A Woman's Place: A Novel (12 page)

That was the major reason why, when I talked with Johnny and Kikit that night, I told them I would be home Monday afternoon. Okay, so there was willfulness involved. I figured that if the children were expecting to see me--were counting the hours, Mommy, the minutes, the seconds, as Kikit had sworn--the court wouldn't dare let them down. We all wanted what was in the children's best interests, didn't we? six. I wasn't a big television watcher. By the time I was done with work, the kids, and the house, I was too tired. Sometimes I turned on the set when I climbed into bed at night, but I rarely lasted more than ten minutes before falling asleep. That didn't mean I wasn't aware of what Dennis watched. Often enough, bringing him coffee in the den, I had caught glimpses of "L.A. Law," "Law & Order," or "Murder One." I had a better record with movies, since he and I both loved them. I remembered The Verdict,

and, of course, Anatomy of a Murder, and had loved To Kill a Mockingbird enough to rent it when we were having friends over for a Sunday night supper. And then there was the Simpson trial. I would have had to be on another planet not to have seen snippets on CNN and airport monitors, in dentists' waiting rooms, and in the Globe. So I expected something orderly. I pictured a single trial dominating the courtroom, with the judge decorous on his bench, the attorneys and their clients sedate at tables beneath him, the benches behind them lined with respectful observers, and the court officers at attention by the door. Reality was quite different. Judge Selwey's courtroom wasn't exactly chaotic, but it came close. Oh, yes, the judge was on his bench, but he was a small man who was in and out of his seat, black robe flying as he strode from one end of the bench to the other, grabbing a book here, waving a paper there, as though to make his presence known. Even then, aside from his clerks, the only people watching him were the three standing immediately to his right. The rows of benches that filled the room held small groups, two, three, four to a huddle, whispering, murmuring, rustling papers. Two uniformed court officers were engrossed in their own conversation at the side of the courtroom, and over it all the radiators hissed and knocked.

I didn't see Dennis. I had been looking for him since parking my car--looking covertly, nervously, because I wasn't sure what my reaction to seeing him would be. But he hadn't been on the courthouse steps or in the lobby, and he wasn't in here.

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So maybe he had decided not to come. Maybe he had realized the absurdity of his charges and wanted to save himself the embarrassment of having the order against me reversed. That was fine with me. I didn't imagine that we would kiss and make up. I was too angry for that. But we were rational adults. We could talk. There was a way to handle marital problems, and a public forum wasn't it. We didn't belong in a courtroom discussing our problems before strangers.

Carmen scanned the room for a private spot. She ended up guiding me to the jury bench, nudging me along when I thought we wouldn't be allowed to sit there. But it was empty and far enough from the judge to allow us to talk.

No sooner were we seated when she pulled a sheaf of papers from her leather case and leaned close. "Look these over. They're a restatement of everything we discussed Saturday. We've rebutted Dennis's charges point by point and made our own point-by-point argument that you've been the major parenting force all these years, as well as the major responsible force in the marriage."

There were four pages of numerically ordered items. I read through them, found them simple, straightforward, and truthful, took the pen Carmen offered, and signed my name on the designated line. Carmen took back both pen and papers. Still leaning close and talking low, she said, "As soon as Dennis and Art get here, we'll notify Missy, the blonde over there. She's the judge's administrative clerk--his cousin, I believe, but nice enough."

I kept my voice as low as hers, whispered actually. I didn't want to draw attention, didn't want anyone to know I was there. "Who are all these other people?"

"Lawyers and clients. The judge disposes of anywhere from three to seven or eight cases an hour. Social service workers sometimes show up, plus witnesses if the judge is hearing evidence. The press shows up only if it gets wind of something juicy." Her eyes roamed the room. They were un rushed unfazed. She seemed perfectly at ease here, and while I certainly wasn't--1 would have rather been most anywhere else--1 took courage from her manner. "I don't see any media here now," she said. "The fellow over there, see, way at the back is just a spectator. He can't possibly hear much from there. Mostly he reads his paper. He's retired, I think." A raised voice came from beside the bench. Our attention swung forward. After a minute, I whispered, "What was that about?" Carmen explained. "The man on the right is representing himself. He doesn't know what he's doing--a big problem with pro se defendants--so the judge was instructing him in the law. The wife's lawyer, there on the left, objected to the judge's instruction, claiming that it's a conflict of interest for the judge to tell one party what to do, then to rule on the action."

