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Miz Sara Faces a Tough Opponent

By: FrancisMacomber



"I married my husband for better or worse, but not for lunch!"

That line got a laugh from the other women at our table, but it seemed to me that Jeanine Chesterfield (that's what her name tag read) wasn't really joking. She had been telling us about her husband David, who'd been laid off from his position as controller with a local Atlanta architectural firm. "He needs to get out of the house and find another job before he drives me crazy," she continued.

I'm pretty sympathetic to people who've lost their jobs in these difficult economic times, so I thought Jeanine was being a little rough on her husband. But since she was an Agnes Scott alumna like myself, I thought I should try to help. 

So after the alumna luncheon was over, I went over to her table and introduced myself. "Miz Chesterfield, I'm Sara Cannon. I know how tough it is to be unemployed, and I also know that job searches are taking a lot longer than usual these days. I might have a temporary opportunity that could be of interest to your husband -- and get him out from under your feet as well."

She was definitely interested. "Please go on, Miz Sarah."

"Well," I explained, "the bookkeeper my law firm has used for years wants to retire, and I thought this would be a good opportunity to computerize my accounting system. My guess is that it would take a couple of months for a good accountant to get my books set up on a new system. I can't afford to pay a lot, but it would give your husband something to do during the day, and I'd be happy to have him continue his job search while he was working for me. Do you think he might be interested in something like that?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, "David will definitely be interested."

"Of course," I said, handing her my card, "I'd need to talk to him first to make sure he has the background to do the job properly. Why don't you have him call me to set up an appointment?"

"Thank you, Miz Sara," she said, "David will call you right away."

As I drove back to my law office in the Virginia Highland section of Atlanta, I was in a good mood. I like being able to help people, and if I could do a favor for a fellow Agnes Scott alumna, so much the better. If, as I expected, David Chesterfield had the ability to help me get my books into the twenty-first century, this was going to work out well for everyone, a "win-win" situation, as they say these days.

When I got back to my office, however, my good mood disappeared faster than snowfall in Atlanta. I had another phone message to call Betty Mallinson. Betty's husband Herman was suing her for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Of course, the fact that he'd moved out of their house and moved in with his former secretary might have something to do with those differences, but since Georgia is a no-fault state, the reasons for the separation didn't really matter. 

When you practice family law like me, you see this kind of situation far too often, and this divorce ought to have been pretty routine. But the Mallinsons' case seemed likely to drag on forever. I'd had call after call and meeting after meeting as the unhappy pair wrangled back and forth with each other over one issue or another. The thing was, none of the issues they were quarreling about seemed particularly significant to me. But I guess when the heart is hurting it tends to bring out the worst in people. It certainly did with the Mallinsons.

This divorce already had the makings of a difficult case, but there was an added complication that served to pour more fuel on the bonfire. That complication was Herman's attorney, Rosa Brindisi. Rosa had a well-earned reputation as the meanest divorce attorney in Atlanta. Her nickname was "The Atomic Italian" because "when she hits, no one's left alive." No, really. I don't make this stuff up.

In truth, Rosa was a heavy-set woman of Italian heritage with long black hair and a taste for the spotlight. She was also an accomplished chef who, as you might imagine, specialized in Italian cuisine. Accordingly, it wasn't uncommon to see her pictured in the society pages attending a wine-tasting or preparing an Italian dish for some charitable event.

I didn't mind Rosa's penchant for publicity, but I didn't care much for her "take no prisoners" approach to family law. There's a story making the rounds in Atlanta that one of her clients was a man who married a woman from Eastern Europe and brought her back to the States. He subsequently regretted his decision and retained Rosa to handle the divorce. Not content with a simple case of irreconcilable differences, Rosa supposedly managed to get the poor woman deported and then sued for divorce on the grounds of desertion. I can't say for sure if the story is true, but I could easily believe Rosa capable of such tactics.

Anyhow, my heart sank when I saw the message to call Betty. I just knew that meant that Herman and Rosa had fired another legal broadside in pursuit of their case. 

But before I could call her back, my phone rang. When I answered, I was relieved to find it wasn't Betty but David Chesterfield calling to introduce himself and set up an appointment for an interview. Now that I had decided to go ahead with updating my financial records, I was eager to get started, so I suggested he come in first thing in the morning. 

"I hope he can do the job," I told myself. "I've been putting it off so long, and now I'm ready to get started. And if he is the right man for the job," I thought with a smile, "that'll get him out of Jeanine's hair for a while."

When David arrived the next morning, he seemed very different from what I was expecting after talking to his wife. He was in his late thirties, had a pleasant face and was very well-mannered. He seemed like a nice young man, and he quickly made a favorable impression on me. 

We talked quite a while about the job I needed done, and he told me about his work at the architectural firm. I hadn't thought about it, but David pointed out there were a number of similarities between the way architects and attorneys do business, such as dealing with individual clients, billing by the hour and so on. And it turned out that he had set up his old firm's accounting system too.

Of course I wanted to know why the firm had let him go, and he was very forthcoming about the whole situation. The crash of the residential and commercial real estate markets had virtually brought a halt to new construction, and architects were feeling the pinch in the same way as developers and builders. His firm had had to cut back, and he was one of the casualties.

"I hated to be laid off, but I don't take it personally," he remarked. "I saw their financial results and I could tell how badly they were hurting. Canning me and contracting out their accounting to a service firm made sense."

"That's an awfully mature attitude," I thought to myself. "I'm not sure I'd be able to be so philosophical if something like that happened to me."

