Maximum Mayhem

Table of Contents

Title Page

Maximum Mayhem

by LM Pampuro

Copyright 2013 by LM Pampuro

Revised Version 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Maximum Mayhem is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locale is entirely coincidental.

There is nothing centered in reality in this book.

ISBN: 4505787

For the people who make small-town living sane:

Renee, Laura, Pat, Barry,

& of course, my Steve

Chapter One

What a day! The sun glowed, and the wind blew south away from the cow pasture, so the smell cow poop lingered in the opposite direction. What's more, I am in a mellow state of mind without the help of a good wine buzz. Karma blessed me as did my horoscope. I received this one-liner: This will be a fabulous day. What else could I possibly need?

I announced Maxi’s day off yesterday after another horrendous session with my soon to be ex and his lawyer. I looked down at the band-aid on my middle finger. Before the meeting, I slammed it in the car door. I ruined the manicure I just charged forty-five dollars on my credit card, because I had to give the impression I still had it together, so I can keep my kid, boat and other things I worked my ass off for. When I rambled to my assistant, Nancy, about my ordeal, she dropped a bombshell.

Maxi, you just got a call from Bob Carlson. Something about scheduling a lunch date for tomorrow. Should I try to postpone?

Great! Bob Carlson is my former boss. I wondered what he wanted. Nancy, please try to reschedule with Bob. I really need tomorrow off. Curiosity will kill me. I could deal with that later. I need and deserve to run away from work and life in general.

Nancy mumbled something as I disconnected. I had to love her. I vow here and now after this mess is over, I will send her to a spa for the day during work. I will tell her I am sending her on a sales call, so she’ll actually go.

I should probably write this all down.

I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my skin. My heartbeat slows, and my breath becomes more rhythmic. The kids are playing in the pool, the buzz of a lawnmower can be heard in the distance, and just as I reach a state of ah, my friggin’ cell phone rings. So close! I reach over to check the number. Crap! So much for a peaceful day.

Hello? I heard Gert's voice on the other end, and my body automatically tightened up. Here we go again. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since I freaked out in his lawyer’s office. The idiot tried to get full custody of our son! Like I’d ever give that up!

Gert and I left the office and went through Jon’s wish list while floating on my boat, now referred to as the U.S.S. Last Straw, in Long Island Sound. I thought the best way for a clear mind to make life-changing decisions is while breathing in the salt air. Of course, for some unknown unrealistic reason, I thought I had a reprisal. Sometimes I live in denial.

I guess Gert's call signals the beginning of the next round. I lost count of what series we were in. Why everything with him totally screwed up any attempt at the state of ordinary, I’ll never understand.

Hey, Gert, what’s going on? I pictured Gert leaning forward on her desk, with her blonde curly hair falling around her face, resting her bosom on edge. I think about Gert, the person. She is definitely a woman to reckon with. The woman is super bright, equally beautiful, but also, fortunately for me, on my side. She had been married four times, divorced twice, annulled once, and now happily widowed. She tolerated no crap from anyone, including me, which is why she took care of all my legal stuff.

Since I tend to be too sweet, I needed more than one hard-ass backing me up. Nancy’s sturdy, yet when the business expanded rapidly, she needed back up also. Gert took the lead in doing market research. She accepted no crap from anyone in those areas and still managed to get the required information. She became my inspiration to be a more robust person.

It is ironic how I could run my own company and get people to do what I need, yet in my personal life, things tended to fall through the cracks. The sad part was half the time when they did; I could care less as long as the business runs smoothly.

Without preamble, her girly voice came over the line again. That idiot you married is lower than dog puke.

Tell me something I don’t know. Here we go again. Anytime Gert started a conversation swearing, I knew I am in trouble. Truth being my ex is lower than dog puke. I’m one of those women who became single, not by choice. My soon to be ex-husband had decided after ten years of marriage he didn’t want to be married anymore, at least not to me.

There is a difference.

He had met a single mom while doing freelance computer stuff or maybe at the bar frequented. I’m not sure.

I do know she’s twenty-eight, had the curves in all the right places, and a libido hornier than a goat, from what little I know about goats. That is pretty horny.

Sometimes I didn't blame him for leaving. I did not wait on him and put myself at his disposal, or, better yet, spread my legs on command. He didn’t understand I was busy: busy raising a child, busy growing a business, and busy keeping a household financially afloat. I was doing too much and, at the same time, not enough. Who knows! Second-guessing decisions is my middle name.

