CHAPTER VII
Matrimonial matters are legally examined
Two women seated in his library, Swick extended his hand to one. “Well, Sonja.”
Precisely five feet tall, chunky, gray Mrs. Sonja Brakpond was suing for divorce, contested by Mr. Jonas Brakpond, who sincerely loved his wife and the portion of money he was certain to lose along with her. He wanted her forever, said it then so very long ago, and maintained it now. Mr. and Mrs. Brakpond had met with Mr. Kohrnough, for six minutes eighteen seconds, to attempt reconciliation. Sonja insisted on divorce and alimony; Jonas refused both.
Sonja stood up and watched the black button of Mr. Kohrnough’s jacket swing as he shook her hand; she worried that it might fall off, he might lose it.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said, “I was held up in court.”
“That’s scary,” said Sonja. “Lucky they didn’t hurt you.”
“Honey, court’s the safest place,” said Sonja’s companion. “She was afraid to come by herself. I’m Zennie Einess, Sonja’s best friend for thirty years.”
“What I remember,” said Sonja, “thirty-four at least.”
“Huh. Ladies, I have another appointment in an hour,” Swick said.
“Only thirty since we’re really best friends,” said Zennie, who was taller than Sonja, slender, and vivid in her snug lime shantung sleeveless dress. Her matching shawl, edged with black pearls, was draped around her shoulders.
“It was Zennie gave me the up-front money for you,” Sonja said, and put her arm around her generous friend.
Sonja was dressed in recently purchased divorce togs: knee-length beige wool jacket, authentic turquoise choking her neck, and straight, somber brown pinstriped skirt, suitably confining for today’s preparatory interview and tomorrow’s trial. She always wore loose cotton trousers and oversized jumpers to work, inside the ticket booth of the Astrotower.
“Thanks again for taking me,” said Sonja, “how things are right now.”
“A lawyer is paid by his client to use the law to benefit his client.” Swick nodded reassuringly at Sonja. “Now Ms. Einess, please excuse us.”
“We’ll fix you and him soon enough,” said Zennie. “Won’t old Jonas be surprised.”
Zennie kissed Sonja’s forehead, pink lipstick imprimatur. “You just do what Mr. Krono here tells you and it’ll all work out. Isn’t that right, Mr. Krono? That’s what they said at Treatment when I was over there three months ago for a very insignificant kind of procedure. This phony redhead comes around kissing everybody was telling some old girl about how she uses you and since I wasn’t doing much those days, when Sonja came to visit me and I saw her face I knew what was up so I got your name. That redhead, she said you’ll take anything.”
Correct, in a world of specialists, Swick practiced general law: matrimonials, personal injury, estates and probate, malpractice, real estate, all to support his artistic ambitions.
“Ms. Einess, it is important that my client prepare with me privately.”
“But I’m her best friend.”
“She’s my very best friend.”
“Ladies, please. Trust the professional. Ms. Einess can wait at reception.”
“Oh no,” Sonja said.
“Sure,” said Zennie. “Don’t be nervous. Cupcake, I’m right outside. He’s probably OK.” A good wishes hug, and Zennie left the library.
The door closed. Zennie stood there, aligned her left ear with the doorframe, removed the enormous silver hoop from her lobe and heard him say, “Let’s talk about tomorrow.”
“Madam, you can’t stand there,” Mr. Kurt said. “That’s what he told you.”
“It is not,” she whispered. “And how would you know?”
“I know. Come with me.”
“I’m her friend and I paid for this.”
“I do what I can.” He grinned at her, raised vanished eyebrows high above his glasses as he coaxed with his chin, and she followed him back to his desk.
“Gum?” Kurt asked, and offered a stick of spearmint.
“What’s with you?”
“Gum is expensive, like everything else.” He placed an unopened pack of soft pale green on his desk, beside his phone system, and pushed a button.
They heard Swick say, “And there’s no need to be nervous, Sonja, if you” and Kurt pushed the button again.
“So your lawyer boss pays you chicken shit,” Zennie said, and nodded experientially. “Sure. Sweetie. On second thought I’ll try some,” and took a few bills out of her wallet. “Gum money. OK, Mr. Gum?”
Kurt accepted payment. “Adequate. Comfortable, madam?” and turned on the intercom.
