Beach House Memories

by Mary Alice Monroe

  As she walked, she thought women’s fashions these days seemed to be anything goes. Hemlines were up and down, fabrics were neutral brown or gaudy colors, and hair was trailing down the back or cut short like a boy’s. Women walked the streets dressed in outlandish outfits and wild prints she couldn’t imagine when she was a young woman walking these same streets. But these brave women were few compared to the rest of the locals, who still wore their hair coiffed and attempted the new styles with a tad more decorum than Yankee girls up north. Although, with her broken ribs, the idea of going braless was appealing. She paused to catch her breath at the top of the stairs.

  A gentleman opened the heavy brass door for her and she met a wall of deliciously air-conditioned coolness. Though the lobby was cold and formal with marble and brass, the third-floor law office waiting room was decorated traditionally with antiques and heavy silk drapes, making it appear more like someone’s living room. A mature-looking secretary led her directly to Mr. Robert Davis’s office and knocked gently on the door. They both heard, “Come in!”

  “Go right in. Mr. Davis is expecting you.” The secretary opened wide the door and stepped back, allowing her to pass.

  Robert Lee Davis was small in stature compared to his impressive reputation. Small boned and slender, he sat behind an enormous partners’ desk stacked high with papers. He was dwarfed by them. But his smile was gigantic, and he stood to walk directly to her side as the secretary discreetly closed the door behind her as she left.

  “Olivia!” he said jovially. His red bow tie made his face appear cheerier.

  “Bobby Lee,” she responded, offering her hand. He took it and held it warmly. His owlish eyes scanned her face from behind wire-rim glasses. She smiled, but her toes curled in her shoes as she wondered if he could see any traces of the bruises under her makeup.

  Bobby Lee Davis had been the Rutledge family lawyer for as long as she’d been married. He was a contemporary of Stratton’s, but for reasons unknown to her, they didn’t like each other. The Davis law firm had represented the Rutledge family for generations and so still managed their family issues and wealth distribution.

  Lovie had always liked the diminutive man with the brilliant legal mind and his old-world manners. Like her, Bobby Lee was a nature buff, who took on pro bono cases to preserve and protect local wildlife and landscape. They’d formed a fast friendship over the years, and even though Stratton had moved his business matters to another law firm, Lovie always turned to Bobby Lee for her own legal advice.

  “Take a seat, please,” he said, ushering her to a celery-green velvet chair.

  Lovie still had discomfort as she maneuvered herself into the chair. Bobby Lee rushed to assist her, his face troubled. Thankfully, he stayed on Lovie’s side of the mountainous desk, which allowed them to talk in a more personal manner.

  “I’d heard you were injured,” he said, taking a Chippendale chair beside her and inching it closer. “Deborah sent you something, shrimp, I think it was.”

  “Yes, thank you. It was delicious. I hope she got my thank-you note.”

  Bobby Lee smiled and lifted his brows as though to say he didn’t know but probably. “You fell down the stairs, is that it?”

  The way that he said the words and the dubious look he cast her from over the rim of his glasses told her he didn’t believe that sorry excuse. She was left to wonder how many other people in Charleston wondered.

  “It could happen,” she said with a slight laugh.

  “It could. But your being here today makes me think that perhaps it didn’t.”

  Lovie sighed and shook her head. “I’m speaking to you in confidence now.”

  His smile fell, and he assumed a professional expression. His owlish eyes grew hawkish. “Lawyer-client privilege.”

  Lovie launched into the long story of her summer, leaving out none of the details, not even those that embarrassed her. She had to be completely honest with Bobby Lee so that he could adequately advise her. She was grateful that he didn’t shake his head or act surprised during the telling. He didn’t speak save for a point of clarification. When she was finished, she told him why she had come.

  “I want to go forward with a divorce.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his jaw, then tilted his head, speculating. “Olivia . . . Lovie. You’re sure about this? You don’t want to go out and buy yourself some big, vulgar diamond instead?”

  She smiled but shook her head.

  Bobby Lee pursed his lips, then released a short, resigned sigh. “We’re now at the day I always feared would come.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve advised you for years to maintain some control of the money you gave to Stratton after you married. It was substantial.”

  “He’s my husband. He invested it into our house and our business. It’s our money.”

  “No, Lovie, it’s not. It’s his money. The deed of the house is in his name. The money that you”—he lifted his hands to make the classic quotation mark sign—“gave to his business is not likely recorded in your name. Other than a small trust fund and that cottage on the Isle of Palms, you may end up with little to nothing. Naturally your lawyer would fight for the money you brought to the marriage, the increased value of the house while you lived in it, and more. But there’s no guarantee.”

  “I don’t care about the money. I already told him that.”

  “You mustn’t be naïve, Lovie. You’ve never not had money. It’s tough out there in the real world without a cushion to fall back on. How will you raise the children? Do you have a job? Insurance? Do you even know what the minimum wage is these days?”

  She licked her lips, feeling the first of flames of fear. “The only thing I care about is custody of my children. Stratton said he’d never let me take the children from him.”

  Bobby Lee’s brows furrowed while his long, narrow fingers tapped his thigh. “Would he expose you?”

