Rogue Divorce Lawyer

by Dale E. Manolakas

  * * *

  Kurt got back to work but was angry that Angela continually dumped her family problems off on him, including everything after her father’s death and paying for the funeral too. Kurt hadn’t fought his way into the University of Southern California’s Gould School of Law just to end up coddling Angela’s family and, particularly, the ever-dependent Eliana.

  He believed in living with the choices you make. His choices were categorically a rejection of the way he was raised and his parents’ laissez-faire lifestyle.

  His work-a-day parents had named him after their idol Kurt Cobain, the famous Seattle grunge band Nirvana’s singer and guitarist. A namesake who was dead—who had offed himself by shotgun.

  Kurt had decided he wanted the antithesis of that out of his own life. He wanted money, security, and control. The power to crush anyone and anything that came after him.

  He hated his parents’ hippie pretensions, the losers he grew up with, their ridiculous idol, and the pseudo-rebels who gathered at their home. They stunk au naturel. They sat around on dirty couches staring at ten-year-old flat screens, drinking beer, eating pizza, smoking pot, and mutually validating their useless lives.

  Kurt was a rebel of his own kind and just as committed. He rebelled not just against his hedonistic parents, but also phony blue-collar morality, conformity, rules, and respect for tainted, undeserved titles and accolades.

  He had earned his own titles of lawyer, litigator, and esquire. He was a Kurt Cobain with a purpose and he disdained suicide—the easy out. He didn’t want out. He loved where he was in life.

  He would kill his opponents—not himself. And, his gladiatorial weapons were the law and words. With his skills in using them, he had already begun to amass his fortune.

  He was a success and, thus, a disappointment to his parents—except when they needed to “borrow” some of the money he made.

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  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 10

  The following week, Gary got a letter from William’s newly hired hotshot lawyer—predictably, an L.A. import. The lawyer wanted to meet and settle the divorce quickly and generously. William offered the house, ten years of generous spousal support, and a hefty amount in child support, including a full ride for his sons’ college and graduate schools.

  “Quickly and generously. Like hell.” Gary tossed the letter aside. “How am I supposed to make a living with all this magnanimity?”

  Gary ordered Vicky not to put Eliana’s calls through and, instead, make lucrative long appointments. Gary was in the driver’s seat and what was good for Eliana was not good for him—or more precisely his bottom line.

  There was that other bottom, too, Gary thought as he pictured Eliana’s ass in that short linen skirt.

  * * *

  As the weeks went by Gary had Eliana come in repeatedly, not to settle, but instead to alienate her from William. He indoctrinated her with the belief that William wanted to impoverish her and the kids. As her counsel, he ordered her to stop all direct communication with William, even during the boys’ visitation exchanges. Gary couldn’t afford for her to find out about William’s proffered generosity.

  He billed the hell out of Eliana’s office visits—preparation time, actual time, post-visit make-work, letters drafted but not mailed, their first lunch at the French restaurant, and for reviewing his friendly forensic accountant’s inflated bills, which included his kickback.

  With each successive meeting, Eliana became talkier, more dependent, and increasingly worried—about everything, including misreading Gary’s friendliness. Gary slowly brought up the more intimate parts of her personal life, particularly the sexual problems disclosed on her questionnaire. He convinced her they were pivotal in the negotiations. In reality, they were pivotal only in his negotiating the minefield separating him from her body.

  Gary savored her increasing vulnerability. He encouraged her outpourings, her viewing him as a therapist and father figure. He kept the tissues coming and remained utterly business-like on the surface, with a soupçon of sympathy, simultaneously consoling her and undermining her—planning when to make his move.

  He’d watch Eliana emote and more frequently crossed the line with this soft beauty to console her hand-to-hand, body-to-body. He’d drink in her scent and then unzip his tumescent bulge after she left. The used tissue count kept rising, along with him.

  He never got Eliana to dinner but wizarded anything tactical in his office to bend her to his will. The more she refused, the more he engorged his bills with unnecessary discovery rarely mailed, make-work research, pleadings never filed, and incendiary letters to William’s attorney designed to catalyze more billing.

  With the twenty-five thousand dollar retainer gone, he was ready for another big check. He’d deposit it and spend it. Then he’d cash in on her.

  Luckily for Gary, just before he asked Eliana for the second check, William acted out as most hormonal young males eventually did when hard-pressed during divorces. He fortuitously and unilaterally made himself restraining-order-worthy.

  * * *

  That Sunday, when William returned the boys to Eliana with the new female waiting in his car, Eliana decided to disobey Gary and talk to William. She let him carry the boys’ things inside. Then, she shut the door and cornered him.

  Eliana pleaded with a practiced speech for William to come home to her. He responded with unconvincing and contrived excuses.

  She cried and begged, but William turned to leave. Eliana looked at her sons, then at William’s back—and rage overwhelmed her.

  “Don’t ever bring them home dirty again. I’m not your maid.”

  William turned and blasted at her, sick of his mounting lawyer’s fees because she had rejected his generosity.

