Pawleys Island

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “I can hardly wait to hear what else…” I said.

  “As far as alimony, he says no. He wants child support from you—three hundred dollars a month, more as a good-faith gesture for the sake of the children’s psyche than real support. He says he will give you a cash settlement of fifty thousand dollars, medical coverage for six months, whatever is in the house that was a gift to you, your personal belongings and that’s it.”

  “You must be kidding,” I said.

  “He can’t do this to me!” Rebecca started to cry.

  “Rebecca! Don’t get upset. This is normal. Let’s work up a counteroffer.”

  It went on like this all through the morning. We called out for sandwiches and worked straight through the afternoon until four o’clock. We dug in, sent them a fifth offer and here’s what we got back.

  “Okay,” Ms. O’Brien said, in a very tired voice. “It doesn’t appear that we’re making much headway. Their current offer is this: your husband has custody of the children and the house and you pay child support of four hundred dollars a month. He gives you a lump-sum payment of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That’s it.”

  “What?”

  Rebecca wasn’t handling this well at all. Neither was I.

  “Listen, Ms. O’Brien. Their residence on Tradd Street was appraised at one point two million dollars.” I slid the appraisal toward her for the third time that afternoon. “Nat’s share of his family business is valued at four million dollars.” I pushed the valuation across the table again. “He’s an abusive, pot-smoking, adulterous felon who doesn’t know the truth from a hole in the wall. I suggest you take Harry Albright outside and tell him that if we go to court, I’m gonna humiliate him and send his client to the cooler unless Nat Simms gets real. NOW! This entire day has been an insult to our intelligence.” I was furious, but then I added in a cool voice, “But of course, it’s your call.”

  She tapped her pencil on the glass-topped table a dozen times or so and then said, “Fine. I’ll be back.”

  Thirty more minutes passed until Ms. O’Brien returned.

  “No go,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Simms. Your husband is a very stubborn man.”

  “Seventeen years of marriage? Raise two children? Run a house, be faithful and loving? And this is it? I don’t think so.” At this point I knew we would be so much better off in the courtroom, for Rebecca’s sake. She was devastated to see how unfair her husband wanted to be with her. Who wouldn’t be? Rebecca had tears streaming down her face as she had off and on all day long.

  Ms. O’Brien apparently agreed with me, because she said, “I think you’ll find the family court judges more amenable than your husband and his attorney, Mrs. Simms. There’s more precedent for divorce law than any other law on the books. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I really am.”

  We shook hands and Ms. O’Brien left.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Okay,” she said. “God, he is such a bastard.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  We stepped out into the afternoon air, and I looked at my watch. Four-thirty. I was supposed to meet Julian, but I had no intention of letting Rebecca drive herself the whole way back to Litchfield alone. She was too upset—not good for driving.

  “I have to make a phone call,” I said and walked about five feet away from her.

  I reached Julian and told him what had happened and he said, No, absolutely drive her back. We should’ve thought of this in the first place, but no bother! I’ll meet you there before eight, okay? Drive safely!

  “Oh, Abigail!”

  I wasn’t about to listen to her wail in the middle of the street.

  “Oh, Abigail what? You listen to me. Your husband is a fool. Harry Albright is billing him for more hours than Elizabeth Taylor ever paid for all her marriages combined, and guess what? You and I are going to court to have ourselves a triumphant victory!”

  “Oh, Abigail. What am I going to do?”

  “We are going to do the thing that always makes us feel better, that’s what.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’re calling Huey to see if he’ll have all of us for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

  “Me too.”

  Huey was thrilled. I had already told him all about Julian. He couldn’t wait to meet him.

  Julian was on time, which was a good thing, as my nerves had been heavily tried last week. Besides, I was exhausted from the day. But as these things are wont to go, I became mysteriously energized when I saw him coming through my kitchen door.

  “Hey! You look so handsome!”

  I gave him a kiss and stood back, taking in the full length of him, deciding he had gone to considerable lengths to put himself together for the evening. He was wearing an ivory linen sport coat over a navy silk polo shirt and navy linen pants. Woven loafers, no socks. Pretty cool for a guy who probably hid his AARP card deep in his wallet behind his membership card to a fitness club.

  “And you’re looking pretty smart yourself! So what are we doing about dinner?”

  “Ah! Men and their stomachs! Don’t they ever think about anything else?”

  “Yep. Money. Golf. Sex.”

  “In that order?”

  “Not always.”

  “Well, tonight I have a special treat for you.”

  “I was hoping you would…”

  I blushed and, as per normal for me, as normal established itself anew in my southern climes, felt a flutter. Flutters would have to restrain themselves until later.

  “I’m taking you to my best friend’s house for supper.”

  “Oh. That fellow Huey?”

  “Yep.” I rushed around turning off lights.

  “Nice house?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks and looked him in the face. “Well, it’s not as grand as this house, but it’s not a slum.”

  “On the ocean?”

  “Let’s go. You’ll see. It’s on the Waccamaw.”

  We drove over to Huey’s, and I gave him the update on Rebecca’s case in the car.

  “Well, mediation doesn’t always work. Who’s your judge?”

