THERE MAY BE A SPECIAL CORNER of Hell for attorneys who are shamelessly self-aggrandizing, but you canbet we all are ready for our close-ups. When I arrive at the family court to find a horde of reporters on parade,I offer around sound bites as if they are candy, and make sure that the cameras are on me. I say theappropriate things about how this case is unorthodox, but ultimately painful for everyone involved. I hint thatthe judge’s ruling may affect the rights of minors nationwide, as well as stem cell research. Then I smooth thejacket of my Armani suit, tug on Judge’s leash, and explain that I really must go speak to my client.
Inside, Vern Stackhouse catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up. I’d run into the deputy earlier, and veryinnocently asked whether his sister, a reporter for the ProJo, would be coming down today. “I can’t really sayanything,” I hinted, “but the hearing…it’s going to be pretty big.”
In that special corner of Hell, there’s probably a throne for those of us who try to capitalize off our pro bonowork.
Minutes later, we are in chambers. “Mr. Alexander.” Judge DeSalvo lifts up the motion for a restrainingorder. “Would you like to tell me why you’ve filed this, when I explicitly addressed the issue yesterday?”
“I had my initial meeting with the guardian ad litem, Judge,” I reply. “While Ms. Romano was present, SaraFitzgerald told my client the lawsuit was a misunderstanding that would work itself out.” I slide my glancetoward Sara, who shows no emotion but a tightening of her jaw. “This is a direct violation of your order, YourHonor. Although this court tried to fashion conditions that would keep the family together, I don’t think it’sgoing to work until Mrs. Fitzgerald finds it possible to mentally separate her role as parent from her role asopposing counsel. Until then, a physical separation is necessary.”
Judge DeSalvo taps his fingers on the desk. “Mrs. Fitzgerald? Did you say those things to Anna?”
“Well, of course I did!” Sara explodes. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this!”
The admission is a circus tent collapsing, leaving all of us in utter silence. Julia chooses that moment to burstthrough the door. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, breathless.
“Ms. Romano,” the judge asks, “have you had a chance to speak to Anna today?”
“Yes, just now.” She looks at me, and then at Sara. “I think she’s very confused.”
“What’s your opinion of the motion Mr. Alexander’s filed?”
She tucks an errant coil of hair behind one ear. “I don’t think I have enough information to make a formaldecision, but my gut feeling says it would be a mistake for Anna’s mother to be removed from the house.”
Immediately, I tense. Reacting, the dog gets to his feet. “Judge, Mrs. Fitzgerald just admitted that she violatedthe court’s order. At the very least she should be reported to the bar for ethical violations, and—”
“Mr. Alexander, there is more to this case than the letter of the law.” Judge DeSalvo turns to Sara. “Mrs.
Fitzgerald, I strongly recommend you look into hiring an independent attorney to represent you and yourhusband in this petition. I am not going to grant the restraining order today, but I will warn you once againnot to talk with your child about this case until the hearing next week. If it comes to my attention at somefuture date that you have ignored this directive once again, I will report you to the bar myself and personallyescort you from your home.” He smacks the file folder shut and gets up. “Do not bother me again untilMonday, Mr. Alexander.”
“I need to see my client,” I announce, and I hurry out to the hallway where I know Anna is waiting with herfather.
Sara Fitzgerald, predictably, is right at my heels. Following her—intent on keeping the peace, no doubt—isJulia. All three of us come to an abrupt stop at the sight of Vern Stackhouse, dozing on the bench where Annawas sitting. “Vern?” I say.
He immediately leaps to his feet, clearing his throat defensively. “It’s a lumbar problem. Gotta sit down everynow and then to take the pressure off.”
“You know where Anna Fitzgerald went?”
He jerks his head toward the front door of the building. “She and her dad took off a while ago.”
From the look on Sara’s face, this is news to her, too. “Do you need a ride back to the hospital?” Julia asks.
She shakes her head and peers through the glass doors, where the reporters have rallied. “Is there a back wayout?”
At my side, Judge begins to stick his muzzle into my hand. Damn.
Julia steers Sara Fitzgerald toward the rear of the building. “I need to talk to you,” she calls over her shoulderto me.
I wait for her to turn her back. Then I promptly grab Judge’s harness and haul him down a corridor.