"Anyway, I think I can do a really good job for you," David concluded. "I'd be very grateful to have the opportunity, and I know Jeanine will be very glad to have me off her hands." He smiled when he said that, but I thought I detected something else in his tone besides self-deprecating humor.

Regardless of his home situation, as best I could tell, David's background and experience were nigh on to perfect for me. On top of that, he was polite and had a nice, pleasant manner. I thought he'd be a pleasure to work with, so I stuck out my hand to him and said, "Well, David, I think we have a deal. You can start tomorrow, if you like. Let's go out to lunch so we can talk some more about the job and you can meet Cindy, my assistant."

Cindy McCarty is my current research assistant; she too went to Agnes Scott College. I like to hire recent graduates of Agnes Scott as a way to give a little something back to the school that's given me so much. Besides, I know all their graduates will be intelligent, well educated and lady-like.

Of course, Cindy sometimes made me second guess myself on that last quality. I don't mean she wasn't a lady, it's just that sometimes she didn't dress like one. I know that times have changed, but some of the clothes she wears . . .

But I couldn't get onto her too much because she'd proved her worth to me a number of times and in a number of ways. The child had pluck to go with her pretty face, a good head on her shoulders, and most important, a good heart. Despite my reservations about her manner of dressing, I was really high on her.

Lunch was very enjoyable for the three of us. David proved to be a good conversationalist and displayed a nice sense of humor, making the time pass quickly. It just reinforced my belief that he would fit into our little office very nicely. 

After he had left, I asked Cindy for her opinion of our new officemate. Although she was young, I'd found she was pretty good at sizing up people. So I was gratified when she had no reservations about him. "He seems like a genuinely nice guy, and I liked the fact that when I talked to him, he looked at my eyes, not down there," she said, gesturing at her bosom. She giggled and added, "That doesn't mean he didn't take a look, he just didn't stare."

"Oh, Cindy," I scolded. "What am I going to do with you, girl?

The next day I called Betty Mallinson to find out what the latest crisis was. As I suspected, she'd received a new proposal from Herman and his Italian-American attorney. "Miz Sara," she whined, "I don't know whether this is a good deal or not."

"Tell me what they're up to now, Betty," I said resignedly.

"Well," she said, "Herman is offering to give me the house in exchange for not paying any alimony. What do you think, Miz Sara? Should I accept?"

I just sighed.

On the face of it, Herman's new offer seemed generous. As part of the proposed property settlement, the Mallinsons had initially agreed to sell the house and split the proceeds. The mortgage on the house had long since been paid off, so the sale of the house should bring a tidy sum of cash. 

But selling a house in Atlanta in these recessionary times was no easy task. With a large inventory of repossessions and short sales still waiting to sell, existing homes were averaging over 200 days on the market. The Mallinsons' place was no exception: it had been listed for sale for some time without a single offer. As a result, the house was not nearly as valuable an asset as it had once been.

"Betty," I explained, "this would not be a good deal for you. Herman is trying to stick you with a house that won't sell so he can keep more of his income to spend on his girlfriend."

"But he told me the house was worth more than $400,000," she sniffled, "and this way it would all go to me."

"Betty, your house may have been worth $400,000 before the crash, but it isn't worth that now. More importantly, it's not worth anything to you if it won't sell. And until it does, you're still going to have to pay utilities and property taxes and a lot of other expenses. Without alimony and without a job, how are you going to do that?"

"Oh," she said, "I hadn't thought about that."

"Let me call his attorney and tell her we can't accept this proposal," I said. 

"Alright, Miz Sara," she said doubtfully, "if you think it's best."

I sighed again as I hung up the phone. Couldn't Betty see that her husband was just trying to distract her so that he could take advantage of the situation -- a situation that he had created? Then again, I guess that's why I'm in practice: to help people like Betty avoid the pitfalls that others dig for them.

Well, there was no getting around it now, so I called the number for Rosa Brindisi's office. When the secretary answered, I introduced myself and asked to speak to Miz Rosa about Mallinson vs. Mallinson. She put me on hold.

I knew Rosa Brindisi slightly; we'd met at a couple of Bar Association functions, and of course I knew her by reputation. But this would be the first time we had actually crossed swords. I was curious to know what she was like to deal with.

"Hello, Miz Sara," boomed a contralto voice with just a trace of an accent, "it's nice to speak with you again."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miz Rosa" I replied. "I know you're a busy woman, so I'll get right to the point: Herman Mallinson's proposal to substitute their home for alimony just won't fly. Betty is going to need an income to sustain her now that Herman is leaving. No judge would refuse her support under these circumstances."

I could almost hear the smile through the telephone. "Well, it was worth a shot. Herman told me he had her all excited about getting the entire equity in the house."

That didn't set too well with me, and I'm afraid I spoke a bit more sharply than I should have. "Miz Rosa, this is a straightforward case without any complications or unusual circumstances. Let's just let them split with an equitable division of the assets and be done with it. It seems to me that all these proposals and diversions are just wasting time and our clients' money."

This time she did laugh. "Why, Ms. Sara, that's why we're in business!"

Before I could express my disgust, she said, "Sorry, dear, got to run, ciao." With that she was gone. It was just as well: I wouldn't want anyone to hear what I said next.

Over the next few weeks, I felt reassured about my decision to hire David. He seemed to understand instinctively what needed to be done and plowed right ahead with the task at hand. Cindy tried to be helpful, telling him where to find various files and describing the procedures we followed for keeping records of the time spent on different cases. I felt very encouraged about the project.

One day after David had left for home, Cindy came into my office to chat, and I asked her how she thought David was doing. "Oh, I think he's doing fine, workwise," she said.

I picked up on her unspoken comment right away. "Is there something else that isn't going fine, honey?"

