“Which means I get the Payne-ment, no debt, guaranteed income, a big bonus. I get to work with you—”
“Right. A potential ethical quagmire, but a good time regardless.”
“—but on the flip side, I’d still be at the firm, which means I would have to work with Lillian.”
“You’re kind of in the safety zone. What could she do to you now?”
“That’s probably true.”
“And if you don’t sign, your option is what?”
“Going home while I figure out what I want to do.”
“Sure, that’s one option.” He pauses. “Did you like trying the case for Fern?”
“Yeah, I loved it, actually. You know I loved it.”
“Well, why stop? Have you ever thought about just running with Molly Grant, PC?”
“Of course I have. I’ve thought about it a ton, but what I keep coming back to is that I have no money and no clients.”
“You have one client.”
“But her case is over tomorrow, so yeah, after that, I’d just be out there, swinging in the wind.” The thought terrifies me. I put down my chopsticks, which I’ve been fruitlessly dipping into my soy sauce tin. “Which means no income, which means I default on my loan payments, which means I have to file for bankruptcy—”
“Which means being thrown out on the street. Which means being homeless. Which means becoming a mole person. Yeah, I think I see where you’re going with this. You could always just stay with me, you know.”
“That’s sweet, Henry. It warms my heart that you would interfere before I became a mole person, but I have real bills. I can’t just dump them on you.”
I go over to my bag to fish out the manila folder holding Bacon Payne’s consent-to-change-attorney form and the retainer. I had asked Fern to sign both the day that I met with Dominic. She looked at me like I was crazy, but said she’d do whatever I wanted. They’ve been in my bag since then, safe in a manila file folder, traveling everywhere I go.
I put the folder on the table and hand Henry a pen.
Henry looks at me. “You really want me to sign these? Okay, here goes.” He gives the pen a dramatic click. “Fern Walker is about to become a client of Bacon Payne.”
“Wait,” I say.
45
____
four months later
Four months later, I get out of the elevator along with some standard inhabitants of the third floor of the Manhattan Supreme Court: a puffy-eyed female client and her suited forty-something lawyer. I pull back the sleeve of my winter coat and check my watch as I round the hall to the benches outside Judge Traynor’s courtroom. Fifteen minutes until my client shows up. Jason Manolo is the vice president of global product marketing at Bakers Brands, improbably referred by his former colleague, Marie Washington, Fern’s friend. I sit down, BlackBerry in hand, and dial the office.
Phone pressed to my cheek, I look around. It’s a little after nine and the hallway is filling up with Judge Traynor’s morning audience: lawyers, clients, witnesses.
I swear, I sense her before I even see her: a steely block of cold to my left that makes the hair on my neck snap to attention.
I hang up the phone before anyone picks up and turn my head. Sure enough, Lillian is standing in the middle of the hall, her eyes darting around the room. I haven’t seen her since August, in that meeting in Dominic Pizaro’s office. Her eyes meet mine and she freezes, utter revulsion storming across her face. I look away quickly, but then channel Lot’s wife and glance back again. Lillian is beaming at me, her smile wide, her arms outstretched.
Walking toward her, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. “Hi, Lillian.”
She puts the tips of her fingernails on my shoulders and leans a millimeter closer. “Mwah.” There’s a lot more air than kiss in the greeting.
“Hi, Molly.” Jane, her hair up in a twist, her eyes as bright as ever, stands a step behind Lillian, her left hand wrapped around a rolling litigation bag.
“Hey, Jane. Great to see you.”
Lillian puts her arm around Jane and gives a little squeeze. “This girl, let me tell you. I have never had an associate as sharp as this one. She is one to watch.” A hint of concern shades her voice. “So, how are you? Is everything okay, dear? I haven’t heard of you in ages. What on earth have you been doing with yourself?” There’s a smile pasted on her face, but Lillian’s gaze is bouncing around the hall, at Jane, at the wall.
