Infinity + One
Page 94
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THE CHARGES AGAINST Finn had been dropped. I’d been in contact with my attorney non-stop since I’d been released, and I knew Tuesday night that he was going to be released. I called his dad. I told him Finn needed him, and I asked him to come to LA. Turns out I didn’t need to. He was already on his way.
I could have shown up at Finn’s arraignment and made a big scene for the reporters who had gathered just to see the spectacle unfold. I could have gone to the jail and waited until they released him, and we could have embraced and made a joint statement to the cameras. But I hadn’t. And I knew what some people might make of that. I knew what Finn might make of that. And that scared me.
But Gran had been right about one thing. I didn’t wish my life on Finn, even if I loved him so much I couldn’t imagine life without him. And because I loved him, I was going to give him the opportunity to walk away, if that’s what he wanted to do. Gran told me Clyde wouldn’t come. She told me he was only after one thing. Then she’d proceeded to tell me three. I told Gran he could have all of those things—sex, money, and attention—and that I would give him all of those things as often as he wanted them. Happily. For the rest of my life. And I told her to get used to it, because I was married to him, no pre-nup, no conditions, and she’d better be nice or he might divorce me and sue me for every last dime. Then where would she be?
She told me she had talked to Clyde and he just wanted out. He just wanted his life back. She told me if I loved him, I wouldn’t want this kind of life for him.
I laughed at that. I laughed so I wouldn’t consider the truth in what she said, and then I slapped back.
“Oh, yeah, Gran? That’s interesting. So what you’re telling me is if you loved me, you wouldn’t want this kind of life for me?”
Gran had stared at me and then made a huffy sound like I was impossible, and she was “through trying to reason with me.”
That’s when I got good and mad. And that’s when I told my grandmother that I loved her. I told her I was sorry for the way I left. And I told her I forgave her for the things she’d done that caused me to run. I told her she would get a lovely percentage of everything I made every year for the rest of her life. A finder’s fee, so to speak. She could also keep her house, her car, and whatever she’d stuffed in her mattress and in her panty drawer. I was guessing it was substantial.
And then I told her she was done. I had meant what I said when I said it the first time, ten days before. She was fired.
Then I called my attorney. Again. I’d had a few little chats with him since being released from the LA County jail on Monday night. And with him on speaker and Gran listening, I outlined Gran’s retirement package.
I fired the accounting firm which had handled my finances since the day I had won the million dollar recording contract on Nashville Forever. They were Gran’s employees. Not mine. I threatened to sue them for what they had allowed to happen. I had been cut off of my own accounts, put in a dire situation, and they would meet with my me and my new accountant—recommended by a recovering Bear—when I returned from LA, giving me a full accounting of my finances, how my money had been invested, handled, and where the money had been spent over the last six years. They would do this or charges would be filed. I thought Finn would be proud of me.
My attorney assured me I would win. If there had been any fraud, embezzlement, or gross mismanagement, Gran could go to jail. Gran listened to this little tidbit stonily. I told her sweetly that jail wasn’t so bad. After all, it had been her fault that I’d gone to jail, now hadn’t it? She had created a firestorm that had become a manhunt and a media free-for-all. For what? For attention? For sales? So she could control me?
It was at that point that I informed her, with my attorney listening, that she would not get a dime of her retirement package until my $500,000 was back in the bank, and until my accounts were all in my name and my name alone, with Finn listed as beneficiary if something were to happen to me.
That’s when she laughed. And then she disconnected my conference call with my lawyer.
“Why do you think I got the $500,000 out of the bank in the first place, Bonnie Rae? It was ransom money! Finn Clyde contacted me last Wednesday and demanded $500,000 for your release.” I must have flinched because she made a sympathetic sound like I was five years old.
I stared into her eyes and tried to remind myself that the cold-hearted, manipulating woman I was looking at wasn’t all she was. There was more to her than that, just like Bonnie, just like Clyde . . . but for the life of me, I couldn’t see it anymore. And I wasn’t going to let her see how her words ripped me up. I wasn’t going to let her see that part of me believed her.
“He never got it. But I told him it was still his if he left quietly. You’ll thank me for this, Bonnie. When your head’s clear and you’re back on your medication, you’ll thank me. That boy’s trash,” she soothed.
“You can’t pay him to stay away from me, Gran. If Finn wants an annulment, that’s up to him. And he can have the money—he earned it. But it’s my money, and you aren’t in any position to make contracts with my money. I believe my attorney would agree. Should we call him back?”
Gran became enraged at that point, and I had to threaten her with my red cowboy boot raised over my head and the crazy Bonnie look on my face, to convince her to back off. Then I demanded her wallet, took her new “company card,” the card reserved for my staff, the card that Bear had used to secure my hotel room, and the only one that hadn’t been closed, and I told her to leave. She had a plane ticket and her passport to use as ID to get back home, along with whatever cash was in her bra. Plus, she had my meds in her purse, the pills she was so convinced I needed. She could pop a few of those to help her through the coming days. I wasn’t too worried about her.
