by Erin Lyon
“Well, then we can’t lose.”
I sighed. I flipped to the last page of the application and realized that it was filed by Doug Simpson. “I didn’t realize Rhett had an attorney representing him in this.”
“Yeah. Once I realized he’d lawyered up, I figured I better do the same.”
“Okay. Well, I think our best bet will be to try to settle something to avoid the restraining orders.”
“Whatever you think is best. But he’s the one being a dick.”
I looked back down at Rhett’s application. Yep. Clearly he’s the only asshole in this scenario.
“Well, I’ll meet you at the court at twelve forty-five p.m.,” I said, standing up from the table. “I’ll keep this and make copies for my file and bring your copies back to you at court.”
“Okay. Thanks. See you soon.”
I watched Scarlett walk back toward the lobby, her ample rear end swaying back and forth, before I turned to head back to my office.
Mags came in a moment later. “So? Was she everything you hoped?”
“Remind me what I was hoping for?”
“That she was nothing like the guy who referred her.”
“Ah. I think she’s actually much worse.”
“Yikes. Sounds … entertaining.”
“She admitted to taking a dump on his front porch.”
I was treated to one of Mags’s rare shocked expressions. “No.”
“Yep. She knows she probably shouldn’t have, but she was pissed about the number of times his dog had crapped on her lawn, so…”
“That’s not exactly an eye for an eye.”
“My thought as well. Would you make copies of these for me?” I asked, handing her Scarlett’s stack of documents. “Those are her originals, so I want to return them to her this afternoon at the hearing.”
“You got it, boss,” Mags said, on her way out of my office.
I sat down at my desk and made a whiny sigh. Totally not because I was feeling sorry for myself that I was adding to my crazy-client quota. Not at all. Because self-pity is super annoying.
* * *
I walked into the courtroom right on time and was slipping the battery out of my phone when I spotted Doug Simpson. Today he was in a slightly wrinkled, outdated brown suit, and I’d swear his hairline had receded more since we’d last seen each other. He gave me a little two-finger salute and headed to where I was standing.
“Heya, Kate. How’s it going?”
“Good, Doug. You?”
“Better if I was making so much money that I could turn down these shitty cases,” he said with a lopsided grin.
I made a noncommittal chuckle. I haven’t been doing this job long enough to make those kinds of jokes—I needed to earn my own jaded persona. No cutsies.
“So,” Doug continued when I didn’t say anything, “both our clients are getting slapped today unless we can stipulate to a truce.”
“I sort of had the same thought.”
“Okay. Judge Warner typically tries to get parties to work shit out before hearing the matter anyway, so we’ll just tell him we want to try to work out an agreement.”
“Perfect.”
We headed back inside and I spotted Scarlett. I went and sat next to her and watched Doug sit down next to a dark-haired guy with a beard. Beyond the hair, I didn’t get a good look at him.
“Well?” Scarlett whispered loudly to me, once I sat down.
“We’re going to ask the judge to give us some time to see if we can work out a settlement.”
Scarlett pouted. “I guess. If you really think we need to.”
“If you don’t want to risk being required to get rid of your guns, then yes, I think we really need to.”
When she continued to pout, I sighed, but I tried to make it sound like it was an I hear ya sister; this is so unfair sigh, and not a Maybe if you hadn’t taken a shit on your ex’s porch we’d have more bargaining power sigh. Even though it was definitely the second one.
Judge Warner called our case and we approached the table.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Shaw,” Judge Warner said, with a slight smile. I smiled back, happy he knew me by name. Made me feel like less of a fraud pretending to be a lawyer.
“Good afternoon, Your Honor. I’m here on behalf of petitioner … and respondent, Scarlett Blutofsky.”
“Thank you. And Mr. Simpson?”
“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” Doug said. “Appearing for Rhett Cadavetti,” he said, making a slight gesture to the man standing on the other side of him.