  “Shelby.”

  Julian burst out laughing. “Perfect! Perfect!”

  “Why? What’s so funny?”

  “Adrian Shelby is the toughest, no-nonsense judge we’ve got. She’s gonna take Nat and Harry Albright apart! Whew! What a blessing! You couldn’t ask for a better pick. She hates arrogance, I mean hates it! You should go to church this Sunday and thank the Big Guy upstairs.”

  “Well, hallelujah! Here, make the right, right here.”

  He swung into the side road and said, “Good thing you’re with me. I never would have found this.”

  We went along the road until the big house came into view.

  “Keep to the left,” I said.

  “Holy smokes! This is some spread.”

  We parked and got out, and Julian whistled low and long.

  “How many acres do they have?”

  “Enough. Come on.”

  Julian charmed Miss Olivia all night and everyone else too. Over dinner of cold watercress soup, baked flounder, scalloped potatoes and sliced tomatoes, Julian told stories about his practice and reassured Rebecca.

  There was some conversation about Rebecca’s upcoming trial. Miss Olivia was listening intently.

  “What does one wear into a court of law?”

  “Why, Mother?”

  “Whatever you would wear out to dinner or to any place of business,” I said, not thinking about it.

  “Well, if all y’all young people think that I am going to miss this, y’all are all out of y’all’s blooming minds! I think we should all be there, don’t you?”

  “Absolu-mont!” Huey exclaimed. “We’ll all stay at the Governor’s House.”

  Rebecca covered her mouth with her hands and managed to squeak out, “Oh!”

  Julian said, “You have some very nic
e friends, Rebecca.”

  “Yes, I certainly do.”

  “I thought the governor lived in Columbia,” Miss Olivia said. “Did he move?”

  “No, Mother, it’s Edward Rutledge’s old place downtown.”

  “You say that like I remember the day that upstart signed the Declaration of Independence! Like I made cookies for Jefferson and the whole bunch of them!”

  Everyone had a good laugh and Julian took the floor again. He went on to compliment Miss Olivia on her eternal youth and Huey on his home and told him he looked forward to visiting the gallery. He asked Miss Olivia about the history of the plantation and the provenance of the antiques, bringing Huey back into the conversation as he dickered politely with his mother on the origins of the clock in the living room and the sideboard in the dining room. If there had been a headline for this picturesque gathering, it would have said, How Gentry Conduct Themselves at Dinner. When the meal was ended, Miss Olivia took us back one hundred years.

  “I declare!” Miss Olivia said. “I believe I would be so pleased to have this gentleman escort me to the living room for a little cognac.”

  “It would be my honor,” Julian said and winked at me.

  You could almost hear the rustle of her hoop skirts as she sashayed from the room.

  “He’s fabulous, Abigail!” Huey mouthed with no sound.

  Rebecca bobbed her head in agreement. Byron, who was clearing the table, said nothing.

  “Well?” I said to him.

  “Well, since you asked…I say that’s a mighty fine gentleman you brought here tonight.”

  We stood to follow them to the other room, and Huey said, “Abigail! You know what? Your complexion is absolutely radiant! What are you doing different?”

  Rebecca and Byron broke out in a fit of giggles and I blushed for the second time that night.

  “Oh! Abigail! I’m so sorry!”

  “Well, I’m not. Let’s just say it’s nice to know I’m not dead quite yet.”

  NINETEEN

  ALL RISE

  THE day of justice had almost arrived, and we were as well prepared as we could be. I still could not believe that Harry Albright would allow Nat Simms to go to court. Why didn’t he come up with a settlement offer? Amazing. Unless something incredible happened, this was going to be disastrous for Nat because I intended to use every single piece of evidence I had. Every single one.

  So did Harry. As it turned out, I discovered that Rebecca had been ordering psychotropic pharmaceuticals on the Internet and that while she lived with Nat she had developed the unfortunate habit of immodest alcohol consumption before dark. But if I lived with Nat Simms, my liver would’ve looked like Plymouth Rock. However, I was furious with her for not telling me this and told her so.

  “Rebecca? Do you understand that they intend to use this against you in their custody argument?”

  “Yes, I do. But I don’t take those pills anymore. Look, I was depressed, okay?”

  “Rebecca, if anyone here understands depression, it’s me. Too well. But you get meds from a licensed psychiatrist, not from a Web site! And what about this alcohol abuse?”

  “I didn’t think of it as a problem. It never was. Sometimes the mother of one of Sami’s friends would come over in the afternoon for a glass of wine and to organize car pool or something, and when any committee met at my house I served wine. But I was never a fall-down drunk! That’s absurd!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Abigail, I am positive.”

  “Okay, then I’ll take care of it.”

  The night before the trial, we all checked into the Governor’s House Inn on Meeting Street, within walking distance of the courthouse. Huey arranged all the lodging and orchestrated our accommodations. He and Byron had the Kitchen House. Byron was to stay upstairs in one suite and Huey would be downstairs in the other. It had two fireplaces from 1760 and very generous living and sleeping spaces on both floors.

  “I’m taking the whole kit and caboodle,” he said. “Byron can organize cocktails on the porch and we can discuss the day in private.”

