The jurors have now been numbered and Fabineau asks those holding 101 through 198 to leave the courtroom and take a break. Call the clerk at 1:00 p.m. and see if you’re needed. Half of them file out, some in a hurry, some actually smiling at their luck. On one side of the courtroom, the bailiffs place the remaining prospects in rows of ten, and we get our first look at the likely jurors. This drags on for an hour and Tadeo whispers that he’s bored. I ask him if he prefers staying in jail. No, he does not.
The pool is purged of those over the age of sixty-five and those with doctors’ excuses. The ninety-two we are now staring at are ready to be examined. Fabineau breaks for lunch and we’re told to be back at 2:00 p.m. Tadeo asks if there’s any chance of a proper lunch in a nice restaurant. I smile and say no. He’s headed back to the jail.
As I huddle with Cliff, the jury consultant, a uniformed bailiff approaches and asks, “Are you Mr. Rudd?”
I nod and he hands me some papers. Domestic Relations Court. A summons for an emergency hearing to terminate all parental rights. I curse under my breath, walk to the jury box, and take a seat. That bitch Judith has waited until this moment to further complicate matters. I read on and my shoulders begin to sag. Yesterday, Sunday, was my day to spend with Starcher; twelve hours, from 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m., a modified, verbal agreement between Judith and me. Being preoccupied with the trial, I of course forgot about this and stiffed my kid. In Judith’s twisted way of thinking, this is clear proof that I’m an unfit father and should be completely banished from my son’s life. She demands an emergency hearing as if Starcher is in imminent danger, and if one is granted it will be the fourth in the past three years. She’s 0 for 3! And she’s perfectly willing to go 0 for 4 to prove something. What, I don’t know.
I buy a once-frozen Fresh! Sandwich out of a machine and stroll down to Domestic Relations. Machine food is often underrated. Carla, a deputy clerk I once hit on, pulls the file and we look it over, our heads just inches apart. When I hit on her about two years ago she was “in a relationship,” whatever the hell that means. What it really meant was that she had no interest in me. I took it in stride. I’ve had my balls busted so many times I’m surprised when a woman says, “Maybe.” Anyway, Carla must be out of her relationship because she’s all smiles and come-ons, which is not that unusual among the army of deputy clerks and secretaries and receptionists who clog these offices and hallways. A single straight male lawyer with a little cash and a nice suit gets plenty of looks from the unmarried ladies, and from some of the married ones as well. If I played the game, had the time and interest, I could run these gals into the ground. Carla, though, has chubbed up considerably in recent months and is not looking nearly as good as before.
She says, “Judge Stanley Leef.”
“Same one as last time,” I reply. “I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
“Looks like your ex is a tough one.”
“That’s a huge understatement.”
“She’s in here from time to time. Not very friendly.”
I thank her, and as I’m leaving she says, “Call me sometime.”
I want to say, “Well, if you’ll hit the gym for about six months, then I’ll take a look and consider it.” Instead, and because I’m such a gentleman, I say, “Sure.”
Judge Stanley Leef stiff-armed Judith in her last effort to strip me of parental rights. He had no patience with her and ruled on the spot in my favor. The fact that she rolled the dice with this latest filing and got stuck with Leef again says a lot about her integrity, and her naïveté. In my world, if the case is critical—and what could be more drastic than cutting off a respectable father’s right to see his child—all measures must be taken to insure a fair hearing before the proper judge. This might require the filing of a motion to ask an unwanted judge to step aside. It might require a complaint with the State Board of Judicial Ethics. My preferred method, though, is simply a cash bribe to the right clerk.
Judith would never consider any of these tactics. Thus, she’s stuck with Leef again. I remind myself that this is not about winning or losing, not about this judge or that one. It’s nothing but abuse of the court system to harass a former spouse. She has no worries about legal fees. She has no fears of retribution. She roams this section of the Old Courthouse every day, so this is her turf.
I find a bench and read her petition as I finish my sandwich.
