by Sheila Agnew
‘I’m going go out on a limb here and guess it wasn’t something overly thoughtful,’ said Scott.
‘A miniature golf set for playing on the carpet!’ announced Eurdes. ‘I didn’t even know what that was. Do I looks like to you I would play golf on my floor?’
‘No,’ agreed Scott.
‘So Dr Brooks, I love working for you and I don’t want to leeves you and Evie but I can’t take the dirty bird pooping all the time.’
‘Ah,’ said Scott, ‘you mean Evie’s pigeon, Persie.’
‘Si, si, Pigeon.’
‘EVIE,’ called Scott.
For a microsecond, I considered a quick dash out the front door but thought what’s the point; I might as well get it over with. I strolled into the kitchen area.
‘Greg gave Persie to me as a birthday present,’ I explained to Scott, ‘not a very thoughtful one so I can totally appreciate Eurdes’s feelings on the miniature golf set. What a useless present! What’s the worst present you have ever received Scott?’
Scott wasn’t interested in being drawn into a diverting conversation about horrendous presents.
‘Evie, I’m sorry. Persie has to go. Today!’
‘Thank you Dr Brooks,’ purred Eurdes.
‘But Scott, Persie has been domesticated. I don’t think he’d survive out in the real world anymore,’ I protested.
Scott handed me his iPad. ‘So get busy on locating a new home for him,’ he said mercilessly, ‘and you owe Eurdes an apology!’
‘Sorry, Eurdes,’ I said.
‘That’s ok,’ she said magnanimously.
I very quickly managed to find a fantastic home for Persie, with Juan, one of our doorman, who had always admired him and seemed thrilled to take him off my hands. Greg said that Juan likes to eat pigeon, but that was a joke in very poor taste.
So boom, just like that, Persie was gone. The third boom happened while Lorcan and I were eating burgers at the Shake Shack at the end of my block. Lorcan casually announced that he would be leaving New York to go live in Hong Kong for at least a month, maybe longer. I choked on a fry. A beefy man in a grey hoodie at the next table leapt off his stool, threw his arms around my chest and began heaving me up and down in some kind of misguided effort to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. I don’t want to sound ungrateful (even to myself) but the guy nearly killed me. One of his gold chains got entangled around my neck and I nearly choked to death. Plus, I was mortified. I challenge anyone to retain even a semblance of dignity when they are being bounced up and down like that and anyway; I had swallowed the fry before he even started so it was completely unnecessary. The man took a lot of convincing to be persuaded that I was perfectly alright (except for the red rope burn on my neck caused by his chain) and to put me down. I also forced myself to thank him even though I felt some kind of law should be passed prohibiting him from trying to rescue people.
When he had finally returned to his own table, Lorcan gave me the lowdown on the whole Hong Kong trip. Peter, one of Lorcan’s dads, had to go back to Hong Kong to work on some software project. Lorcan’s other dad, Simon, said that the family had to stick together and that there was no way that he was letting Peter off by himself in the nightclubs of Hong Kong to be hit on by the entire Asian gay community. Lorcan said that Simon was overrating Peter’s level of attractiveness but I thought it was sweet.
‘When are you leaving?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Lorcan.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘are you ok with that?’
‘Sure, a month off school, hanging around Hong Kong, that’s fine with me, but I’ll miss you.’
I looked at him surprised. Lorcan and I don’t do the ordinary typical mushy boy-girl compliment thing. I wondered if he was being sarcastic, but he looked sincere.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘How about you’ll miss me too?’ Lorcan asked in a voice that was half-kidding, half not.
‘Of course I’ll miss you,’ I said and he smiled.
It was true that I would miss him. I’d miss any of my friends who left. But I wasn’t sad. I actually felt kind of relieved to be spared the whole angst of figuring out how I felt about Lorcan and what to tell Scott about us. Now, Lorcan would be away for a month, plenty of time for me to figure things out.