“Thank you, Mr. Simpson,” Judge Warner said, before turning back toward me. He had a slight grin and raised his bushy eyebrows to me. Shit. What was he asking? We’d stated our appearances. He was looking at me like I’d forgotten something. Then he made an almost imperceptible head nod toward Doug’s client. And I died a little.
Or maybe a lot, as I realized that at my last two appearances in a row I’d been surprised by the opposing party being an ex-boyfriend. And now Judge Warner was giving me shit for it. A tiny part of me felt like the cool kid, since I had a good enough rapport with the judge for him to needle me like this. But the overwhelming majority of me wanted to crawl into a little hole for the next five years or so. Just until the embarrassment subsided.
I was just about to shake my head no and attempt to resurrect whatever dignity I could scrounge up, when I suddenly had the horrible thought that I hadn’t actually gotten a decent look at Doug’s client. Erring on the side of caution, I leaned forward over the table, ever so slightly, and tried to sneak a glance at Rhett Cadavetti.
Okay—let’s be clear. When the entire courtroom is silent and waiting for something to happen and the judge and one of the attorneys are having some sort of unspoken communication, there is no such thing as sneaking anything. Everyone was watching everything like it was an episode of Court TV. Except that I felt like I was playing the part of the defendant in this little scenario.
Rhett Cadavetti was super furry. As in halfway-to-a-wookie furry. His hair was overgrown and wavy; he had a full, bushy beard and mustache; and his eyebrows looked like furry little caterpillars having a race to meet in the middle of his forehead. And, thank god, I’d never seen him before in my life. Yes, theoretically I would have remembered if I’d ever dated a guy named Rhett, but guys lie sometimes. Or change their names. Or end up in witness protection. Point being, my recent luck is bad enough that I felt the need to check him out before confirming that I’d never dated him.
I slapped a smile on my bright red cheeks and shook my head at the judge.
“So, Ms. Shaw, I’ve read the petitions. Would you and Mr. Simpson like some time to see if your clients can come to terms?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We believe we can reach an agreement.”
“Very well. I’ll trail your matter. If you’re unable to reach terms by the end of today’s session, come back in and we can continue the matter to another day.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
The four of us filed out of the courtroom. I was hoping the question the judge silently posed to me wasn’t as obvious as it felt to me. Maybe it was subtle and no one noticed the momentary lag.
“So, what the hell was that all about?” Doug asked, his face unusually animated. Stupid, Kate. Of course it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh,” I said, waving my hand nonchalantly. “I’ve just run into acquaintances as defendants on my last couple of cases. I think Judge Warner was teasing me. He wanted me to confirm that I didn’t know Mr. Cadavetti.”
Now Doug looked a little astonished. Damn. Did he see right through my “acquaintances” euphemism?
“What?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders.
“Judge Warner doesn’t tease. You really are charmed, Shaw.”
Yeah. Yay me. That’s exactly what I was thinking.
“Okay, well, Scarlett, why don’t you stay in this conference room for now,” I said, gesturing to a tiny room outside the courtroom. “A
nd Mr. Cadavetti can wait outside. And Doug and I will talk about what each of you want out of this agreement.”
Scarlett nodded, still wearing a sulky expression, and went into the room and closed the door. Doug led Rhett outside and then came back in, and he and I went into the other tiny conference room.
Doug pulled out a folder and took out a preprinted stipulated agreement form. Nice. I didn’t even know those existed.
“Alrighty,” Doug started, as I watched him neatly print the names of the parties and the case names at the top of the form. “So, shall we start with the ‘No shitting on each other’s porch’ thing?”
I gave him a weak smile. “Ha-ha. I don’t think we need to be quite that detailed. I guess just the basic ‘Parties agree they shall not harass, verbally abuse, or intimidate each other.’”
“That works. And ‘No speaking unless through legal counsel.’”