  Miss Olivia was ensconced in the Wagener Room on the first floor for ease of mobility. Rebecca was registered in the Laurens Room, and I was in the Middleton Suite. Our rooms had lush canopied beds, fireplaces and generous outdoor sitting areas. The Rutledge Suite was reserved for Claudia. You would have thought we were having a wedding instead of a divorce.

  “I am so glad I got here!” Claudia said when she opened her door for Rebecca and me.

  “I’m so glad you came!” Rebecca said, hugging her friend.

  “Well, if I have to be subpoenaed, this is the way to suffer through it!”

  “Gosh,” I said, walking in and looking around, “one room is as beautiful as the other! Did y’all see the living room and parlor?”

  “Charming,” Claudia said. “Absolutely charming.”

  “Yes, it truly is.” Rebecca said.

  That night we, including Byron, had dinner at McCrady’s, and Julian joined us. We talked and ate but even the delicious dinners of baked Chilean sea bass, beef Wellingtons and wild salmon could not diminish the morning’s business, which weighed heavily on our minds. We all decided to turn in early. We walked the short distance back to our inn and said good night.

  “Try and get some rest,” I said to Rebecca.

  “Listen, Abigail. No matter what happens tomorrow, I just want you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done and are trying to do for me. You’ve opened my eyes to a lot of things, you know.”

  “And you’ve opened mine too.”

  Even though I balked, Julian decided to drive back to Kiawah Island.

  “It’s too late, Julian! The road’s dark and…”

  “Shhh! Save your objections for tomorrow. I want to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in that courtroom!”

  “Are you coming too?”

  “Are you kidding? Wouldn’t miss it!”

  We were the first case on the docket and arrived there thirty minutes early, going through security screening, giving a moment’s thought to what the world has come to that we need metal detectors everywhere. I had three boxes of papers with me—bank statements, tax returns, credit card statements, printed dialogue from Nat’s ventures into teenage chat rooms, receipts from adult novelty stores and the whole gamut of damning detail, including photographs of important occasions in the children’s lives where Nat is either missing or, if he’s photographed, obviously disgruntled. In addition, I had a historic amount of cards and letters written to Rebecca from Nat and the children over the years, demonstrating their affection for her.

  It had always been my habit to arrive early to give my client the opportunity to calm him or herself and get used to the idea of being in a courtroom, which can be extremely intimidating for anyone.

  We had subpoenaed Jeff Mahoney, Charlene Johnson, Claudia Kelly, our accountant and our valuator. The population of the courtroom was sparse. There were a few folks of unknown allegiance sitting in the back rows who gave us no notice as we filed in, except one. Tisdale Simms himself. I would have known him anywhere.

  I spotted Claudia reading a newspaper. Huey, Byron and Miss Olivia were seated to her right. I dropped the boxes on our table and went back to say hello.

  “Early bird gets the worm,” Claudia said. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” I said, hoping chance was not my best weapon.

  “You go get ’em, Abigail darling!” Huey said and blew me a kiss.

  “Abigail!” Miss Olivia said and curled her finger for me to come to her side. I shimmied down the row and put my ear close to her mouth. “Mash that son of a b-i-t-c-h like a grape, you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”

  A man touched my arm. “You’re Abigail Thurmond?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Jeff Mahoney,” he said.

  “Ah ha!” I said and shook his hand. “Thank you for being here.”

  “No probl
em. Glad to help.”

  Buoyed by their support, I made my way back to the defendant’s table with Rebecca. Julian was nowhere in sight, but I guessed he would probably slip in and out. I was sure he had his own agenda for the day.

  Nat and Harry Albright arrived, took their places and the games began.

  “All rise!”

  Judge Adrian Shelby came through the door, and I was relieved to see that her judge’s robes had feminine detail. This would bode well for her opinion of Rebecca, who was dressed like the consummate Junior Leaguer. Judge Shelby wore a lace scarf at her throat to which she had attached a beautiful cameo. Julian had told me all about her. This judge was a lady, reputed for her genteel manner and her steel spine. She did not suffer fools, arrogance in counsel or witnesses, or any of the games played to sway her opinion. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Virginia and she earned her JD at Harvard Law School. If you screwed with Judge Shelby, you rued the day you did. I could feel Nat and Harry squirming without even looking.

  “Thank you for your respect to the court,” she said. “Please be seated. Just as a reminder, all cell phones are to be turned off—not that you’d get great reception anyway. All right then. Is the plaintiff ready?”

  “Yes, your honor, we are,” Albright said.

  “And the defendant?”

  “Yes, your honor, we are.”

  “Are there any preliminary matters to bring to the court’s attention before we begin?”

  “No, your honor,” Albright said.

  I looked around to see if Charlene was there, and she was not. “Uh, excuse me your honor, one of my witnesses seems to be absent.”

  “The name of the witness please?”

  “Charlene Johnson.”

  Judge Shelby went through the list of subpoenaed witnesses and found her name. There was documentation that Charlene had been served and was supposed to be there. Judge Shelby sighed and arched her eyebrow.

  “Do you know where Miss Johnson might be found at this hour of the day?”