I went round to Lorcan’s apartment early the next morning before school to say good-bye. It was a fairly dramatic parting and I quite enjoyed playing the role of grieving girlfriend as if I was sending him off to war in the Middle East. I threw a lot of energy into it. I might have overplayed the role a little, but Simon loved it.
We didn’t kiss good-bye because Lorcan’s dads were there. I felt sort of relieved by that. I haven’t much felt like kissing Lorcan since the day of the ice hockey game. I don’t know why. Maybe it was watching him eat that horrible orange cheese sauce on the nachos. Maybe I am that shallow. I shouldn’t have played the part of the dutiful girlfriend. I might have misled Lorcan into thinking I’m more into him than I am. But I’m not sure how into him I am. Maybe, I’m more into him than I think. Life was less complicated before boys.
Chapter 30
We had our pretrial conference today. This was the fourth time Scott and I had to go to court so we were pretty complacent this morning because nothing much ever seems to happen. Oh. Something unusual did occur the last time, though; Scott and I were horrified to see Leela and Mr Tully deep in conversation outside the courtroom. But when we told Rob that we were worried about what they might be up to, he assured us that we were just being paranoid; that the New York family law world is very small and everyone knows everyone and Mr Tully and Leela were probably working on another case together. Scott seemed reassured by this. And, as he reminded me, he still had the tape I had made last year which would get Leela in a whole heap of trouble if he put in the hands of the authorities or even the press.
‘So you see,’ he said, ‘if anyone should be worried, it’s Leela, not us.’
‘I guess,’ I said but I was still troubled by the knowing smile Leela had shot me in Camille’s apartment. But seriously, how do you explain that without sounding crazy. I let it drop.
Early this morning, Scott and I stood in the security line at 60 Centre Street. We could easily pick out the people who were going to court for the first time. They looked nervous and intimidated and lost. Scott and I probably looked as bored as the rest of the regulars. We had no idea of the shock heading our way.
When the court clerk called our case, the judge didn’t usher the lawyers into his room for some private chitchat and a few laughs like he usually did. This time we sat at two separate tables in front of the judge’s desk, Michael and Mr Tully at the table on the right and Scott, Marcy and me, at the table on the left. Rob couldn’t make it because his son, Harry, had chicken pox. He’d sent along a junior lawyer from his office instead, a young, pretty, fidgety woman named Jessica. She looked so pale and frightened that I felt sorry for her. When the clerk called our case, she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Probably throwing up in the bathroom,’ Marcy said.
Marcy was not her usual bubbly self. She was acting a little odd. She was very cold to Scott. She barely even said ‘hello’ to him. But she kept acting all protective towards me as if I was a child star who needed to be shielded from the paparazzi.
The judge got straight to the point. He said he had received the forensic reports except for the Neutral’s because she was suffering from exhaustion and had to take a couple of weeks of vacation.
Scott and I exchanged worried glances. Nobody had told us that the reports had been filed or that Rosita had gone away. The judge took his glasses off and began cleaning them vigorously with a dusty yellow scrap of cloth.
‘I have to say that I am deeply disturbed by the contents of Dr Blakely’s report, which presents a sordid tale of drugs and other questionable activities engaged in by Dr Brooks,’ said the Judge. ‘And Dr Brook’s own psychologist, MaryAnn, seems to think that he is not a fit guardian.’
Mr Tully totally exaggerated the circumstances behind Scott’s arrest and began raving that my safety and wellbeing were in serious jeopardy.
Scott leaned over me and whispered angrily to Marcy, ‘I was never charged! He’s totally misleading the judge. Object or something.’
‘I represent Evie, not you,’ said Marcy and she reached down and squeezed my hand.
‘It’s so unfair that Michael and his lawyer got the reports and we didn’t,’ I said to her.
‘Oh, I got them. I didn’t want to upset you with the details. I am very worried about you,’ she said, her eyes all big and Bambi’s-motherish. ‘And MaryAnn strongly feels that Scott is not an appropriate guardian for you.’
I almost screamed. ‘MaryAnn,’ I said furiously, ‘is just mad with Scott because he doesn’t want to DATE HER.’