“Hey!” A moment later, Julia’s heels strike the tile behind me. “I said I wanted to talk to you!”
For a minute I seriously consider ducking out a window. Then I stop abruptly, turn, and offer up my mostengaging smile. “Technically speaking, you said you needed to talk to me. If you’d said you wanted to talk tome, I might have waited around.” Judge sinks his teeth into the corner of my suit, my expensive Armani suit,and tugs. “Right now, though, I have a meeting to get to.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says. “You told me you talked to Anna about her mother and that wewere all on the same page.”
“I did, and we were—Sara was coercing her, and Anna wanted that to stop. I explained the alternatives.”
“Alternatives? She’s a thirteen-year-old girl. Do you know how many kids I see whose take on a trial iscompletely different from their parents’? A mother comes in and promises that her child will testify against achild molester, because she wants the perp put away for life. But the child doesn’t care what happens to theperp, as long as he never has to be in the same room as the guy again. Or he thinks that maybe the perpshould get another chance, just like his parents give him when he’s bad. You can’t expect Anna to be like anormal adult client. She doesn’t have the emotional capability to make decisions independent of her homesituation.”
“Well, that’s the point of this whole petition,” I say.
“As a matter of fact, Anna told me, not a half hour ago, that she’s changed her mind about this wholepetition.” Julia raises a brow. “Didn’t know that, did you?”
“She hasn’t talked to me about it.”
“That’s because you’re talking about the wrong things. You had a conversation with her about a legal way tokeep her from being pressured to call off the lawsuit. Of course she jumped all over that. But do you reallythink she was considering what it might truly mean—that there would be one less parent home to cook ordrive or help her with homework, that she wouldn’t be able to kiss her mother good night, that the rest of herfamily would most likely be very upset with her? All she heard, when you talked, were the words nopressure. She never heard separation.”
Judge begins to whine in earnest. “I have to go.”
She follows me. “Where?”
“I told you, I have an appointment.” The corridor is lined with rooms, all locked. Finally I find a knob thatturns in my hand. I walk inside and bolt the door behind me. “Gentlemen,” I say heartily.
Julia rattles the knob. She bangs on the smoky postage-stamp square of glass. I feel sweat break out on myforehead. “You’re not getting away this time,” she yells through the door at me. “I’m still waiting right here.”
“I’m still busy,” I yell back. When Judge pushes his snout in front of me, I sink my fingers into the thick furat his neck. “It’s okay,” I tell him, and then I turn around to face the empty room.
Inside, Vern Stackhouse catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up. I’d run into the deputy earlier, and veryinnocently asked whether his sister, a reporter for the ProJo, would be coming down today. “I can’t really sayanything,” I hinted, “but the hearing…it’s going to be pretty big.”
In that special corner of Hell, there’s probably a throne for those of us who try to capitalize off our pro bonowork.
Minutes later, we are in chambers. “Mr. Alexander.” Judge DeSalvo lifts up the motion for a restrainingorder. “Would you like to tell me why you’ve filed this, when I explicitly addressed the issue yesterday?”
“I had my initial meeting with the guardian ad litem, Judge,” I reply. “While Ms. Romano was present, SaraFitzgerald told my client the lawsuit was a misunderstanding that would work itself out.” I slide my glancetoward Sara, who shows no emotion but a tightening of her jaw. “This is a direct violation of your order, YourHonor. Although this court tried to fashion conditions that would keep the family together, I don’t think it’sgoing to work until Mrs. Fitzgerald finds it possible to mentally separate her role as parent from her role asopposing counsel. Until then, a physical separation is necessary.”
Judge DeSalvo taps his fingers on the desk. “Mrs. Fitzgerald? Did you say those things to Anna?”
“Well, of course I did!” Sara explodes. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this!”
The admission is a circus tent collapsing, leaving all of us in utter silence. Julia chooses that moment to burstthrough the door. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, breathless.
“Ms. Romano,” the judge asks, “have you had a chance to speak to Anna today?”
“Yes, just now.” She looks at me, and then at Sara. “I think she’s very confused.”
“What’s your opinion of the motion Mr. Alexander’s filed?”
She tucks an errant coil of hair behind one ear. “I don’t think I have enough information to make a formaldecision, but my gut feeling says it would be a mistake for Anna’s mother to be removed from the house.”
