Elizabeth's Story

by Jessica Knoll

The good news was that I'd found a loophole, buried four thousand plus words deep into the terms of my trust. The bad news was that I was going to have to do something I didn't want to do in order to take advantage of it.

These were what you might call my Elizabitch years. Not that I was a regular Susie Sweetheart to begin with, but you know, my tornado was always somewhat contained. The people I hurt were limited to my very narrow wake. When I found out about the loophole, I became a hurricane. My destruction was widespread and nondiscriminatory.

And yes, Josie was a casualty. Josie. What the fuck kind of name is that? All it ever called to mind was Josie Grossie from that horrible Drew Barrymore movie. And she was from New Jersey on top of it all. Yeck. Though it wasn't some great mystery what Peter saw in her. She was pretty. Girl next door type. Petite, obvious highlights, big boobs, and at twenty-four fucking years old, ten years my junior. And she had pluck, earnest pluck, perky heroine of a romcom pluck, but at least she had a pair. And that was precisely why I knew she and Peter would never last.

Peter is not a bad guy. Peter is a great guy. But Peter likes to run the show. Which is fine. You may be surprised to know that's the sort of guy I want to be with too, but he has to be running the right show for me, which Peter never did. (And we all know who did get it right). I'm actually much more traditional than all my edges may suggest. All I've ever wanted was a small, close knit brood of my own. The classic nuclear family where the man is the breadwinner and the woman stays at home and raises the kids, not because that's what she has to do (like my mother), but because that's what she wants to do. Maybe it's because I never had this sort of small town security in my own childhood. Or maybe this is just my blueprint. All I know is that's the hole that fits my peg.

Peter wants this too, which is why I thought we could make it work for a while. And I think Peter thought that, after we got divorced, he should go younger in order to attain this dynamic. I always wanted to tell him what a mistake that was. The wave of girls that came to NYC circa 2006 and beyond were hungry little hippos. They were here for their careers, not to find a man. Peter would have been better off going with a divorcée his own age, someone who was a little bit desperate and always a little bit worried she wasn't good enough for him. That was the sort of woman he could have kept under his thumb. No problem.

Of course I never told him this because it wouldn't have served my purposes if he had been with a woman who actually made him happy. I needed him in order to qualify for this goddamn loophole. My father was furious with me—and not just for ruining my marriage in a spectacularly sleazy way ("Everyone in my company knows my daughter screwed her best friend's husband and destroyed one of the most decent human beings on the planet. How do you think that makes me look?!"). He was beside himself that Biz had told Constance about his affair with Izzy, and he held me responsible, since Biz had been my best friend. There was no point in explaining to him that Biz and I were now mortal enemies—and why—because all that mattered was that he'd lost his girlfriend, his son-in-law who he preferred to his own daughter, and I was to blame. He cut me off like that.

Peter did me a solid and found his own place, allowing me to move back into our apartment, the mortgage of which my father still covered. I lived in three bedroom palace on Fifth Avenue and was dripping in luxury labels, and I couldn't even afford the burrito bowl at Chipotle. I was living on ramen, expired coffee beans, and absolute rabid, unhinged desperation to get pregnant. Because that was my loophole.

Yes, right there on page 9, my loophole stated, "Trustee will retain financial support outlined in Paragraph 4. c in the event union dissolves for purposes of biological child, with financial support meted out as benefactor deems appropriate."

"What this means," Bart told me, "is that your father will continue to support you should you have a baby. It will be a more rigid payment plan, as evidenced by the language here"—he pointed out the spot that read 'with financial support meted out as benefactor deems appropriate'—"and you will very likely have to inventory your expenses. He's not going to be supporting your shopping trips. Only expenses related to the baby and the well-being of her mother."

That was fine. I could live with that. "Does Peter have to be the father?' I asked.

Bart pushed his reading glasses higher up on his nose and examined the paragraph again. "No. But there's this." He ran his finger under a line as he read it, softly, to himself. "Okay, what this is saying is that you must be married to the father in order for this agreement to hold up." Bart lowered the paper and removed his glasses. "He basically wants to make sure you don't just go out and have a one night stand with the pool boy just to reap the financial benefits."

I exhaled an angry puff, like I was offended. "I would never do that," I snipped, even though who am I kidding? I totally would. I already felt like Bart thought lowly enough of me though.

And that was when I realized—Peter and I were still married. We'd moved forward with the divorce proceedings, of course, and he was dating someone else and telling everyone we were divorced, but technically, we weren't.

"Do I have to stay married to the father in order for him to continue to support me?"

Bart stuck out his lower lip and examined the file again. "No. It doesn't appear so."

My heart was cartwheeling like crazy. No, this hadn't been how I hoped things would turn out. I'd wanted to use Izzy's affair with my father to persuade him to free Campbell, and then continue to support us, free and clear. Then we would have a baby and live happily and psychotically ever after. But not everything goes according to plan, you know? The strong survive by adapting. So I simply had to adapt.

And that was going to have to start with getting my equipment in working order. Remember how desperate I was to get pregnant during my first year of marriage with Peter? How frustrated I was that it wasn't happening? Well, not long after Abby came to town, dropped the bombshell that Biz had been the mastermind of my torment all along, I'd had an appointment with a renowned fertility specialist with an international clinic and a long list of celebrity clients. I had been on the waiting list for over a year before I finally snagged an appointment—and I'm a goddamn Van der Deer.

