I’ve been asked to rewrite THE DIVORCE PLANNER and have narrowed down the opening scene to the following choices. Please pick one and let me know in the Comments section below.
Darcy was thirty when she first thought of representing a client through a divorce. Not in a legal sense. But a supportive sense. A celebratory sense. A sense that evolved, after many years of dedicated effort, into a lucrative career. Until she left Southern California with its self-reflective gaze and moved to Northern California to be closer to Joyce, her only daughter, who lived and worked in San Francisco, a little over an hour south of Santa Rosa, where at fifty years old Darcy settled with roommates she hardly saw in a city where she knew next to no one in a life that felt even lonelier than the one she had left behind.
Darcy sat in her roommate’s living room with her laptop propped on her thighs as she scrolled through the hotel listings, searching for the perfect spot for her client Cyril’s Freedom Party. Cyril was a thirty-five year old working woman finalizing a divorce after twelve painful years of marriage who had hired Darcy as her divorce planner. The hard work of attorney’s meetings, mediation, custody battles, distribution of assets, payment of liabilities, and personal counseling sessions would be over in six weeks, and Darcy wanted to surprise her client with a wonderful Freedom Party in Las Vegas, suitable for her client’s slim budget.
Darcy realized she should have not picked up her phone when she noticed her daughter’s number, but she pressed the speaker button anyway as she drove in afternoon traffic to the attorney’s office to meet her client, Xavier, for the three o’clock mediation with his soon-to-be ex-wife. Joyce’s voice sounded tinny against the wind that whipped through the open windows of Darcy’s ancient Audi that lacked air conditioning, but Darcy wasn’t about to roll up the windows when her back stuck against the seat from Sonoma County’s summer heat.
“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Joyce said.
“Then talk,” Darcy said.
“I’m getting married and I want you to plan my wedding,” Joyce said.
As an experienced divorce planner, Darcy was prepared for nearly every kind of emergency that might occur on the big day.
Except for reconciliations. That was a new one.
The distinctive moment when her client, Richard, barged into the Freedom Party to announce he was getting back together with the woman who should have become his ex-wife slithered up her spine like an eerie promotion. All of Richard’s remaining friends, family, and co-workers had gathered in the ballroom of the Vineyard Creek Inn around tables decorated with red, white, and blue streamers drinking colorful alcoholic beverages and listening to loud music while a Santa Rosa Junior college student dressed in an American flag bikini waited to jump out of an American flag cake to give the newly divorced man a lap dance of freedom. Darcy rushed into the kitchen nearly tripping on her heels. “Stop the meal preparations!” she shouted.