Rogue Divorce Lawyer

by Dale E. Manolakas

  “Okay, I’ll be there.” She hung up.

  Damn women. None of them have any brains about money, Gary thought The financial statements are all I need and her nice little ass in that chair.

  His gift was handling females resisting the reality of desertion—emotional and financial. Male abandonment of them for a younger version of themselves, or their antithesis, was impossible for them to accept. The truth was that with limited funds and no earning power, they and their children would slip to the poverty level with no opportunities for upward mobility. The offspring, unsupported financially and torn apart emotionally, would have to compete with the nurtured children of intact homes. The male, of course, took all of this to his second family.

  And Gary? He was the parasite in this process—the lucky, well-paid parasite and sexual predator.

  While waiting for his new toy, he billed steadily on her case.

  * * *

  Just after eleven, Eliana arrived.

  “I almost finished.” She gave Vicky the pile of statements, documents, and the questionnaire about her finances and marital history.

  “Looks good to me. Hold on a sec.” Vicky buzzed Gary. “She’s here.”

  Gary kept Eliana waiting a half hour. He was disciplining her for her tardiness and setting the stage time-wise to ensure their lunch dance he envisioned.

  He wouldn’t ply this one at the budget Mexican buffet nearby, as he had most of the others. He had reservations at a reasonably close, overpriced French restaurant, Chez Bonne. Its dishes would pass for middling at best in L.A., and middling was as good as Gary ever got in San Bernardino. Eliana would be paying for it in the end anyway, both as an expense on his bill and in other ways beyond her imagining.

  * * *

  “Come in. Come in,” Gary said.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Stockton.”

  “Not Mr. Stockton. Call me Gary and don’t worry about anything. Just have a seat.

  Gary flipped through her papers: the chronology of the couple’s relationship, the financial questionnaire, more financial statements, and several years of state and federal income tax forms. He was busy adding up his Glory Hole.

  “He’s never coming home, is he?”

  “Who knows?”

  Gary knew. Husbands rarely returned. The predatory young female with no kids, no strings, and exciting sex always won over motherhood, home, and family—especially if the new female sealed the deal with a pregnancy. The ironic endgame was predictably a cloned second married life for the dumb sucker who had walked out.

  “Eliana,” Gary looked up. “Facing up to this is hard. But you need a temporary support and visitation order right away.”

  “No. I have money.”

  “Tomorrow your bank account and credit cards could all be frozen by him.”

  “Frozen? By William? Oh, God. This is too much.” She wiped her welling eyes with her hands. “No. That won’t happen.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gary wasn’t. “But you never know.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. The boys. They’re so happy with her. They all go together to Disneyland, surfing, and Water Town. And they bring home gifts that I have to see all the time and …”

  “That’s horrible.” Gary had heard it all before. “But it will be worse if you don’t get money from these accounts. There are big withdrawals here. Yours?”

  “No. Of course not.” Eliana’s eyes turned from tears to panic.

  “Make some. Today. Before he freezes them.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “His attorney would and will. This afternoon withdraw enough money to live on and to fight him. There are a lot of expenses coming up.”

  Me included, Gary thought as the rush of the craps tables popped through his mind. He had tried Gamblers Anonymous. Only once. Why stop when he thrived on the high that gambling gave him?

  “Alright. I understand.”

  “Now … your personal form,” Gary reached into his top drawer. “We need compelling facts to get good temporary orders.”

  * * *

  He retrieved Eliana’s form on the top of those others fondly-remembered—by him—her predecessors.

  “You skipped over some questions here that might improve our position.” Gary clicked his ballpoint and began with the softball ones. “Mm, what about this one? Has he ever hit you or the kids?”

  “No! Her dark eyes fired back. “The kids? Never.”

  “You then?”

  “Not exactly hit.”

  “Did he shove you? Or push you?”

  Eliana looked down and picked at her already-shredded cuticles.

  “Tell me.”

  “He shoved me on the bed. And …” Eliana squirmed.

  “Go on. It’s important.” The word “bed” enticed him.

  “Raped me … I think … anyway, after he said how easy it was to … rape …” Tears dropped on Eliana’s arm.

  “We’re doing this for the boys’ future, Eliana. What else?”

  “He did things … horrible things … I tried to like it … I did.”

  “Sodomy?”

  “Yes …” Eliana wept.

  “Did you like that?”

  “What?” Eliana flashed angry eyes across the desk. “No! It hurt until …”

  “But he made you do it and you went along?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than once?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  Eliana was silent.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes … sixty-nine standing … while he held me upside down against the bedroom wall.” Eliana broke down.

  Gary rewarded her with the tissue box as he controlled his erection. That was a new one to him, and he savored the image. He had to get at her. He suggested lunch.

  Eliana said no, but was easily conscripted.

  He had found a pliable one, and ply her he would.

  * * *

  In the small, office parking lot behind Gary’s office, Eliana started for her SUV.

  “No. No. I insist on driving. You’re too upset.”

  “But—”

  “No arguing.”

