“What’s your attorney’s name?”
“Gilbert Stuart. Do you know him?” she asked anxiously.
Know him, Carlson thought, he’s so stupid, every time he showed up in court I could hear Avon calling, “Ding-dong.” “Yeah, he’s no match for Garfield. Albert’ll have him rolling over so fast you’ll think he’s on a rotisserie. What’s happened so far?”
Serena went through everything. Carlson closed his eyes and saw Serena Tully on a beach. Albert Garfield and Gilbert Stuart were burying her alive in the sand. A couple of shovelfuls in her mouth and she’d be done for. Lou Carlson felt the same burn that he did every time he’d gone up against Albert Garfield. That burn went back to the first schoolyard bully he’d ever stood up to. Then one day it became a huge fist squeezing his heart, sending white-hot spikes of pain through his chest and down his arm and scaring him more thoroughly than any bully could ever have dreamt.
“Let me call some people I know. They’re out of the area. Down in Richmond or Charlottesville. Have them come on board with Stuart. He’ll be counsel of record but they’ll be the brains and the spine. They’ll deal with Garfield. He’ll sign the documents. Until then, don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything.”
“Should I fire Mr. Stuart?”
“No, that’ll alert Albert that something’s up. He may pull another stunt before anyone is in place to contest it. Let him think everything is going his way.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. Let Morgan Reece do his thing. That’s the best thing you’ve got going for you. He’ll sort things out. It just takes time. Let me give you a couple of books to read. They’ll help you think about what you’re going through, what the law is trying to do, also some ideas about how to present your case. You may think of things that Stuart hasn’t thought of. You’ll be in a better position to help your new attorney. I’ll try to get someone for you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Serena took the books and shook Carlson’s hand passionately.
“My pleasure. Please return these books when you’re done with them. They’re my only copies.”
“Absolutely. Again, thank you very much.”
Serena glided out of the building. She smiled and pumped her fist with excitement as she walked to the car. She moved effortlessly across the slick surface of her newfound optimism like it was ice on a deep lake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Morgan Reece finished scoring the tests the Tullys had taken. Unfortunately they didn’t tell him much he didn’t already know. Tom Tully’s profiles were of questionable validity. He was extremely guarded and defensive. Questions were raised about his impulse control, judgment and level of narcissism. But none of the scores were clinically elevated. He was firmly in the great wasteland called “within normal limits.” Serena Tully was less defensive and her profiles were deemed valid. She also looked more disorganized than her husband. She was clearly depressed, anxious and paranoid. So, Reece thought, her reality testing was intact. Her personality style was a mix of histrionic and dependent traits. About as adaptive as hooves on a butterfly.
Reece Xeroxed the consents and mailed or faxed them out. He gave his home fax number for responses.
Serena had gone to Denise’s and found her friend sitting, arms crossed, frowning, by the living room phone. The bad news came before she could even say hello.
“Serena, you have to find another place to stay. I’m sorry. Tommy’s obviously upped the ante. I can’t expose my kids to this. I’m sorry. I really am, but my mind’s made up.”
Serena felt that lurch, like the room had tipped over on her, that came with every attack Tommy made. She reached out for the arm of the sofa and felt her way around the end to sit down as if she were blind. “What happened?”
“This is what happened.” Denise said and pushed the playback button on the answering machine. “Hey girls. This is Bobby at the shipyards. Heard about your offer. Got a bunch of guys here, like to put some miles on your track. Hard ones.” He stopped to giggle. “Got a twelve-car train here for you to pull. Now you call me at 410-555-1928, let me know which one of you little locomotives wants to haul all this freight and what it’s gonna cost us.”
Serena rubbed her head in her palms. “I’m sorry, Denise. I never thought anything like this would happen. I’ll get a place to stay, right away. I’m sorry.” She covered her face with her hands and silent tears began to drip through her fingers like they were melting icicles.
Denise came to her, put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. Braced up by her friend, she stopped being strong and began to scour herself of a lifetime of bad decisions. Sobs and tears rinsed her in regret.
“If it was just me, I’d invite those bastards over and cut their dicks off one at a time. But it’s not just me. Brandon went to take that message. I told him it was a wrong number. Thank God, the guy was trying to be funny. What if the next one is more graphic?”
“I understand, Denise. I do. I’ll find a place to stay tonight. A motel room. Can I borrow some money just for tonight? I’m going to pawn my watch tomorrow. It’s very expensive. Thank God I was wearing it when this happened. I’ll live on that until I get some money from Tom. I’m changing lawyers, too. He’ll put a stop to this crap. Don’t tell anybody, it’s a secret.”
“I won’t. Look, it’s late. Don’t go anywhere tonight. I’ll keep the answering machine off and tell the kids not to answer the phone. You got some other phone calls. One was from your lawyer, the other was from Nordstrom. I gather that you explained your face as a result of dental work. They said to come in for an interview tomorrow about a position in cosmetics. They thought someone with a background as a model could be a real asset.”
“The way I feel, I should be selling mace, not mascara.”
“You want something to drink?”
