by E H Davis
“Let the record show that the plaintiff Vivian Corbin is present, represented by attorney O’Connell. Defendant Jens Corbin is present, represented by attorney Polcarpi. Let us proceed,” prompted Neadeau.
________
The two lawyers, circling like pit bulls, politely hurled accusations and objections at each other.
Vincent tied Vivian’s checkered past with Armand Laurent, a convicted murderer, to her recent absconding with the couple’s marital assets, citing it as a sign of her flawed character, if not criminal behavior. To Jens’ surprise, Vincent had proof of her ongoing relationship with this dangerous felon, presenting phone records of calls Laurent made to her cell phone going back several months.
Only yesterday, he added pointedly, Laurent had made an attempt on his client’s life. The phone records showed that he’d made a call to Mrs. Corbin some fifteen minutes before running Vincent’s client, Jens Corbin, of the Long Bridge into the Piscataqua River, hoping to kill him.
Over O’Connell’s stentorious objections, the judge allowed Vincent to roll out the speculative evidence he’d unearthed about Vivian’s part in shaking down Laurent’s family in the alleged pregnancy scam. Vincent produced the marriage certificate establishing her annulled marriage to Laurent, and the news clippings hinting at her identity as the minor who’d testified against him.
Vincent cited her attempt to hide Jen’s valuable art collection, purchased with the proceeds of his creative endeavors as an artist, not hers, as further evidence of criminal conspiracy with the man she’d helped send to prison.
Perhaps she was acting out of some misguided sense of guilt and love for Laurent, he speculated. No matter. The coup de grace, the product of Larry’s investigative digging, was a bill of sale made out to Vivian in her maiden name, proof she’d purchased a throw-away handy used by Laurent to make calls to her as recently as last night, when the phone disappeared from the cellular grid.
O’Connell, with a salt-and-pepper coiffeur swept back like the movie stars of the fifties, struggled to recover his aplomb. It was obvious he’d been blind-sided by the revelations about Vivian as a teen. He huddled with his client in counsel, whispering heatedly.
Jens, having scripted courtroom scenes in his fiction, found the lawyer’s comeback predictable and uninspired. O’Connell dismissed Vincent’s allegations as malicious slander, declaiming that his client had done nothing wrong that couldn’t be explained by her fear for her own safety and security. The defendant Mr. Corbin’s violent nature, he argued, was well known to the Lee Sheriff’s Department, as they’d responded to a call when he violated his restraining order.
Talking over Vincent’s objections, O’Connell went on to describe in exaggerated detail Jens’ attack on his client — the incident with the wine glass — which precipitated her decision to file for divorce, fearing for her safety. He further cited Corbin’s history of mental illness and his ongoing record of psychological cruelty, constantly verbally abusing his wife and son, and recklessly jeopardizing the family’s financial security with risky projects, while deriding his wife’s efforts to make a living from her art.
Finally, he concluded, the plaintiff’s contact with Laurent should not be used to impugn her fitness as a mother. He put his arm around her protectively. She was a victim then, and she is a victim now. O’Connell rose from his seat to make his final argument. His voice dripped with sympathy.
“Her uncle brutally raped her, and then forced her to accuse Laurent on pain of death. She feared for her life, a pattern that followed her in her present marriage. Her only crime has been her trusting nature. She wanted to help Laurent get back on his feet after what she’d been forced to do to him. She has no knowledge of the regrettable assault on the defendant’s life, allegedly made by Laurent. We beg the court not to punish her by taking away her son.”
Vincent had the final say and he used it to draw the noose around Vivian’s neck, by reporting the terrorist call made to Jens at his cabin in Jackson, which was a matter of police record. The caller had attempted to shake Jens down for money, threatening to hurt his son if he didn’t cooperate. The caller knew particular details about the boy’s movements that had to have come from his mother.
