Trinity’s Tale
Quite a few years ago Peter and his partners rented out space to a real estate office. It benefited all parties. The realtors had attorneys to facilitate their transactions and Peter et al got new clients.
That’s how Peter got Trinity as a client. Trinity had a habit of getting married to wealthy men. For some reason her marriages did not last too long. She divorced frequently. Each time she did so, she made sure she had a child with the gentleman and received a hefty alimony. I cannot recall which country she originated from, perhaps Vietnam. At any rate, Peter met her at the start of her building her career accumulating her fortune from receiving alimonies from wealthy men. She had walked into the realty office looking for a cooperative to purchase. They became her realtors, and Peter became her attorney. She wisely invested her alimony monies into cooperatives and condominiums. In the beginning, she bought one every two three months. Later on, she was buying at the rate of one or two a month. In the beginning they were in modest areas. Later on, they were on Fifth Avenue, Park Avenue, and Madison.
The more she bought, the more demanding and unpleasant she became. She used Peter all the while. At the start, she had tried to bargain with him in a very unique way. She came to the office just as Peter was about to leave. It was late, and everyone else had gone for the day. She was dressed in a very seductive manner. She asked for a quite ridiculous discount. Peter was firm in his refusal. She then slithered towards him in a most suggestive manner. Peter looked at her and said, ‘’My price is firm. This office is closed. I am leaving now. If you want me to represent you, please call at regular office hours and my secretary will set up an appointment for you. Close the door behind you as you leave.’’ He walked out. She followed. He locked the door and headed home. As he came into the house, he exclaimed, ‘’You would never guess what happened this evening!’’ As he told me, I laughed. You could not find a more faithful or clueless husband than Peter. She did not have a chance. He did not know how to play that game.
Perhaps because he would not fall for her foibles, or perhaps because he was friendly yet professional, she continued to use him. One day, for some reason, Peter brought her home with him. He needed to pick something from the house, and he was dropping her off somewhere. I think he wanted her to see that he was a solid family man. He led her to the kitchen, where I was, and went to look for his papers.
I had never met this femme fatale before. I just knew of her from Peter’s different tales. She was quite young, perhaps in her late thirties and petite. She walked like a tigress looking for prey. There was a sense of restlessness about her. She sidled as she walked. There are many photos displayed on the kitchen counter. One particular photo attracted her. It was a picture of our children. She leaned forward and looked at the picture intently. “I have four children from four different husbands,” she stated by way of greeting.
“Your mother must be so proud of you,” I said drily, unimpressed. Just then Peter came back with the papers he had forgotten. She followed him to the car without saying goodbye. I shook myself as if ridding myself of something unpleasant.
Years passed. Peter had left the partnership. He was now a solo practitioner. I was his assistant. Trinity was still his client and was now living on Fifth or Park Avenue, I forget which. She had acquired the habit of summoning him in a most demeaning manner, and although Peter disliked it, he tolerated her. “It pays the bills,” he said. I fumed. I was absolutely turned off by her. I never met her again, nor did I care to.
I was absolutely convinced she must have been a call girl in her country of origin. She still earned her living on her back, I told Peter cattily. There was a baseness about her. She had not a bit of graciousness within her, absolutely no charm, never mind class. She talked down to people. I noticed that in people with low self-esteem. To compensate for that, they feel as if in demeaning others, it makes them superior. She reminded me of a ruthless animal in the jungle looking for prey.
“Now Stella, enough of your drama and stop being catty. It doesn’t suit you,” Peter would say when I commented negatively.
One day she called him. She wanted to see him that evening at her apartment in Manhattan. She now lived in an ultra-elegant building. When he got there, he was startled. “Stella, I do not know what she has done to herself, but her mouth is all swollen like a baboon’s bottom.”
I could not repress my gleeful laughter. I knew what she had done to herself. She was trying to eradicate the signs of aging and hard living. In doing so, she made herself look ludicrous. I had witnessed this before.
Her last husband, a prominent Manhattan surgeon was caught in their bed with their child’s Swedish nanny. In a way that was a great coup for her because of the sum she would receive from that alimony, but on the other hand, she was slipping. She was no longer as fascinating or attractive as she once believed she was. She began to resort to plastic surgery and other methods to keep looking young and enticing. That must have been a very bitter pill for her to swallow.
By now she had quite a few children. Each one lived in a separate apartment, each with their own nannies.
That February I planned to go to Boulder for my grandson’s third birthday. Both my grandson and I were looking forward to my being there. However, I had a cough and an ear infection that would not go away. Peter suggested I check with the doctor before I leave. It was a bitter cold winter day when he drove me for my appointment. We were on the LIE when he turned purple and couldn’t breathe. “Open the windows,” he managed to gasp. I took one look at him, and I knew he was having a heart attack! I opened the windows.
“Peter darling, go to the side. I will drive.”
“No, I’m okay. I will drive.”
I thought it better not to argue with him, but I was anxious. I kept looking at him anxiously as he drove us to the doctor’s office. We finally arrived at the doctor’s office. We got into the escalator and up to the office. He slumped onto the leather couch in the waiting room. The waiting room was full of patients. I went to the nurse. “There is something wrong with my husband. The doctor needs to see him right away,” I said.
The nurse did not comprehend what was happening. I did not want Peter to hear the concern in my voice. I controlled my anxiety, yet I was firm. When they finally realized that something was seriously wrong with him, they bundled us into an ambulance and rushed us to the hospital. He was having a massive heart attack.
Peter was in need of a triple bypass heart surgery. It was a very frightening and trying time. When he stabilized, I was able to go through the office’s telephone messages. There were quite a few from her. Getting no callbacks, she became nasty and angry. In her last message, she said she had reported him to the Bar Association for being an incompetent attorney.
I was already under a great deal of stress. I had nearly lost my husband. It was only by the grace of God that I hadn’t. Now, this woman had the temerity to complain about him to the Bar Association? I was fuming! I called her number. She now had a younger man as a companion. I am sure she was his meal ticket and not vice versa! Do I seem nasty? I definitely was! He picked up the telephone.
In a voice barely controlled, I said, “This is Mrs. Cooperman. Please put Trinity on the line.” When she got on the line, I said, “How dare you! All these years my husband took care of your affairs, and you never had a complaint. He did not answer your calls for a few days, and you complained to the Bar Association? He always returned your calls promptly. Did you not wonder why he did not? My husband is now lying in the hospital having survived a triple bypass heart surgery. You are a nasty, selfish woman. All these years other attorneys refused to deal with you because of your mean and petty behavior. He stayed on as your attorney even when you sorely tried his patience. Please take your business elsewhere. We don’t need the likes of you as clients.” I did not give her a chance to speak. I hung up. I was shaking uncontrollably, then I began sobbing. All the tension of the few past weeks culminated that evening. I shook and cried for a long time. Finally, I calmed down. I felt much better after my outburst.
When Peter was a bit stronger, I told him what happened. In his patient sweet way, he said, “Oh Stella, what did you do?”
“We don’t need the likes of her,” I replied. “She never even sent you a get well card or called back to see how you are doing or apologize for complaining to the Bar Association about you. She has no empathy towards others. We don’t need her.”
She never called him. She never asked about him or thanked him for all his years of looking after her affairs. Sometimes I wonder what happened to her. All the plastic surgery in the world cannot cover up her nastiness and the inner ugliness. She is older now, and as one ages, the face reflects the inner self. I don’t think men are attracted to her any longer. How does she manage? I like to think she manages with a great deal of difficulty.