"Well," she mused, "I don't think he's very happy at home. He doesn't talk much about it, but I get the distinct impression that things are not too good between him and his wife."

"You're not prying into his personal life, are you?" I quickly asked.

"No ma'am," Cindy assured me, "it's just some things he's said that make me think there are problems."

"Like what, child?" I encouraged her.

"Well, you know how he told us his wife wanted to get him out of the house? Well, he told me that she wasn't kidding -- she's practically forbidden him to come home, at least during the day."

"Well," I said, "I can understand a woman wanting to have some time to herself, but I can't imagine she would ban him from his own house."

"I asked David the same thing, Miz Sarah. He told me it's because of the little business she's started. She sells lingerie out of her house."

Seeing my confusion, Cindy went on, "Apparently It was something she started about a year ago. She invites her girlfriends and their acquaintances over to buy this special French lingerie you can't get in stores. They come over to try it on, and have a big time. She told David she doesn't want him in the house because she's afraid having a man around would scare 'em off."

"I think I've heard of something like that," I said, "but I wouldn't have thought that would be a very good business. How much lingerie can you sell that way?"

"Well, I've heard about things like that, but I've never actually bought anything that way," Cindy said. "Anyway, David says Jeanine seems to be doing well, and she really likes having her own spending money. Now she's starting to hold lingerie parties to bring in even more people than the ones she knows."

"But it sounds to me like the more she time she spends on her business, the less time she has for David," Cindy concluded.

"Well, honey, I think that's a shame, but you and I need to keep out of it. That's between David and Jeanine; they don't need a couple of strangers butting in where they're not welcome," I said sternly.

"Yessum," she said.

The next week Betty Mallinson called and wanted to meet with me right away about her husband's latest proposal. Ever since my meeting with Rosa Brindisi, I'd been certain that something new would be coming down the pike. I quickly learned that my fears had been well founded.

"He's done it again, Miz Sara!" Betty moaned. "Now he's trying to make me pay rent!"

I had thought we had put the issue of the house behind us after my last run-in with Ms. Rosa. I was wrong. When I looked at Herman's latest proposal, I could easily understand why Betty was so upset. "That is so like her," I fumed. 

In a nutshell, what Rosa and Herman had now cooked up was a proposal to charge Betty rent to stay in her own home. I was incensed: "He moves out in order to pursue another woman, leaving his wife in the lurch. Now he wants Betty to pay him rent until the house is sold? How is that fair?"

Poor Betty, of course, was in a dither. "I just don't understand, Miz Sarah. He was the one who left me to go have his fling with that little floozy, and now it's almost like I'm being punished for what he's done."

"I think you're absolutely right, Betty," I assured her. "There's no call for him to try to gouge you this way. If you're OK with it, I'm going to go back and see his attorney again and try to reason with her."

Betty was very grateful and readily gave her consent.

I picked up the phone and called Rosa Brindisi's office. When I reached them, I was told that Mrs. Brindisi was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. "Probably having a plate of pasta in her office," I thought snidely to myself.

"I understand, honey," I told the secretary. "Could you check Miz Rosa's calendar to see if she has any time free to discuss the Mallinson case?"

We settled on a time and date, and I agreed to make the trip to her office. "Guess I'll go have to face the spider in her lair," I thought. Then I chided myself, "Shame on you, Sarah Cannon. A good Christian woman shouldn't be having such uncharitable thoughts. You'd better not miss church this Sunday -- you need a refresher."

That afternoon, I asked David to see me before he left for the day so I could get an update on how the computerization project was going. He talked to me about his plan of action and the necessary steps to make a smooth transition to the new system. We had a good talk about everything, and he assured me that the project was going well. "And how about you, David, is everything going well for you?"

"I'm really enjoying working here, Miz Sara. This kind of work suits me well, and I'm extremely grateful to have the job. Besides, you and Cindy have been so nice to me I almost hate to go home in the afternoons."

I knew he was trying to make a little joke, but once again I thought I detected a wry note in his voice.

"David, I don't mean to pry, but is everything going OK between you and Jeanine?" I asked gently.

His face darkened, and at first I thought I had made him angry. But then he heaved a sigh and began to speak in a low voice. "No, Miz Sara, things are not OK between us. Over the past year or so, Jeanine has become cold and distant to me. She's started this little business . . ."

I interrupted him, "Yes, Cindy told me about her home lingerie sales."

"Oh. Well anyway," he continued, "it's like her little business is all she's interested in anymore. For all practical purposes, she and I are living separate lives." He blushed a little and went on, "Our marital relations have pretty well fallen away to nothing; if I didn't come home at all, I don't think she'd be that upset."

"Oh, David," I said, "I'm so sorry to hear this. Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"Miz Sara," he said, "when I came home early from work the day I was laid off, Jeanine practically ordered me out of the house. She said I was going to interrupt one of her sales. I was already pretty blue about losing my job so you can imagine how I felt after that. I wound up at a tavern drinking beer the rest of the afternoon. And it's gone downhill from there. It's as though she wants me around as little as possible. Even when I have to be home during the day, she wants to know exactly when I'm coming and how soon before I leave."


Miz Sara Faces a Tough Opponent



He sat up and tried to pull himself together. "But I didn't mean to burden you with my problems, Miz Sara. I really do love working with you and Cindy."

"David," I said, "I hate it that your marriage is going through such a rough patch. If there's anything I can do, or if you just want to talk about what's going on at any time, I promise you it's no burden."

He thanked me and slowly headed out the door to his car.

I was genuinely distressed about David's situation, but there was nothing I could do but offer him friendship and understanding. 

