Sprung At Last

I go to The Lawyer’s office the day after the other side agrees to the final terms, and sign the papers. My lawyer’s office only has two people – him and the paralegal – and they’re both visibly upset when I get there.

Not about me, though. Another case has gone very wrong. The Lawyer is very upset for what is about to happen to this other client, a very nice lady, he tells me.

I sign the papers and inquire when I have to deliver this check. I assume they will send the check over with my signed papers; I’d looked into taking out a loan and the check will take about two weeks.

I’m amazed they didn’t keep fighting, I say, but I think he must have run out of money for legal fees. It’s the only thing that makes sense: he’s never tired of fighting, but the lawyers will only fight for you when paid to do so.

Oh, says The Lawyer. I know that check annoys you. Would you like it to annoy him more?

Is that possible, I ask.

Make the check out to his name and the lawyer’s name, he tells me.

I chuckle, and suddenly, look forward to writing this check.

I go home to wait for the loan to come through, which it does, and it is sitting on my desk when, a week later, I receive an email from the paralegal: You are divorced.

Apparently I have been divorced for a week.

And so it was that thirteen months after he walked out the door, the divorce ended, as abruptly and unexpectedly as the marriage did.

A few days after the letter from The Departed’s lawyer, the paralegal emails me.

The Lawyer is swamped, she says, but I told him about the letter and his reply was, Not a chance. That was not the agreement.

Don’t worry, she tells me.

We trade a few emails about how to respond. The only item the lawyer wants to talk about, though, is when I am going to pay the money I owe The Departed for his share of the house. It’s not a small sum – $10,000. The Lawyer pushes me to  pay it immediately, I do not want a judgment entered against me for credit reasons. This pisses me off and I say so – The Foreigner owes me all kinds of money and I have a judgment and it’s worth spit, I tell him.

That’s because he lives in Bora Bora, says the lawyer.

I don’t bother correcting his geography.

I’m annoyed but he’s adamant on the other points: We will not move, and if The Departed wants to go back to the arbitrator, we will demand – and he thinks we will win – the Departed having to bear all the costs I must incur.

In the end, I am taking out a loan to pay this all anyway, and after a few more expensive minutes on the phone with him I realize, it doesn’t matter when I take it. I am stuck.

Get this over with, I tell him.  I will deliver a check upon entry of the decree.

I think it’s wise, says The Lawyer. I start to get off the phone, but he asks after my father. How is he?

Fine, I say.

Interesting guy, says the lawyer. I enjoyed hearing about his time in Israel.

That was a long time ago, I say. That’s when he met my mother.

It was very interesting, he says. We chat a bit about the upcoming election, and I say Thank You.

Thank you, he says, emphatically. Reminding me I’m the client.

The letter he sends to the other side is emphatic, too – so much so that I’m startled. Wind this up, it says between the lines: This has gone on for far too long.

A week later, we receive their reply: Please send the signed papers to our office so we can sign them and enter the orders with the court.

Sorry, what?, I say. That’s it?

I hurry to their office to sign before anyone changes their mind.