“Chew you!” Zennie laughed, sat opposite Kurt, elbows on his desk, leaned closer to the speaker, and on third thought, tried some gum.
“Have a seat,” Swick said, pointing to a chair for Sonja, next to his at the head of the cluttered table. He pushed aside stacks of journals, unread issues of legal, financial, fine arts, plastic arts, visual arts subscriptions, and sat in his leather chair, her file before him.
Sonja sat on the edge of the swivel chair, wriggled, and tugged her skirt over her knees with both strong, thick hands that continued to tear tickets, rolls of Astrotower tickets, amusement seasons in and out, as they had for twenty-six years.
Short enough to stand upright in her booth, wide enough to exploit its space, Sonja was herself a daily Astrotower attraction at 12:45, when she took her half-hour lunch break (headcheese/ liverwurst on three burger buns, bagged in plastic the night before). How she squeezed out of her booth and how she squeezed back in were two more wonders of the park. Her days were spent near Jonas, who worked six feet above her on the tower’s platform. Jonas accepted the tickets Sonja sold, one per ride per rider, and inserted them into a wooden box; he opened and closed the sliding door, operated the donut--scores of trips daily -- washed the windows, and counted the tickets and cash.
Their accounts were always perfect. Their employer had no complaints.
Sonja needed nothing more than amounts allocated by her devoted husband. But Zennie was divorced and much happier, and Zennie knew that Sonja would be too.
Swick didn’t bother to open her file. “I’ve done dozens, hundreds of divorces and I know the judge for years.” But his cooperative judge, always in favor of keeping home fires burning, did not readily grant divorces. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“She better be,” said Zennie.
“According to the laws of this state,” Swick said, “we’ll have to go on cruel and inhuman.”
“Cruel what?” asked Sonja.
“Treatment.”
“He isn’t really cruel.”
“He is so,” whispered Zennie, “cheap bastard and worse.”
“I know a few myself,” said Kurt.
“It doesn’t matter what he is,” Swick said. “You can’t say, ‘I want out.’ Give the judge something to go on. Did he ever cheat?”
“Women?” asked Sonja, and shook her head hard. “Oh no, no, never no.”
“Who else would look at him?” Zennie asked.
Kurt looked at Zennie.
“Did he ever abandon you?” Swick asked. “Was he ever in jail?”
“No,” said Sonja.
“Should be,” said Zennie.
“Hit you?” asked Swick. “He’s tall.”
“Even taller than you,” Sonja said, blushing. “One time he pushed me on the bed and jumped on me.”
Swick shut his eyes.
“She still dreaming about that?” asked Zennie.
“Something wrong?” asked Sonja.
“She wants him,” said Kurt, hands primly clasped, “just wait.”
Zennie’s pearls clattered in violent disagreement. “You’re so wrong.”
Sonja swiveled away from Mr. Kohrnough to dab her eyes with her sleeve. “There’s money, I don’t know where. He keeps it to hisself.”
“He’s stealing your money,” Swick said.
“You got i
t!” Zennie said.
“Not really,” said Sonja. “I buy things we don’t need. He’s right about that.”
“Don’t say that tomorrow,” Swick said. “He’s abusive.”
“You have friends this dumb?” Zennie asked.
“Sort of yes,” said Sonja, “sometimes he’ll shove me, more than shove when he’s really had it. But he never hits me. I don’t stand for it.”
“Hell you don’t,” Zennie said, spit out her gum, rolled it around her palm as she stood, “I’ll tell Krono myself.”
“Don’t spoil it!” Kurt grabbed her wrist. “Sit down.”
Grinning first at her wrist, then at him, Zennie sat.
“My papa used to say,” said Sonja, “ ‘first time it’s his fault, second time it’s yours.’ ” She sighed, quite satisfied with her papa’s wise words and the fine impression they’d make on Mr. Kohrnough.
Swick checked his watch, stood and began to pace. “Why not say he more than shoved? A big mouth is annoying but there’s nothing like a smack to get the judge’s attention.”
“But isn’t that a lie?”
“Grow up!” said Zennie, and dropped the ball of gum into the wrapper Kurt provided.
“He shoved!” said Swick.
“What did I tell you?” Kurt asked.
“He shoved, Sonja. You said so.”
“It wasn’t much,” said Sonja.
“The judge doesn’t know that. Your word against his. Your truth, repeated often, with conviction. Weren’t you frightened?”