I didn't have time to think any further about David just then because the next day was my appointment with Rosa Brindisi to discuss the Mallinsons' case. I needed to review their latest proposal and decide on my strategy. 

At the appointed time the next day, I got in my car and drove up to Buckhead, where Rosa had her law office. Many years ago, Buckhead was a beautiful suburb of Atlanta. While there are still gracious homes and tree-filled yards in the northern sections, Buckhead's core has become a major business district filled with shopping malls and shiny glass-covered office towers. Rosa's office was in one of those high-rises. At least it had inside parking so my car wouldn't get too hot while I went to my appointment.

When I got to her floor, I was quickly ushered into Rosa's office. She was talking on the phone when I entered; she muffled the handset, and said, "This will just take a minute," and went back to her conversation. While she talked, I took the opportunity to look her over. She had her long black hair up in a bun, and was wearing one of her signature red dresses. Today's model looked to be the color of marinara sauce. 

I was amused to watch her talking. She used her hands so much to carry on her conversation it's a wonder she didn't drop the phone.

When she finally finished her call, she hung up and said, "Sorry, dear, that took longer than I expected. I hope you don't mind meeting here; I thought it would be easier for us."

I figured Rosa wanted the meeting to be held in her office so she could have the advantage of talking from behind her imposing wooden desk. Rosa is a large woman, but rather short. I could see that both her chair and desk were elevated to enable her to look down on her guests. It didn't bother me.

She quickly shifted into negotiating mode, pulling out a fresh copy of the most recent proposal she and Herman had made to Betty. "My client feels that since Mrs. Mallinson will be able to continue to enjoy the benefits of living in their home while my client will not, it is only fair that she pay my client a reasonable monthly rent until such time as the house can be sold and the proceeds divided," Rosa essayed.

"I would only note," I replied mildly, "that Mr. Mallinson is not enjoying the benefits of living in their home because he was the one who made the decision to depart and take up residence elsewhere."

I could see Rosa had anticipated that objection and had her rebuttal prepared, so I quickly continued, "Nevertheless, Mrs. Mallinson is perfectly willing to accept your client's proposal."

My unexpected acquiescence so surprised Rosa that the air whooshed from her lungs like a bellows. Clearly, she had not expected such a response and she wasn't prepared for a change in direction. As she struggled to regroup, I pressed my advantage.

"However," I said, "if my client is to become a tenant in her own home, we think it is only fair that her new landlord should pay for the expense of maintaining the property. We would point out that having Mrs. Mallinson on site to monitor and ensure the proper operation of the heating, cooling and water heating systems is very much to Mr. Mallinson's advantage. The failure of even one of these systems would surely hurt any chance of ever being able to sell the property. She certainly deserves compensation for providing such services."

"Moreover," I continued, again preempting Rosa, "having Mrs. Mallinson in the house to maintain it and keep it tidy and ready for showing to prospective buyers is a valuable service. Were Mr. Mallinson to have to contract for such services on the open market, I am sure he would find them costly indeed."

Rosa began to sputter, but before she could respond I had one more point to add. "Finally, we note with dismay that there have been several break-ins in the Mallinsons' neighborhood. Having someone in the house providing ongoing security monitoring is another valuable service that Mrs. Mallinson is willing to provide for appropriate remuneration."

I then handed Rosa a sheet of figures. "As you can see, there are quite a number of items associated with the proper maintenance of the property, and we have assessed the fair market value of providing such services. In fact, Mrs. Mallinson is already providing many of these services in conjunction with her presence at the said property, and is perfectly willing to continue to do so -- assuming she receives adequate compensation. Accordingly, we will expect Mr. Mallinson to offset the rent he is proposing to charge by the total value of these services."

Rosa looked at the sheet and began to fume. "Now wait a minute, Miz Sara, this is outrageous. The cost of all these services comes to more than the rent my client is proposing on the house!"

"Indeed they do," I replied, "but my client is a generous woman. She is perfectly willing to forego these charges if your client will drop his demand for rent. Of course, if he is unwilling to do so, we can place both proposals before the court and allow the judge to decide what is fair."

Rosa gazed at me with a calculating look for a minute, and then relaxed. "Very shrewd of you, Miz Sarah, I hadn't expected that. Very well, given all these considerations, I think my client will be willing to forego charging rent to Mrs. Mallinson and call it even."

I reached over to shake her hand, and said sincerely, "I'm so glad to hear it, Rosa. Divorce is always a painful process. If you and I can help the two of them get through it without additional strife, I think it's so much better for everyone."

She shook her head and smiled in amusement at my words. I know she thought I was naïve.

"On a different topic," she said, watching me closely, "am I correct that David Chesterfield is currently working for you?"

Suddenly I was back on my guard. "Now how did she know that?" I wondered.

"As a matter of fact he is, Miz Rosa. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's no matter," she said breezily. "Ciao, Signora Cannon."

I fretted about that the whole way back to Virginia Highland.

When I got back to my office, the day was almost over. As I walked in the foyer, I could see David putting papers away in his desk drawers and shutting down his computer, preparing to leave. Cindy, however, seemed to be fidgeting at her desk and, when David finally left, she came to my office door.

"Come in, honey. What is it? Is something bothering you?" I asked.

"Miz Sara, I did something today on the spur of the moment, and now it's bothering me. I hope I haven't done something wrong."

"Oh, dear," I thought, "What has she been up to?" If you knew Cindy, you'd know she has an impulsive streak in her. "You can tell me about it," I encouraged.

"Miz Sara, I really like David. He seems like such a nice guy and he's easy to talk to," Cindy began, "and it's clear that he's so unhappy."