I didn't need Carmen to interpret for me when the judge overruled the lawyer's objection with an impatient wave of his hand. It was ominous, that wave, a too-hasty dismissal. It belittled the woman and her lawyer, which fit in with the picture Carmen had painted of the judge. Me, I had spent a good part of the weekend denying that picture. I wanted to believe judges were named to the bench for their wisdom and inherent fairness. I had to believe that once this judge saw me in person, once he heard my side and realized how responsible and involved a parent I was, he would reverse his earlier decision.

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But there was that impatient wave, directed at a woman who looked decent enough. It seemed to me that if the judge gave legal advice to her husband, it was a conflict of interest. That, along with Carmen's reservations about Selwey, along with what I knew about little men with Napoleon complexes and misogynous men with Orestes complexes, made me wonder what I was in for.

"Is every woman who comes before him doomed?" I asked. Carmen's eyes were on the bench. It was a minute before she said, "Not every one. He has to be careful. There have been complaints against him, even an article or two in the paper. So he walks a thin line. When the argument is compelling, his rulings are fine. He doesn't dare buck the tide. The trouble comes when things are hazy." I thought my arguments were compelling. I thought they made absolute sense. I was wondering how the judge couldn't possibly see that--when the door at the back of the courtroom opened and Dennis came through. I felt a sharp thump against my ribs, reality hitting hard. He was my husband, now my adversary. I was having trouble making the shift. With him was a man who was unremarkable in every respect but his carriage. He held himself straight and walked slowly, as though he had all the time and confidence in the world.

"Is that Arthur Heuber?" I asked.

"That's Arthur Heuber," Carmen answered. "Nothing fancy or showy or slick, just solid legal skill. He's been doing divorce work for better than thirty years. Never heard of him, huh? He likes it that way. By keeping a low profile, he takes jurors by surprise, not to mention pleasing judges who don't want to be overshadowed." She pursed her lips, let them go with a smack. "He knew what he was doing when he picked Selwey."

My eyes flew to hers. ""Picked him'? Can he do that?"

"Three judges sit on the probate court. When a motion is filed, it is given a sequential docket number. The last digit of that number determines which judge will hear the case."

"Then it's random."

"In theory. It's possible for a lawyer to manipulate the judicial assignment by picking when to file. Docketing clerks have been known to notify lawyers when the numbers roll around for a particular judge."

"That isn't fair," I said. When Carmen's mouth quirked in agreement, in frustration, I felt a flurry of fear. "Can we change judges?"

"Oh, I tried. Believe you me. I was here on another case last Friday afternoon and requested a continuance until tomorrow morning. That would have put us before Judge DeS antis Not much better, but better. Obviously, since we're here now, my request was denied. It's not that these judges love each other, just that they won't step on each other's toes. Selwey issued the initial order. They'll let him see it through. I'll be right back."

She slipped off the bench, carrying the affidavits I had signed. I watched her cross to the far side of the courtroom and talk briefly with Heuber. Then the two approached the clerk. Heuber had his own papers, though I couldn't imagine what they held. More accusations? But what? I didn't drink. I didn't beat my kids. I didn't put them out on the Page 64

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streets to beg for food.

Nor did I drive to endanger them in the car, or leave my daughter without medicine, though Dennis had accused me of both. Sitting here, watching Art Heuber pass his mysterious papers to Missy, I felt utterly vulnerable. Accusations didn't have to be true to wreak havoc. The last few days had taught me that.

My eyes went to Dennis, drawn there, I swear, by some force of his, because he was waiting, looking straight at me. He held my gaze for a deliberate minute, then calmly looked away. If seeing me had given him a jolt, it didn't show. But I sure felt one. It brought everything back--the hurt and the fear, the anger, the shock, the disbelief--everything I had spent the weekend repressing for the sake of survival.