The judge stared at Vivian as though trying to comprehend her corruption. When he spoke, his voice was dispassionate. He questioned Vivian and then Jens, asking them to clarify the claims made by their attorneys, answer further questions about their mutual assets and income, and describe their respective relationships with their son. Vincent capitalized on the moment by introducing a sworn statement by Teddy stating he wanted to live with his father.
Vincent presented Jens’ prenuptial agreement, excluding Vivian from benefiting from his creative efforts, including book, film, and TV rights. O’Connell protested that this was unfair to his client, as she had been a faithful partner all the years of marriage, and had been discouraged from pursuing her own career while his flourished. As a result, she had no visible means of support and limited expectations.
Neadeau took it all in, deliberated, and told them that he had come to a decision. Marital assets were to be shared accordingly: Vivian was awarded the house in Lee and Jens the cabin in Jackson, with all furnishings attached; personal motor vehicles would remain the property of the current registrants; Jens was to retain sole ownership to all copyright to his works, future, past, and present, and all royalties derived thereof; the art collection was awarded to Jens alone. Half the money that Vivian had taken before the divorce was her settlement. She was to return the other half immediately to Jens or suffer imprisonment.
There would be no additional monetary awards nor alimony, as their son — Neadeau paused to consult the custody papers for a name — Theodore, was entrusted to the custody of his father, with bi-monthly visiting privileges assigned to the plaintiff, with the proviso that she sever all ties to Laurent.
“Divorce is granted under these terms by the authority vested in me by the State of New Hampshire and the Fourth District Court of Dover,” he concluded. “Oh, I almost forgot, the restraining order on Mr. Corbin is hereby dismissed.”
At first O’Connell was too stunned to protest. When he rose to the task, he was full of bluster, which did little to sway the judge.
“Your honor, I’ve never, in all my years at law, witnessed a decision so cruel and unfair. The plaintiff is destitute, sir. Moreover, alienation from her son will destroy her. Please, I beg the Court, do not punish her for the sins of others.”
“Your reservations have been duly noted, Mr. O’Connell,” answered the judge, who turned his attention to Jens and Vincent. “Do you have anything to add, Mr. Polcarpi?
Vincent, flush with victory, responded with admirable reserve.
“We find the terms quite satisfactory, your honor.”
“Mr. Corbin, have you anything?”
Jens, whose eyes had been on Vivian during the judge’s pronouncement of the terms, was slow to refocus and respond.
“Your honor, judge,” he began. “I just don’t know what to say.” He glanced back at his now ex-wife. She had collapsed onto the table and was sobbing.
Vincent glared at Jens and shook his head. “Don’t,” he hissed.
“I’m not sure this is the right thing.” Jens’ voice quivered with emotion.
“Are you willing to take custody of your son, sir?” asked the judge.
“Most assuredly, your honor.”
“The parties will appear back in this courtroom in three months for evaluation. Dismissed.”
While Vincent reached for Jens’ hand to shake, Jens glanced over at the plaintiff’s table, looking for Vivian, planning to say something that would comfort her — reassure her that she would not be cut off from Teddy, that she would be welcome in Jackson, and Teddy could come and stay with her in Lee, no matter the court ruling.
But she was gone, leaving behind a sour attorney to collect her divorce papers, and an ex-husband whose heart, despite everything she’d done t
o destroy him, went out to her.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jens was impervious to Vincent’s attempts to cheer him up. While Vincent enthused over the judge’s findings, they stood on the steps to the courthouse, collars turned up against the chill autumn wind.
Every beat in his son’s character arc, to borrow a term from Jens’ story analysis, resonated with foreboding. The assistant principal’s concerns for Teddy’s psychological balance had taken Jens by surprise. Never in a million years would he have expected it. His impression of his son was that while he may be troubled by the divorce, he was at heart a good boy. And still is, he reminded himself.
Taking the boy from his mother now, though Teddy had requested it, seemed questionable, even though Jens had wanted it, especially after Laurent’s attempt on Jens’ life.