‘Marcy,’ hissed Scott leaning over me again, ‘I’m sure the Blakely report reflects badly on me, but I can explain everything. Didn’t Rob tell you what happened?’
‘No smoke without fire,’ Marcy whispered back cryptically and I felt like a cold ghostly finger had just trailed down my back.
Marcy got to her feet. Mr Tully eyed her warily.
‘Your Honour,’ said Marcy, ‘on the basis of disturbing information that has come to light, I am substituting my judgment for my client’s because I do not feel that, at this time, Evangeline is able to give instructions in accordance with her own best interests.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, confused, tugging Marcy’s sleeve.
She patted me lightly on the head.
‘This is for your own good, Evie,’ she whispered, ‘let me do my job, I’m taking care of it.’
‘What?’ I said but Marcy continued with her speech to the judge.
‘And so, your Honour, in light of the respondent’s recent arrest, I am advocating that custody be temporarily transferred to the petitioner, Michael Carey, with supervised visitation for the uncle respondent. In due course, down the line, I hope we could move to a schedule of unsupervised visitation if the respondent agrees to regular screening for drug problems.’
My heart stopped beating for a few seconds. Greg told me later that that is medically impossible. Whatever. I know what I felt. My heart STOPPED! TRAITOR. TREACHERY. BETRAYED BY MY OWN LAWYER.
Without even thinking about it, I jumped to my feet, quickly followed by Scott.
‘Your Honour,’ we said in unison.
‘SIT DOWN,’ thundered the Judge, ‘lawyers only!’
Scott reluctantly sat down, but I remained on my feet.
‘But my lawyer is betraying me,’ I said, ‘my welfare isn’t remotely in danger. Marcy doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Scott doesn’t have any drug problems. He was just being nice to Holly and it was her ex-boyfriend Karl who stole the drugs and …’
‘Miss Brooks,’ interrupted the Judge, ‘you are represented by a lawyer who speaks on your behalf. You are not permitted to address the court directly. Your lawyer will explain this to you after the conference if she has not already done so.’
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘she’s fired. I must have the right to fire my own lawyer! I want to represent myself. Now may I address you?’
‘Your Honour,’ said Marcy, rolling her eyes and smiling in a conspiratorial way at the Judge, ‘my client is going through the very traumatic process of a custody case. She’s having trouble processing it all. She doesn’t know her own mind. I’ll speak to her as soon as we’re done here.’
‘Your former client doesn’t seem traumatised to me at all,’ boomed the Judge, ‘she seems like a young lady very much in tune with her own mind. I want to hear what she has to say,’ and turning to his clerk, he said, ‘what date do I have available next week? I want to set up a Lincoln interview.’
There was silence in the courtroom as the clerk thumbed the pages of the judge’s calendar. Scott took my hand.
‘Wednesday looks good, judge,’ said the clerk.
‘What about late afternoon, say four-thirty?’ said the judge, ‘I don’t want Miss Brooks to miss any more school.’
‘Four-thirty works,’ said the clerk.
‘Good,’ said the judge.
‘Miss Brooks, a Lincoln interview is just the legal name for a meeting between you and me with no lawyers present. Ok?
‘Ok,’ I said, still standing.
‘It’s nothing for you to get nervous about. It’s just an opportunity for you and me to talk so I can listen to what you have to say.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ I said fervently, ‘sorry, I mean, Your Honour.’
He nodded at me.
Mr Tully rose to his feet.
‘Judge, I really don’t think this is a case where a Lincoln interview is necessary or appropriate. In the Parkinson case, the Court of Appeals clearly held that where …’
‘Mr Tully,’ interrupted the judge, ‘you’re surely not proposing to lecture me on the Parkinson case. I think we can all take it as a given that I am familiar with the Court of Appeal’s ruling in that case. I have ordered a Lincoln interview. If you disagree with that, you are familiar with the appeal process and you have sufficient time between now and Wednesday to make whatever motion you are going to make.’
‘Yes, Judge,’ said Mr Tully, ‘may I request a stay?’