  “Who the hell cares? Give them a bath. What do you want from me? I’m giving you every—”

  Eliana screamed over what could have been her salvation—knowledge of his generous offer. “You give them a bath before you bring them back.”

  “No. You do it. All you do is sit around my house all day doing nothing. You won’t be so cocky when I sell it.”

  They screamed over each other and communicated—not at all. The encounter dissolved into an earsplitting deluge of anger while their sons cried.

  * * *

  Eliana was in Gary’s office Monday morning and, and as far as she was concerned, the restraining order was a fait accompli—William was to be excluded from the family home and denied all contact with Eliana.

  William was in his lawyer’s office Monday morning as well, and directed his lawyer to get a court order freezing all the bank accounts and credit cards.

  * * *

  Tuesday Eliana kept another appointment with Gary. He walked around his desk and handed Eliana a copy of the restraining order. His isolation of Eliana was now validated by a fully enforceable court order.

  “We got it! A temporary restraining order. He can’t step foot in the house or talk to you. The child exchanges will be at the police station.”

  “My God.” Eliana looked at the court order and sobbed. “My marriage really is over.”

  “Don’t worry.” Gary put his arms around her soft tiny body and drew her head to his chest. “I’m taking care of you.”

  “Don’t.” Eliana ran out and to her car before Gary could follow up and get what he really wanted.

  Gary called her that night and asked her to meet him for a drink—to celebrate, to mourn—he didn’t care why, only that she came. Or, rather, that he did.

  “Drink? I don’t … never mind.”

  Eliana hung up without ceremony.

  * * *

  Now, with William legally excluded from the house and Eliana’s cash and credit access curtailed, Gary called her in the evenings with impunity from his office. After a few more weeks, one Friday night he called drunk, aggressive, horny, and out of control.

  “Come on. Come over for a drink. We can stra … stra … tegize together.�
� Gary slurred.

  “No, I’m busy.”

  “I know hubby has the brats … I’m your lawyer. I know everything … every … little … thing.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Look, honey. Don’t be so prissy. I can relax you. I can …”

  “It’s late and—”

  “Come on. I know when a woman’s horny. Your nipples pop, honey. Just like my dick. I—”

  “You’re drunk,” Eliana hung up.

  She stopped answering Gary’s calls. He was too shrewd to leave messages.

  When Vicky called her to come in for appointments that week, Eliana was busy. She desperately needed to talk to her sister, but phone tag was all she got.

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  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 11

  On the following Friday evening, Eliana caught Angela as she was driving home. Angela answered expecting drama and got it.

  She listened. It was dead time for her anyway as she snailed down Wilshire toward the 405 Freeway onramps. After the Veterans Cemetery, it would deteriorate to snail-plus. The commuter invaders were on their way to the cheap flat and hot valley, south to the beach cities or east to the inland low-rent habitats.

  Angela said, “It’s hard to believe a lawyer would act like that.”

  “I know you think I’m a drama queen, a real pain. But it’s all true. What do I do?”

  “I have no idea. In advertising we just say ‘no’ and it usually works.”

  That was a bald-faced lie. Even Angela had been forced to fight her way out of an office. But years of her sister’s whining had desensitized Angela to Eliana’s complaints. Her sister was a nut-case prude whose social filters usually misread men.

  “Can you get another lawyer?”

  “No, there’s no money left. The accounts are frozen.”

  “Aside from his drunk calls, is he a good lawyer?”

  “The San Bernardino Bar Association recommended him. He’s supposed to be a big deal.”

  “Look. Can’t you talk to William and get this divorce done … not waste money on lawyers?

  “I’ve tried when he picks up the boys. He just yells. My lawyer got a restraining order.”

  “Restraining order? Against Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes?”

  “My lawyer said it would escalate. He’d seen it before.”

  “I guess he knows.” Angela wanted to scream at the sea of red brake lights before her and at Eliana to grow up and deal.

  Eliana quickly added, “Mom doesn’t know. She can’t know any of this. William leaving was enough on her.”

  Angela threw Eliana a bone. “Agreed. I’ll run this by Kurt when I get a chance.”

  But not soon, Angela thought. I need that wedding ring on my finger more than Eliana needs my help with a harmless, horny drunk.

  “Thanks. What should I do though?”

  “Easy. Only see him in his office. Keep it short. And don’t answer when he calls. Sounds to me like he has a drinking problem. I mean we’ve all made drunk booty calls.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Angela rolled her eyes.

  “It’s him again.” Eliana saw Gary calling in on her cell screen.

  “Don’t answer. We’ll talk later.” Angela hung up, too pissed off at going twenty feet in twenty minutes to deal with baby sister’s problems at the end of a long week.

  Fearful and angry, Eliana muted her ringtone.

  * * *

  In his office, redialing Eliana again and again, Gary was just this side of sloppy drunk. He was tired of gratifying himself behind his desk reading Eliana’s sex form. He needed a woman. He certainly wouldn’t relieve himself between his wife’s legs. She would discover he could still get it up and the man-eater would demand regular servicing again.

