Chapter 2

“A grande non-fat latteplease,” Ava said. She scanned the tables at Starbucks while she waited on herorder. A guy with wire-rimmed glasses on his laptop in the corner. Twothirty-somethings in tennis skirts poring over a photo album by the window. Emokids with purple hair in the back. So far, no one on in the coffee shop evenremotely fit the bill of the contact Libby had described.

“So what am I looking forwhen I meet this coffee date of yours?”

            “I’ve never met her, but she’ll probably be a soccer mom, butnot a soccer mom, if you know what I mean,” Libby had said. “Think corporatesuit meets minivan. At least, that’s the impression I got from her e-mails.

            One she got her coffee, Ava took a seat by the sugar stationand pulled a notebook from her purse. With one eye on the door, she scanned herto-do list to pass the time.

1. Research for Harriet: “Could separate bedroomsbe the key to putting passion back in your marriage?”

2. Dog food.

3. Purpose.

            One and two were easy. Three was going to pose a problem.Especially for the features editor of Gloss magazine. Ava never couldseem to find much purpose in writing about throw pillows or the perfect holidaycocktail.

            “Libby?”

            The spell of Ava’s ennui was broken, and she looked up to seean attractive woman in her early 40s. Slim, with shoulder-length brown hair anddark eyes, the woman before her looked both professional and stylish in a blackpantsuit with a chunky green necklace and teardrop earrings.

            “Libby Weathers?”

            “I’m Ava, Libby’s colleague.”

            “You seemed like you were a reporter, but I wasn’t sure whoto look for.”

            “Libby wanted to be here, but something came up,” Ava said.She never thought of herself as looking like a reporter. Actually, she didn’teven think of herself as a reporter. Lifestyles journalism seemed to put herfar, far away from the Pulitzer she’d once dreamed of in college. “I’ll do mybest to fill Libby’s shoes. If that’s OK with you, of course.”

            “I think that should be just fine. I’m Rachel. RachelMerriweather.”

            “It’s very nice to meet you Rachel. I’m Ava Carson.”

            “And what do you do with the magazine, Ava?” Rachel said.

            “I’m the features editor.”

            “Features? Very nice.”

            “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

            “Still. For a magazine, and at your age.”

            At 29, Ava was somewhat young for her position, but in truth,she just looked far younger than her age. With a round face and a dispositiontowards ponytails and lip gloss rather than coifed locks and eye liner, mostpeople guessed her to be no more than a few years out of college.

            “I’m grateful to be where I am,” Ava said, cutting her eyesto avoid eye contact. “Would you like to sit down and we’ll talk about yoursituation?”

            “That sounds lovely,” Rachel said.

            “Libby didn’t give me too many details about this meeting.”

            “I wanted to talk about story ideas,” Rachel said. “I justdiscovered your magazine, and I have so many great ideas for articles.”

            “Wonderful,” Ava said. No wonder Libby had shirked thismeeting off onto her. She was going to owe Ava far more than a bottle of wine.There was little Ava disliked more than listening to other people’s storyideas. She thought of it as the poor man’s version of being in the moviebusiness. Everyone had the next big idea to share.

            “Safe food. That’s a good one. People want to know how not toget salmonella.” – her pharmacist.

            “What your dreams mean. I had this one about my third gracescience teacher the other night ...” – a terrible first date.

            “What about a story on online dating for the overly picky?” –her mother.

            “Divorce,” Rachel said. Then she paused and Ava wasn’t surewhether or not she expected shock and awe from her or just needed a breath.

            “What about divorce?” Ava said.

            “Oh, anything and everything.”

            Ava sighed. The odds that this woman really had an angle fora story on divorce that no other woman’s magazine had covered? Slim to none.

            “I thought it might make for a good series.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “There could be profiles of divorced women. What happened tothem. What their ex-husbands did. How they’re doing now.”

            “I see.”

            “There could even be more practical stories – how to file fordivorce, what assets you’re entitled to, who the good lawyers are.”

            “Yep,” Ava said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you tellingme what you do. Why are you son interested in this topic?”

            “Well, I’m a divorced woman myself,” Rachel said.

            Surprise, surprise, Ava thought.

            “I also council a lot of divorced women through mynon-profit. I help women get back on their feet after divorce – findapartments, get property back in their names.”

            “A non-profit?”

            “We’re called Divorce Busters.”