"Now, Cindy," I said sternly, "you haven't taken a shine to him, have you? He's a married man, honey!"

"No, no, Miz Sara," she protested hastily. "I mean I really do like him, but we're just friends."

I would have felt more reassured if she had looked me in the eye as she said that. But I kept my fears to myself and encouraged her to go on with her story. "So what was it you did, honey?"

"Well, Miz Sarah, it just seemed so strange to me that his wife wants him out of the house every day. I know he told you about the lingerie sales, but that just didn't make any sense to me. I mean, Mrs. Chesterfield couldn't have customers over there every day, could she?"

"I have to agree," I said, "it sounded odd to me too," I said.

"Exactly," Cindy nodded. "So I got curious and -- well -- rather than going to lunch today, I drove out to their house."

I was astonished. "Cindy, I don't think that was a good idea. You really have no right to spy on Mrs. Chesterfield. If David were to find out, I expect he'd be quite upset."

"I know, Miz Sara, I know. I kept telling myself that all the way out to their house. In fact, I was just about to turn around and head back here when the strangest thing happened," Cindy said. "Just as I pulled onto their street, I saw a car pull up to the curb in front of their house and two men got out. They went up to the door and knocked. Some guy inside opened the door and spoke to them; then he let them into the house. I thought Mrs. Chesterfield was selling lingerie to ladies!" she protested. 

I thought that seemed strange as well, but I didn't want to encourage Cindy's overactive imagination. "Perhaps the men were just there to pick up some things their wives had ordered," I offered.

"Maybe," she said doubtfully, "but that's not the end of it, Miz Sara. When I saw that happen, I knew I had to take a look for myself."

"You didn't, Cindy," I gasped.

"Oh yes I did," she replied with a grin. "I marched right up to the door and knocked. When it opened, the same man was standing there. He was big, as big as a nightclub bouncer, and his head was shaved. To be honest, I was a little bit frightened and I just stood there. Anyway, he asked me what I wanted and I told him I was there for the lingerie party."

"Miz Sara, he looked me up and down like a dog looks at a steak, and then he asked 'Are you one of the girls?' I didn't know what he meant, so I just told him no, I had heard about all the pretty things Mrs. Chesterfield had to sell and wanted to come to the party to see them. He got real sniffy with me and said, 'This party is by invitation only,' and he told me I had to leave." 

Cindy was clearly indignant at the reception she had received.

"I tried to persuade him to let me in, but he just closed the door in my face. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I came on back to work," she concluded. "Miz Sara, I hope I didn't cause a problem for David. But I think something funny is going on over there, and I don't want him to get in trouble."

I also was having bad feelings about what Cindy had seen, and I agreed with her concern for David. A lot of things just didn't seem to square with what all of us had been told was happening. But I didn't want my assistant running off trying to play detective again, so I told her, "I don't rightly know what to make of it, Cindy, but I don't think we should do anything just yet. I'd like to think everything over for a day or two before I jump to any conclusions."

"But I do know one thing for sure: you absolutely cannot say a word to David. Having you gallivanting out to his house and making wild accusations about the goings on there would upset him no end." I tried to be as firm as I could to make Cindy understand.

She seemed subdued. "Yessum," she promised.

The next morning, I met with Betty Mallinson to let her know that Herman was dropping his demand that she pay him rent to live in her own house. She was grateful to have one problem solved, but she was still bitter about the prospective divorce. 

"I'm sorry," I told her, "there's nothing anyone can do to prevent it if Herman wants to end your marriage. All I can do is protect you as best I can legally.

"I know, Miz Sara, and I appreciate all you've done for me already. I just feel like a fool -- you know, the woman left behind."

"Betty," I told her, "I'm going to make a prediction to you: somewhere down the road you're going to get the last laugh. When an older man runs off with a younger woman, in the majority of cases it doesn't last. He can't keep up with her and she gets tired of him. If that happens in Herman's case, you may well get an opportunity to decide whether you want to take him back or let him go."

Betty clearly could see the irony of the situation if my prediction came true. I think it made her feel a little better to think about the shoe being on the other foot some day. It was scant consolation, but sometimes that's all you get.

It was a few days later that Cindy, David and I were all in the office when the doorbell rang. Cindy went to get it, so I paid it no nevermind, but she came into my office a few minutes later with tears running down her face.

"What is it, child?" I asked in alarm. "What's happened?"

"Oh, Miz Sara, it's David. He's so upset: his wife is suing him for divorce!" With that, she handed me the packet the process server had just given to our friend and colleague.

I looked the paperwork over quickly. For the most part it was a standard petition for divorce using irreconcilable differences as the grounds for the action. But I also saw two things that were definitely out of the ordinary. First, attached to the envelope was a note to David from Jeanine telling him not to come home. "Our marriage is over," she had written, "I don't want to see you again." 

"That was harsh," I thought.

The second surprise was even bigger: a note to me! Written in a florid scrawl, the note said "We meet again, Signora Cannon," and it was signed, of course, by Rosa Brindisi. It seems that she was representing Jeanine Chesterfield.

I must confess I let my emotions get the better of me for a minute. On the one hand, I was deeply saddened for David. I'd come to like him a great deal in the weeks he'd been working for me, and I hated to see his marriage come to such a bitter end. At the same time, I was deeply offended that Rosa Brindisi had seen fit to have David served in my own office. No doubt she was miffed at the way I'd been able to ward off her little ploys in the Mallinsons' case, and she'd chosen this means to show me up.