I was so distracted after meeting with Abby that I'd forgotten about the appointment, and almost bailed when the receptionist called to confirm it with me. But it had been such a bitch to schedule, so I decided to just keep it. And I'm glad I did—within five minutes, Dr. Bradhauser had pinpointed the issue.

"It's a tube blockage," he told me, peeling his latex gloves off. "Likely the result of an old case of untreated chlamydia." He peered at me through my legs. "Any idea who could have given that to you?"

"How long have you got?" I deadpanned, which made him laugh a little.

"In any case, it's a fairly easy fix. Simple laparoscopic surgery to open the tubes. Depending on the amount of scar tissue that forms after the surgery, you may still find you have trouble conceiving. But your chances will be greatly increased from what they are now."

Only I never got around to having the surgery. I didn't want to. Not after I knew about Biz. I became consumed with punishing her. That was as satisfying as having a baby, for a time.

(And maybe, just maybe, a small part of me knew I didn't want to be tethered to Peter for the rest of my life. That I wanted to save this special bond for Campbell, if I could ever figure out a way to be with him again.)

So that was the next order of business—getting my tubes sucked clean. Once I did that, it became my mission to get Peter to impregnate me before the divorce was final. This would ensure my father would continue to support me, and, since he wanted to be a grandfather so badly, maybe I could even incentivize him by withholding visitation rights until he agreed to work on Campbell's release.

And this was how Josie got caught in the crossfire. I know she thought that I just wanted her out of the picture so I could have Peter back, but that wasn't it at all. I just needed Peter's swimmers! Then she could keep him. I contemplated going to her and laying all my cards out on the table, coming to some sort of agreement together (Just let me screw him on Tuesdays and Thursdays and the rest of the week he's yours!), but somehow I didn't think that would fly with her.

And Peter, dimpled quarterback with a heart of gold that he was, was not going to cheat on Josie with me. So my move was logical: become a nuisance. Insert myself into situations where I knew Josie would be, terrorize her, make her paranoid and jealous, and drive her away. I had a better shot seducing single Peter than I did coupled up Peter. Peter still cared about me, but he also sort of hated me. The combination is the ultimate panty-dropper. I knew from experience.

I'm going to bring you back to a night that you've already heard about, albeit only from one side of the coin. Take a moment to read about it so I don't have to go through all the nitty gritty details like where we were and who was there and what I was wearing (a slutty Herve that I looked smashing in. Also, sorry, Josie, but my sculpted ass is a result of genetics, not Pilates).

Ever wondered what Peter and I were talking about all that time? I'll give you a little briefing. First, I started by telling him how absolutely thrilled my father was that he was here.

"You know he loves you more than he does me," I told him, and Peter sneaked a glance across the table at his soon to be ex-father-in-law. My father noticed and gave Peter a thumbs up sign. The second he looked away, we dissolved into each other, giggling like two schoolgirls.

"I know the right thing to do is to tell you that's not true," Peter said, "but"—

"It's totally true?" I finished for him, and we leaned into each other and laughed harder. I honestly had not expected Peter to be this warm to me, but looking back, I wonder if maybe he was suffering from a mild case of Stockholm Syndrome, like Biz had suggested. My father and I were still two familiar people to him during a time when his life was falling apart—even though I was the source of his pain, I was still a comfort. I was still his family, technically.

I could see Josie, out of the corner of my eye, glancing at us every now and then. Her mild annoyance turned to embarrassment turned to utter devastation—exactly what I wanted. Yeah, I felt a little bad, icing her out at an event where she knew no one. But she was a kid! She had a good swath of her twenties ahead of her. She could afford to date around, try out different guys. I didn't have that same luxury.

By the end of the night, I knew I had Peter—and Josie—exactly where I wanted them. I'd reminded Peter of all our good times, and I'd absolutely ruined Josie's evening and shaken her confidence.

I took my time closing out the party, then I lingered at the bar for one more martini. I had to give Peter and Josie ample time to get in a cab, have a big blow out, and go their separate ways. I figured an hour or two would do the trick.

The Waldorf Astoria isn't terribly far from my apartment, so I called Peter on my walk home.

"Elizabeth?" he asked when he picked up, and I could tell by his wobbly voice he'd had several more drinks since I saw him last.

"I miss you right now," I whispered, and I heard him sigh. I waited a moment, then added, breathily, "I'll be home in a few minutes."

There was a pause, so long I pulled my phone away to make sure Peter hadn't hung up on me. Right as I touched the screen to my ear again he spoke. "Okay, Elizabeth. Okay."

_ _

Only TWO posts remaining in Elizabeth's story. I'll be here on Tuesday, May 12th (Also the day the book comes out!) and finishing out on Thursday, May 14th.

Thank you to all who have signed up for my newsletter (if you haven't already you can do so here at the bottom of the page), and who have written me such sweet messages to tell me that you preordered! My ranking on Amazon jumped two hundred points because of all of you! Every single preorder makes a difference, so if you haven't already, you can place your order here! I know I must sound like a broken record, but the e-book is only available for the reduced price of $9.99 from now until May 12th, so hurry!