I called the new love of his life, The Tart. Her real name is Hillsey. She had a body that could’ve been on the cover of some fashion magazine, or at least spread out in the centerfold. Compared to my body, which is okay in some spots while lacking in others, hers belonged in Playboy. If my boobs were more prominent, my stomach might look flatter, and if my legs were a little longer, my butt wouldn’t stick out as much.

All my body had ever needed is a few minor adjustments. I guess Jon wanted a no ass, big boob, and perky little woman. Or he just didn’t want me.

Five months ago, we went out for a romantic Valentine’s Day lunch. We got buzzed on martinis while overlooking the Connecticut River. A perfect winter day, with lots of sun and very little wind. Out of nowhere, he leaned across the table, took both of my hands in his, and announced our situation wasn’t working for him. Stupid me thought he was going to say something corny and romantic. We went home. He packed and left.

I was surprised, angry, bitter, nauseous, and ecstatic, all at once. To have a conversation with me was like talking to five different people because my moods shifted with the wind. Some days I wanted to thank him; other days, I wanted to kill him. I tried to keep it all in check because I didn't want my ten-year-old to suffer or to think his father’s an idiot.

Did you know Jon and his sleazy lawyer just filed an injunction to claim half your business as his own? Gert said, and then paused.

I hate it when she pauses because it will mean bad news for me.

And he’s going for the boat. Not a share of the boat like we discussed, but the whole damn vessel. He said something about it being compensation for mental abuse.

I sat up in my deck chair and checked over my shoulder on the boys. Ric didn’t need to hear this. At least my brain’s working. With my legs and hips making cracking sounds from sitting too long, I got up and walked towards the opposite side of the deck, faced away from the boys. I spoke at a level where my voice wouldn’t carry.

You tell dick breath he can’t have the boat, and if he wants part of my business, he'll have to prove he’s ever lifted a finger to make it a success. Gert, I am not giving in on either of these.

His lawyer thought you’d say that. The word for word actually. So, here’s the deal, Max. If you refuse, he said he’s going to continue to fight for full custody.

That, that, that . . . I couldn't think of a despicable enough name to call him. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the boys laughing behind me. I inhaled air all the way down into the pit of my stomach, then released it and counted silently to ten. The boys splashed away in the pool.

No, we should do it this way, I heard my son say.

No, Ric, put the raft in first, and then jump, Rye answered.

I glanced back at the kids to make sure they weren’t doing anything foolish, as ten-year-old boys tended to do, then I continued, Gert, what about the list and everything we went over? Can’t we do something there?

We can. I believe we can. Maxi, I have to be honest. My gut says this it's all about the money. I hate to tell you this, but I think Jon is using Ric as leverage.

I sighed. This sucked. This totally sucked. My boat is only a thing, not necessary, but it is my last sanctuary. I used it as an escape to get away from my life. Between you and me, I am willing to sell the boat and the business if I can find a buyer. I could then give him half, even though he doesn’t deserve any of it, just to get him out of my life. That would at least be a situation I could live with. I can’t take Jon away from his son, but I don’t need to let him have him full time. The bottom line is the kid is what is most important to me.

I could get another boat, start a new business, and start completely over with just Ric and me. I thought about that scenario a lot, but I didn't dare say it aloud, thinking if I did, the other shoe would drop. My voice sounds squeaky and loud. The boys were quiet. Not a good sign.

Exhaling deeply, Gert, just take care of it. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it. As far as I’m concern, he’s getting the deal of the century just playing by Connecticut law. Of course, he’s too dumb to figure that out. Either way, we need to turn off the spigot, also known as my bank account.

Gotcha. Exactly what I thought you’d say. The paperwork is ready, and we are off. I should warn you, though, it may end up being costly for you. I just needed your permission to start.

You’ve got it!

I disconnected the call, took in another deep breath, and thought about throwing my phone in the pool. I needed to calm down and feel like a normal, rational person. Jon is an idiot to even consider I would give up anything to him, especially Ric. He needed to be reminded he left us! That kid meant more to me than any of the stuff we accumulated. Keep dreaming, buddy, I thought. There was no way you are going to take away my kid.

I lay back on the chaise and breathe deeply in through my nose and out through my mouth. I glanced around my parent’s back yard and tried to remember the time when I first started calling my parent’s home, The Country Club. Their property is in the middle of cow country, and my dad had always kept the lawn perfectly manicured like a golf course, much to the envy of our neighbors.