Jane looks confused and opens her mouth to say something. I stare at her, silently urging her to play silent and dumb.
“I went out on my own,” I say. “About three months ago.”
“Oh, you hung out your own shingle. What fun. You getting some nice little cases?” Her tone of voice would be perfect if I were a Maltese who had just rolled over to have my belly scratched.
I smile. “I’m doing okay. I’ve got a few already.”
“Okay? You’re doing great,” Jane says. She looks at Lillian. “You didn’t hear about Molly’s parental alienation case for Fern Walker? She won everything for her client: full custody, a huge amount of child support, counsel fees.” She nods, impressed. “I read the article in the Law Journal. I can get you a copy, Lillian. How is Fern Walker doing?”
I received a text from Fern yesterday. Swingers! was the title, and it contained a picture of the kids, bundled up in winter coats, on the new swing set in their backyard. Anna was high off the ground, her legs pumping, her hair flying out behind her, a gap-toothed smile illuminating her features, and Connor was belly down on the swing, his arms stretched out like Superman.
“Oh, she’s great. She moved to Putnam County with her kids. It’s a transition but—”
Lillian’s smile gets tighter and she cuts me off. “Oh, I didn’t hear about that. So, what brings you here this morning? Dropping off some uncontested papers?”
“No, I’m meeting a client for a preliminary conference.”
“Us too!” says Jane, like we’re fourth-graders wearing the same unicorn T-shirt. “Wait. You’re not the other side on Pickering, are you?”
Is that a flash of fear in Lillian’s eyes?
I smile. “Not this time, but I’m sure we’ll get a case together at some point soon.”
“Now, wouldn’t that be fun.” Lillian’s voice rings high and loud. She looks around again, somewhat frantically. “There’s Selena. I’ve got to run. I’m trying to settle something with her. Darling, it was wonderful to see you. I hope we catch up soon, yes?” She waves an arm in my direction and starts walking away.
“Oh, I’ll see you at the holiday party in a few weeks. We can catch up more then.” At that, Lillian spins back around.
“The Bacon Payne holiday party? And why would you go to the holiday party, dear? You’re no longer a Bacon Payne lawyer.” She blinks pityingly, as though it kills her to break this news to me.
Jane looks at Lillian, surprised. I can tell she’s wondering how such an impressive woman is so out of the loop. “She’s probably going with Henry.”
If she’s processing for the first time that Henry and I are together, Lillian barely lets on. The only hint that her brain is imploding from the thought of having to see me on a regular basis is the rapidity with which she’s blinking.
I nod. “So, I’ll see you there? Oh, there’s my client. Gotta run.” I can’t help blowing Lillian a kiss. I wave and wink at Jane as I walk over to Jason, who is leaning against the wall, looking a bit paler than usual. “Was that Betsy’s lawyer?”
“Nope. Just someone I used to work with.”
Jason is trying to get out of a nine-month marriage to Betsy, while Betsy is desperately trying to stay in it. I put my hand on his shoulder. “How’re you doing, Jason?”
“Never better,” he says with an eye roll. “This is exactly how I want to spend my Tuesday. So, chief.” Jason has taken to calling me chief, which I assume is his way of making peace with the fact that I am fifteen years his junior. “You’re ready for today? You
got it all figured out?” He is trying to sound light and breezy, but he swallows hard after he says it.
I know it’s a rhetorical question and I know he’s talking more to himself than to me, but seeing Lillian triggers me to seriously consider his inquiry. Do I have it figured out? Judging by my old standards—the ones I clung to so fiercely over the past five years—I’m empty-handed: no safe institutional clients, no fancy law firm job, no pot-of-gold Payne-ment making all my hard work worth it. And yet.