All along I had scrupulously avoided inserting myself into David's affairs. But it now appeared that I was going to be thrust into the middle of things whether or not I wanted to be. Very well then, as great Caesar said, "The die is cast." 

The first thing I did was to go into my office and call a friend to see if he could give me any time. When he agreed, I went back out to find Cindy and David.

"David," I said, "assuming you want me, I'll be glad to handle your case for you."

He was quick to agree.

"Cindy," I went on, "I have to go do a little investigating on my own this afternoon. I'd like you and David to take care of things here in the office while I'm out. And David, you'll need to find a place to stay tonight. Tomorrow, we'll have a little council of war first thing in the morning. But until then, I want you to promise me you won't try to make any contact with Jeanine. Don't call her, and for heaven's sake don't go out to your home. Cindy, that goes for you too."

"Yessum," they both replied with solemn looks.

The next morning, I asked the two of them to come into my office. When David and Cindy were seated on the settee, I took the rocking chair and began to speak. "I am not a happy woman. I am unhappy that Jeanine has been treating David so unkindly, and I do not appreciate her using me as a means to keep David out of their house. I do not appreciate the fact that Jeanine used the opportunity created by my offer of employment to David to plan her divorce. Finally, I am not happy that Rosa Brindisi has used this unfortunate situation as an opportunity to try to embarrass me in my own office."

I took a deep breath. "I don't believe in meddling in other people's affairs. While I have been distressed that David was suffering, I felt that his relationship with his wife was a personal matter and none of our business. But after everything that's happened, I think Jeanine and Miz Rosa have made it our business, and it's time we started to get some answers."

"The very first time I met Jeanine, she was complaining about wanting to get David out of the house during the day. David, you've told us that she's been trying to keep you away for at least the last year. When she filed for divorce, she went out of her way to tell you to stay away from home."

"And that's not all." I turned to David. "Last week, David, our Cindy got so curious that she got the notion to play detective. (David looked at Cindy quizzically and she blushed.) She made a little trip out to your house. Cindy, would you please tell David what you observed?"

Cindy quickly recounted the details of her little scouting expedition, and David's face darkened as he listened. When she had finished, he turned to me. "Miz Sara, I don't know what it all means, but I don't like the sound of that at all. If you'd told me about this a month ago, I would have been sure there was a good reason for all these goings on. But after all that's happened, I can't help but think that whatever is taking place at my house, there's a bad reason behind it."

"I agree," I told him. "It seems as though all the mysterious activity going on centers around your house. I think it's time we paid Jeanine Chesterfield a visit to see for ourselves what's going on out there."

I thought for a minute, and then asked, "David, am I correct that you're listed as co-owner on the deed to your house?"

"Yes, Miz Sara," he confirmed, "Jeanine and I are both listed on the deed."

"Very well, then, I think it's time the homeowner made an inspection of his property," I told him.

"But what about her note telling me not to come home again?" he asked.

"I understand that those are her wishes," I said firmly, "but you have every bit as much right to be in that home as she does. You don't have to have an invitation; in fact, it's probably better that she's not expecting you."

"Now, it seems to me that noon time is when things seem to be going on over there, so let's get an early lunch and then we'll go for a drive."

There are a number of restaurants around the intersection of Virginia and Highland, so I asked Cindy to run out and get us some sandwiches. It didn't take long because we were early, so she came back in no time with lunch for the three of us. The sandwiches were good, but none of us finished our food -- I think we were all too nervous.

By the time we were done, it was a little after noon, and the three of us piled into my car, since it was the largest. I drive an old Buick LeSabre, and even though they don't make them any more, that's not a good reason to give up a car that still runs pretty good. Besides, I'm comfortable driving it. 

We headed out to David and Jeanine's neighborhood. They lived in an area that had been in decline for a number of years but was now making a bit of a comeback. Many of the homes had a lot of character but were somewhat rundown. David and Jeanine had bought a big old two-story home that they'd planned to refurbish. 

It was a hot summer day and there was little activity on the suburban streets. As we approached David's house, we decided to drive around the block first to try to get an idea of what might be going on. We saw several cars parked on the street in front of the house, but we didn't see anyone entering or leaving.

There was an alley running behind all the homes on his street, and David suggested we drive back there. When we drove through the alley, we still couldn't see anything going on, so we parked behind David's house. After a brief discussion, we all climbed out of the car and made our way toward the back of the house. The back yard was filled with old trees and bushes, so we could approach the house without having to worry about being spotted. It made me think of playing cowboys and Indians as a child so many years ago.

The back of the house featured a large screened-in porch. We could see there was no one back there, nor was there anyone in the kitchen which opened onto the porch. My heart was pounding and I thought, "I'm too old for these kinds of games." Nevertheless, we climbed the three wooden steps up to the porch and cautiously opened the door. Everyone flinched when the hinges on the screen door squeaked, but we needn't have worried. From the porch we could now hear music playing loud enough inside to drown out any noise we might make.




Miz Sara Faces a Tough Opponent



"What is going on in there?" David whispered.

I turned to Cindy. "Did you bring your camera, dear?" 

"Yessum," she confirmed.

"OK, then here's what I think we should do. David, since you're the homeowner, you have a perfect right to enter your own home, even if Jeanine doesn't like it. Nevertheless, it would be a lot better if you can do so without being seen. Just step inside, have a quick look around, and then come back and let us know what's going on."

"I understand, Miz Sara," he said grimly.

Extracting his key from his pocket, he carefully unlocked the back door and quietly let himself into the kitchen. Then, he stepped down the hall and out of sight, and Cindy and I spent what seemed like an eternity waiting for him to reappear.

After long minutes, David reappeared at the back door and stepped out onto the porch. His face was pale, and he motioned us out into the yard so we could talk freely.

