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Authors: L. Alison Heller
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everyone to play her part without a scene: Dorothy and I as the do-gooders, politely disseminating helpful information; Karen as the grateful recipient of our largesse, taking the list with an appreciative smile and going on her way.
__________
A fter Fern leaves, I take a moment to collect myself. Then I surprise myself by going straight into Henry’s office.
He looks up and raises his eyebrows without smiling. “Molly. Again. What now?”
I turn around to leave. “Never mind.”
“No, no. Come on in. Sorry to be abrupt.”
“Okay.” I plop down in his guest chair. “Well, this one is truly over my head.” I recap my conversation with Fern. I don’t think that I can adequately convey her desperation, but by the end of my narration, his face, normally affectless, is grave.
“Shit. That sounds like textbook parental alienation.”
“I was wondering.” Alienation is when one parent pits a child against the other parent, force-feeding her horrible stories, and basically brainwashing the child against her father or mother. The courts consider it a type of child abuse. “Does she have a case?”
“Assuming she’s telling you the truth, yes. He could lose custody. Courts have been pretty clear on it.”
“What’s involved with proving a case?”
“A lot. It’s somewhat evident from the kids’ behavior, but you’ll need a forensic expert. And, of course, it’s really expensive and very involved. I’ll get you some names of files to pull that will give you a good idea of where to start.” He rolls his chair in front of the computer screen, starts typing and then stops. “Hey. Wait a second. Why did you have a consult alone? You’re like an infant, experience-wise.”
“Yeah. That’s the other thing. Lillian told me to get rid of the case because of Robert Walker. But don’t you think when she hears the story—”
“Oh no. Stop right there. To Lillian, sending you into the consult is tantamount to tossing the case in the trash.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I just mean that if Lillian wants the case even a little, youcan be sure she’ll take the consult and establish a relationship from the get-go.” He looks at me. “Don’t bring this up with Lillian. Kamikaze mission.”
“Okay, I won’t. It’s heartbreaking, though.”
“It sounds bad. What did you tell her?”
“I gave her a list of referrals.”
“Well, that’s all you can do. If she calls, you have to refer her elsewhere or”—he slices his finger across his throat—“professional suicide.”
8
____
the girls and the twirls
A s it turns out, Lillian’s “girls” are Liz, Rachel and Hope, the group with which I already spend most of my waking hours. We’ve never hung out at the bar at the Four Seasons, though. I love the Four Seasons. The extra-large windows are covered by dramatic curtains made of thousands of tiny pewter-colored beads that ripple like water. There’s a pool in the center of the room, and delicate trees placed around the borders of the dining room, decorated to sync with the season outside. It’s exactly what you imagine a fancy New York restaurant to be when you’re growing up in North Carolina.
After Lillian ordered a car—so we wouldn’t have to walk the three blocks from the office—we rode over and commandeered a table at the bar. It feels clubby and rich, with warm wooden walls and a dramatic stalactite chandelier dominating the ceiling.
As Lillian orders a round of Kir royales, I lean over to Rachel.
“Where’s Hope?”
She glances quickly at Lillian and whispers back, “Client drama. She’ll be late.”
“So, Lillian, how did the Linden four-way meeting go today?” Liz asks. Liz has an astonishing memory for Lillian’s schedule.
Lillian sips her drink. “Oh, it was fine. Suzie Linden kept her mouth shut, thank God. That woman is so annoying—she’s so concerned about holding on to her vacation home that she’s notfocusing on anything else. It drives me crazy: ‘the
__________
A fter Fern leaves, I take a moment to collect myself. Then I surprise myself by going straight into Henry’s office.
He looks up and raises his eyebrows without smiling. “Molly. Again. What now?”
I turn around to leave. “Never mind.”
“No, no. Come on in. Sorry to be abrupt.”
“Okay.” I plop down in his guest chair. “Well, this one is truly over my head.” I recap my conversation with Fern. I don’t think that I can adequately convey her desperation, but by the end of my narration, his face, normally affectless, is grave.
“Shit. That sounds like textbook parental alienation.”
“I was wondering.” Alienation is when one parent pits a child against the other parent, force-feeding her horrible stories, and basically brainwashing the child against her father or mother. The courts consider it a type of child abuse. “Does she have a case?”
“Assuming she’s telling you the truth, yes. He could lose custody. Courts have been pretty clear on it.”
“What’s involved with proving a case?”
“A lot. It’s somewhat evident from the kids’ behavior, but you’ll need a forensic expert. And, of course, it’s really expensive and very involved. I’ll get you some names of files to pull that will give you a good idea of where to start.” He rolls his chair in front of the computer screen, starts typing and then stops. “Hey. Wait a second. Why did you have a consult alone? You’re like an infant, experience-wise.”
“Yeah. That’s the other thing. Lillian told me to get rid of the case because of Robert Walker. But don’t you think when she hears the story—”
“Oh no. Stop right there. To Lillian, sending you into the consult is tantamount to tossing the case in the trash.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I just mean that if Lillian wants the case even a little, youcan be sure she’ll take the consult and establish a relationship from the get-go.” He looks at me. “Don’t bring this up with Lillian. Kamikaze mission.”
“Okay, I won’t. It’s heartbreaking, though.”
“It sounds bad. What did you tell her?”
“I gave her a list of referrals.”
“Well, that’s all you can do. If she calls, you have to refer her elsewhere or”—he slices his finger across his throat—“professional suicide.”
8
____
the girls and the twirls
A s it turns out, Lillian’s “girls” are Liz, Rachel and Hope, the group with which I already spend most of my waking hours. We’ve never hung out at the bar at the Four Seasons, though. I love the Four Seasons. The extra-large windows are covered by dramatic curtains made of thousands of tiny pewter-colored beads that ripple like water. There’s a pool in the center of the room, and delicate trees placed around the borders of the dining room, decorated to sync with the season outside. It’s exactly what you imagine a fancy New York restaurant to be when you’re growing up in North Carolina.
After Lillian ordered a car—so we wouldn’t have to walk the three blocks from the office—we rode over and commandeered a table at the bar. It feels clubby and rich, with warm wooden walls and a dramatic stalactite chandelier dominating the ceiling.
As Lillian orders a round of Kir royales, I lean over to Rachel.
“Where’s Hope?”
She glances quickly at Lillian and whispers back, “Client drama. She’ll be late.”
“So, Lillian, how did the Linden four-way meeting go today?” Liz asks. Liz has an astonishing memory for Lillian’s schedule.
Lillian sips her drink. “Oh, it was fine. Suzie Linden kept her mouth shut, thank God. That woman is so annoying—she’s so concerned about holding on to her vacation home that she’s notfocusing on anything else. It drives me crazy: ‘the
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