Immediately, I tense. Reacting, the dog gets to his feet. “Judge, Mrs. Fitzgerald just admitted that she violatedthe court’s order. At the very least she should be reported to the bar for ethical violations, and—”
“Mr. Alexander, there is more to this case than the letter of the law.” Judge DeSalvo turns to Sara. “Mrs.
Fitzgerald, I strongly recommend you look into hiring an independent attorney to represent you and yourhusband in this petition. I am not going to grant the restraining order today, but I will warn you once againnot to talk with your child about this case until the hearing next week. If it comes to my attention at somefuture date that you have ignored this directive once again, I will report you to the bar myself and personallyescort you from your home.” He smacks the file folder shut and gets up. “Do not bother me again untilMonday, Mr. Alexander.”
“I need to see my client,” I announce, and I hurry out to the hallway where I know Anna is waiting with herfather.
Sara Fitzgerald, predictably, is right at my heels. Following her—intent on keeping the peace, no doubt—isJulia. All three of us come to an abrupt stop at the sight of Vern Stackhouse, dozing on the bench where Annawas sitting. “Vern?” I say.
He immediately leaps to his feet, clearing his throat defensively. “It’s a lumbar problem. Gotta sit down everynow and then to take the pressure off.”
“You know where Anna Fitzgerald went?”
He jerks his head toward the front door of the building. “She and her dad took off a while ago.”
From the look on Sara’s face, this is news to her, too. “Do you need a ride back to the hospital?” Julia asks.
She shakes her head and peers through the glass doors, where the reporters have rallied. “Is there a back wayout?”
At my side, Judge begins to stick his muzzle into my hand. Damn.
Julia steers Sara Fitzgerald toward the rear of the building. “I need to talk to you,” she calls over her shoulderto me.
I wait for her to turn her back. Then I promptly grab Judge’s harness and haul him down a corridor.
“Hey!” A moment later, Julia’s heels strike the tile behind me. “I said I wanted to talk to you!”
For a minute I seriously consider ducking out a window. Then I stop abruptly, turn, and offer up my mostengaging smile. “Technically speaking, you said you needed to talk to me. If you’d said you wanted to talk tome, I might have waited around.” Judge sinks his teeth into the corner of my suit, my expensive Armani suit,and tugs. “Right now, though, I have a meeting to get to.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says. “You told me you talked to Anna about her mother and that wewere all on the same page.”
“I did, and we were—Sara was coercing her, and Anna wanted that to stop. I explained the alternatives.”
“Alternatives? She’s a thirteen-year-old girl. Do you know how many kids I see whose take on a trial iscompletely different from their parents’? A mother comes in and promises that her child will testify against achild molester, because she wants the perp put away for life. But the child doesn’t care what happens to theperp, as long as he never has to be in the same room as the guy again. Or he thinks that maybe the perpshould get another chance, just like his parents give him when he’s bad. You can’t expect Anna to be like anormal adult client. She doesn’t have the emotional capability to make decisions independent of her homesituation.”
“Well, that’s the point of this whole petition,” I say.
“As a matter of fact, Anna told me, not a half hour ago, that she’s changed her mind about this wholepetition.” Julia raises a brow. “Didn’t know that, did you?”
“She hasn’t talked to me about it.”
“That’s because you’re talking about the wrong things. You had a conversation with her about a legal way tokeep her from being pressured to call off the lawsuit. Of course she jumped all over that. But do you reallythink she was considering what it might truly mean—that there would be one less parent home to cook ordrive or help her with homework, that she wouldn’t be able to kiss her mother good night, that the rest of herfamily would most likely be very upset with her? All she heard, when you talked, were the words nopressure. She never heard separation.”
Judge begins to whine in earnest. “I have to go.”
She follows me. “Where?”
“I told you, I have an appointment.” The corridor is lined with rooms, all locked. Finally I find a knob thatturns in my hand. I walk inside and bolt the door behind me. “Gentlemen,” I say heartily.
Julia rattles the knob. She bangs on the smoky postage-stamp square of glass. I feel sweat break out on myforehead. “You’re not getting away this time,” she yells through the door at me. “I’m still waiting right here.”
“I’m still busy,” I yell back. When Judge pushes his snout in front of me, I sink my fingers into the thick furat his neck. “It’s okay,” I tell him, and then I turn around to face the empty room.