She realised suddenly what 'trading up' really meant.

"You take your hands off my husband, you bitch."