“A cup of tea would be nice. Thanks.” Serena looked at Denise and saw the sister she never had and never would.
She tried to reach her attorney but only got his answering service. Curled up on the sofa with her tea, she sipped it and closed her eyes as she felt its warmth spread down her throat and into her stomach. She wondered if she’d remember the simplicity and satisfaction of this pleasure in less desperate times.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Gilbert Stuart was in court most of the day, so it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that Serena Tully was able to speak to him.
Her job interview had not gone well. The store needed someone to start immediately and it was clear from the condition of her face that that wasn’t possible. They were sorry but they’d keep her name on file if any future opening came up.
Morgan Reece called Tom Tully’s residence and spoke to the nanny, Felicia Hurtado. She would come in to talk to him once she got Mr. Tully’s permission and arranged for someone else to watch Tina. Reece suggested that she come in right after he interviewed the children as a way to solve that problem. Heartsick at his ingenuity, she agreed. Felicia only heard one phrase when Reece was talking to her: “Court-appointed.” The courts were the police to her and the police here were the police of her homeland, Colombia. You avoided drawing the attention of the police as you would avoid drinking water from a river full of corpses.
Serena got a call from her therapist, Simon Tepper, in the early afternoon.
“Hello, Serena. I have a consent here from Dr. Reece to send him my case file. What’s happening?”
“Oh, Simon. Thank God you’re back. This has been such a nightmare for me. Tom has taken the kids. He’s made up a bunch of lies about me to try to win custody. Dr. Reece is the court-appointed evaluator. Please send him what you’ve got as soon as possible. He’s my only hope of getting the kids back.”
“Has Tom asked for a divorce?”
“No. Just the kids. I don’t know why he’s doing this. I’ve been reeling from everything!”
“What kind of lies has he been spreading?” Tepper probed gently.
<
br /> “That I was a danger to him and the kids. That I was suicidal and depressed again. That’s not true. You know that.” A wave of paranoia swept over Serena. “There’s nothing in the file that could hurt me, is there?”
“No. Of course not. I keep only minimal notes. Just enough to satisfy insurance requirements. I told you there’s nothing in it that Tom could use to hurt you.”
“Please send him that stuff as soon as possible.”
“Of course. This must be terrible for you.”
“Simon, when can I see you?”
“When would you like to come in?”
“I’ll come in whenever you’ve got time.”
Tepper looked at his calendar. “How about this evening? I’ve got a cancellation at six o’clock. Sounds like we have a lot to talk about.”
“It’s been awful. I’m so glad you’re back. I’ll see you tonight at six o’clock.”
“See you then.”
Tepper went to the file, read through his notes and, satisfied with what was there, he faxed them to Dr. Reece’s home, where they would be when he arrived from work.
Serena spent the rest of the afternoon calling other stores about jobs, jewelers to sell her watch and nearby motels to see which ones she could rent by the week and how much they cost. She watched the split between what she was saying and how she felt. Her words should have depressed her and most times they would have. However her meetings with Reece and Carlson and Simon Tepper’s return buoyed her and she floated above the words as if she were calling on behalf of a distant relative.
A little after five, Gilbert Stuart returned Serena’s call.
“Ms. Tully, Gilbert Stuart here. Sorry I wasn’t in when you called. I was in court all day.”
Testing her newfound optimism, she asked, “How did you do? What kind of case was it?”
Taken off guard, Stuart stammered while he composed a defensible response. “Uh, it was another domestic case. A visitation matter. My client didn’t prevail, but we didn’t have a good case. I told him to settle but he wouldn’t hear of it. Some people just have to have their day in court. It’s their right. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, though.
“I’m glad you called. Albert Garfield has changed his tack. They aren’t just moving for custody, they’ve filed for divorce. They’re seeking it on grounds of adultery.”
Serena’s stomach tightened as if the floor had fallen from underneath her.
Stuart went on, “They sent over a property settlement and a custody proposal. It’s pretty extreme. Garfield said they had some ‘devastating proof’ of the adultery and that I should tell you he had no compunctions about using it.”
The letter and the poem. God she’d been a fool to keep that stuff in the house. When he’d changed the locks, she knew she was in danger. But Tom didn’t say anything when he threw all of her stuff out, so she thought she was safe. Hiding it in his space had seemed like such a good idea at the time. She remembered sneaking them out to read. She’d felt so beautiful, so desired. She’d lie back on the bed, close her eyes and be there. The center of the universe. A universe of patient and tender care. Everything Tom was not. Where her every word, look or gesture was bathed, fed and groomed.
Honey on the blade. A taste so sweet, that as you licked it off the razor’s edge you couldn’t taste the blood filling your mouth. Now the honey was gone, only the blood remained.
“Ms. Tully, are you there?”
“Yes, Mr. Stuart. I’m here.” In her mind she reviewed her arithmetic. No, her calculations were correct. The central axiom of her life was still true. All pleasure is paid for in pain. What had she been thinking of? He’d told her it would be different this time. The rules did not apply. They would make their own rules. In the mirror-lined bubble of their folly, they heard only each other’s lies, saw only each other’s desire, felt only each other’s pleasure.
