---

“Matrimonial cases follow a script. Regardless of who’s involved,” I told Sherry, the client in her blue and yellow postal uniform. “The husband yells: ‘She’s a whore!’ and the wife screams back, ‘maybe so but he drinks!’ And then despite the occasional popularity of daddy custody these days the Judge rules, ‘visitation every other Sunday.’”

“Sunday, that’s what I need. Sunday, a day of rest.” The client lowered her head and rocked side to side. “I have heard the script too often.”

And indeed she had. Over a ten-year period, she had managed to squirm through the tangled web of the New York divorce courts five times.

When Sherry first consulted me about an appeal from the usual order, I reviewed her meticulously kept file. “Christ,” I dryly noted, “promised a heaven without husbands or wives.”

“At the moment,” Sherry rejoined with a smile, “I’d settle for one day of rest and a weekend without church.”

Indeed among Sherry’s litter from five different marriages were children of five different religions, all of which Sherry had promised to observe as a condition of different divorces.

“Amazing grace.” I declared as we waited for Jack, Sherry’s first former husband, our adversary.

We were appealing the usual order: so was Jack, the ex-husband.

“My problem;” the client continued, “with each divorce I was directed to raise children in the faith of the father. With no two fathers of the same religion, I spend my weekend in church.” She looked to the door of Judge’s chambers where would discuss a possible compromise before the full court heard the appeal. “I need a day of rest!”

And it would appear a compromise was possible. In the lower court, both Sherry and her ex-Jack had asked for the same thing: Jack wanted more visitation and Sherry wanted to give it. Some how, the lower court nonetheless managed to resolve their seeming agreement in the usual order: visitation every other Sunday afternoon.

“Ugh,” Sherry suppressed a yelp, “Jack’s coming! I’m going to duck. See if you call sell the idea.”

The client must have had presentience. As soon as she vanished down a corridor, which a long narrow window at the end blinded from view, Jack a tall slender man with hawkish black eyes strode off the elevator. He walked with an air of importance; his manner was that of authority. And Jack had earned the right to be disdainful, he was a successful merchant of the City.

“Jack?” I asked. “A word?”

“What,” Jack spoke with a restraint suppressing overwhelming anger, “do you want? Money. I pay more than I’m required to, as you know.”

“I want the same thing you want.” I replied coolly.

“Oh please.” Jack laughed. “The cheapest sales trick! Could you afford a touch of originality?”

“Then,” I looked down that sun-drenched corridor which hid Sherry. “You’re not interested in a proposal you haven’t heard. Sounds like a smart way to make a decision. Is that the way they do business on the trading floors these days?”

Without a word, Jack commanded me to state the offer.

“Your visitation is now two Sunday afternoons a month. It would go to every weekend for the whole weekend. Friday 3:00 p.m. after school to Monday 8:00 a.m. before school.”

Jack’s eyes opened up. “What’s the catch? I don’t have to give Sherry any more money.”

“Nope.” I snapped. “You would have to take the kids to church like it says in the divorce decree. The kids are to be raised in your faith … right?”

“If, I would agree to take over the religious education and observation requirements,” Jack though aloud, “then I get the kids for the whole weekend, every weekend.” A sparkle appeared in his eyes. “How can the solution be this easy? Do you know how much money both Sherry and I spent fighting over this?”

“All we need is Judge’s ok,” I said, “and you can send me of your limos to pick the kids up at school this Friday afternoon.”

“Okay,” Jack declared, “do it!”

I signaled for Sherry to emerge from the glare and tapped on the Judge’s door with one word, “Settled.”

We were admitted to a room with a 40’ conference table whose light wood finish reflected the glare of the setting sun.

“Judge,” I said as I sat between Sherry and Jack and looked out the windows over a panoramic view of the Hudson River Valley, “we’ve traded space for peace. More visitation for the husband; less religion for the wife.” I smiled as Sherry as I declared, “even God rested on the seventh day.”

The Judge nodded to a court reporter to start taking notes.

“Before we record the agreement,” Jack properly rose to address the Judge. “I have something to say …”

I knew what came next, the prostitute speech, made ever so much more vile when with glowering eyes Jack savored with relish Sherry’s many divorces.

“I can’t say,” Jack noted in concluding, “my religion necessarily disapproves of divorce, but in hers you have to be a prostitute to get one.”

Sherry lowered her eyes and did not respond when the Judge asked her whether she would still consider the deal.

“I believe it is written that in heaven,” I responded for Sherry, “there are no husbands, no wives. I’m beginning to understand the wisdom the divine has given us.”

“Visitation pending appeal continued” the Judge ruled, “every other Sunday.”

---

If you haven't used the 'Vox Populi', get started! Send in your comments and critique on
John D. Collins work. Inditer.com is a community of like minded writers.
Each wants and deserves the help of the other. Do it! It won't cost a dime! You'll be glad you helped!

John Collins Main Page & Index - - - Email John D. Collins

- - -