Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,45

sweetie. I could use a bit of loving like that myself. Go screw his brains out and tell him to come back home.”

“I wouldn’t do it because of the money.”

“(a) It’s your money, too. And (b) you’d better get a lawyer, because money, my dear friend, is what Randall is all about. Call me when you’re ready; I’ve got tons of recommendations.”

Chapter 14

The mail has collected in its metal box for six days. Camille stopped her daily trips to the mailbox after her early acceptance letter from Columbia arrived. Her agreement letter went back twenty-four hours later. An oversized envelope stands out among the business-sized ones, the catalogs, the magazines. TIDA’s blue and white logo, the label clearly inscribed in her full name, Lena Harrison Spencer. After packs of coupons, credit card solicitations, and real estate brochures go straight into the recycle bin, Lena trudges back to the house.

She clutches the envelope in her hands, turns it over once, then once more for a clue to its contents. In the six days since she last saw Randall, they have not spoken. Through short, snippy emails, he told her that he would pick up the rest of his clothes and some furniture as soon as he finds a place. Kendrick has shuttled Randall’s belongings and toiletries back and forth between home, the corporate condo, and a hotel suite that Randall has taken in San Francisco.

With one easy tug, Lena rips off the top of the TIDA envelope and yanks out the loose pages of typed correspondence. The cover letter is typed on TIDA’s bold letterhead. Randall’s secretary’s initials are printed in a small font in the lower left-hand corner. He dictates his letters, he doesn’t type, and Lena knows that he would not spend his precious time on a hunt-and-peck search around a keyboard to type a letter to her. If she wasn’t a priority before, why would she be one now?

Ms. Lena Inez Harrison Spencer

3567 Rockhead Road

Oakland, CA 94602

Lena:

Enclosed are Dissolution of Marriage papers my attorney will file next week with the Alameda County Family Court. These documents require your acknowledgment and immediate action. I am not interested in any more drama. You need a lawyer. Please direct future communication on this matter to my attorney. His information is located on the petition.

The cost of divorce and attorney’s fees can be ridiculously high. Stay in the house, and I’ll find other lodging. Be prepared to sell the house within the next 90 days, unless you want to cut a deal before the lawyers get involved. It would be to your benefit to do this, since my expectation is that you start to provide for yourself immediately.

I propose that you keep the house and, with a few exceptions, its contents. The appreciation will offset my stock options, annual bonuses, and a reasonable portion of our joint portfolio. In return, I would expect your written agreement to release any other or future claims on my income, pensions, or IRA.

By waiting to file the dissolution paperwork, I have given you sufficient time to consider my proposal. This is a generous offer. I suggest you take it.

Cordially,

K. Randall Spencer

Cordially?

“Damn you, K. Randall Spencer,” she yells, noting her husband of twenty-three years has signed the letter like he would any other legal document written to a stranger.

“Mom?” Camille bumps into Lena as she rushes into the kitchen. The house had been so quiet, she forgot her youngest was home. Camille’s question is urgent, the tone she would use in an emergency. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t you have school?” Lena’s voice is harsher than she intends.

“Relax. Teachers’ meetings. No classes until after lunch.”

Lena turns away from Camille. The distinctive pleadings paperwork, its margins lined and the sentences numbered, is scattered on the counter and the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Camille pushes aside the envelope and scans the divorce documents. “Are you crying?”

Lena snatches the papers from Camille’s hand. “This is not your business.”

“So this is it, huh? My parents are getting divorced. Shit.”

“Don’t curse.”

“Don’t do this to me.” Camille’s eyes tighten.

When Lena reaches out for Camille’s hands, her daughter steps away. “Know that this is not about you.”

“Well, Dad already warned me and Kendrick anyway.” Camille smacks her hands together.

Damn, Randall. Lena’s hands shake with the adrenaline rush. She snatches the TV remote, throws it on the floor, and jams it with her foot into the counter’s wooden toe kick until it breaks apart.

“Mom! Stop!” Camille dashes to the opposite side of the kitchen, waits for her mother’s furor