  Frustrated and angry, Gary called the only one of his stable who actually liked his attentions—Zaida. She always dropped whatever she was doing to be used by him.

  Zaida, who insisted the “ai” be pronounced as a long “i”, was beyond middle age, boney, but not shy. She liked wearing no panties to Gary’s after-hours “appointments” where she had a few scotches and let Gary ride her—ass up.

  She was quick and uncomplicated. Gary put her on his desk facedown, pulled up her dress, and banged her menopausal pussy. She brought the lubricant. Gary never rode her unprotected, though. Her top-drawer questionnaire documented her promiscuous proclivities with men and women. That’s why her husband was divorcing her.

  When Zaida was satisfied, she always made a squeal like a little piglet. He hated it, but he needed the effortless, guaranteed release she offered—sometimes before she squealed and sometimes after—sometimes with dirty talk and sometimes without. She liked it, even though Gary now only took her from behind to distance himself from the reek of tobacco on her skin, hair, and clothes. It repulsed him.

  At least she never stayed long and, when he called, she always came—in both senses. It was good enough that Friday night, but he hungered for Eliana’s plump younger flesh—and soon.

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  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 12

  During Gary’s courting of Eliana, he had succeeded in banishing both Kim’s death and the threat of discovery from his mind. However, as Skip’s trial approached, the “fair and neutral” local media bombarded the San Bernardino community with in-depth coverage of Skip the wife-killer. Females thought he was getting what he deserved. The males? Not so much. Gary knew who the killer was.

  There was media speculation about other men in Kim’s life, but it didn’t point to Gary—not yet. On the eve of the trial, the local rags did detailed, microscopic coverage fanning the flames for ratings, but there was still no more than a mention of Gary as Kim’s divorce lawyer. Reporters called him. They got Vicky. Gary was always “unavailable.”

  Luckily, and unexpectedly, neither Detective Gonzalez nor the A.D.A. contacted Gary again. Still, he grew nervous. He needed Skip deposited forever in the isolated domain that prisoners inhabit away from the real world—away from Gary’s world.

  As the trial approached, Skip invaded his mind and caused him to break into cold sweats—the cold sweats of fear, fear of a Perry Mason moment at the trial.

  * * *

  Eliana took her sister’s advice and kept her Gary meetings short, never cried, and watched his every move. If he came around his desk toward her, she immediately left to do something—anything.

  Unable to pierce her armor, Gary looked to the Phoenix for distraction. With his losses mounting, he turned again to his established female stable. He decided to have Brianna Norton report in. Thinking about that, he re-read the form he had used to groom her.

  Gary was pleased with the slender, well-endowed blond standing before him hugging her purse. Brianna, ex-prom queen, ex-cheerleader, and darling of years gone by, looked down—contrite and resigned. A specimen he could only admire from afar in high school. Now, she had three kids and a bastard ex-husband who had trained her well.

  He liked her on her knees sucking on him but lost interest when he couldn’t make her cry.

  He switched things up in his mind to the ever-available Zaida. He’d put the cigarette-smoking old broad over his desk and pump away with his eyes closed, fantasizing about Eliana.

  * * *

  At his next meeting with Eliana, Gary hit her with the H-bomb in his arsenal—more money.

  “I don’t understand,” she stammered. “The twenty-five thousand is gone?”

  “We’ve done a lot of work. We’ve had a lot of meetings. I’ve had to deal with that L.A. lawyer and that’s William’s fault. I need another ten.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Eliana didn’t have that kind of money—William’s attorney had frozen their liquid assets just as Gary predicted. She hadn’t taken Gary’s advice to gather a stash of her own. Instead, she had begged money from William who miserly calculated her household expenses.

  “It takes money to file for the temporary support and visita
tion orders. Court dates are hard to come by.” He was lying—the filings were standard forms Vicky filled in and getting court dates was routine.

  “Of course. It must be a lot of work.” Eliana was at a loss—desperate but refusing to cry. “But another ten thousand?”

  “I’m trying to get a settlement agreement without going to court but how can I if they won’t play ball?”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Gary wasn’t sorry. There would be no settlement. The billing would keep mounting. He needed to get Eliana at the courthouse. He had cracked even the most reticent ones there in the end—it was the only way to break some with their heightened emotions, anticipatory fear, and empty bank accounts.

  He planned to get Eliana’s soft vulnerable mouth to submit to fellatio with tears—his favorite scenario. But not in the parking lot—right there in the courthouse. Just thinking of the danger made his crotch twitch.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Eliana left abruptly, holding back her tears.

  Gary was an artist at creating crises for his cherry-picked women. Crises that would inevitably throw them into his arms.

  He didn’t return William’s attorney’s calls until after office hours—well after anyone would be there, thus establishing plausible deniability. He obstructed any peaceful resolution, and, in the process, wove a web of emotional dependency that would make him the center of Eliana’s life—her salvation.

  * * *

  Gary’s well-orchestrated breakdown of Eliana’s resistance intensified.

  Her visits to his office dissolved into sobbing, desperate questions full of helplessness and hopelessness. She didn’t have the money to pay his mounting bills.