"I can't believe it, I just can't believe it," he kept repeating.

"What did you see?" Cindy urged him.

He looked at us with a stunned expression. "That loud music seemed to muffle everything, so at first I thought there was nobody around. Then I heard noises coming from the den, so I tiptoed down the hall there and peeked around the corner. There were two couples in there, and they were" -- here he looked at me uncomfortably -- "um, making love!"

Cindy was agog. "Who were they? Was it your wife?"

David looked at us helplessly. "I've never seen any of them before in my life!"

"So where was Jeanine?" I asked him.

"I never saw her. Maybe she's upstairs," he replied.

"Come on," Cindy urged, "let's go up there and see."

"Hold it. Just hold on a minute," I said firmly. "Cindy, let me borrow your cellphone." When she gave it to me, I stepped away and made a quick call. After speaking for a couple of minutes, I hung up, returned to the two of them and handed the phone back to her. Both of them stared at me curiously, but we didn't have time for explanations.

"David," I whispered urgently, "can you slip back inside and open the front door? When you've done that, come right back."

He nodded his agreement and again slipped inside and out of sight. 

In seconds he was back. "Alright, Miz Sara, I opened the front door and unlatched the screen door. I don't think anybody heard or saw me. I guess they were too busy, er, doing other things."

"Alright," I said to the two of them, "I think it's time for us to check out the upstairs part of the house. Cindy, be sure to have your camera ready."

"Just a minute, Miz Sara," David spoke up. "Let me go up there alone and I'll come back and tell you what I see."

My dander was up now. "No," I said, "they've chosen to drag all of us into this, and we're all going to find out what's going on. Besides, we need Cindy to get pictures of whatever is going on, and I want to make sure you don't do something rash. We all go together."

I hoped I was doing the right thing.

David was surprised that I would want to venture in, but he was too eager to find out what was going on in his home to argue with me. He set his jaw, and the three of us went back into the house. The music was still playing, but the moans and panting emanating from the den were now loud enough to let us know that the activities he'd witnessed earlier were still in full swing.

Stepping slowly and carefully to avoid making any noise, David led us upstairs. "Goodness," I thought as I trudged behind him, "the high ceilings in these old places sure do make for some tall staircases."

On the second-floor landing, we found a hallway with several doors leading to rooms off to the side. It was a good thing David was there to guide us. He led us down the hall to the master bedroom. The door was ajar, and he carefully eased it open. 

We needn't have bothered to be so stealthy; it would have taken a fire alarm to interrupt the scene before us. Jeanine was lying on the bed with a scarf covering her eyes. She was naked, with her hands and feet spread-eagled and tied to the opposite ends of the bedstead. She was moaning continuously, and, as we listened, we gradually began to make out her words over the music playing throughout the house. "Oh, yes, yes," she kept repeating, "right there. Yes, keep doing that, don't stop, don't stop."

Sprawled between her widespread legs was a large man with shaven head. He too was completely naked, and he was performing oral sex on Jeanine with great diligence. Her thighs were quivering around his head; I doubted if he could hear anything at that point.

Cindy, who had been taking pictures ever since the door swung open, turned to us and whispered, "That's the same man I saw before, the one who told me to go away."

David's face was taut in anger, and I had to grip his arm tightly to keep him from entering the room or making any noise. I knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself much longer. 

I whispered to him, "I know you want to confront her, David, and I think now is the time to do that." I gripped his arm again before he could move. "But promise me you won't touch her," I added urgently. He nodded and unclenched his fists.

With grim determination, he stepped into the room as Cindy and I stood behind him in the doorway. The pair on the bed was so lost in their carnal play that he was able to walk up beside the bed and stand next to them without their even noticing. Suddenly, he leaned over and yanked the cloth off his wife's eyes. As she blinked, trying to clear her vision, he yelled in a loud voice, "So this is what you do when I'm at work!"

She screamed in fear and surprise and began to struggle against the ropes that held her, but to no avail. Meanwhile, her burly lover had leapt away from the bed in shock at seeing a man standing over him. He struggled to pull on his underwear -- I think most men feel pretty vulnerable with their privates uncovered. Once he had pulled his briefs on he seemed to regain a measure of confidence. He stood up straight and began to yell angrily, "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

Jeanine continued to struggle unsuccessfully with her bondage, but she paused to cry out, "He's my husband." Then she turned her head to David, who was standing there with his arms crossed and a furious expression on his face, and told him, "I can explain all this, David. It's not what you think."

At that point, she caught a glimpse of Cindy and me standing by the doorway. She started to speak, and then did a double-take as she recognized me. "Miz Sara! My God, what are you doing here?" With that she turned to David and began to beg him to cover her body, which was still exposed to all of us. David made no move to do so.

The bald-headed fellow began to curse us. "Get the fuck out of here! If you don't get out right now, I'll throw you out." 

Looking at his biceps, I had no doubt that he was fully capable of doing just that. But before he could act on his threat, there was a commotion from below, followed by footsteps running up the stairs. A uniformed policeman pushed past Cindy and me and strode into the room. Pointing at the big man and Jeanine, he said, "The two of you are under arrest for operating a house of prostitution."

David gasped when he heard this, and Jeanine, bound to the bed, began to rant and weep. But her heavy-set lover was not to be cowed. "You have no right to bust in here like this. This is a private residence. You can't come into this woman's home without a search warrant."

The officer looked at him with contempt. "We don't need a search warrant," he said coolly. "The owner of the house invited us in."

