Hollywood Hills

Chapter Thirteen

Since that night, ten days had passed.

They weren't the worst ten days of her life, largely because she'd found the energy and resolve to keep herself busy. But she spent far too much time thinking of Eli and had even picked up the phone four or five times with the intention of calling him. Her resolve hadn't protected her at those moments, not completely, but the idea that he simply didn't fancy her did ... well, that and the specter of him off somewhere fucking Ellen Saenz. It hadn't exactly enraged her, but since she didn't intend to waste money on buying a new phone, her last such moment of weakness had been some days before.

She'd never grown so attached to anyone so quickly, or so thoroughly unaware of her own intentions. And what she felt as she went about her days was a kind of dull heartache she'd never known before. She missed seeing him, but, more, she missed the pleasure that looking forward to seeing him had given her.

Still, life went on. And perhaps it was the influence of his calm, single-minded deliberateness that had helped to fuel her productivity.

Over the past week and a half, she'd taken care of a vast array of things she should have gotten done many months before. As part of her first order of business, she'd sold each of their five high-end vehicles, purchased a modest new pickup, and disposed of the boat Otto kept, largely unused, in a slip near Venice. She had even negotiated a partial refund of the annual slip fees, which were exorbitant.

A certain pleasure had tickled her when parting with the vehicles. The coupe had been her delight, but she had come to like the feel of riding in a truck. Even more, the price was right. She needed to be frugal, like her parents, and after careful research, the sum she'd received for boat and vehicles satisfied her enormously.

After some haggling, she'd parted with all her paintings and other pieces of art, save two simple pieces she had always admired. The art had been easier to dispose of, since Otto had had all such things appraised. Their value hadn't been princely, but it struck her as odd her husband hadn't sold or pawned them to finance one of his many schemes. Perhaps holding them was his way of planning for the future.

Either way, there were many items missing from both houses, most of them quite costly, and she decided no longer to be nice about it. There was little question who had stolen what, and she was finished with paying lawyers to negotiate and threaten for the return of what rightfully was hers. After making a careful list of what was missing and with whom the items likely now resided, she went down to the nearest police station and filed a report.

"Let the butt-fuckers explain it to the cops," she'd muttered on the way out the station door. It was one of the few moments during the last ten days in which she'd felt some satisfaction.

There was a passel of other things on the agenda, including disposing of Otto's personal items. All his suits went to a charity that helped unemployed men get back on their feet. The remainder of his clothing went into a variety of charitable hampers. What she could find of his watches and personal jewelry all went on the chopping block. After much thought, so did hers. There were some pieces of jewelry Otto had bought for her over the years that she liked, and a few that she downright loved, but after much soul-searching, it had dawned on her that not a single piece held great sentimental value. She sold all except a few tiny pieces she'd had before their marriage.

To be on the safe side, she'd had three different appraisers come to the house to give her a sense of what the furnishings and other household goods might fetch—she intended to keep nothing but a few odds and ends and some kitchen utensils—and after a few days' negotiating, went with a small firm her due diligence had told her was reputable. The auctioneers would come in two weeks to collect her household and, following a public auction, had agreed to buy at a set rate whatever items found no takers.