Free Ladies' Night by Mary Kay Andrews Page A

something tighten in her chest. “Breathe,” Mitzi instructed quietly. “In. Out. You can do this, Grace. Don’t let the bastard get you rattled.”
    “I am rattled,” Grace said, feeling her face flush. She felt a hand clasp her shoulder and looked up.
    Dickie Murphree smiled down at her. “Gracie,” he said, his hand lingering on her shoulder. “It’s great to see you.”
    Dickie looked much as he had the last time she’d seen him, at an expensive restaurant on St. Armand’s Circle, not long after she and Ben had moved back to town. Had it been three years ago? His thinning brown hair was a little too long in the back and he had a rakish mustache and that same impish smile he’d used so effectively to get his way all through high school.
    “No hard feelings, right, Grace? This is just one of these things. You’ll get past this, and you’ll be fine. Right?”
    No hard feelings? Grace felt her jaw drop. With Dickie’s help, Ben had effectively impoverished her. Right this very minute, she was wearing the dressiest clothing she possessed, a pair of her mother’s cast-off sandals, and an ill-fitting rayon knit dress she’d picked up for $3.60 at a thrift shop near the hospital. No hard feelings? Not long ago, Grace wouldn’t have used this dress as a dishrag. Dickie didn’t wait for her reply. He nodded now at Mitzi, flashing his easy smile. “Hey there, Ms. Stillwell.”
    “Dickie.” Mitzi gave him a curt, dismissive nod.
    He finally removed his grasp of her shoulder and slid onto the chair next to Ben’s.
    Ben was still busily sorting file folders, avoiding meeting her eyes.
    “Exhale,” Mitzi said quietly. “Think about a happy place. Picture yourself there.”
    “I don’t have a happy place anymore,” Grace whispered. “Ben got custody of it.”
    “Then try this. Picture your ex with his dick caught in a rattrap.”
    Implausibly, Grace began to smile. As the image formed in her mind, she began to giggle. Horrified, she clamped her hands over her mouth, but not before the giggle became a guffaw. Ben’s head turned sharply. His eyes narrowed and he looked, briefly, disgusted. He glanced at the back of the courtroom and gave an almost imperceptible shrug before returning to his paper shuffling.
    “Feel better?” Mitzi asked, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.
    “Much,” Grace said. Her eyes followed Ben’s gaze toward the back of the room. Sitting in the last row, wearing a form-fitting chartreuse dress and dark sunglasses, a raven-haired woman was staring down at her cell phone, her fingertips racing over the keyboard. Probably sexting Ben, Grace thought.
    “I don’t believe it,” Grace said, her mirth short-lived. “She’s here. Right in this courtroom. She’s wearing sunglasses, and I think she’s dyed her hair, but that’s definitely J’Aimee. I can’t believe he had the nerve to bring her here.”
    Mitzi turned all the way around in her chair to have a look, not bothering to hide what she was doing. “Oh. The green dress, right? What is she, about thirteen? Did he have to sign her out of homeroom?”
    Just then, the blond-haired bailiff strode past them to the front of the room. “All rise for the Honorable Cedric N. Stackpole,” she intoned.

 
    7
     
    Mitzi laid out the case neatly before the judge, letting him know that Ben had locked Grace out of their home, canceled her credit cards, and denied her access to their joint checking and savings accounts.
    “Your Honor,” Mitzi said, gesturing toward Grace, who was sitting straight in her chair, eyes forward, like an obedient schoolgirl on her first day of class, “Mr. Stanton has effectively impoverished my client. She has no funds, no home, and no way to make a living, thanks to him.”
    “No way to work?” Stackpole looked startled. “Now how is that possible? Didn’t you tell me Ms. Stanton was some kind of professional writer?”
    “Yes sir,” Mitzi said. “Ms. Stanton is—or she was before all this