Lawyer for the Dog

by Lee Robinson

  Michelle Marvel jumps up, objects. Joe bobs forward. “Sustained.”

  Swinton rephrases: “Dr. Borden, what is your understanding of how the injury occurred?”

  “A car swerved and hit Sherman.”

  “Who was with the dog when the injury occurred?”

  “Mr. Hart, I believe.”

  “Was the dog on his leash at the time?”

  “I don’t think so, but according to what Mr. Hart told me, it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “So I take it you’re accepting Mr. Hart’s version of what occurred at the time of the accident?”

  The microphone picks up Tony Borden’s sigh. He looks up at Joe. “You know, Judge, I don’t want to take sides. This whole thing,” and now he looks back at me, “makes me uncomfortable.” He’s a nice guy. I want to protect him. And I can’t help noticing once again—though I caution myself it is absolutely, totally irrelevant—how sexy he is. Is this some special hell, custom-made for the three of us: my crazy ex-husband, this vet, and me?

  “I appreciate that, Dr. Borden,” says Joe, “but you’ll have to answer Mr. Swinton’s questions.”

  Swinton continues: “What were the charges for treatment of the broken foot?”

  “$530.”

  “Thank you, I have no further questions.”

  Then it’s Michelle Marvel’s turn. “Dr. Borden, if your total unpaid bill is now eight hundred thirty dollars, what was the remaining amount for?”

  Tony Borden looks down at his records. “Five nights boarding, at fifty dollars per night, plus fifty dollars for treatment of dermatitis.”

  “Dermatitis?”

  “Sherman had a rash.”

  “And what caused the rash, in your opinion?”

  “I suspected it was the shampoo. Mrs. Hart had tried a new shampoo.”

  “Not one you recommend, is that right?”

  “No, but I’m sure she didn’t think it would do any harm. Like I say, I really don’t want to get in the middle—”

  “And the five nights boarding, were they consecutive?”

  “No. Five separate nights.”

  “Five separate nights—over what period of time?”

  Tony Borden studies his file. “The last two months.”

  “And who brought Sherman in for boarding?”

  “Mrs. Hart.”

  “Prior to the past few months, did you ever board Sherman?”

  “She and Mr. Hart brought him in once … It was a couple of years ago, before this … I think they went to Florida. We kept him less than a week.”

  “So, it’s fair to say, then, Dr. Borden, that prior to the past two months, Sherman was not accustomed to being boarded?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “And when Mrs. Hart brought Sherman in on the five occasions during the past two months, did she tell you why she needed to board him?”

  “No, she just asked that we keep him overnight.”

  “Dr. Borden, are you aware of the schedule the court has put into effect, with regard to the parties’ time with Sherman?”

  “I know they share him. I don’t know the details.”

  “Mr. Hart has Sherman on Wednesday afternoon for several hours, and every weekend. Mrs. Hart has him the rest of the time.”

  “That sounds like what she told me. Mrs. Hart, I mean.”

  “Have you ever suggested to Mrs. Hart that instead of leaving Sherman with you, she might let Mr. Hart keep him?” Michelle touches Mr. Hart’s shoulder, a practiced gesture.

  “I’m trying not to get in the middle—”

  “But you’re concerned with Sherman’s welfare, aren’t you?” Michelle asks. I can tell from the way she throws her shoulders back that she’s happy with the way this is going, and then she says, her voice saturated with what, if you didn’t know her, would sound like sincerity, “Thank you, Dr. Borden. And although I had nothing to do with it, I apologize that you were summoned to court today on such short notice.”

  My ex-husband looks back at me. “Ms. Baynard, do you have any questions of this witness?” Tony Borden looks at his watch. He’s been here almost an hour already.

  I hadn’t thought of it until now, but I see an opportunity. “Yes, your honor. Dr. Borden, I hand you a copy of an affidavit you signed yesterday, and which I filed with the clerk this morning. Would you read it, please?”

