LITMIR.BIZ

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what to wear, finally choosing the blue silk blouse that matched her eyes. She'd tried to disguise the effects of a sleepless night, but all she had was some ancient powder and lipstick. On her way out the door her Labrador, Lucky, had jumped up leaving a dusty paw print on her black slacks.

      The road to the club had changed radically in the last few years. The mosaic of flowering peach and almond orchards that thrived when her grandfather built their family home was now a desert of terra cotta and white stucco mini-mansions. Power House Inc., where Craig ruled, had mowed down the orchards to plant its concrete roots there. Now Fairbrook, once a sleepy village, the fruit basket of the Bay Area, was a smugly prosperous sterile suburb.

      The Fairbrook Country Club was a large, rambling building resembling a ranch house on steroids. The three flags outside the front door, American, California, and the club flag - green with crossed golf clubs - were at half mast. Charlotte wondered who had died.

      Charlotte handed her car keys to the valet and sucked in her breath to quiet her squirrely stomach. She threw back her shoulders, clutched her purse in front of the smudge on her slacks and walked in.

      Nothing had changed. The lobby had the same red and black swirled carpet, brass-studded leather couches, and wagon wheel coffee table it had when she was last there.

      She waited in the dining room entry for the hostess. The light from the glass wall overlooking the golf course silhouetted the diners. She couldn't make out any faces. Not that it mattered. She'd been out of the social loop since the divorce. The only one who'd kept in touch was Laurel.

      The hostess, blonde hair pinned in a tight French twist that seemed lacquered in place, teetered toward Charlotte on spike heels. She looked at Charlotte as if she couldn't quite place her. When Charlotte said she was meeting Craig Armstrong, the hostess's expression changed to a smile. Charlotte followed her toward the back of the room, her purse clutched over the paw prints on her thigh.

      Craig had barely changed since she last saw him. His forehead was a little higher than she remembered, but it could just be that his thick hair was brushed straight. While her hair had grayed to mouse, his was silver, accentuating his tan. Wrinkles were gaining on her despite her daily slathering with moisturizer. He appeared rugged and, she had to admit, handsome. Life would be more fair if he sported a shiny-smooth cranium ringed with gray frizz and hair poking out his ears.

      "You're looking well," he said. He waved the waiter over. "What'll you have? A glass of white wine?"

      "I'll have a martini," she said, as the waiter snapped her napkin open and placed it on her lap.

      Craig raised an eyebrow. "One martini, and one Perrier." He studied her for a moment. "You've changed."

      Charlotte didn't know if he meant her choice of beverage or the fact that she no longer wore her hair in the plastered page-boy of their married years. Or that she wasn't wearing one of the prim dresses she had given away. "I suppose I have," she shrugged. "I'm through with patent pumps and panty hose now that I'm not a corporate wife."

      "I meant the drink," Craig said. "But I like your new style. It's becoming."

      The waiter returned with their drinks and menus.

      "What's with the lowered flags?" she asked.

      Craig's jaw tightened, then he shook his head. "You didn't hear? Larry Hopkins died."

      "Your lawyer?"

      "The company lawyer."

      "I'm sorry. When?"

      "Last week."

      "What did he die of?"

      "It was a freak accident." He raised his glass and drank half of it in one gulp.

      "What kind of accident?" she pressed.

      "He was killed by a runaway golf cart." He set down his glass. "Have you decided what you want?"

      Charlotte glanced at the menu."Yes." She sipped her martini and waited for him to tell her why she was here.

      When the waiter materialized, Craig handed him his unopened menu. "I'll have the usual."

      "I'll have the prime rib," Charlotte said. She never ate big lunches, but she might as well splurge on Craig's expense account.

      Craig leaned back in his seat. "I know you're wondering what this is about."

      That was an understatement. She tried to look nonchalant.

      "Word isn't out yet, but Power House has been sold to Omni Vortex out of Minneapolis. The Fairbrook plant will just be a satellite outpost."

      For this he had invited her to lunch? This is what he couldn't tell her over the phone? What a fool she'd been to think it was something more.

      "You're moving to Minnesota?"

      He shook his head. "Hell, no. There can be only one CEO. The Omni guy is keeping the job and I'm not about to take a step down. I'm retiring."

      Her stomach flip-flopped. She couldn't see any way this conversation was going in the right direction.

      He leaned back. "Charlotte, we'll have to reduce your support payments since I won't be working."

      The sip of martini she had taken went down Charlotte's windpipe. She started to cough spasmodically. Craig got up to pat her on the back, but she shook him off. When she'd regained her composure, she pressed her hands on the table to get up, then sat back down. She spoke as calmly as she could. "I didn't ask you for an increase when you started making a lot of money, and I can't believe you're even suggesting this now. I tried to play fair and I expect you to do the same. I'm not some business competitor. I was your wife for twenty-eight years."

      He knitted his brows in what she recognized as his 'sincere' look. "I don't want to hurt you, Charlotte. I'm warning, no that's not the word - I’m 'advising' -you that I won't be able to keep up the payments. I'll be sixty next June. At my age, I can't expect to find another position making the kind of salary I've been earning. Especially with the downturn in the economy. And it's going to get worse. Power House is going to lay off nearly two thousand people."

      Charlotte was shocked. "How can you do that to your employees?"

      He shrugged. "The work is leaving." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled back. "Of course, you'll still get support from me. Just not as much. We're all going to have to make some adjustments in our lifestyle."

      "I already live simply. I'm taking care of everything I used to pay people to do." She counted on her fingers: "My house, the yard, the car," she brushed her hand over her hair, "my hair."

      "You could get a job."

      Was he out of his mind? "Who's going to hire a fifty-three year old with no experience? Besides, you just told me the jobs are leaving."

      Craig tucked his napkin into his collar. "There's one other thing. I want to sell the house."

      So that was it. Charlotte felt as if her heart had stopped. "My house?"

      "It's half mine too."

      "Not really."

      "According to the divorce decree it is."

      "But you know ... "

      "I know what the judge ordered. Look, I let you stay after Brad graduated. You didn't think I meant forever, did you?"

      Well yes, she did. Craig lived with his bimbo wife and their daughter in a palatial home in Fairbrook Highlands, the best part of town. Why in the world would he need a piece of her house? Especially since he had lied and cheated to get it.

      Her home, a comfortable two story farm house with gables and a wraparound porch, had been left to her by her father. But despite Charlotte's vigorous objections in court, since both names were on the deed, the judge had ordered it sold and the proceeds split as soon as their son graduated from high school. When Craig said nothing since Brad's graduation, she assumed he'd had a change of heart.

      "Why now?" she asked when she caught her breath.

      "You're

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