  “There you go.” Gary held the door of his Mercedes for her, his eyes stroking Eliana’s bare legs—so smooth, unlike his wife’s hefty cottage-cheesed thighs.

  * * *

  At the restaurant, a maître d-with-affect led them to Gary’s reserved secluded corner table. Gary watched Eliana’s tight ass sway under her short beige linen skirt. Her ass would spread like Mary’s some day, but it was superb now, even after three kids.

  There were only two other couples in the restaurant. It was beyond the reach of most locals these days. Average folks in San Berdoo were lucky to grab lunch at Taco Bell or McDonald’s once a week.

  “We’ll have the salmon lunch special with those pomme frites and haricots verts. You know, the green beans. And give us the Domaine Saint Fleur Viognier 2010.” Gary slaughtered the French, but Eliana only knew English and broken Greek so he sounded experienced to her.

  Eliana had a glass and a half of wine after some protest. She was at ease in nice restaurants. She was class—bred from class and raised with class.

  Gary thought, She’s so ripe. When I use that retainer up, after tears and a little push I’ll be fucking that classy ass.

  “It’s hard without William at home.” Eliana’s dark, expressive eyes, shaped by William’s training and abuse, signaled submission to Gary.

  “Of course.” Gary reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you. You seem like a—”

  Eliana stood abruptly to escape his hand. “Excuse me. I’m going to go to the restroom.”

  As she walked away, Gary drooled at her ass. He wanted it. He moved to get up to do a stall fuck—to do the nasty with her before she could stop him. But he scanned the restaurant and stopped—not in this quiet place. He settled back down, resigned to a quick fantasy.

&
nbsp; After lunch, as she got into his car, she flashed her white panty crotch. To him, all signals were green.

  This bitch knows what she’s doing.

  Back at her SUV, they parted with a hug that Gary initiated and prolonged.

  Gary said, “I am so sorry for all this.”

  “Thank you.” Eliana, mellowed by the wine, accepted his sympathetic, fatherly gesture.

  “Now remember, get to the banks.” Gary released his target.

  “I will.”

  But she didn’t. William would never freeze any bank or credit card accounts to hurt her and the kids. She was confident of that.

  ⌘

  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 9

  With mind flashes of dollar signs and Eliana’s crotch, Gary honed the templated letter for her hubby. It was a calculated catalyst to trigger ritualized combat; the intricate quagmire of warfare against William. It would force William to hire his own divorce lawyer if he hadn’t already—a lawyer like Gary who would also suck every dime possible from his client before the marital demise. Any unsatisfied bills the court would order paid from the sale of The Oaks house.

  “Vicky,” Gary yelled. “Get in here.”

  “Yes?”

  “Fire this off today to Eliana’s husband—estranged husband.”

  Vicky turned to leave.

  “Wait. Call the court for lead times on hearing dates for the temporary support and visitation orders. We’ll be filing our motions for both when we file the divorce petition.”

  Gary liked court hearings and cornering his special clients in his car. He had coerced many a parking-lot tearful blowjob from their soft unwilling lips. The ones who refused? He’d call the court clerk and continue the hearing as their pleading, tear-stained bewildered faces watched.

  The clerk never questioned his feigned reasons. Who would doubt him? He was, after all, not just an officer of the court but the head of the County Bar Association’s Family Law Section? Besides, what judge didn’t want the downtime? It wasn’t like the judges in San Bernardino actually craved work, after all. That’s why they became judges, after all.

  * * *

  Gary leaned back in his office chair and called Eliana’s cell.

  “Hello,” Eliana blue toothed on her way to get the boys from school.

  “Eliana?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Gary.”

  “Gary?”

  “Your lawyer.”

  “I’m so sorry. Did something happen?”

  “No. I called to say I enjoyed our lunch. Let’s do dinner. When William has the boys.”

  “Dinner?”

  “We’ll strategize about your case without time constraints.”

  “I … huh … don’t think—”

  “It’s set then.” Gary hung up.

  Eliana glared at her cell on the passenger seat. She looked up just in time to screech to a stop at a red light.

  * * *

  When Eliana got home, she called her sister Angela Andreas at work. Angela was older, still single at thirty-two, in the workforce, and knew more about everything, particularly men. Equally as important to Eliana, Angela’s live-in boyfriend Kurt Cobain Townsend was a lawyer. Angela would know if Eliana was misinterpreting Gary’s attentions. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself by misreading the lunch, and now a dinner invitation.

  As Eliana described everything to Angela, Gary didn’t seem inappropriate. Kurt did a lot of client lunches and dinners, and, as a matter of fact, so did she.

  “I think he’s just being a divorce lawyer. They have to deal with emotions all the time. He’s a compassionate guy.”

  Angela didn’t want to be involved. Eliana was a perpetual problem person. She had sucked up too much of Angela’s life with imagined and some all-too-real horribles, since middle school. Sisterhood with Eliana was a black hole of throbbing insecurities and therapy sessions.

  “It’s giving me the creeps. He’s so … well … old and ugly. I don’t have to go to dinner with him, do I?”

  Angela put Eliana on speaker as she compiled packets on her desk for an important client meeting.

