by J. J. Murray
“Yeah.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” she asked.
Yes. “But the rewards, meager as they are, are much greater.”
“You appreciate money now,” Angela asked.
Yes. “I appreciate it much more now that I don’t have as much of it.”
One day in early March, an elderly couple wearing vintage red 1970s tracksuits, came in, bought coffee, and stopped at Matthew’s booth.
“We want a divorce,” the man said. “You do them, right?”
Matthew looked at them. White hair. Tracksuits straight out of The Six Million Dollar Man TV show. More wrinkles on their bodies than on my clothes.
“I do simple divorces, yes,” Matthew said. Why are they holding hands? This has to be a setup. “I will need seven hundred and fifty dollars up front to start.”
The couple looked at each other. The woman scrounged up $750 from her purse and laid the bills on the table.
This isn’t a setup, and old people carry far too much cash these days. “Please be seated.”
They sat opposite Matthew, smiling at each other.
Why are they still holding hands? “I’m Matthew McConnell, and you are . . .”
“Joe and Donna Bauer,” he said.
The obvious question. “How long have you two been married?”
Joe smiled. “Sixty-one years.”
“Sixty-two years, dear,” Donna said, also smiling. “Ike was president, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Joe said. “Good ol’ Ike. Now there was a president with integrity.”
No anger. No hostility. What are they thinking? “Do you have any children?” Matthew asked.
“Four boys, eight grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren so far,” Donna said sweetly.
“I’m assuming you have a home,” Matthew said.
“Paid off over twenty years ago,” Joe said. “It’s a six-bedroom on Greene Avenue in Bed-Stuy.”
Matthew blinked. They’re white and live in Bed-Stuy. Wow. Bed-Stuy has been on the comeback, so their house could go for a half million or more now. “Cars?”
“Oh, we don’t drive anymore,” Joe said. “We walk or take the bus. That’s how we got here today.”
“What other kinds of property do you have?” Matthew asked.
“Just a house full of furniture and memories,” Donna said. “Framed photos as far as the eye can see on nearly every wall, and not the digital kind either. Real photographs. Some have faded, of course, but the memories haven’t faded at all.”
They’re smiling, nice, kindly, not angry at each other, and they are still holding hands. “I have to ask. Why do you want a divorce?”
Joe squinted at Donna. “Why do we want a divorce again?”
Donna smiled at Matthew. “We want to play the field.”
“Oh yeah,” Joe said. “That’s the reason. We want to sow our wild oats.”
They have to be kidding.
“You see,” Donna said, “we were eighteen when we married. Joe was going over to Korea, and we had been dating since we were in junior high, so we tied the knot. It was a beautiful wedding.”
“It was,” Joe said. “You looked so lovely.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Donna said. “He was the most handsome man I’d ever known.”
Joe waved his free hand. “Oh, go on.”
“You were, all spiffy in your uniform,” Donna said. “You’re still a handsome man.”
“And you’re still beautiful.” He kissed her cheek. “So how soon can you divorce us?”
And he kisses her. “You two obviously still love each other.”
“Oh yes,” Donna said. “Joe is the only man I’ve ever loved.”
“And yet you want a divorce,” Matthew said.
“Right,” Joe said.
“I don’t think I understand,” Matthew said.
Donna sighed. “We have only ever been with each other.”
“Through thick and thin,” Joe said.
“And we were thinking the other day,” Donna said, “what it would be like to be with someone else.”
“I was against the idea at first,” Joe said. “I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”
“Oh, neither could I,” Donna said. “Except for a few business trips Joe took over the years, I have gone to sleep with Joe by my side every night since he came back from Korea.”
“I never could sleep on the road,” Joe said. “We would talk on the phone for hours, and our phone bills! They were huge.”
“I still don’t understand why you want a divorce,” Matthew said. “You two are obviously made for each other.”
“But we really don’t know that for sure,” Donna said. “How can we know we’re made for each other when we’ve only ever been with each other? We have no one else to compare each other to.”
I can’t fault her logic, but . . . “Did it occur to you that you might be soul mates? That you were destined to marry and grow old together?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Joe asked. He winked at Donna. “We want to take a walk on the wild side.”
At your age? Just the walk could kill you. I can’t take these people’s money! And I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “You don’t have to get divorced to do that.”
“Oh, we know that,” Donna said. “But how would it look if I brought Larry Pearson home one night?”
“Larry?” Joe said. “You’d bring Larry Pearson to our house?”
“For the sake of argument, Joe,” Donna said. “You know he has a bad back.”
“Oh, right,” Joe said.
“I don’t want our neighbors to think we’re swingers,” Donna said.
How can I dissuade them? “Well, it would be a good idea for you to sell your house now that the market is coming back.”
“Oh no,” Joe said. “Donna would keep the house. It’s her dream house.”
“It really is,” Donna said. “It’s the prettiest house on the block. Joe painted all the shutters just last year. Burgundy.”
“Her favorite color,” Joe said.
“And where would you live, Joe?” Matthew said.
“I’ve already picked out the place,” Joe said. “The SoHotel on the Bowery. Chinatown, Little Italy, and Soho are right there. It’s a restaurant paradise.”