Who was Jens or the judge to presume they knew what a mother’s love means to a youth on the verge of manhood? He had seen them together, cozying side-by-side like a calf with its mother — the two made of the same stuff — brushing flanks as they cleared away after dinner.
Jens’ own mother may have been physically present when he was growing up, but she had not been available, not emotionally. The damage, he knew, was irreparable; it had stilted his own perception of women and stunted his development. Jens decided to make every effort to reconcile with Vivian, not for his own sake, but for his son’s.
“Did you hear what I said?” Vincent was pulling on his sleeve.
It took Jens a while to focus. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“You’ll want to get your art collection out of Vivian’s as soon as possible.”
“Why’s that?”
“I know you think I’m being mercenary, Jens, but this woman already tried to rob you. Now, she’s really desperate. Aside from the house, which she’ll likely dump on the market as soon as possible, and the half of your savings, she has nothing. I would get my stuff out in the next couple of days if I were you.”
He held out his hand for Jens to shake. “Look, she’s a survivor, she’ll make it, and so will you.”
Jens shook his hand absently. “Thanks for everything, Vincent.”
“Oh, you won’t get rid of me so easily. We’ve got a court review coming up in three months — and there’s my bill, of course.” He smiled without irony. “When are you leaving for Jackson?”
“As soon as I can square things for Teddy and put the art in storage.”
“How will I get a hold of you?”
“Landline works fine at the cabin. For now, leave a message on Nola’s cell — mine went for a swim and I haven’t had time to replace it.”
“Let me know when you do.”
Nola pulled up to the curb in her Beetle and honked. Jens climbed into the compact, careful not to let his arm in its sling bang into the dash. Vincent tapped on the window and Jens pressed the button to roll it down.
“Almost forgot — your agent, Jean, left a message for you to call her. She’s in Portsmouth tonight.”
Jens nodded his thanks, rolled up the window, and waved goodbye.
Nola glanced at Jens as she turned onto Central Ave., heading out of town in the direction of Dover Point and Portsmouth.
“Well, are you going to keep me in suspense?”
“She got the house in Lee. I got the house in Jackson, my art, my story rights, and half of our savings back. And Teddy,” he answered, staring ahead.
She screamed with delight. “That’s wonderful!”
“And I thought you’d be excited.”
________
After they had arrived back at the inn and Jens had spoken to Teddy, they celebrated in bed. Later, Jens tried to explain to Nola why he felt ambivalent about Teddy leaving his mother. Nola sensed his discomfort and told him it was okay, he needn’t justify his reasons, he was the father after all, she hadn’t meant to pry. She started to get up from the bed, pulling the sheet around her as though embarrassed or angry. He wasn’t sure which.
“Hey,” he said softly, pulling her back into bed and pinning her with his eyes.
“Nola, my muse, my love, my life, what am I going to do with you?”
He tried to kiss her but she turned away, tears welling. He took her in his arms as best he could with one good arm, and she cried. He cooed and shushed and kissed away the tears — My God, you are beautiful, he thought — and after a while she stopped with a laugh.
“I don’t know what that was about.”
“You’re worried I’m still in love with my ex.”
“Are you?” she asked, holding her breath.
“Nola, no. I love you.”
“Do you?” she asked, growing surer of herself.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you ... and I worry about keeping you.”
She put a finger to his lips. “Shut up, you silly fool.” Her lips followed.
Soon they were making love, Nola on top, rocking, her peerless breasts arousing him, making him forget everything — his age, his failures, his concerns for his son — even their match, which might end in heartache for both, cynical as he was about love.
But for now, the moment was perfect. His gargoyle of self-consciousness, which was constantly gnawing at his joy, surrendered in blissful silence. For the moment.
________
The meeting with Jean was more about her personal concern for him than professional considerations, though she did get around to asking about the book and whether he’d be meeting the deadline, which was only weeks away. How was he going to work with only one typing hand?