  Lovie swallowed down the flush of shame. She had to be realistic and face all the questions a lawyer, and eventually a judge, would ask. “He said he would. He said no judge would award custody to an unfit mother.”

  “Can you plead recrimination? That is to say, do you have proof of adultery on his part?”

  “He went to Europe with his secretary,” she offered.

  Bobby Lee offered a wan smile. “If traveling with a secretary were grounds for divorce, the divorce rate in this country would skyrocket. You’ll need better proof than that.”

  Lovie’s face turned scarlet as she admitted what she’d known in her heart for years. “He’s been lying and cheating for years. He calls them late nights with the boys, and I believed him.” She put her hand to her face. “That he could think I was so naïve, or he cared so little he tossed that pitiful excuse my way.” She shook her head sadly. “Either way, what does that say about his feelings for me? I’ve had women calling the house asking for him. And every once in a while he wears a new tie, a pair of cuff links, things I’m sure he didn’t buy for himself. I know he’s been unfaithful. But I don’t have proof.”

  Bobby Lee was silent a moment, his chin in his palm. “By the way, do you know if Stratton has proof?”

  She sat wide-eyed and alert. She thought immediately of Palmer. But he’d said he only saw them holding hands and she believed him. She knew she was safe with Flo and Miranda. “He might argue that I told him I did.”

  “Did you?”

  She shook her head. “No. He inferred it.”

  “Good.” Bobby Lee steepled his fingers in thought. “Keep in mind that until 1949, divorce was illegal in this state. Now things have changed, of course. The way I see it, we have two grounds for divorce: adultery on his side and physical abuse on yours. We’ve discussed the adultery. We’ll have to see what proof he has, if any. That is a major point. Without proof, he has nothing to fight you with.

  “Now to your issue. To establish beating as grounds for divorce, the plaintiff must establish that a beating, or beatings, has t
aken place.”

  “Stratton has slapped me several times, but he’s only beaten me once and he swears he never will again.”

  “Did you seek treatment?”

  “I went to the hospital.”

  “Good. We have evidence of one serious beating.”

  Lovie nodded, silently thanking Miranda and Flo for insisting that she go.

  “Assuming Stratton does have evidence of your infidelity and chooses to fight the divorce and seek full custody, you could be in for a battle. Stratton’s lawyer will go after the adultery issue in a big way. You may have to be prepared to name your lover, if only to convince the judge that there was only one extramarital affair.”

  “No. I won’t do that.”

  Bobby Lee went on, ignoring her outburst. “We would have to establish your character to argue that this was a single event and that you are not, shall we say, wanton.” He looked at her questioningly.

  “No! Heavens, no. There was only one. And it wasn’t an affair. Well, it was, but it wasn’t casual. I’m trying to say . . .”

  Bobby Lee reached out to tap her knee, shaking his head to silence her. “The law deals with facts, not emotion. You will also have to establish that though you broke your marriage vows once, that unfortunate slip is over now and that at the time you were very discreet.” He looked again at her with question in his eyes.

  “Yes,” she replied quickly. “Very discreet.”

  “Good.”

  “Bobby Lee, do we have to go through all these sordid details? What about this no-fault divorce I’ve heard about?”

  “Ah, yes. Well, it’s a new pleading that began in California a few years back. South Carolina has adopted it. But if Stratton chooses to fight the divorce, then this is moot.” He paused. “Lovie, I’m not going to speak to you as a lawyer now. I’m going to speak to you as a friend.”

  Lovie returned a wobbly smile.

  “Attorneys will tell you that they will fight tooth and nail for everything they can get and how they’ll need to do A, B, C, and D. All with the meter running. But I’m going to tell you now what the State of South Carolina will likely do. They’ll grant you a divorce. You will lose your house. If I know Stratton as well as I think I do, he has already hidden all evidence of the money you’ve given him. With proof of adultery, they may not give you alimony, but they may give you child support until the children reach eighteen years of age. However, it is my opinion that there is a strong chance that given your inability to provide financially, your lack of a job or career, and your questionable character as revealed in the court, you could lose chief custody of your children. You may have to settle for visiting rights.”

  “No,” she said, but it was little more than a whisper. Lovie sat rooted to the chair, numb with shock.

  “As a man who has lived here all his life, a lawyer whose family has practiced law here for generations, and a friend who cares about your well-being, let me remind you of what should be obvious. It may be true that a lot of things are changing in this city, but the Rutledge name is, and always will be, revered here. John Rutledge is buried just down the block. I can’t say I’m not worried that our jurisdiction will look with sympathy on their beloved son, Stratton Middleton Rutledge, should he seek to keep his children in a scandalous divorce brought on by his adulterous wife.”

  Lovie brought her hand to cover the cry that erupted from her mouth.

  “Lovie, please,” he said, putting his hand over hers in friendship. “That was harsh, but it is only a sampling of what you would have to face. And your children would have to face. Please, think long and hard about the repercussions of your decision should you decide to go through with this.”