“Joe likes to eat out,” Donna said.
“Mrs. and Mrs. Bauer, I have to tell you,” Matthew said, putting his legal pad away, “I don’t think you should get a divorce.”
Joe frowned. “You don’t?”
“No,” Matthew said. “You’ve been married for sixty-two years. You’re still holding hands. You’re still smiling at each other. You still kiss your wife, Joe, and you’re still in love.”
“What’s your point?” Donna asked.
Matthew gave back the money. “If you really want to go through with this, I can’t be your divorce lawyer.”
Joe left the money on the table. “Why not?”
“Usually, but not always, there’s a reason, a cause for the divorce,” Matthew said. “You haven’t provided me with one. For instance, has there been cruel and inhuman treatment in your marriage?”
“Oh, of course not,” Donna said. “Joe is gentle as a lamb. He has been the perfect gentleman ever since I’ve known him.”
“Have either of you abandoned the other or lived apart for a year or more?” Matthew asked.
“Except for my tour in Korea, no,” Joe said.
“Have either of you been in prison for three years or more?” Matthew asked.
“Heavens, no,” Donna said.
“Has there been any adultery?” Matthew asked.
“Not yet,” Joe said.
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “Have you ever had an irretrievable breakdown in your relationship for at least six months?”
“No,” Donna said. “We’ve had our spats, but we always agree to kiss and make up before the sun goes down.”
These two have had the perfect m
arriage. “Mr. and Mrs. Bauer, you have no irreconcilable differences, neither of you has been unfaithful, and I doubt either of you has ever raised a hand to the other.” Matthew shook his head. “There is no just cause or grounds for a divorce here.”
“Even if we want to play the field for the first time in our lives?” Joe asked.
“I’ve played the field,” Matthew said. “And trust me, what you two have is golden, a billion billion times better than anything else out there.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” Donna said. “You’ve been out there. I’ve only ever been with Joe.”
“As God intended marriage to be,” Matthew said.
Joe turned to Donna. “You said lawyers weren’t usually religious.”
“That’s what Joanie told us, Joe,” Donna said. “Joanie’s our oldest daughter. She’s been divorced three times and is working on a fourth. She lives with us from time to time.”
An opening! “And how has her life been?” Matthew asked.
“I love her to death,” Joe said, “but she’s always been a mess.”
“There you go,” Matthew said, sitting back. “Divorce is messy.”
“Maybe our divorce will be like our marriage, Mr. McConnell,” Donna said. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and we will continue to be friends until the day we die. Did you ever think of that?”
This would be the easiest money I’ve ever made, but I can’t do this. “Won’t you miss each other?”
“Oh, I’ll still call her every day,” Joe said. “I couldn’t go a day without talking to Donna.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Donna said. “That means so much to me.”
Now what? “I . . . I can’t facilitate your divorce. You’ll either have to find another lawyer, who will tell you the same things, or you two will have to stay together.”
“Oh.” Donna turned to Joe. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “What do we do, Mr. McConnell?”
You stay married!
“We need our space,” Donna said.
“Right.”
They need their space. Okay. I’ll give them a way. “You know,” Matthew said, “if you really want to spend some time apart, you could spend weekends at the SoHotel, Joe.”
Joe nodded. “I could do that.” He smiled at Donna. “Couldn’t I?”
“And then we could be together during the week,” Donna said.
“That’s an idea,” Joe said. “You won’t get lonely without me?”
“I might,” Donna said, “but you’re only a phone call away, right?”
“Right,” Joe said. He smiled sweetly at her. “This might work.”
Unbelievable. “So you’ll stay married, right?” Matthew asked.
“What do you think, Joe?” Donna asked. “Do you think we should?”
“I think he’s right.” Joe counted out five twenties and slid them across the table. “For your trouble.”
Matthew slid back the money. “You’ll need it for a night out in Little Italy, Joe.”
“Oh, you have to have something,” Joe said. “You’ve helped us. Take your girl out on us.”
Matthew collected the money. “Thank you.”
Joe and Donna left the booth, both of them shook Matthew’s hand crisply, and they left Angela’s shop hand in hand.
“Wow,” Matthew whispered as Angela brought over a plate of cookies. “Were you listening?”
Angela sat next to him. “Yes.”
He picked up a cookie. “Can you believe those two? Sixty-two years of marriage, and now they want to sleep around.”
Angela rubbed his leg. “I’m glad you talked them out of it.”
“I really shouldn’t have taken any of their money,” Matthew said.
Angela held out her hand.
Matthew put the money in her hand.
Angela folded the money. “You gave them a marriage counseling session. You earned this money. I read that some of these marriage counselors make up to one hundred thousand bucks a year. You need to add marriage counseling to your list.”
A flat fee for counseling? “What if it takes five hours to counsel them?”
“You’re right,” Angela said. “Charge a hundred an hour.”
Matthew added the fee to his list, but again he had no takers.
I charge too little for divorces and too much for marriage counseling.
He lowered the counseling fee to fifty dollars an hour.
He still had no takers.