I could have shown up at Finn’s arraignment and made a big scene for the reporters who had gathered just to see the spectacle unfold. I could have gone to the jail and waited until they released him, and we could have embraced and made a joint statement to the cameras. But I hadn’t. And I knew what some people might make of that. I knew what Finn might make of that. And that scared me.
But Gran had been right about one thing. I didn’t wish my life on Finn, even if I loved him so much I couldn’t imagine life without him. And because I loved him, I was going to give him the opportunity to walk away, if that’s what he wanted to do. Gran told me Clyde wouldn’t come. She told me he was only after one thing. Then she’d proceeded to tell me three. I told Gran he could have all of those things—sex, money, and attention—and that I would give him all of those things as often as he wanted them. Happily. For the rest of my life. And I told her to get used to it, because I was married to him, no pre-nup, no conditions, and she’d better be nice or he might divorce me and sue me for every last dime. Then where would she be?
She told me she had talked to Clyde and he just wanted out. He just wanted his life back. She told me if I loved him, I wouldn’t want this kind of life for him.
I laughed at that. I laughed so I wouldn’t consider the truth in what she said, and then I slapped back.
“Oh, yeah, Gran? That’s interesting. So what you’re telling me is if you loved me, you wouldn’t want this kind of life for me?”
Gran had stared at me and then made a huffy sound like I was impossible, and she was “through trying to reason with me.”
That’s when I got good and mad. And that’s when I told my grandmother that I loved her. I told her I was sorry for the way I left. And I told her I forgave her for the things she’d done that caused me to run. I told her she would get a lovely percentage of everything I made every year for the rest of her life. A finder’s fee, so to speak. She could also keep her house, her car, and whatever she’d stuffed in her mattress and in her panty drawer. I was guessing it was substantial.
And then I told her she was done. I had meant what I said when I said it the first time, ten days before. She was fired.
Then I called my attorney. Again. I’d had a few little chats with him since being released from the LA County jail on Monday night. And with him on speaker and Gran listening, I outlined Gran’s retirement package.
I fired the accounting firm which had handled my finances since the day I had won the million dollar recording contract on Nashville Forever. They were Gran’s employees. Not mine. I threatened to sue them for what they had allowed to happen. I had been cut off of my own accounts, put in a dire situation, and they would meet with my me and my new accountant—recommended by a recovering Bear—when I returned from LA, giving me a full accounting of my finances, how my money had been invested, handled, and where the money had been spent over the last six years. They would do this or charges would be filed. I thought Finn would be proud of me.
My attorney assured me I would win. If there had been any fraud, embezzlement, or gross mismanagement, Gran could go to jail. Gran listened to this little tidbit stonily. I told her sweetly that jail wasn’t so bad. After all, it had been her fault that I’d gone to jail, now hadn’t it? She had created a firestorm that had become a manhunt and a media free-for-all. For what? For attention? For sales? So she could control me?
It was at that point that I informed her, with my attorney listening, that she would not get a dime of her retirement package until my $500,000 was back in the bank, and until my accounts were all in my name and my name alone, with Finn listed as beneficiary if something were to happen to me.
That’s when she laughed. And then she disconnected my conference call with my lawyer.
“Why do you think I got the $500,000 out of the bank in the first place, Bonnie Rae? It was ransom money! Finn Clyde contacted me last Wednesday and demanded $500,000 for your release.” I must have flinched because she made a sympathetic sound like I was five years old.
I stared into her eyes and tried to remind myself that the cold-hearted, manipulating woman I was looking at wasn’t all she was. There was more to her than that, just like Bonnie, just like Clyde . . . but for the life of me, I couldn’t see it anymore. And I wasn’t going to let her see how her words ripped me up. I wasn’t going to let her see that part of me believed her.
“He never got it. But I told him it was still his if he left quietly. You’ll thank me for this, Bonnie. When your head’s clear and you’re back on your medication, you’ll thank me. That boy’s trash,” she soothed.
“You can’t pay him to stay away from me, Gran. If Finn wants an annulment, that’s up to him. And he can have the money—he earned it. But it’s my money, and you aren’t in any position to make contracts with my money. I believe my attorney would agree. Should we call him back?”
Gran became enraged at that point, and I had to threaten her with my red cowboy boot raised over my head and the crazy Bonnie look on my face, to convince her to back off. Then I demanded her wallet, took her new “company card,” the card reserved for my staff, the card that Bear had used to secure my hotel room, and the only one that hadn’t been closed, and I told her to leave. She had a plane ticket and her passport to use as ID to get back home, along with whatever cash was in her bra. Plus, she had my meds in her purse, the pills she was so convinced I needed. She could pop a few of those to help her through the coming days. I wasn’t too worried about her.