Without further ado, the officer began to cuff the big man. Meanwhile, I took pity on Jeanine and motioned Cindy to help untie her while I covered her with a robe that had been lying at the foot of the bed. When Jeanine was free, Cindy helped her slip on the robe; then David's wife was also handcuffed and led down the stairs. All this time, David had not moved a muscle to help her. I couldn't blame him.

We all walked downstairs just in time to see the four participants in the orgy downstairs being led away to a waiting police car. Jeanine and her bouncer friend followed. The police officer we'd seen earlier was waiting for us. "This was quite a little operation she had going on here, Miz Sara" he said. "Apparently, she and her boyfriend were offering businessmen the opportunity for a little noontime recreation."

He waved a bound notebook in front of us. "It's all in here," he said, "names, dates and payments. More than enough to get a conviction." He grinned, "It kinda gives a whole new meaning to the 'business man's lunch.'" 

After the police left, we helped David lock up his house. "I know the name of a good cleaning service," I told him. "They can have everything disinfected and cleaned for you."

We returned to the car and began the drive back to my office. David maintained a stony silence, but Cindy was bubbling over with questions. "How did you know what was going on here, Miz Sara?"

"I didn't, honey," I told her, "but everything you and David told me made me very suspicious. The day before we had our little council of war, I decided to call on an old friend on the Atlanta police force and have a chat with him. He told me the police had had several reports from the local Neighborhood Watch in the area about unfamiliar cars on the street and strangers coming and going at the house during the day. They had begun to suspect the possibility of drug trade, but didn't have enough grounds for a search warrant."

"When I told him what Cindy had observed earlier, that raised his suspicions about the house being used for prostitution. Then I let him know that we were planning to pay a visit. If we found anything that would confirm his suspicions, I promised that I would call him. I also assured him there would be no need for a warrant because the owner of the house would invite them to come in and see for themselves. After David saw what was going on in the den, I let my friend know what was going on and told him his officers were welcome to come in and see for themselves."

"But who was that big guy -- you know, the bouncer?" Cindy wanted to know.

"I couldn't tell you, honey, but I suspect he was Jeanine's partner in the whole business -- in addition to being her lover," I said. David glowered at that. I knew he was still hurt and angry.

Amazingly, considering all we'd been through, it was only mid-afternoon when we got back to the office. We were all still keyed up from everything that had happened, so I thought I'd try my luck with one more score I had to settle. I asked Cindy to print me copies of the shots of Jeanine and her boyfriend, as well as those of her being led off in handcuffs by the police. While she was doing that, I went to my computer and printed out a petition with the appropriate names. Then I called Rosa Brindisi's office and asked if there was any possibility I could come by her office to see her about Chesterfield vs. Chesterfield. 

Rosa's secretary put me on hold and went to check. She quickly returned to say that Ms. Brindisi would be delighted to see me last thing in the day. "I bet she can't wait to lord it over me about serving David in my own office," I thought to myself, with a grim smile.

I told Cindy and David what I was planning to do, and both of them wanted to stick around to hear the outcome. I got back in my car and headed for Rosa's office. I hate driving in Atlanta, especially during rush hour, but today I was willing to make an exception.

When I got to Rosa's Buckhead office, I didn't have to wait to see the great attorney this time. Her secretary ushered me in and sat me in the chair at the foot of Rosa's imposing desk. "She probably thinks of it as her throne," I thought.

Bedecked in a pomodoro red blouse and a black skirt, Rosa was almost chortling in her pleasure at having me appear before her. She looked at me like I was a plate of veal marsala waiting to be eaten. "Well, Miz Sara, it looks like we got to cross swords again sooner than you expected. Do you have some more tricks in your bag for me this time?" she chuckled.

I smiled at her and replied, "No tricks this time, Miz Rosa, just a question."

She sat there smugly, waiting for me to proceed, so I asked, "I know you practice family law, but have you recently started to handle criminal defense as well?"

Rosa frowned impatiently, "No, of course not. Why would you ask that?"

"Have you spoken with your client, Mrs. Chesterfield, today, by any chance?" I went on.

"No, not since yesterday. What's all this about, Miz Sara? Why all these silly questions?"

"Well," I said, "if you need to reach her for anything, you'll have to contact her at the Atlanta City Detention Center, where she's being held on prostitution charges." With that, I dropped some of Cindy's photos on her desk. They clearly showed Jeanine wrapped in her robe with her hands cuffed behind her back, being led out the door by a policeman.

Rosa gasped in shock; for once the woman was speechless.

"But don't worry, Rosa, even though you don't do criminal defense, Mrs. Chesterfield will still need your services. My client, Mr. David Chesterfield, is counter-suing his wife for divorce. But his suit is not based on irreconcilable differences." Then I dropped the petition I'd just prepared onto Rosa's big desk. Clipped to the front was a photograph of Jeanine bound to the bed, caught in the act of committing adultery with her lover.

I turned and headed for the door of her office. As I was leaving, I turned back and waved to her and said, "Ciao, Miz Rosa."

She was still sitting there, her mouth agape at the photos in front of her.

When I returned to my office, David and Cindy were still there. They couldn't wait to hear what had happened, and took great delight when I described my encounter with Rosa. I think Cindy had picked up on my feelings about the "Atomic Italian," and I know that David still resented being served with Jeanine's divorce petition. 

Their laughter at Rosa Brindisi's befuddlement helped to raise everyone's spirits after such a harrowing day, but I could tell that David would need a long time to heal. "Are you going to be all right?" I asked him. But before he could respond, Cindy grabbed his arm and held him close to her as she walked him toward the door. "Don't worry about David, Miz Sara, I think I can get his spirits up."

I could only imagine.