the back.”
“Yeah, OK, I'll check it out for you. Shouldn't be too difficult. I'll get back to you, OK? How's the legal battle of the century going?”
“I'm seeing my lawyer this afternoon.”
“Yeah? Me too. Hey, did you ever see the film Strangers On A Train? You know, the Hitchcock movie, the one where two guys plan...”
“Yeah, yeah, you do mine and I'll do yours. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“If ever you change your mind....” he said. He was joking, I knew that, but it struck a bit too close to home. When I hung up I finished my coffee and paced up and down, unable to relax. I looked at my watch. Three o'clock. One hour to get to Harrison's office. More than enough time.
I wondered what the problem was this time. I'd thought that Deborah and I had finally got the money thing sorted out, she'd made it clear that she hadn't wanted the house or the car, just cash,
and Chuck had thrashed out a deal with the hard-faced cow she'd employed as a lawyer that had too many zeros on the end of it but which at least left me with a roof over my head. Six years of marriage going down the tube was bad enough, but to see everything I'd earned over the past ten years go down with it was a bit much to bear.
I took the car to a filling station on the way to Chuck's office and checked the oil and water levels and the tyre pressure and filled the tank with gas. I arrived ten minutes early but he didn't make me wait, just had his secretary usher me in and shook my hand warmly. It was, I knew, a handshake that cost something in the region of five hundred bucks an hour. He waved me to a big leather chair that must have cost him at least three hours work, after taxes, and leant back in his,
steepling his fingers and frowning.
“We have a problem, Jamie,” he said quietly.
“We?”
He smiled a little. “I'm on your side,” he said.
“I'm listening,” I said.
He nodded. “OK, we've now come to a settlement over community property, over the medical plan and over the bank deposits and insurance. The other party has agreed to the split pretty much as I outlined at our last meeting. However, I'm afraid that I now have to inform you that the other party has now decided to press a claim for cruelty.”
“Cruelty?”
“Mental cruelty. Pain and suffering. To the tune of two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Deborah says that I was cruel to her? I don't believe it.”
“Don't forget that she has employed one of LA's toughest counsel to act for her. Carol Laidlaw is one mean son-of-a-bitch. And a dyke to boot. By the time she's finished she'll have your wife hating your guts, no matter how friendly you started out.”
“That's great news, Chuck,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “What are their chances?”
“That depends on how solid their grounds are. Whether or not they'll be able to prove their case in court.”
"Cruelty. No way, Chuck. I never laid a finger on Deborah. Never. And as for mental cruelty,
God, I can barely remember the last time we had an argument." That wasn't true. I could remember. And I could remember her final words, too.
“You've got to remember that Laidlaw is a real professional at dragging up all the bad things that happened during a marriage. She's not interested in the happy memories, the good things you shared. She wants the skeletons, and she knows exactly how to get them rattling out of your closet.”
I didn't like Chuck's imagery, I didn't like it one bit. It had been more than a year but I hadn't come close to getting over April's death and I doubted that I ever would. She lived for just four days, all of them on a life support machine, tenaciously clinging to life but with so little chance of success that we almost didn't even give her a name. We spent hours next to the incubator, watching her little deformed body twitch and breath, her perfect tiny hands clenching and unclenching.
“What does she want, Chuck?”
“Another hundred thousand.”
That
“Yeah, OK, I'll check it out for you. Shouldn't be too difficult. I'll get back to you, OK? How's the legal battle of the century going?”
“I'm seeing my lawyer this afternoon.”
“Yeah? Me too. Hey, did you ever see the film Strangers On A Train? You know, the Hitchcock movie, the one where two guys plan...”
“Yeah, yeah, you do mine and I'll do yours. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“If ever you change your mind....” he said. He was joking, I knew that, but it struck a bit too close to home. When I hung up I finished my coffee and paced up and down, unable to relax. I looked at my watch. Three o'clock. One hour to get to Harrison's office. More than enough time.
I wondered what the problem was this time. I'd thought that Deborah and I had finally got the money thing sorted out, she'd made it clear that she hadn't wanted the house or the car, just cash,
and Chuck had thrashed out a deal with the hard-faced cow she'd employed as a lawyer that had too many zeros on the end of it but which at least left me with a roof over my head. Six years of marriage going down the tube was bad enough, but to see everything I'd earned over the past ten years go down with it was a bit much to bear.
I took the car to a filling station on the way to Chuck's office and checked the oil and water levels and the tyre pressure and filled the tank with gas. I arrived ten minutes early but he didn't make me wait, just had his secretary usher me in and shook my hand warmly. It was, I knew, a handshake that cost something in the region of five hundred bucks an hour. He waved me to a big leather chair that must have cost him at least three hours work, after taxes, and leant back in his,
steepling his fingers and frowning.
“We have a problem, Jamie,” he said quietly.
“We?”
He smiled a little. “I'm on your side,” he said.
“I'm listening,” I said.
He nodded. “OK, we've now come to a settlement over community property, over the medical plan and over the bank deposits and insurance. The other party has agreed to the split pretty much as I outlined at our last meeting. However, I'm afraid that I now have to inform you that the other party has now decided to press a claim for cruelty.”
“Cruelty?”
“Mental cruelty. Pain and suffering. To the tune of two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Deborah says that I was cruel to her? I don't believe it.”
“Don't forget that she has employed one of LA's toughest counsel to act for her. Carol Laidlaw is one mean son-of-a-bitch. And a dyke to boot. By the time she's finished she'll have your wife hating your guts, no matter how friendly you started out.”
“That's great news, Chuck,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “What are their chances?”
“That depends on how solid their grounds are. Whether or not they'll be able to prove their case in court.”
"Cruelty. No way, Chuck. I never laid a finger on Deborah. Never. And as for mental cruelty,
God, I can barely remember the last time we had an argument." That wasn't true. I could remember. And I could remember her final words, too.
“You've got to remember that Laidlaw is a real professional at dragging up all the bad things that happened during a marriage. She's not interested in the happy memories, the good things you shared. She wants the skeletons, and she knows exactly how to get them rattling out of your closet.”
I didn't like Chuck's imagery, I didn't like it one bit. It had been more than a year but I hadn't come close to getting over April's death and I doubted that I ever would. She lived for just four days, all of them on a life support machine, tenaciously clinging to life but with so little chance of success that we almost didn't even give her a name. We spent hours next to the incubator, watching her little deformed body twitch and breath, her perfect tiny hands clenching and unclenching.
“What does she want, Chuck?”
“Another hundred thousand.”
That
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