Jason is client number six at Molly Grant, PC, and I have generated enough fees from clients one through five to meet my personal expenses, lease a respectable Midtown office and hire an assistant—no loans required. All three members of the Grant family are loan-free, thanks to the counsel fees in Walker v. Walker. There will be an ebb and flow to my income, but it’s happening. I’m making it happen. Tonight, after work, I’ll go over to Henry’s. We’ll order in, crack each other up and curl up with our laptops for a little while until it’s time to throw them aside. It might not be everyone’s fantasy, but it works for me.
Do I have it all figured out?
“I’m ready, Jason,” I say, getting up and motioning for him to follow me. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
L. Alison Heller is a divorce lawyer and mediator who started her own practice after working for several years in Manhattan law firms. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and young daughters. The Love Wars is her first novel.
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READERS GUIDE
the love wars
L. Alison Heller
READERS GUIDE
READERS GUIDE
A CONVERSATION WITH
L. ALISON HELLER
Q. What made you choose the world of divorce law as the setting for your book? Do you hope readers walk away with an understanding of something specific about th e world?
A. My years working at a big firm and as a divorce litigator in New York City were chock-full of surreal How did I get here? moments. I thought—many times—that someone should write a book about this unique world and its extremes. Eventually, that thought turned into my wanting to take a crack at writing such a book.
It’s wonderful if readers walk away with an appreciation of how difficult and emotional the work is for both the lawyers and the litigants. That said, my goal was purely to entertain and The Love Wars is fiction. I am a strong believer in the power of the escapist novel, so I set out to write something that was fun, that hopefully makes people laugh and connect with the characters.
Q. How is being an author different from working in the legal field?
A. There are more similarities than one might think. The most talented lawyers that I’ve worked with have been great storytellers. From the beginning of a case, they start thinking in terms of constructing a narrative, weaving together a story to present to the judge and the other side. It’s not lying; it’s synthesizing—collecting the facts and organizing them around a salient, persuasive nugget.
In law school, I learned to obsess rather unhealthily over mountains of work. (This might have been a latent tendency of mine regardless, but going to law school was like rolling out the red carpet for that tendency and shining klieg lights on it.) I think my writing has benefited from my expectation to happily spend my days indoors staring at the computer, obsessively going over and over and over drafts. So, as you can see, both fields encourage balance. Balance and fresh air and exercise.
The big difference, of course, is that my characters are usually much more compliant than are flesh-and-blood client types—at least when I first meet them.
Q. In your work as a divorce lawyer, you’ve probably had the opportunity to meet a lot of different clients. Liesel stands out as a piece of work, though—brittle, demanding, cutting, miserable. Have you represented any clients like her, so difficult they made you as crazy as Liesel makes Molly?
A. I should probably equivocate here, but the short answer is yes. I have absolutely represented clients who have made me, er, frustrated, although Liesel is certainly not modeled on anyone specific. None of the characters in the book is based on any of my former clients—I couldn’t write about them even if I had wanted to (which I didn’t), and Liesel’s behaviors are the product of my imagination let loose.
What I did try to capture is how fraught the lawyer/client relationship can be in divorce litigation. In some ways, it’s a no-win situation. Clients can be at their worst, understandably so—they are financially and emotionally stressed; many of them didn’t initiate the divorce proceedings—and against that backdrop, suddenly decisions about the most intimate part of their family life are out of their control. It can be incredibly disorienting not to be able to do basic things—like pick up a child or choose a doctor or switch jobs—without judicial permission or consulting with their lawyer to see how those decisions dovetail with strategy.
As a younger lawyer, I didn’t always understand that. When a client screamed at me or acted in a way that seemed unreasonable, I didn’t always take the time to stop and understand the genesis of his or her strong emotion. I wanted to show that Molly found her clients annoying sometimes, but I also wanted to track her growth as a character in realizing what’s at stake—even for someone as abrasive as Liesel—and what might be driving a client’s actions beneath the surface.