  The affidavit is short, to the point. It ends with the sentence “I believe it is in Sherman’s best interest that the court determine his permanent custodial arrangement as soon as possible, and I therefore support the guardian ad litem’s motion to bifurcate.”

  “Your honor,” I continue, “While this motion has not yet been scheduled, since we are all here this morning, I request that you consider it. I can’t imagine why either party would object.”

  I can’t imagine, but of course they do. Swinton and Marvel jump up together, protesting: “… insufficient notice … need time to consider … very unusual motion … not to be lightly granted…”

  I cut them off. “Your honor, my motion is designed to protect Sherman’s interests by allowing the court to issue an order as to his permanent custody without waiting for a trial on all the other matters. I think it makes perfect sense. I trust that nobody here wants the dog to suffer.”

  From an almost prone position in his chair—he’s leaning so far back his voice seems to come out of nowhere—my ex says, “Dr. Borden, is the dog suffering?”

  “Like I told her, not exactly. I think Sherman is coping, but—”

  Joe bobs forward, swivels to face the vet. “Try to be a little more specific, Doctor. Told whom?”

  “Sally … I mean Ms. Baynard.”

  “You know Ms. Baynard personally?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.” Tony Borden looks miserable.

  “It’s a fairly simple question,” says Joe.

  “We had dinner together, and I went over to her condo, but I wouldn’t say we know each other well.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The dinner, and the visit to her condo.”

  “Mine, I guess. But you don’t understand—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to be perfectly candid with me, Dr. Borden. I remind you that you are under oath.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long have you known Ms. Baynard personally?”

  I can’t stand this any longer. “Judge, this is outrageous! My relationship with Dr. Borden has been perfectly—”

  “Your relationship?” asks Joe.

  “Professional,” I finish, but he’s not listening to me.

  “That’s correct, Judge,” the vet pipes in. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “You don’t have to imply anything,” says Joe. “The facts speak for themselves.” He glares at me. “Ms. Baynard, I caution you to limit your interactions with Dr. Borden to matters relating directly to the dog whose welfare it is your duty to protect. And while I’m inclined to deny your motion, I’ll entertain any supporting legal authority you might provide, as well as anything Ms. Marvel and Mr. Swinton wish to submit. Is there anything further?”

  Henry Swinton rises. “Your honor, what about our motion regarding the vet’s bill?”

  “Denied. That matter can wait until the trial.”

  Outside the courtroom Tony Borden says, “I guess that didn’t go too well.”

  “It was a disaster.”

  “I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have…”

  I want to say, Yes, you said a lot you shouldn’t have, but instead, “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but we shouldn’t be discussing this.”

  “What should we be discussing?”

  “You heard the judge. We can discuss Sherman. That’s all. I need to get back to my office.” I start toward the elevator, leaving him standing outside the courtroo
m. I’ve almost made my escape when I hear the noise. Tony Borden, Michelle Marvel, and Henry Swinton have all disappeared, but there among the deadbeat dads are Mr. and Mrs. Hart, scuffling.

  Mrs. Hart: “No, you can’t have him early!”

  Mr. Hart, yelling: “Don’t yell!”

  Mrs.: “Take your hands off me!”

  Mr., louder: “Then quit slapping me!”

  Mrs.: “You’re a monster!”

  I hold the elevator open and watch, as best I can through the crowd of men, all now craning for a view, as the deputies pull the Harts away from each other. Stay out of this, I tell myself, but I can’t.

  “She your client?” asks the deputy holding Mrs. Hart.

  “No, but I’ll be happy to talk to them, if you have an empty room somewhere…”

  Mr. Hart, breathless: “I just asked her if I could have Sherman a little early today, even offered to drive out there to pick him up.”

  Mrs. Hart, screaming: “You’ll be lucky if you ever see him again!” She grabs the deputy’s ear. “Let go of me!”

  “Calm down, ma’am, or we’ll have to put you in the lock-up. Ms. Baynard, you got any suggestions?”

