Not the Marrying Kind(2)

If circumstances change, call us. We’d love to do business.

Was it as simple as that?

Get hitched? Become the best in the business? Make his dream of being the biggest in America come true?

Only one problem.

Where the hell was he going to find a wife?

Hating what an idiot he was for even considering getting married for business, Beck scanned the rest of the emails, eventually finding the one he was searching for.

Late last night he’d agreed to another outlandish idea. Lou Robinson, his Chief Financial Officer and oldest friend, had latched onto a crazy idea to throw a party to celebrate Lou’s divorce. Worse, in an effort to get Lou refocused on the job and to ensure word didn’t get out his company was promoting divorce—another black mark against it for sure—Beck had said he’d organize it. Anything to snap the usually astute CFO out of his crappy mood.

Besides, organizing some senseless party had to be better than punching the wall. It’d take his mind off the deal long enough for him to come up with a viable solution for Stan and Co. to quit stalling and sign. One that didn’t involve shackling himself to a woman. He grimaced at the thought and as the crisp website in fuchsia font came up, he wrinkled his nose.

Divorce Diva Daily.

Apart from some nifty alliteration, he had a feeling this site offered nothing but a few party favors at an exorbitant price. Not that he objected to Lou spending a fortune on exorcising his demons. Hell, he’d chip in, no matter how much it took. The faster he threw this party, the faster he could have his competent CFO back.

Beck had an agenda. Schedule a meeting with the probable charlatan running this site, organize the party, make sure Lou was back on the job Monday. To come up with a feasible Plan B to wow the investors, he needed his friend alert and focused, two things he hadn’t been able to attribute to Lou in a while.

Lou needed to get drunk and get laid. He’d latched onto this lame-ass party idea instead. Whatever. If a divorce party would get Lou back on track, Beck was all for it. The faster he could get this organized and happening, the better.

Against his better judgment, he started reading the diva’s blog entry for today.



Top Tips for moving on:

Remove all traces of the ex from your habitat—including corny first-date memorabilia, Valentine’s Day cards (commercialistic crap), all engagement and marriage photos, and barf-worthy sentimental gifts.

Beck’s mouth quirked at crap and barf. A woman after his own heart.

Smells are powerful reminders. If after several wash cycles his or her stink remains, burn the item involved.

Stink? Beck eased into a smile.

Music is an excellent purging tool. Download the following and crank to full volume:

“You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette

“Survivor” by Destiny’s Child

“Harden My Heart” by Quarterflash

“I’m Free” by Rolling Stones

“Goodbye Earl” by Dixie Chicks

Stock up on beverages. Whether hot chocolate or appletinis or Budweisers are your poison, make sure you have plenty. You’ll need it for step 5.

Throw the party of the year. Invite your closest friends and whoop it up. Thank them for supporting you. Forget the past. Move forward.

Let Divorce Diva Daily help you help yourself.



Okay, so the ending lacked the chutzpah of the earlier tips, but he kinda liked this diva. Sure, she was touting a spiel for business, but he could see the appeal in forgetting the past and moving forward.

He’d done a stand-up job of that himself.

It was what drove him every day. Making sure he earned enough money and held enough power to ensure he’d never again have to tolerate the condescending, pitiful stares of people looking down on him because he had nothing.

Growing up destitute in Checkerville ensured he’d bottled those feelings of resentment and bitterness. He had used them to great effect studying endlessly to win a scholarship to college, cramming all-nighters to ace tests, and scrimping every cent he earned in part-time jobs to buy land in Vegas just before the boom hit.

Yeah, he’d shown them all. But it was days like today, when the investors stared at him with the same condescension he’d experienced in his youth that old insecurities he thought long buried flared to life. Everyone in Vegas had a past and he’d paid his dues: self-made millionaire who’d grown up tough. He hadn’t hid his past from anyone. Which made their rejection now all the more infuriating.

Annoyed at the turn his thoughts were taking, he hit the “About Us” button and scanned for the price list—nada but “Price on Application.” He didn’t trust POA. Price on Application gave potential shysters free rein. The last thing Lou needed now was to be shafted by a shady online company.