Q. Where did you get the inspiration for Molly? The Love Wars is a work of fiction, but is there some of you in her?
A. Meaning have I ever taken on a secret second job because of my principles? Not even close! We’re pretty different, Molly and I. Not only does she need less sleep—she’s far tougher and braver than I am. When I was dreaming up the story, I kept wondering how it would evolve if the protagonist was a born fighter, which is really what Fern needs. Molly is human, though. She has faltering confidence; she questions herself, makes some bad decisions and is too eager to please (these are the parts of her I relate to the most, of course), but she is, at heart, a fierce advocate. She’s totally got the eye of the tiger where Robert Walker is concerned. When I was writing all of the courtroom and confrontation scenes, I was so glad Molly had to do them instead of me. If I were in her shoes, I would have been hiding in the bathroom, hyperventilating into a paper bag.
Q. What does it take to survive at a cutthroat law firm? Did your experiences inform Molly’s personality when you started to write The Love Wars?
A. I knew that Molly needed a sense of humor. There is so much that is serious and heartbreaking in matrimonial law, but there is so much that’s comical in the world of big law firms. I wanted Molly to be able to comment on and bring the reader into that ridiculousness a little, and hopefully readers will respond to her enough to let her do that.
Q. Did you find it challenging to strike a balanced tone for the reader in The Love Wars? How did you strive to contrast the seriousness of Molly’s responsibilities with the comic relief her friends and colleagues provide?
A. Finding that balance was very important to me, and I spent a lot of time thinking about how to do it effectively. I was striving for the book to have a light, humorous tone, but in a way that didn’t undermine the pain of divorce. One way to do that was infusing the plot with comedy through the law firm culture and the character’s quirks, especially Liesel and Molly’s fellow associates.
Also, Molly and Henry like to joke with each other, and they both appreciate a certain gallows humor, which is not as rare in a law firm as you might think. Seriously, some lawyers do make jokes at work. I’ve personally borne witness.
Q. Molly has some wonderful love interests. Did you know as soon as you met Henry that he was the right guy for her? And with marriages dissolving all around her, how did Molly find the optimism and courage to deal with the dating scene?
A. Caleb has his moments, but he really can’t compete. Molly and Henry are a team. They make each other better: He helps her focus and achieve and she broadens his horizons, which is good because while I am v
ery fond of Henry, he can get a bit myopic and needs some shaking up.
That’s a great question about Molly’s ability to delve into the dating scene while working as a divorce lawyer. I’ve told people (only when asked, not, like, strangers on the street) that I am so grateful I was already married when I became a divorce lawyer. I’ve always thought it would be difficult to date and plan your wedding with arcane knowledge of what comprises marital property jutting into your cloud of romantic bliss.
Molly is a romantic, though. Seeing all the people in pain around her because of love derailed isn’t enough to scare her. Eventually, she’s mature enough to say—I get it, things change, people change, and I’ve got to just grab happiness when I can.
Q. Speaking of the world of big law firms, was Bacon Payne modeled after places you’ve actually been employed?
A. Bacon Payne is a bit of an exaggeration, but really, not as much as you might think. There’s a lot of silliness in big law firms, and I’ve speculated that this might be because lawyers are not trained to be managers—a lot of them, dare I say it, are not what one would call “people persons”—and yet they manage these huge businesses with tons of employees and hierarchy. Bacon Payne culture is based on what I’ve personally observed or what I’ve heard from friends who worked at other big firms. Some universal big firm truths: Expect a surfeit of alcohol and forced socializing at events, a combination that encourages embarrassing behavior. Expect to put in a lot of face time—i.e., sitting available at your desk with a ready smile, even when there’s nothing to do. Expect beautiful onsite amenities—gyms and dining rooms and dry cleaning and snacks and sodas—so you never, ever have to leave. It’s kind of like the Hotel California but with an annual billing requirement.
My one disclaimer is that I didn’t practice matrimonial law at a big firm. I started working as a divorce lawyer at a small boutique firm where my colleagues had the expectation of working hard all day and then going home and maintaining some semblance of a life as well. There was no shortage of characters and strong personalities in that firm, to be sure, but the culture was different.
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