  “I think you should let Judge Baynard deal with them.”

  He deserves it, I say to myself as I head toward the elevator.

  Mr. Adorable

  “Anything urgent here?” I ask Gina when I get back to the office.

  “Derwood Carter called again, insists on talking to you. He doesn’t have a lawyer, says he’s going to represent himself. Says his wife—here, I wrote down his exact words—has mental problems.”

  “Because she wants to divorce him? I’d say that’s a sign of perfect mental health.”

  “And he suggested you come to Beaufort to see if you two can’t work out a settlement before you file anything. Lot of nerve, huh? I told him your schedule’s really crammed in the next couple of weeks, but you’d be happy to meet with him here, next time he’s holding court in Charleston.”

  “He has no intention of settling. He just wants to throw me off my game, delay while he tries to hide some assets.”

  “I looked over your notes and drafted a complaint. I didn’t name the court reporter—you know, the one he’s supposed to be bonking—so you might want to look at that paragraph. Here. And I wasn’t sure about whether you wanted to ask for a change of venue.”

  “Absolutely. We can’t try their case in Beaufort County.”

  “By the way, did you ask the Harts about their daughter?”

  “I forgot. There was too much else going on.”

  “Did you remember to file the motion to bifurcate?”

  “I left it with the clerk, but I think Judge Baynard’s already decided to deny it.”

  “How can he deny it when it hasn’t even been scheduled yet?” Gina asks.

  “It’s a long story. I’m too tired to explain it right now.” The truth is, I’m too embarrassed to explain it. “But he wants us to file briefs on the legal issues. Can you start on the research?”

  “Sure, I’m getting ready to order some lunch. Want a salad?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  I close the door to my office and do something I hardly ever do: I stretch out on my sofa and close my eyes. I want to forget about Hart v. Hart. Forget about Joe Baynard, forget Tony Borden. I want to forget about my mother losing her mind and Delores leaving. I want to make the headache go away.

  * * *

  When Gina knocks I have to jerk myself out of a dream—I’m lying on a towel on the beach, my body somehow restored to its twenty-something smoothness, and I have the beach all to myself—when I hear her say, “Don’t worry, Mr. Adorable, I know she’ll be happy to see you!” Who is she talking to?

  “Just a minute,” I say, sitting up, straightening my blouse.

  “I brought your salad,” Gina says, “and look who else!”

  There’s Sherman, right behind her. He seems very interested in the plastic bag that holds my lunch.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “One of the court deputies dropped him off. And he comes with papers!” She hands me an envelope. Inside is this:

  In the Family Court for the Ninth Judicial Circuit

  Case No. 1901

  Maryann S. Hart, Plaintiff v. Russell B. Hart, Defendant

  ORDER

  It appears to this Court that the parties to this case are unable to communicate peacefully regarding their pet, Sherman, and that it is in Sherman’s best interest to be placed in a neutral environment; therefore, it is hereby

  Ordered, that Sherman be immediately placed in the custody of his Guardian, Sarah B. Baynard, Esq., until a trial in this case, and it is further

  Ordered, that the parties are hereby restrained from any contact, whether in person, by telephone, or electronically, with each other, except as supervised by Ms. Baynard, and that they shall be allowed visitation with Sherman only as supervised by Ms. Baynard.

  And it is so Ordered.

  The Honorable Joseph Baynard,

  Chief Administrative Judge

  “This isn’t funny,” I say.

  “It’s not a joke. The deputy said the Harts created quite a ruckus over there. Your judge—”

  “Quit calling him that!”

  “The judge sent the deputy out to Mrs. Hart’s house to pick up the dog. There’s a bag of his stuff on my desk: some food, toys,… a leash, some medicine, other stuff.” At the sound of the word “food” Sherman’s ears perk up. “You hungry, Mr. Adorable?”

  “I can’t take care of him. It’s impossible.”