  “You’re being silly now. You’re a big girl. Go if you want or just say ‘no’. Look, I have clients coming.”

  Angela had recently been promoted from creative assistant to account manager at a major Beverly Hills advertising agency.

  “But—”

  “I have to go. Call Kurt. He’ll know.”

  “No. No. I don’t want to bother him. You’re right. I’m just being silly.”

  “I’m texting you his cell and I’m texting him you’re going to call him. Do it.”

  “It’s okay. Forget it.”

  “Kurt likes you. He’ll help.” Angela could fob her off on Kurt because he was always too polite not to hear Eliana out.

  * * *

  Kurt was a sixth-year, a senior associate up for a partnership vote the next year, at Payne, Jenkins, Mullin & Stein. Payne was a mid-size, full-service law firm—a firm so notorious for winning it bore the moniker “pain” in the legal community. Payne recently grew larger by snagging lateral-attorney acquisitions from other firms—but only those with big books of business and stellar credentials.

  Kurt practiced exclusively in the Commercial Litigation Department. There was always steady work with the big corporations battling each other to capture global market dominance. The conflict and, consequentially, the billing, were endless.

  As Angela hung up from fobbing Eliana off on him, Kurt was in a meeting with two senior partners. He needed approval to file a securities fraud and unfair practices complaint. All efforts at settlement had failed.

  Herb Reich, a neat freak partner, sat behind his infamous meticulously organized glass desk. “I say file against them all and let’s see what shakes out. The client has been with me for years and likes a good fight.”

  Kurt sat across from Herb. “I don’t see any choice at this point. The companies who caused this are entrenched. They refuse to pay or agree to arbitration.”

  “It’s your client, Herb. Your call.” Alan Stein, a senior and managing partner, stood and looked out the window of Herb’s well-deserved corner office. “But they always pay their bills like clockwork, unlike some. Make them happy. Hell, make our coffers happy.”

  Kurt said, “It’s a winner, but the securities firms fight hard.”

  “Good,” Herb added. “That means we win even bigger. The attorney fee clause takes care of us and we’ll take care of my client,”

  “Smart.” Alan sat down next to Kurt. “I’ll get this matter a billing number and let’s get going. A win, win.”

  Kurt’s cell rang in his pants pocket with The Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner. He slipped it out. It was Eliana. He declined the call and muted the sounds.

  “Do you have to take it?” Herb asked.

  “No. Sorry, I forgot to mute it.” Kurt avoided Angela’s unceasing family drama like the plague, especially the most recent Eliana event—the divorce. He knew nothing about divorce law and didn’t want to learn. “Someone I know is separated … divorcing.”

  “Stay out of it,” Herb said. “They’ll reconcile and you’ll be screwed. Take my word for it. Ever since Mark up the hall went back with his wife, she gives me the evil eye at firm events. No good deed …”

  Alan said, “Same thing with my wife’s cousin. And steer clear of Manny down in intellectual property. He knocked up his new secretary and is divorcing after thirty years of marriage. He’ll pester anyone who’ll listen to justify it.”

  “When the hell did that happen?” Herb asked.

  “I don’t know when it happened,” Alan smirked. “But he had Dee file last week.”

  “At least that saves us a sexual harassment suit,” Herb said. “But he’d better settle fast.”

  “Why?” Kurt asked.

  “Those L.A. family law judges are losers and rake us partners over the coals,” Alan said. “It’s their chance to
get even with us for making the big bucks. Like we didn’t earn it.”

  Herb laughed. “Hey, let’s not sour Kurt on marriage with firm horror stories.”

  Kurt smiled. “Marriage? Not on my radar.”

  * * *

  Back in his office, Kurt checked his phone. Angela had texted him about Eliana.

  “Damn. I told Angela I know zip about this divorce shit.”

  He didn’t bother to listen to Eliana’s predictably whimpering, helpless message. She had perfected that posturing. He called her back to get it over with. If he didn’t Angela would make his home life wretched and his sex life nonexistent.

  “Hey, Eliana, what’s up?” Kurt really wanted to ask how much of a time-waster she planned on being.

  As Eliana whined through her story, Kurt muted his cell and worked on drafting his securities complaint.

  “Do you think I’m being silly?”

  There was silence.

  “Kurt … Kurt … are you there?”

  Kurt finished inputting his sentence and unmuted the phone. “Uh … yeah. I was just thinking. What do you mean by silly?”

  He threw the ball back in her court because he hadn’t been listening.

  “You know. Thinking he’s taking me to lunch for … personal reasons. And the dinner?”

  “I take clients to lunch all the time. Dinner, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you sure he’s just not being sympathetic … taking care of you?”

  Eliana was embarrassed. “That’s what Angela thought.”

  “Well, there you have it. Just go with it. Nothing wrong with a friend in your corner.”

  “I’m sorry I bothered.”

  “No problem. You’ll know if he crosses the line. Trust your instincts.”

  “Right. Right.” But Eliana didn’t trust her instincts, especially after William’s surprise divorce. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Or, no time, Kurt thought. I’d leave Eliana if I was William, too. What an insecure, needy idiot.