When we were younger, he built horseshoe pits along the back property line but has since grown in and been converted to a pumpkin patch. Later, he and my mother put in a garden and a small barn they called a shed. Around the pool, my dad constructed a wooden deck with built-in benches; he managed to update himself every ten years or so. Nowadays, they kept the pool going for the grandchildren. I am grateful they kept opening it up every summer.

The faint smells of the season surrounded me. Cut grass, roses, trees, and occasional whiffs of cow poop from the farm up the street fill the air. I watched my son and his friend wrestle over the blow-up rafts scattered across the water. My parents' house had always been a kind of sanctuary. Not that I’ve had the perfect Norman RockWell, family—far from it. We’d all developed our own quirks that come out at the worst possible times—mostly around the holidays. There wasn’t much chance of family conflict in mid-July during steamy days when my brothers were all off somewhere with their families in tow.

My parents were currently hiding away in their air-conditioned house, doing whatever it is people their age do during sweltering days. I chose to bake in the sun and tan, though I am not sure why. Mostly I just sat and let my imagination run away with me. In a negative frame of mind, it can be a bad thing, a horrible idea.

I don’t live here anymore. I am just a visitor. I try hard to time my visits when my brothers were not going to be around. I loved my brothers dearly, but they had a way of making me feel inferior. I had yet to figure out how, since I presented myself to the outside world as a confident woman who worked hard to run a successful business, raise a wonderful son, and try to be herself. You know – the woman has it all! But as I attempted to find my way down a path that may or may not exist, I prayed the road cleared soon, or I will need to get a weed whacker out and cut through the hedges to find a clearing.

Mom, wake up! Ric shouted from the pool edge as he tossed water onto my legs. It felt like bathwater, not very refreshing, yet inviting either.

I’m awake, dude. What’s up? I answered, stretching my legs out over the end of the plastic lounge chair. Since Jon left, I kept the house in the town where Ric has lived his entire existence. His life hasn't changed much. It had not been easy, but looking at my son, it has been worth it.

We lived in a cute little beach town; however, I preferred pools to the Sound. No icky slimy things live in pool water. Nor are there crabs or fish or other live creatures that might bite toes. As a bonus, no baseball moms are gossiping about us while we sunbath a few feet away.

Earlier I had floated around in the pool on one of the blow-up rafts until the boys thought it would be funny to flip me into the water. I didn’t know it was as amusing as they did. My dad laughed hysterically. My dad probably instigated the flip.

Ric and Rye climbed out of the water and stood beside me, shivering in the hot summer air. Your towels are hanging on the railing, I pointed out as they moved to grab them.

Rye and I are hungry. Can we bug Gram for food? Ric inquired while he dripped.

I went through my bag to find my cell phone. If they walked through the house wet, I would never hear the end of it, and to make matters worse, I would need to get up and clean up the water puddles. Mom, the boys are hungry, I stated. I listened to her tell me she would bring snacks out in a few minutes. Thanks. Pressing the off button, I relayed her message. Dudes, Gram is going to bring you snacks, so dry off, and she’ll be out in a few.

Ric dropped his towel and moved towards the gate. Bet I can beat you from here to the table, he shouted at his friend.

Bet you can’t, Rye yelled back as both boys jumped over the stairs and sprinted across the grass.

Why little boys challenge each other constantly, I will never know. One always has to be the fastest, slowest, biggest, or the best at something all the time. I wondered if little girls were like that too. As I watched the boys chasing each other across the lawn, I thought it is way too hot to be moving that fast.

I must admit, in some ways, I know I am fortunate. I had my kid, he had his friend, and life right is okay. My plan is to swim at the club for the afternoon and then head back to the shore. With any luck, Rye’s mom would volunteer to take the boys overnight. Then I could do nothing, similar to what I had been doing all day except I could do it in peace and quiet with ice cream or a container of lo mien all to myself. I don't want Ric to see my nightly tears.

As I thought about being by myself, I needed to come up with ways to spend the evening and distract my mind. I can rent an old Mel Gibson movie or read a trashy novel, that would do the trick. Along with a bottle of white wine and Chinese food to go, it could be very nice. I need to keep proving to myself over and over again after Jon left, I could and would make my life better. As anyone could see, I had succeeded.

Ha! Who am I kidding? Whenever Ric went