  “What’s impossible about it? He’ll be fine here during office hours … I can look out for him … and you’ll just take him home at night. He’s perfectly well-behaved, aren’t you, Sherman?”

  “I’ve got enough to deal with at home, without a damn dog.” At this, Sherman flinches, hangs his head. “Gina,” I say in my sweetest voice, “you’d love to have him for a while, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course I’d love to take him, but the order doesn’t say me, it says you.”

  “What will I do with him at home?”

  “They’ll let you have a dog in your building, won’t they?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “And your mother will love him,” she says. “Just try it for a night or two. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think this may be Judge Baynard’s way of getting them to settle.”

  “No, he’s punishing me.”

  “For what?”

  I tell her about the hearing. Every time I say “vet,” Sherman’s ears perk up.

  “Wow, so your judge is really jealous, huh? The poor guy must really be crazy for you. And the vet likes you, too.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because when I took the affidavit out to him, he asked me how long you’d been divorced.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “And when I said ‘it was a long time ago, but I don’t think she’s completely over it—’”

  “What in hell did you say that for?” I’m scaring Sherman. His tail, normally held high, drops down behind his legs, and he disappears behind the sofa.

  “You want the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” Gina says. “First, because it’s true: You aren’t over it. Isn’t that why you’ve never let anybody else have a chance, because you’re still mourning over Joe Baynard?” Gina’s voice has that high-pitched shakiness it gets when she’s confronting me, not as employee to employer but as girlfriend to girlfriend. “And second, since I’m being honest, because I guess I was hoping I’d discourage him.”

  “So you could work your wiles on him, right?” I sound as mean as I feel. I don’t blame Sherman for staying behind the sofa.

  “Yes, but don’t worry, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested. Maybe he’s as screwed up as you are—still mourning over his divorce!”

  “Gina,” I sa
y, trying to stay calm, though she doesn’t deserve it, “I need you to act like a secretary, not a high-school sophomore.”

  “Sure,” she says sarcastically. “May I get you a cup of coffee, Ms. Baynard?”

  I should fire her, but how do you fire one of your best friends? “Just leave me alone!”

  When Gina flees I call my other real friend, Ellen. She’s going over police reports in a nasty rape case and is glad for the distraction. “You have any books on dogs?” I ask.

  “You didn’t get out of that case?”

  “No. I’m in even deeper now.”

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I guess I’m losing it.” But it feels good to laugh. Only now does Sherman decide it’s safe to reappear.

  * * *

  I open the back door of my car, move some things I’ve been meaning to take to the dry cleaners, and pat the seat. “Hop in, Sherman.” He doesn’t budge. “What’s the matter? Too good for a Toyota?” I pick him up, plop him on the seat. I’m just pulling out of the parking lot onto Broad Street when I feel his nose nudging my elbow—an insistent nudge—and he hops through the space between the front seats and then onto the passenger side, where he seems satisfied. “Okay, I get it. I didn’t mean to insult you by making you sit in the back.”

  When I pull into the cavernous darkness of the condo parking garage he stands up in the seat, presses his nose against the window. “Don’t worry,” I assure him, “I don’t live down here. You’ll see, it isn’t so bad.” I’m not sure who I’m consoling—Sherman or myself.

  He hesitates as I lead him—yes, Mrs. Hart, he’s on his leash—past the front desk and into the elevator. “What’s his name?” asks a woman I recognize from my floor. Before today, we’ve only nodded at each other.

  “Sherman.”

  “He’s very handsome,” she says. Sherman sniffs around her feet, then up her leg.

  “Stop that, Sherman!” I scold.

  “He smells Curly. My poodle. Maybe you’d like to walk with us sometime?”

  “He’s just staying with me temporarily,” I explain.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I don’t see how you’re going to part with him!”

  Sherman seems happy to see Delores—could he remember her from the beach?—but she’s definitely not happy to see him. “We don’t need no animal around here. That judge must be crazy!”