‘You may so request and that request is denied,’ said the judge.
‘Judge,’ said Marcy, ‘I can’t be here on Wednesday afternoon. I have a case in Westchester.’
‘Since you are no longer representing any party in this case, your presence will not be required,’ said the judge.
‘But Judge, you’re surely not going to permit my thirteen-year-old client to fire me.’
‘I already have,’ said the judge smoothly. He continued, ‘Now, we’ve already overrun and I have fifteen more cases on my calendar today.’
The judge stood up, resplendent in his black robes and swept out of the room as if he was a much taller man.
‘Evie, let me explain, we can work this out, I’m looking after your best interests,’ said Marcy.
‘I don’t want anything to do with you ever again,’ I said quietly, and, Scott and I left the courtroom.
I mean really. I knew Marcy thought she was doing the right thing. But she had no right to jump to the conclusion that Scott was mixed up in drugs.
That night, I had one of my tutoring sessions with Finn. He takes being a tutor so seriously, it’s annoying. He never talks about anything but math. But this time, he said,
‘I hear from Greg that Lorcan’s gone to Singapore.’
‘Hong Kong,’ I corrected.
‘Right,’ he said and he seemed very pleased, no doubt because he thinks I’m too much of a baby to have a boyfriend.
‘How’s the custody case going?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ I lied in a chirpy tone, glancing at the thin white scars on his arms.
He scowled at me and pulled his shirtsleeve down.
‘What’s your lawyer like?’ he asked after a few seconds.
‘I don’t have one. I fired her,’ I snapped.
‘What? You fired her?’ and he laughed.
I glared at him.
‘Could we please move on to problem seventeen because I’ve got stuff to do later, stuff that has nothing to do with math.’
‘Sure,’ he said, still grinning.
‘Great,’ I said.
‘Great,’ he said.
‘Great,’ I repeated. (Dumb I know).
I’m not interested in discussing my private business with someone who thinks I’m a little kid. And I’m fed up with Finn acting like a big brother trying to sort out my problems. He’s not my brother! He should be spending his time working on his own multiple issues.
Chapte
r 31
Looking back now, it feels like the trial happened to someone else, someone who looked like me, but was not me. It began on the same day Mum died exactly one year ago. I thought that might mean something, but maybe it just worked out that way in order to accommodate the Judge’s dental appointments. He scheduled the trial to last a full eleven and one-half days spread over the month of May.
And so it began. Monotonous. Boring. Slow. Did I say TEDIOUS? On the plus side, I wasn’t nervous. I’ll say this for boredom – it kills anxiety. Also, I’d been to the Lincoln interview with the Judge and I think that went pretty well. He was much nicer when he was in his office without his formal black gown, more approachable, almost human. He gave me some stale goldfish crackers and talked about his granddaughter who lives in California. I told him Scott was the best guardian anyone could hope for and he seemed to believe me.
The trial days began to blend into one another. I quickly adjusted to our new routine. Get up. Walk Ben. Eat Breakfast. Go To Court. Come Home. Eat Chinese/Thai/Indonesian/Turkish/Greek Food with Scott and Rob. Discuss the day’s testimony. Repeat.
Joanna ate with us some nights, which was great, like old times, except sometimes we had to put up with her boyfriend, Jeffrey, too. Scott says he makes Joanna’s old boyfriend, Stefan, seem charismatic. Joanna’s covering all the work at the clinic so Scott can fully concentrate on the trial and get this, she never ever complains about it or tries to make him feel bad. Scott said that’s super annoying.
As the petitioner, Michael got to put forward his side of the case first. Dr Blakely, as repulsively tanned and God-like as ever, was the first witness. He described Scott as irresponsible and immature, the kind of person who permits a drug-dealer and a convicted felon to have free access to his apartment.
I fared little better. According to Dr Blakely, I suffered from a lack of moral guidance and stable adult supervision. He also described me as having violent tendencies apparently on the basis of an incident at my former school in Ireland where I threw a pencil case at a boy in my class.