Flinch Factor, The Read Free Page A

bee-atch! What do you say to that?”
    â€œI am quite certain that at the time we responded to Ms. Gold’s letter my client was busy on that date. As we all know, appointments change, meetings get cancelled, schedules free up at the last moment. Those things happen.”
    â€œNot here, Mr. Crane. Your motion is denied.”
    The judge turned to me. “When do you want the deposition?”
    â€œNext Friday. Starting at ten a.m.”
    â€œFriday it is. Draft me an order.”
    â€œYour Honor,” Crane said, anger in voice, “my client has a training schedule. He needs to get his miles in that day.”
    â€œTell him to bring his bike to the depo, Mr. Crane. He can pedal himself out of there as soon as Ms. Gold says she has no further questions.” He paused, a smile forming. “By the way, does your guy wear one of those goofy outfits when he goes biking?”
    Crane frowned. “Goofy outfits?”
    â€œYou know what I mean. Those little tight Spandex shorts.”
    â€œI would assume that he wears the accepted cycling attire, Your Honor, including bicycle shorts.”
    â€œIs he going to wear those things around Miss Gold?”
    Crane glanced over at me, irritated. “If he has to, he will. She’s a big girl.”
    The judge laughed. “Your client better be the big one. If he’s going to be parading around in mixed company in a pair of tights, I hope for his sake he can fill them out, if you know what I mean.”
    Crane gazed at the judge, his jaw clenched.
    â€œWell, Counselor?”
    â€œI can assure the Court and Ms. Gold that Mr. Rubenstein fills his shorts most impressively.”
    The judge widened his eyes and looked at me. “My, my. What do you make of that claim, Miss Gold?”
    â€œIf anyone would know, Your Honor, it would be Mr. Crane.”
    The judge exploded into laughter. “Bull’s-eye!”
    He stood, still laughing, and headed toward the door to his chambers.
    Pausing, he turned back to us.
    â€œDraft me an order, Miss Gold.”
    He glanced at his long-suffering court reporter. “Court is in recess, Lois.”
    He turned back to us. “I’m starting to feel the public’s need to know.” He raised his eyebrows. “This one might be ready for prime time.”
    He made a pistol with his hand, took aim at us, and said, “See you later, alligator.”
    I wrote out the order and waited in the courtroom while his clerk walked it into the judge’s chamber for his signature and then made copies for the lawyers. It took about ten minutes, which I devoted to an internal monologue of complaints to my mother for getting me involved in this Frankenstein case. Although fairness and decency were on my clients’ side, the rule of law was not—and the rule of law is what counts, even in the courtroom of Judge Flinch.
    Flinch’s last comment—about the public’s need to know and the case’s almost-ready-for-prime-time status—raised the prospect of yet another unwelcome complication, namely, television coverage. While Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Louis Brandeis, and Learned Hand might top the list of exemplars for most judges, Howard Flinch’s two idols are Lance Ito and Judy “Judge Judy” Scheindlin. He has signed photos of each framed and hanging on the wall of his chambers. A framed custom-made bumper sticker above his desk reads “WWJJD?”—which stands for “What would Judge Judy do?” While others might quote Confucius or Mark Twain, Flinch preferred to preface his profundities with a reference to the presiding judge in the OJ Simpson case, as in: “Ah, yes, as Judge Ito would say,…”
    About once a year over the past decade—mostly for trials but sometimes for hearings—Judge Flinch has unilaterally declared that the public’s “sacred right of access” trumped local court rules and required that his