“Obviously. Since they can’t speak without getting into a fight. And they need to stay entirely off each other’s property. Would Rhett agree to split the cost of getting the boundary line surveyed? I think a lot of issues are arising because they think the other is on their property.”
“The issues are arising because they’re assholes. But yeah, that’s a good thought. I’ll check with him.”
“And I want them to still be able to call nine-one-one if they feel in danger from the other party, without calling us first.”
Doug didn’t look up from his writing. “Right. Calling nine-one-one in a perceived emergency is not a violation of this agreement. And parties agree not to call each other’s home, work, or cell phone and agree not to attempt contact of any kind.”
“Perfect.”
“Okay,” Doug said, handing the handwritten agreement to me to read through.
“Looks good. Let me run through it with Scarlett while you talk to Rhett about it?”
“Yep.”
We left, and I went into Scarlett’s conference room.
“Okay,” I said. “I think we have a reasonable agreement. Basically, the two of you are not to contact each other, harass each other, or go onto each other’s property. On that point, I think you two should really have your boundary line surveyed, since you guys seem to disagree about where the line is. Would you be willing to split the cost of the survey? It could be a few thousand dollars.”
“Fine. But then, once he realizes that his fence is actually on my property, can I tear the fucking thing down?”
“No. But I’ll talk to Doug about provisions, should there be an encroachment. Are you okay with the rest?”
“I’m not sure. So what do I do when his dog takes a shit on my lawn?”
I can’t believe I have to say this. “You’ll call me. And then I’ll call Doug and he’ll talk to his client about him being in violation of the agreement.” Mental note: add Rhett’s dog to forbidden visitors to Scarlett’s plantation.
“And that’ll work?”
“Yes, it will. If we have an agreement signed by the judge, violation of that order is contempt of court. If he violates it—we’ll bring an action against him for contempt.”
She lit up a little at that thought. Aww. How sweet.
“Okay, let me go back and talk to Doug about a few more things.”
I headed back into the other conference room and Doug was already in there.
“Rhett’s good with the splitting the cost of a survey.”
“Great. We may need to add something about the parties agreeing to add an addendum to this agreement after the survey is done, so they don’t go all Hatfields and McCoys over the boundary line once it’s found.”
“Yeah, Rhett mentioned that Scarlett thinks his fence is on her property.”
“There may have been a little talk of ripping it out.”
“Okie dokie,” he said, beginning to add to the preexisting agreement. “The parties agree to share the cost of a survey to determine the placement of their shared boundary line, fifty-fifty. Once the boundary is located, the parties agree to meet, through counsel, to discuss any encroachments before exercising any self-help.”
“Perfect. Oh—you better add his dog to ‘people and things not allowed on her property.’”
Doug chuckled but kept writing. “We’d better just make that a general ‘The parties agree not to enter the other’s property, let their pets or visitors on the other’s property, and agree not to damage or place any object of any kind on each other’s property.’ Did she tell you about the twenty pink flamingoes?”
“She mentioned something about Rhett chopping the heads off her pink flamingoes. But I have a sneaking suspicion that isn’t what we’re talking about.”
“I guess her and some girlfriends got drunk and went around stealing pink flamingo lawn ornaments and relocated them all to Rhett’s front yard.”
“Wait. She found twenty houses with pink flamingo lawn ornaments?” Okay, so maybe I lost focus a little. But I found that astonishing.
“Don’t they normally put those things in pairs? Maybe she only needed to find ten houses with them.”
“Still! Ten houses? I thought they only existed in novelty stores!” Okay, Kate. Get back on track. “Well, I think that might have been in retaliation for him cutting the heads off her pink flamingoes with pruning shears. How did he know it was Scarlett that created the flamingo garden in his front yard?”
“He has a security camera on his front porch. Oh. That reminds me. We need Scarlett to change the angle on the camera that’s pointed at Rhett’s bedroom.”
“Are you sure it’s pointed directly at it?”