Stuart went on to repeat Garfield’s offer. Serena could feel the riptide of guilt and shame that required her to agree, carving the sand away from her feet. She was losing her balance and searched for something to hold onto. It was Lou Carlson’s edict, simple and clear: “Don’t agree to anything.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stuart. I can’t agree to that.”
“Ms. Tully, are you prepared to face whatever Albert Garfield has on you? I guarantee he won’t pull his punches.”
Serena Tully deafened herself to Stuart’s words and her fears. She held on to Carlson’s four words with the same strength she’d once used to steady a slippery red razor blade.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Serena’s leg kicked an invisible enemy as she sat in Simon Tepper’s waiting room. She tried to read but the magazines were in Latin. Urging the second hand through its sweep was an agony of effort like stirring cement with a spoon.
Finally Tepper’s door clicked open. A young woman emerged, in full Goth regalia. Heavy lace-up boots, torn mesh stockings, ripped vinyl skirt, leather wristbands and chains. A T-shirt with a stencil of two hands gripping prison bars over her heart and enough metal in her face to make you rethink the term “chick magnet.” She flipped her thick blue hair back over her ear, and mumbled something back at Tepper.
Tepper said he’d see her next week. She shrugged, and left without seeing the woman with the ashen face and the restless left leg.
“Serena, you look awful. Come right in,” Tepper said when he saw her. He hurried towards her, afraid she might collapse right there.
She stood up, smiled weakly at him and took his arm. As he closed the door, she dropped onto the sofa, stretched out and began to cry.
At home, Morgan Reece called Tom Tully. On the third ring, a child picked it up.
“Hello?” Reece could not tell if it was the boy or the girl. “Is this the Tully residence?”
The child yelled, “Dad.” After a second the child said in measured tones, “May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Dr. Reece. Are you Tommy?”
“No.”
“Is this Tina?”
“No-o-o. My name is Junior.”
“Yes, Junior. Is your father around?”
“He’s talking to our nanny.”
“Would you ask him to come to the phone?”
Silence. Reece imagined the phone swinging free, as Junior ran off God knows where. If no one picked up in three minutes, he’d hang up and try later.
“Dr. Reece? Tom Tully, here.”
“Yes, Mr. Tully. I’m trying to arrange the next step of the evaluation. I’d like to interview the children and their nanny. I’d also like you and the mother to take some more psychological tests.”
“Which ones?”
“The Rorschach.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve heard people talk about the inkblots. That’s the Rorschach.”
“Why didn’t we take them at the start?”
“There wasn’t time to do them all in that first day. This is routine, Mr. Tully. As we go along, I may ask you to take other tests.”
“So you want me and Felicia and the kids there. What time? The club is getting concerned about how much time I’m taking off for this thing.”
“First thing tomorrow. Say nine a.m.? I’ll try to do as much in a day as I can. After this I’ll need three mornings from you for the observation sessions and home visit.”
“Okay. Nine a.m. tomorrow. How about you interview Felicia first, then the kids? That way she can take them with her when they’re done.”
“Fine. I want to discuss with you how I want to be introduced to the children. All I want you to tell them is that I’ve been asked by you and their mother to help both of you make the best decision you can about how to take care of them. That’s it. If they have any questions about me, tell them that I’ll answer their questions first thing. If they’re afraid that they might forget them, write them down for them and bring them with you. Their mother will meet you here in the office fifteen minutes before the interview begins. So
be here at eight forty-five a.m. I’ll want you both to bring the kids in when I introduce myself. Then I’ll ask you to leave and I’ll start with whichever child wants to go first.”
“I’m not real happy with this, Dr. Reece.”
“What aren’t you happy with, Mr. Tully?”
“Lying to the kids like this. You haven’t been asked by us to help figure out how best to take care of them. You were ordered by the court to figure out if their mother ever gets to see them again.”
“Are you suggesting that I tell the children that?”
“I think you gotta tell the truth. You can paint a smiley face on a dead dog, but it’s still a dead dog. These kids are going to have to deal with the kind of woman their mother is. They might as well start now.”
Reece was writing as fast as he could, repeating Tully’s words in his mind so that the quote was complete and true. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tully, I disagree with you. My charge is to conduct a custody evaluation. That’s to determine what’s best for your children. What arrangement of time with their parents is best for them. That’s what you’re telling them. I prefer to keep the court as originator or destination of this work out of it, unless it’s absolutely necessary. I think it’s better if the children believe that their parents are looking out for them, not a Fairfax County Circuit Court Judge. I’d like you to introduce me exactly as described. If you have a problem with that, advise your attorney and he and I and Mr. Stuart can discuss it.”
“All right, we’ll be there.” Tully was losing patience with this nonsense. He had a season going down the drain and he needed his head on straight. This crap had to stop.
Reece hung up the phone. He scribbled the rest of his notes. As his career had become more and more exclusively forensic, the need to document his activities in detail increased. He was looking for a telephone/tape recorder headset he could wear at all times, making a contemporaneous, true record of all his verbal interactions with anyone.
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