“Sort of. I didn’t like it but he never really hurt me.”
“He attacked you,” said Swick.
“Tell her!” said Zennie, “damn good lawyer.”
“The best,” Kurt said, and laughed.
Hands in his pants pockets, Swick walked around to the window. The eight Treatment Plaza oaks were losing leaves. It was cloudy, windy, rain in the forecast. His horseshoe was safe in the van.
“It wasn’t more than a tap,” said Sonja, swiveling around to the window and Mr. Kohrnough, “sometimes a pinch but not nice like a play pinch. It was like a mean pinch but not terrible. It hurts more on the inside than the pinch place,” and she sighed some more.
Swick looked beyond the plaza, the beach, the ocean; the world was at times wondrous, vast and yet so small if only he could capture it. He had talent, just needed a gimmick. “There must be something I can do,” Swick said.
“I can’t hear him,” Zennie told Kurt.
“Lean in closer,” Kurt said.
“He’s nasty sometimes,” Sonja said.
Swick saw the first drops steaming on the asphalt.
“Only sometimes. He’s only human so I guess he’s not so bad,” Sonja said.
Today rain was a slight inconvenience, but last year timely storms had brought a windfall of collisions and Treatment clients. A well-placed leaf, a broken leg.
“But Zennie says twenty-six years with not so bad is bad enough.”
Zennie nodded.
“And he doesn’t say anything nice anymore. But maybe he still loves me.”
“Huh. What kind of love is that?” asked Swick.
“Zennie says she’s much happier with the second one.”
“Husband?”
“Divorce,” said Zennie.
“Divorce,” said Sonja. “She got two divorces and she never went to court.” Sonja pressed both hands to the sting in her heart. “I can’t lie! I’m nervous. Never seen a judge in my life.”
Zennie slumped in her chair.
“I knew it,” said Kurt.
Huh. A bench trial before Van Fessel, and a client who wouldn’t talk. Swick turned around. “Sonja, you’re entitled to quite a bit, but never mind that. Tomorrow you have a chance. Make him uncomfortable. Watch him faint from anxiety at losing you, his dear, faithful partner of a lifetime, his real treasure, his hard-working, beautiful, beloved wife.” Now he had something: she sat up straight and squinted at Jonas: waving his arms, crying for her. “Let him try yelling tomorrow in front of the judge,” Swick said. She followed Jonas, miserable, alone, lost without her. “Bullies are all the same. He’ll be a puppy.” Jonas was stuck; Sonja was giggling. “You’ll pay him back, a few minutes for all those years.”
“You think so?” asked Sonja.
“I know so.” He walked around to face her, bent over her, his hands on her shoulders and raised an impassioned voice, “You’ll answer my questions. It’s easy. When I ask, has he ever assaulted you? Well?”
“He shoved me?”
“Right! And when I ask about money, what’s the truth?” Swick stood tall before her.
“He keeps it mostly for hisself?”
Zennie was bouncing on her chair.
“And tell the judge he has a big mouth. Is that true?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes so do I.”
“Good. Use it tomorrow and you’ll have what you want, guaranteed.”
“I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”
“And he’s still without an attorney,” said Swick. “He thinks he can handle this on his own?”
“He won’t go near a lawyer,” Sonja said.
“Moron,” said Zennie.
“I heartily disagree,” said Kurt.
Another minute and Swick would be late. “Just answer my questions and you’ll have your divorce and your money. Can you do that?”
“Sure I can.”
Zennie threw gum into her purse, a kiss at Kurt and whispered, “So? Who’s wrong now?”
“And you said,” said Swick, “and I’m taking you at your word, that there’s enough there for my fee. Because what you’ve paid me doesn’t cover two hours of my time.”
“Got to be,” Sonja said. “No kids and working all our lives.”
“Then I’ll meet you tomorrow in front of the courthouse, 9:00. Trial begins at 9:30.”
Zennie got up and rushed toward the library door.
“Hey wait!” shouted Kurt.
“Will you be on time?” asked Sonja. “Not like today? I won’t know what to do.”
“The judge can’t start without me. But I’ll be there. I’m for you.”
Zennie banged once, opened the library door and ran to throw her arms around Swick.
“Great job Krono!” and kissed his wattles. “We’ll screw him in the morning! Bastard!”