Chapter 31
The second Sunday morning in March was Panic Day, and Matthew panicked the moment he started reading Friday’s copy of the Daily Eagle.
The story started on the bottom of the front page with a headline (“Williamsburg Man Arrested in Blizzard Attacks”) and the mug shot of a scruffy-looking man named Robert Warrick. Police had arrested him on suspicion of committing several assaults on women in Lindsay Park over a three-day period.
Lindsay Park is less than a mile away from here, and it’s a block away from the 90th Precinct. Is the guy crazy? He was begging to be caught. Warrick could be any white man in Williamsburg. Slack face, somewhat shaved, dark eyes. They always have dark eyes. And he attacked women during the blizzard.
He looked over at Angela, who was staring out the front window at the last of the snow mounds glistening and melting in the sun.
This might be the same guy who attacked her four years ago. Do I show her? Should I show her?
He rose on unsteady legs and took the paper to the counter. “Did you see this story?”
Angela nodded.
Of course she did. “Do you think this might be the same guy?” Matthew whispered.
“I didn’t see his face,” Angela said. “He was wearing a ski mask.”
This is the first time I’ve heard about a ski mask. “It might be worth talking to the police about.”
“I’ve got nothing to tell them,” Angela said.
“Maybe he left some DNA,” Matthew said.
“I burned my clothes,” Angela said.
More new information. “You burned . . . your clothes.”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that if he only tried?” Matthew asked.
“He didn’t rape me, Matthew,” Angela whispered. “He . . . came on me just before I kicked him.”
Even more new information. Either she’s remembering more or she finally trusts me enough to reveal more. “What about the stairs? Those crime techs are very good. They might be able to find something on the stairs.”
“I scrubbed the stairs and walls with bleach,” Angela said, “and anything else he may have left behind I’ve already swept away.”
She tried to make it all disappear. “Did he say anything to you?” Angela left her stool, holding her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to do this.”
Matthew followed her to the kitchen. “Did he say anything?”
Angela washed her hands. “Yes, but I don’t want to do this right now.”
“What did he say, Angela?” Matthew asked.
Angela’s body shook. “ ‘Dis da way you like it? You gonna like what I got to give you.’ ”
Wow. “He said it just like that?” Matthew asked.
Angela nodded.
“So he might be originally from Williamsburg,” Matthew said. “You can’t fake that accent.”
Angela nodded.
“A white guy.”
Angela nodded. “Yeah.”
“And you kicked him in the balls,” Matthew said. “I wonder if he still has some damage down there.”
“I hope he does,” Angela whispered.
“We might be able to check that,” Matthew said.
Angela turned. “We?”
“I mean, that can be checked,” Matthew said. “The police can check that.”
Angela swallowed. “Matthew, what if it is him?”
Then you’ll be able to confront him in court and really start to heal. “What if it is?”
“I mean, if it is him,” Angela said, “and I had said something four years ago, those women wouldn’t have gotten attacked.”
Matthew held her close. “This guy may have been at it for many years. Your testimony now could be crucial in putting him away.”
“I’m sure they have enough evidence.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “They made an arrest, didn’t they? They wouldn’t have arrested him without evidence.”
“You can never have too much evidence.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and put it in her hand. “Call the Ninetieth Precinct.” I hope they answer today. “Give your name and address, and then tell whoever answers that you have information on a similar attack that occurred during the 2010 blizzard.”
Angela looked at the phone. “It might not be the same guy, Matthew. Maybe the guy who attacked me is already in jail somewhere. That’s what I’ve always hoped.”
“Whether he is or he isn’t,” Matthew said, “at least you can let them know what happened to you.”
Angela gripped the phone. “Dr. Penn has wanted me to do this for years.”
And so do I.
“I’m scared.” She shuddered. “I’m really scared.”
“And I’m still the only man behind you,” Matthew said.
She looked into his eyes. “I know.” She handed back the phone. “I don’t know the number.”
Matthew scrolled through his contact list, found the 90th, and hit SEND. He put the phone in her hand.
Angela took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes, I’d like to speak to someone about . . . My name is Angela Smith, and I was attacked in my coffee shop on Driggs Avenue during the 2010 blizzard.” She held her left hand out to him.
Matthew held it tightly with both of his hands.
“I read a story in the paper today,” she continued. “Yes, I saw his picture in the paper, but I don’t know if it’s the same guy. He was wearing a black ski mask, so I couldn’t see his face.” She listened a moment then covered the phone. “They’re transferring me to a detective.”
The ski mask must have set off something over there. That information wasn’t in the newspaper.
She uncovered the phone. “Hello.” She closed her eyes. “Yes, it was a black knit ski mask with three holes, two for the eyes and one for the mouth.” She opened her eyes. “Big, maybe . . . six-three, six-four, maybe close to two-fifty or more. He, um, attacked me from behind, so I didn’t get a good look at him.” She listened for a minute. “Smith’s Sweet Treats and Coffee on Driggs.” She sighed. “Right. The coffee shop across from La Estrella. Could you come over after I close at eight?” She nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you at eight.” She closed the phone and handed it to Matthew. “A detective will be here around eight. Could you watch things for a few minutes?”