Curby (9 page)

“You won’t hurt me will you?”

“Do you mean during or after?”

“Both!” she said.

Impassioned, Nick unbuttoned his shirt, leaned back to remove it, let it fall away and returned to press his lips onto hers.

“That depends on how well you travel,” he teased. Jaime kissed him hard, breathed deeply and resumed the lighter touch.

His T-shirt was removed next and then he unbuttoned her blouse.

“What if I resist?” She whispered.

“Why would you want to?” he whispered back.

His mouth opened to her darting tongue that went deep inside. He returned to her jaw and kissed it lightly, undid his belt, pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. His lips brushed across her lips and then he kissed her deeply.

Hearing the pants fall to the floor quickened her breathing. She pressed herself into him. “So now you think you have me where you want me?”

Their lips never separating, he answered, “All I know is that I want you.”

“And I want you.”

The kisses became more passionate and prolonged. Nick held her tightly and cupped her round buttocks through petit panties. He stooped down and pulled them slowly past her thighs and on past her calves. Holding onto his shoulder, she stepped out of them.

They danced, burning skin to burning skin, and when the music stopped, kept dancing in the ensuing silence.

Leading her to the couch, he kept his lips on hers while lowering her down. His entry was slow and gradual, the steamy interlude building to a passionate desperation for both him as well as her. It surpassed everything she had hoped for and when it was over they remained in their embrace.

Martin Briscotti’s office

“Nick, I wanted to see you today, because I have good news. We got a court date. We’re going to see the judge.”

“So, how does it look to you so far?”

As was typical of him, Martin spoke loud and boisterously. He paced about, his arms flailing this way and that as he spoke.

“Not good! That bitch in the Bronx wants permanent custody. We’re going to have to come up with a miracle. Unfathomable as it may seem, she actually has a husband…poor slob. Not only
that, they have a decent and stable income and a long standing relationship with Children’s Services.”

“It sounds like you know her?”

“That loud mouth screwball? She was a witness for C. S. more times than I care to remember.”

“When is the court date?”

“Oh, we have plenty of time for that, thanks to the city’s backlog. At least another two weeks. I’ll give you all of the particulars on the way out. You’ll need to be there along with any character witnesses you can drum up…you know…like…people of good standing. Yeah, like the mayor. That would help. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Right! Then we’re left with whatever lowly crumb nobody you may know from the neighborhood. Make sure they wear a suit and tie, or a nice dress if it’s a woman, of course. You, too, Nick. It’s important for the image.

“I understand.”

“Then we’ll see you there!” The lawyer extended his hand.

“Thanks for everything!” Nick shook it. “By the way…is there any way we could get more time with Curby? Two hours a week and that drive all the way up to the Bronx; well, it’s really not enough time.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Sunday

“Eight hours!”

“Eight hours? That’s wonderful,” Jaime said to Nick, sitting next to him along with Curby in the front seat of the car. “Let’s take him to the zoo?”

Excited, Curby said, “Yeah, I want to go to the zoo.”

“Good! We’re all in agreement.”

After an afternoon of miniature train rides through the zoo grounds, and extensive walking, it was time for a snack break.

Finding an empty table, Nick ordered hamburgers, fries and sodas.

“We still have a lot of time left.”

Jaime checked her watch. “Four hours”, she said. “We could go to a movie.”

“What would you like to see, buddy?” Nick asked.

“The pirate one. The pirates that live under the water.”

“That’s an old movie. It’s not playing anymore.”

Jaime said, “Why don’t we go find one of those large movie complexes and see what’s there?”

By the time they arrived at a mall with a large enough choice of movie theatres, sat through one and headed back to the foster home, they arrived a half hour late.

Annette Dubois met them at the door.

“I knew you would take advantage sooner or later. Isn’t eight hours enough for you?”

Nick replied. “I don’t know my way around the Bronx very well.”

“Too bad! That’s not my fault.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t. In the meantime, I’m letting your lawyer know I won’t tolerate having to wait while you go lagging around having a good time.”

“I apologize. It wasn’t intentional.”

“I’m also writing the court. I want your visiting hours reduced to where they were. Two hours!”

She shut the door—hard.

Miraculously, thanks to Martin Briscotti, Nick kept the eight hour visits. Each Sunday was a new and anticipated adventure. It was difficulty for Nick to wait an entire week for so little time to spend with his son.

Jaime was always there for him and when the court date finally arrived, they went there together.

CHAPTER FIVE

Family Court

Adams Street, Brooklyn.

Opening arguments

Sitting on a bench behind Nick and Jaime were a few of the tenants from the building; the elderly woman who had found Curby walking around lost, Elaine from the pharmacy, and Ted, Nick’s foreman. In the third row, Officer Silverman sat with two of Jaime’s coworkers. Filling up the back rows were a few more subpoenaed witnesses, law students and court officers.

Heavy set, his suit, far too tight with a jacket left open, Mr. Levenstein, Dubois’ lawyer, having taken the floor five minutes prior, finished up with his closing arguments. His sustained look at Nick was more one of casualness, as if he had already dismissed him as nothing more than a time consuming inconvenience. His voice, high pitched and rather effeminate, exuded past his double chin softly, much like that of the late Truman Capote.

“My client, Annette Dubois, has been a loyal and devoted caretaker who tirelessly and most diligently sacrificed herself for the benefit of the city and its orphans. At this time, she would like to ask the court’s consideration for full custody of this parentless child, here known to the court as Curby. It is our joint opinion
that Mr. Santinelli, although a proven and decent citizen, is less than capable of caring for this child. He is unmarried, and in the recent past, lost this child to the streets where the boy wandered off and...”