“He seems to think so. Can she access them remotely? If she can pull it up on her phone and show me, I can let him know if it isn’t actually aimed at it.”
“Okay, let’s go see if she has access.”
We walked across the hall, and Scarlett glared at Doug when she saw him come into the room behind me.
“Scarlett, we’re almost done. But there is a question about your security cameras. Can you pull up the footage over your phone?”
“Of course I can. That asshole works from home. God knows what kind of shit he’s gonna pull while I’m at work.”
I didn’t bother to look back at Doug. We just waited quietly while she logged into her security system and loaded her camera feeds.
“Okay, here’s the first one,” she said, turning the camera so that we could see it. You could only see her front yard. “Here’s the second.” She gave us a view of her backyard. Tastefully littered with nylon lawn chairs and an inflatable kiddie pool. Few beer cans. “This is the third.” She turned the screen toward us and we had a different view of a backyard. It still had its share of redneck decorations—vehicle tires, ice chests, scrap plywood—but I was pretty sure it wasn’t the same yard.
“Is that your yard?” Doug asked. Damn. I was gonna go with no.
“Well, this camera is attached to the corner of my house at the end of the driveway.”
“But it looks like it’s pointed into Rhett’s backyard. That will need to come down. Or be angled somewhere else.”
Scarlett shot some eye daggers at Doug and clicked her screen once more. “This is the last one.”
It was centered on a window. Taped up in the window was a big piece of cardboard with a hand giving a one-finger salute, drawn in black marker.
“I’m guessing this would be Rhett’s bedroom,” I said.
“Yeah. But the camera is to view my driveway. I just can’t do that without accidentally getting his window.”
“Actually, I don’t see the driveway—just the window,” Doug said.
“Scarlett, that one will need to be moved as well. You just need to change the angle so that you aren’t invading his privacy,” I said.
“Fuck. Fine.”
Doug sat down at the table and scribbled a last line on the agreement. “Is ten days enough time for you to get the cameras moved?” he asked.
“I guess.” Scarlett was back to the sulking th
ing. She apparently just had two settings: pissed off or pouty.
Doug handed the agreement back to me. “I’ll give you a few minutes to review it with your client. Once it’s signed, I’ll take it to Rhett for his signature.
“I already know what’s in it,” Scarlett said, snatching up a pen from the table and scribbling her signature at the bottom of the agreement. “Here. Go get Dickhead’s signature so we can get the fuck out of here.” Such a delicate flower.
Doug looked at me for approval and I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, a little apologetically.
After Doug left, I turned back to Scarlett. “Okay. It’s going to be really important to remember that this agreement gets signed by the judge. That means if you violate it in any way, they can get you for contempt of court, too.”
“I get it. If he just keeps out of my way, it’ll be fine.”
“So, how long were you guys signed for?”
“Six years.”
Wow. I raised my eyebrows.
“This time.”
Oh god. Serial dysfunction. “How many times have you two signed?”
Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. Adding? “I guess it’s been five times. There was a sixth, but we didn’t sign that one.”
“So, how long have you two been on-again, off-again?”
“Since we were fifteen.”
I was glad I wasn’t drinking water, because I think there’d be a decent chance I would have choked on it. “Fifteen? You signed for the first time? Or you just started dating?”
“No, we started dating when we were fourteen. Signed our first contract when we were fifteen.”
“With parental consent?” Stupid question. Minors can’t sign contracts. But I couldn’t stop myself.
“Yeah,” she said with a sly grin. “Well, my mom would have signed anyway, since Gone with the Wind is her favorite book and she felt like we were meant to be signed, just like Rhett and Scarlett.” Ah, Parenting 101. Let your fifteen-year-old daughter sign because she met a guy with the corresponding literary name. “But we knew his parents wouldn’t go for it, so we just told them I was knocked up. Then they were all for it.”
“But you weren’t, right? I mean, I don’t think you mentioned having any children.”