Lawyer for the Dog Read Free Page B

almost touching. They could be a couple, though I know Henry’s at least a decade younger. They both have the same impeccable rich-Southern-White-Protestant taste in clothes and trim, well-maintained bodies.
    At last the court reporter opens the door behind the bench. “All rise,” she says. Joe follows close behind in his rumpled black robe. He once told me how much he hates the robe. What he really means is that he hates his job. He thought it would be a stepping-stone to a judgeship in the big court. It wasn’t. His family connections won’t be enough anymore, and he dreads the politicking and the necessary self-promotion.
    â€œPlease be seated,” Joe says. He opens the file, nods to the court reporter. “Motion hearing in the case of Maryann S. Hart v. Russell B. Hart. Actually, two motions. Mrs. Hart requests a reconsideration of the court’s temporary order insofar as it gives her possession of the residence on Sullivan’s Island, and Mr. Hart moves for temporary custody of the dog, who … ah … which … who is now, ah, in Mrs. Hart’s possession. The parties have both submitted affidavits in support of their positions.”
    Henry Swinton rises as quickly as pomposity will allow. “Your honor, it’s my client’s position that the motion for custody of the dog should be dismissed as a matter of law. A dog is not—”
    Judge Baynard has anticipated this. “We’ll hear Mrs. Hart’s motion first, since it was filed first. Mr. Swinton, please tell me why it is necessary—pending a trial of this case—for your client to move out of the Sullivan’s Island house into the home downtown. As I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, the court is not inclined to modify temporary orders.”
    â€œYour honor, as you know, Mrs. Hart’s decision to separate was not made without a great deal of—”
    â€œMr. Swinton, tell me what’s changed here. A month ago your client said she preferred to stay in the beach house until trial.”
    â€œYessir, that was our position, but Mrs. Hart has found it too painful”—at this point Swinton pats his client’s shoulder as she dabs her eyes with a tissue—“to live in the house that was the scene of Mr. Hart’s adulterous relationship.”
    Michelle Marvel rockets upward, her short skirt showing off her legs in all their glory. “My client absolutely denies any such conduct,” she shouts, “and further, Mrs. Hart had already obtained the detective’s report—which, by the way, certainly doesn’t establish adultery—before the first hearing in this case, when she asked for temporary possession of the beach house.”
    â€œI’m not deaf, Ms. Marvel,” Joe says, “and nobody in this room is deaf. Now,” he nods toward Henry Swinton, “I’m waiting for you to tell me why your client can’t make herself happy—not forever, mind you, but only until a trial in this case—in a nice house on the front beach in one of the best communities on the East Coast.”
    â€œJudge,” Henry Swinton perseveres, “Mr. Hart’s paramour lives next door to the Sullivan’s Island home. Under the circumstances, Mrs. Hart feels—”
    A protest rumbles up through Rusty Hart’s throat and explodes into the air. “Paramour? That girl’s not my paramour , for God’s sake. She’s just a friend. But while we’re on the subject, why don’t you ask my wife what she does when she disappears for hours at—”
    Judge Baynard cuts him off, but kindly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to let your lawyer do the talking, Mr. Hart. Mr. Swinton, anything else?”
    â€œAs your honor will see from my client’s affidavit, she also feels that Mr. Hart isn’t able to manage the housekeeping at the downtown house. Friends have reported that