“Objection, the child was in the care of a nanny and not Mr. Santinelli,” Nick’s lawyer shouted.

The judge slammed his gavel down. “Overruled! I read the initial report. The court has already considered that, Mr. Briscotti. Now, please refrain from interrupting during the opening arguments. You can contest anything you like when it’s your turn to speak.”

“Sorry, your Honor.”

“Apology accepted. Continue, Mr. Levenstein.”

“Eh, hem!” Levenstein made sure Briscotti noticed his returning smirk. “I have nothing further to say for my client, except to mention that she has been adoringly married to her husband for the past thirty years, kept a clean and organized house and has three other well behaved children.”

The judge, his elbows resting on the bench with his head propped up in his hands, casually looked on. In a tired sounding voice, he said, “Anything else, counsel?”

Levenstein glanced at his client. “Uh…no, not at this time, your Honor.”

“Mr. Briscotti?”

Dispensing with his usual animated gestures, Martin Briscotti remained composed, clasped his hands together, faced the judge and then the court.

“Your Honor…members of the court and all those opposed, there is nothing more endearing to the heart than a parents love for a child…or a child’s love for a parent.

“In this court sits a man in false judgment when his undertaking should actually be one of merit. Mr. Nick Santinelli stopped that one day three years ago to look into that discarded box lying in the gutter. There, he looked into the eyes of one of God’s most beautiful of creations. A child, discarded like so much trash, to be swept away and buried alive in a landfill, forgotten and never to have lived a full life.”

The lawyer glanced briefly at the judge.

“Yes, I read the initial papers you submitted to the court. Very sad. Go on, please continue.”

“Thank you, your Honor. Instead, my client had the inquisitiveness and dare I say foresightedness, to exit his street sweeper to inspect that box.

“At that time, three years ago, his partner, Sandy Summerville, was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”

“Objection! Irrelevant, your Honor!”

“Overruled for the same reason, Mr. Levenstein. Please continue, Mr. Briscotti.”

“Her tearful wish at the time was that she be a mother, the mother she would not have otherwise had the chance to be. It was for this reason that the discovery of the newborn went unreported.

“They, as parents gave this child a wonderful and meaningful three years. They catered to his every need. Sadly, Ms. Summerville passed away three months ago. The boy regards Nick as his natural father and none other. And like any good father son relationship, their bond is no different than if this child had derived from Nick Santinelli’s very own loins.”

The lawyer turned and faced the judge. “That’s all for now, your Honor.”

Judge Coleman to Dubois’ lawyer. “You may begin with your questioning, Mr. Levenstein.”

Returning to the floor, Levenstein, said, “This is all a very touching story, but that may be all it is. With all due respect to the deceased, how do we know that this little boy in question was ever found in a box or if indeed it was Mr. Santinelli who found him? What proof can his counsel present to the court that Mr. Santinelli was even the one who raised him? This could all be one big lie.”

“Mr. Briscotti?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

Martin Briscotti stood calmly and glanced at each and every glaring face in the courtroom, folded his hands and smiled gently. His voice, full of confidence and as smooth as an acoustic guitar playing deep southern blues under a Louisiana sunset, reached softly across the room.

“Mark Twain once said, ‘A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.’

“Your Honor, I presented to the court, doctor receipts accrued over the years. You will also find among those papers in front of you, receipts for formula, a bassinet and many of the other miscellaneous items related to the child’s early months.”

(Pages turning)

“Yes, counsel, I have them. It also says here that you brought witnesses?”

“Yes, sir! I’d like to present my first witness, Elaine Trudall, a clerk who was behind the register of the pharmacy during those first few days of the child’s life.”

The judge eyed the Dubois’ lawyer. “Mr. Levenstein, do you have any further questions before we proceed?”

Looking frustrated, the lawyer responded, “No, not at this time, your Honor.”

“Mr. Briscotti?”

“Thank you, your Honor.” Martin nodded at Elaine.

Elaine Trudall, A narrow, elderly woman and never married, shyly squeezed passed all of the bent legs in the aisle and made her way to the witness stand.

“Please raise your right hand,” a bailiff said. “Do you solemnly swear to say the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do!” She said, in a high pitched shaky voice.

“You may be seated.”

Martin quietly smiled at her. “Don’t be nervous, Elaine. This will only take a moment. Do you know Mr. Santinelli and can you point him out to the court room for me?”

The entire time on the witness stand, Elaine continuously rubbed her fingers together. She looked directly at Nick and pointed to him.

“Yes…he’s right there.”

“Mr. Santinelli, could you please stand. Ms. Trudall, is that the man you were just pointing to?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

The judge looked down at the court stenographer. “Let the court show that Ms. Trudall identified Mr. Santinelli.”

“Thank you, Ms. Trudall,” said Martin. “And if you would, please tell the court what transpired three years ago?”

Straightening in her chair, she said, “Nick, I mean, Mr. Santinelli…actually I only knew him as Nick until now. Well, he came into the store three years ago in a big rush. I remember because he didn’t pay anything for it.”

“Didn’t pay anything for what, Ms. Trudall?”

Surprised that the lawyer would ask what she felt was obvious, Elaine stared at him and said, “The baby formula, of course!”

“Thank you! Please go on.”

“He just ran out the door with a whole carton of baby formula. I can’t remember the brand.”

“That’s okay, Ms. Trudall. Just tell us what you do remember.”

“Yes, well, he came back a little later and picked up diapers and handy wipes…I think. I know he picked up the diapers, but I’m not that sure about the handy wipes. Oh, I do remember about a pacifier. I remember that because we get teenagers in the store that buy them. It’s some kind of fad thing. I even remember the color. It was blue.”