            “And the money?”

            “Well, I do most of the funding myself. I’ve fared well in mydivorces, but I thought that some greater exposure for the organization mightmean I could expand, take on some more clients, get outside funding.”

“I see. And that’s wherethe magazine stories come in, right?”

            “Exactly.”

            Something else that Ava had learned during her time inmagazines was that most people didn’t know the difference between “stories” and“free advertising.”

            “You would not believe some of the stuff going on in thecourt system around here. There are so many women in this town fighting toothand nail just to see their own kids.”

            Probably the ones too busy dallying with the pool boy andtaking too many prescriptions, Ava imagined. “I guess there are just as manyunfit mothers here as there are elsewhere.”

            “Oh, it’s not unfit mothers,” Rachel said.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Men are getting more and more power in the courts.”

            “Isn’t that a good thing? We can’t ask for equal rights and thenbe upset when we see the downside of our own equality.”

            “It’s not a balanced power.”

            “I don’t think I see your point.”

            “Some of the divorced women I counsel haven’t done a thingwrong. They’ve stayed home for years. They make lunches, drive carpool andteach Sunday school. But for some reason, none of it matters when they getbefore the judge.”

            “There must be something else going on. Secret affairs?Addiction?”

            “Nope, none of that,” Rachel said. “One woman I met lost herkids because she was told it would be too traumatic to break the strong bondthe kids had built with dad during baseball season.”

            “How can that be?”

            “That’s the same question I’ve been asking for the last sixmonths.”

            Ava flipped to a new page in her notebook and beganscribbling down notes: lost custody, local courts, not unfit. “What else do youknow?” she said.

            “I’ve seen at least three or four mothers who lost primarycustody of their children to their exes – men with full-time careers, some whoeven had affairs. The first woman I met without her kids, I was suspicious. Ifigured there was something she wasn’t telling me,” Rachel said. “But, by thetime I met the fourth woman, I was more trusting.”

            “Is there anything these women share? The same attorney?Something from the past?”

            “I’m glad you asked that,” Rachel said. “They’ve all had toappear before Judge Jack Shaw.”

            Ava stopped writing. “Are you saying what I think you’resaying?”

            “I’m saying that I believe there is corruption in the familycourt system. I haven’t figured out the specifics, but I know something isn’tright.”

            “What’s your next move?”

            “Off the record?”

            “Off the record.”

            “Every other week, these women and I get together. They bringtheir court documents. We’re trying to establish a paper trail. When we haveproof that something is wrong, I want to go public.”

            “Media public?”

            “Media public,” Rachel said, her voice lowered. “But we’renot there yet, and I don’t want to risk giving anyone time to destroy evidenceor cover their tracks.”

            Ava’s head was spinning. This could be an actual story. Astory that would affect people’s lives, that would get people thinking,something that might matter. But what were the odds that an actual news-worthystory would just drop into her lap at a Starbucks on a Monday afternoon? Andwhy was this woman so willing to spill her guts? She should be giving a realreporter these kinds of details

            “I’d love to meet these women, if you don’t mind,” Ava said.“I wouldn’t print anything before you said it was OK.”

            “If I can trust you,” Rachel said, “I think that might be agood idea. Let me talk to my partners in crime and see how they feel about it.If they give the go ahead, clear your calendar for this Wednesday at 6:30. I’lltell you the location once I know it’s all kosher.”

            “That sounds great to me,” Ava said. Then she glanced at herwatch and realized that an hour had passed since she left the office. Harrietdidn’t like Ava to have too many lengthy excursions during the day, even if theintent was business. “I have to rush back to the office -- my editor will havemy head if I don’t scoot on back.”

            “Of course, of course,” Rachel said. “I can’t believe youcould take time out of your busy schedule on such short notice. Thank you somuch.”

            Ava smiled. She wished she was as busy as everyone alwaysassumed she was. “It’s been lovely to meet you.”

            “And you as well.”

            “Here’s my card. I’d really like to keep having this conversationwith you. I hope we can help each other out.”

            “Me too,” Rachel said. She tucked Ava’s card in her purse.“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit the restroom before I leave. I’ll bein touch.”

            Rachel walked to the back of the coffee shop while Ava headedfor the door. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but Ava’s hopes hadoften been her Achilles Heel. Maybe that Pulitzer wasn’t such a pipe dreamafter all.