He told her not to worry, that he was two thirds of the way there and knew where it was all going, and Nola had volunteered to take dictation, and there was always voice recognition software. But she seemed unsure, despite his reassurances.
Jean and Nola hit it off immediately, settling into a cozy familiarity as Nola described her aspirations as a writer and outlined her script, which Jean thought had possibilities as a work of fiction, though style would determine its commercial value.
Jens noted the ease with which they talked, stepping on each other’s lines without embarrassment, laughing, segueing effortlessly from one topic to another in ways that left him spinning. He let them run on, content to take in the lights spilling like a painter’s impasto on the darkening canvas of the harbor. They were at the Dock-in, his usual choice for meetings with Jean.
In fact, since his brush with death, he hadn’t been able to focus at all on his story, and felt terminally out of touch with his characters and their plight. He gulped down his drink, not realizing his abandon was noticed by both Nola and Jean, who glanced at him in surprise and turned away, hoping he hadn’t noticed them noticing.
Nola stopped her conversation, put an arm around him, and asked if he was okay. He smiled reassuringly.
“I’m sorry, I forgot my manners.” He looked at Jean. “Please forgive me — it’s been a rough couple of days.”
“Don’t give it another thought. You’ve been to hell and back.”
Jens stood to hide his embarrassment. Other’s sympathy was not one of the social gestures he was comfortable with.
“Ladies, if you’ll pardon me.” He pointed to the restrooms behind the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
He felt their concern following him out, and he tried not to let it rankle. He took his time in the bathroom, dousing his face with cold water, brushing back his hair with his fingers, tucking his shirt into his pants, smoothing himself over. All done with his good arm. He decided he’d had enough to drink. When he got back Jean was alone at their table.
“She’s wonderful, Jens — just what you need.”
“My muse, eh?” He permitted himself a sincere smile.
Jean laughed. “I thought I was your muse.”
“You, my dear,” he said, rising to guide Nola to her seat as she returned from the bathroom, “are my Janus.” He indicated Nola as he pushed in her chair. “She, on the other hand, is my muse.”
&
nbsp; Nola smiled and nodded.
Soon after, Jean paid the bill, insisting she had invited them. Jens thanked her and told her he would be sending her the manuscript, their “blockbuster,” on time as promised. He and Nola walked Jean to her car in the public parking garage and said goodnight.
On the ride back to the inn, crossing the very same bridge to Maine that had nearly cost Jens his life only days before, he told Nola that he was anxious to get back to his book. She nodded enthusiastically. As soon as the art was in storage, he would put all this behind him and dive back into it, just in time to save Cassie and maybe even Emma.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The next day, Nola drove Jens to a truck rental agency on the south side of Portsmouth, where he rented the smallest U-haul van available for taking away the paintings and artwork from his erstwhile home in Lee, which he now thought of as Vivian’s.
Because of his broken arm, he drove Nola’s VW bug, an automatic, and she drove the truck. He trailed her to Greenland and on to Lee, oblivious to the late autumn landscape of cornfields tamped and weathered, of fallow, harrowed fields, of grey skies giving way to the sun bursting through clouds heavy with the promise of snow. He was preoccupied with thoughts about what he would say to his “ex” if she were home.
He had no illusions about how she was dealing with the judge’s harsh ruling. Whatever her reasons for destroying their marriage, she would have to live with the results now. Yet he felt no pleasure in her punishment by the court or her suffering. Her murky past seemed like her cross to bear, regardless of her complicity or innocence.
The sobering fact remained that an ex-husband of hers, whether or not they were together now, had made an attempt on Jens’ life. She had let him into her and Jens’ private circle and into their bed, bringing danger and the threat of death.
________
Teddy came out to greet them, as first Nola and then Jens pulled into the drive at the farmhouse in Lee. He seemed anxious to keep them from entering the house, as he explained that he had taken down all the artwork and stacked it in the foyer for easy loading.