I started to shake.

Carmen slid in beside me. "Take a deep breath. You'll do fine."

"That's his favorite blue suit," I whispered fiercely. "And the tie?

That red one? I bought it for him three weeks ago. He was in the process of closing a deal, not the biggest deal he'd ever made, but something. He was getting nervous. I said it was a power tie and that if he wore it, it would bring him luck."

"Did it?"

"Yes. So he's wearing it today. What does that say?"

"The Raphael matter, " came the clerk's call. I was still shaking, which was totally unlike me. I had been in pressure situations before--meeting people I wanted to impress, wading into uncharted business waters, dealing with large sums of money--and had always been collected. Never before, though, had I been in a position where so much to do with me rested on the whim of others. Calming myself, I followed Carmen to the spot, to the right of the judge's bench, that had been vacated minutes before. We were a foursome this time, Dennis, Art, Carmen, and I, in that order. I didn't look at Dennis again, didn't trust my emotions that far. I kept my eyes on the judge. He was standing against the aged wood bench, reading the papers that the clerk had handed him, the papers our lawyers had handed her. His mouth was pinched at the corners. Every minute or so, he glanced at me over his glasses. I waited for him to glance at Dennis the same way, but he didn't. I was clearly the one on trial, the one causing the trouble, the one endangering my kids.

I stood tall and breathed evenly, proud of my recovery--until I started to think about it. If I was calm with so much at stake, the judge might think me a heartless bitch. But if I gave in to trembling, he would think me emotionally shaky. So I was damned either way. What to do?

I stayed calm. Calm had worked for me when my father had died so suddenly, though I was only eight at the time and my mother was frantic. It had worked when the money I had counted on for college had to be used when Rona totaled a neighbor's car. It had worked when, after a year of marriage, my husband's past sins came to light.

Had I mentioned those past sins? No. They were ancient history, Page 65

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irrelevant to the present.

The judge began to sway from side to side. He turned page after page, one set of affidavits, then the next. Finally, he tossed both down and, still swaying, looked at Carmen. She took her cue. In a voice that suggested she and the judge were the only two with an ounce of sense in the room, she said, "Your Honor, as you've just read, my client was stunned by the order issued against her last Thursday. She's led an exemplary life. She is strong, mentally and physically. She is well-known in her community and is respected by her children's teachers, their pastor, their doctors and friends. As the primary caretaker, she has raised two wonderfully happy and well-adjusted children, two children who are confident of the love she feels for them and are missing her terribly right now. Her husband has a history of absenteeism. He never before expressed an interest in full-time parenting, nor did he ever suggest that his wife was an unfit mother. She had no idea he was serious about wanting a divorce, he is that uncommunicative. Behind her back, while she was at her dying mother's bedside in Cleveland, he came to this court and presented evidence purporting to show her in a state of personal crisis. But there is no personal crisis. The evidence to that effect is filled with coincidence, erroneous supposition, even a few outright lies. There are too many unknowns to take it seriously, too many instances where an argument can be made that Mr. Raphael deliberately manipulated the situation to make his wife look bad. To put it bluntly, he set her up."

"We object to that, Your Honor," Art Heuber said in a quiet, but weighty voice. "There is no proof of any setup."

"And no proof against it," Carmen put in, "but Mr. Raphael's action on this matter has been so furtive that we have to question his motive. His business is failing. He's never wanted to be a full time parent before. Our guess is that he's after money. My client is prepared to be generous. She would have told him that herself if he'd asked, and the court would have been spared all the time it has spent on this matter. We will be quite happy to negotiate a settlement. We're prepared to discuss that in whatever setting Mr. Raphael wishes, but only after the current situation is resolved. Mrs. Raphael loves her children, and they love her. She needs to be with them. We request that the Order to Vacate be nullified and that the children be returned to her care." The judge took a paper Missy handed him. He stopped swaying to sign it, and was handing it back when he said, "From what Father says, the children are doing fine without her."