  He rose and returned to stand behind his desk. He buzzed his secretary on the intercom. “Judy, could you get me Susan Raymond’s phone number, please?” He idly moved a few papers on the desk, looking up when Judy entered the room, swiftly delivered a business card to Bobby Lee, then promptly left.

  Bobby Lee walked back to the front of the desk and looked at Lovie with compassion in his eyes. “I’m a family lawyer, not a divorce lawyer. If you choose to go through with this—and I don’t recommend you do—you may be left with nothing. You can damn well be sure Stratton will get the best and meanest pit bull of a lawyer money can buy.” He handed her the business card. Lovie stared at the small ecru card through watery eyes.

  “Call Susan,” Bobby Lee told her. “She’s better.”

  Lovie walked with frantic purpose, her head bent, arms pumping, disregarding the pain in her ribs. She walked the half mile from Bobby Lee’s office to her mother’s house on East Bay Street. As she paced, she felt as though the walls of the historic, pastel-colored houses on the narrow street were closing in on her. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  At last she reached the Battery and the coral stucco walls of her mother’s home. The heavy black wrought-iron gate squeaked as she pushed it open and entered the cool shade of her garden. She stumbled across the cobblestone driveway to the rear elevator. It was a small rickety box with an accordion steel door, but it rumbled up to the third floor, letting her out at her mother’s grand piazza. Lovie knocked on the door with her good hand, praying that her mother wasn’t at some bridge or mah-jongg game or having cocktails with friends.

  “Please, please, please be here,” she murmured, then, with unutterable relief, heard the click of heels against wood flooring. She put a hand up to smooth her hair, then turned her face to the door as it swung open.

  “Lovie!” Dee Dee cried as her mouth slipped open. She wore green-and-navy-striped pants and a navy cotton shirt with tiny gold buttons. A flash of gold at the ears and around her neck made her outfit complete. “You look exhausted. What are you doing here? I thought you were still recuperating at home.”

  “I was . . . am,” she replied, breathless. “Mama, I need to talk with you.” Her voice broke.

  “Come in!” Dee Dee’s face shifted from surprise to concern as she stepped back to let Lovie walk through.

  Her mother had the entire top floor of what was once a single-family home. The East Battery had some of the most elegant and historic homes in the city, and finding this rare gem was a coup. The two-bedroom condo had high ceilings and tons of windows, and though the kitchen was small and almost useless, the huge porch with the expansive view of the harbor made it a must-have for a woman who never cared to cook again.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Dee Dee crooned as she followed Lovie into the living room. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “Darling, do sit down. You’re pacing like a bantam rooster and it’s making me nervous.”

  Lovie tossed her purse onto the white sofa and carefully sat down beside it. She eased back into the down cushion. Once she was off her feet, her fatigue hit her like a brick. She brought her hands to her face, curled her legs up on the sofa, and began to cry.

  Dee Dee hurried to a side table to grab tissues from a Chinese export porcelain box. “Here, your mascara is running. And if you must put your feet on the sofa, please take your shoes off. That’s silk. Now tell me. What’s this all about?”

  Lovie sniffed and tore at her tissue. “Oh, Mama, I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do.”

  “About what, honey? You have to go back to the beginning. Does this have something to do with Stratton?”

  Lovie nodded as she wiped the tears from her face and blew her nose. The release of tears helped calm her after her panicked walk. She set the tissue on the sofa and took a deep breath. “I’m okay. Can I have some water, please?”

  “Where are my manners? Of course. I was just so flustered seeing you in such a state. Now don’t you move and I’ll bring you some. Would you like anything a little stronger?”

  “Just water, thanks.”

  Dee Dee picked up the used tissue between two fingers and went off to the kitchen.

  Lovie slid her shoes off and stretched her legs out so her ankles rested on the glass and brass coffee table. Taking deep,
cleansing breaths, she eased the pressure from her ribs and calmed her ragged nerves. Her meeting with Bobby Lee had unnerved her. She’d walked into his office fully expecting him to tell her not to worry, that Stratton could never take her children from her. The reality was quite different and it had scared her and shaken her to her core.

  Dee Dee came back quickly, carrying a tray with a glass of ice water and two glasses of sherry. She delicately nudged Lovie’s feet off the table, then set the tray down. Lovie adjusted her position, aware that her mother had no clue how uncomfortable this simple action still was for her.

  Her mother sat beside Lovie and handed her a sherry. “You seem like you could use a little something—for medicinal purposes. Listen to your mama, now.”

  Lovie took a sip of the sherry. It was sweet and smooth and perfect. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Now suppose you tell me what this is all about.”

  Lovie set the slim sherry glass on the table. “I went to see Bobby Lee. I just came from his office.”

  Dee Dee’s attention sharpened. “You walked all the way here from Bobby Lee’s? In your condition? No wonder you’re flushed. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Whatever was so important that you had to see your lawyer today?”

  Lovie’s heart pounded. She had wondered on the way over whether to tell her mother. She’d always been so supportive of Stratton and proud to be his mother-in-law. Lovie had come because she had nowhere else to go. Where did a daughter go but to her mother when she was feeling lost?

  “Mama, I went to see Bobby Lee because I want a divorce.”