Heteroflexibility Read Online Free PDF Page A

given me my turn a year ago, letting me start my own business while he supported me. Until now.
    The manila envelope lay on the counter. I ripped open the top. The words “Petition for Divorce” were enough to make me suck in a breath.
    I glanced out the window at a passing car to see if it was Fern, then returned to the papers.
    “In the matter of the marriage of Cade Renald (petitioner) and Zest Renald (respondent).”
    My eyes flitted shut involuntarily.
    I thought of Winston on the day of the wedding, rushing down the hallway to tell me not to worry, that Cade had just been delayed. His hair had flapped in his mad dash, and I found myself laughing so hard I could scarcely hear what he was saying.
    We’d had to rush the pictures, something that would have driven me batty as a photographer, due to Cade’s tardiness. Later, after the reception, when we entered the hotel room (he had tried to carry me but the dress was too slippery, and I kept falling out of his grasp), I learned why he was late. He’d filled the room with star lilies. Their perfume was so strong, we almost choked on it.
    “I love them,” I had said, coughing and laughing.
    He smacked me on the back. “You’re going to think I tried to kill you with flowers.”
    No one had ever done anything romantic like that for me before. I had been so amazed, knowing I looked okay for once, the veil hiding my frizzy hair that refused to iron flat, the beaded dress rearranging my flat chest and doughy waist into something that resembled a normal figure. On that day, I’d felt worthy.
    Back to reality. I opened my eyes and flipped through the pages of the petition. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. On the last page, the word “Prayer” made me pause.
    I read the smaller print.
    I ask the Court to grant me a divorce because the marriage has become insupportable due to discord or conflict of personalities that destroys the legitimate ends of the marital relationship and prevents any reasonable expectation of reconciliation.
    That did sound a bit like a prayer, a shot in the dark, a Hail Mary, football style, not the rosary beads variety.
    I dropped the pages back onto the table. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do with these papers. It didn’t have signature flags, or action items, or instructions.
    “Hellooooo! Zest, baby! You here?”
    Fern stood in the doorway, the sun brightening her spunky bleached ponytails nearly to white, decked in a totally Fern outfit—hot pink halter and black leather skirt, pink-striped stockings and knee boots.
    Sometimes it was all I could do to keep my self-respect in light of that girl’s utter physical perfection. I’d have hated her in most any other situation. Maybe I did hate her.
    I shoved the papers back in the envelope and shook my head. “You must be on the set today.”
    “The director likes me to look the part.”
    “Of the slutty assistant?”
    Fern rolled her eyes beneath enormous false lashes with glitter on the ends. I should photograph her, really, get some model shots. She’d do anything, boudoir, leather, nudes. If only I had some time before I dismantled the lights. I had no idea when I’d be set up again.
    “So why exactly are YOU the one packing?” she asked.
    “He wants the house for the baby.”
    “Oh, right. The love child. You aren’t going to take him to the cleaners?”
    I resumed shoving books into boxes. “He doesn’t have anything to clean out. We dumped everything into the house.” Bloody bad timing, actually, for this to happen. We could have at least had something to split, so I could get a fresh start.
    She kicked a wall with her shiny boot. “Fuckin’ a.”
    “Besides.” I scooted a box closer to her. “He’s obviously had her over here. I found these in the liquor cabinet.”
    Fern bent over the box. “What’s in it?”
    “Sex toys.”
    She pulled back a flap. “Really? He just left them with the liquor?”
    “Never wanted to do any of that stuff with