Later the same night, Malarkey returns feeling more ebullient than ever. How often does a sexagenarian (no pun intended) get to date a beautiful woman almost half his age? It’s a rhetorical question Malarkey asks himself when, as he sorts through his mail, he comes upon an envelope with the embossed return address:
SUPERIOR COURT OF ORANGE COUNTY
Lamoreaux Justice Center
341 Citrus City Drive South, Citrus City, CA 92868-3205
“Fuck! Not again!”
This is not a rhetorical exclamation since it’s another in a long list of court battles Malarkey has had to endure with his ex-wife, Luciana, and the following morning he once again finds himself at the Lamoreaux Justice Center impatiently waiting for his turn to enter the courtroom and, as with the others, play the role of either plaintiff or defendant or counsel for such. As Malarkey impatiently sits outside a courtroom waiting to defend himself, he’s wearing the clothes he usually wears, but the fading blue work shirt is now garnished with the same Christ Church necktie he wore as an undergraduate. As people mill about, a woman, blondish, tall, attractive in her lawyerishly way, approaches him.
“Mister Malarkey?”
“No, Doctor Malarkey. Mister Malarkey died years ago. Who are you?”
“My name is Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz. I represent your ex-wife, Luciana Pessoa.”
“What do they call you for short? La Cruz?”
She ignores him and hands him some documents.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a court order. You can read it yourself. I presume you speak English.”
“Claro.”
“Que bueno. Have a good day.”
Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz walks away as Malarkey scans the pages and shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s reading. He gets up and walks across the hallway, where he passes his ex-wife, Luciana, an attractive fiftyish Brazilian, who says nothing, but smiles at him waving a tiny Brazilian flag. Malarkey is beyond retaliating with a smile, but even though they say nothing to each other, Malarkey flashes back on an incident in which he and Luciana are arguing violently in front of Andrea who’s ten-years old, huddling in a corner, crying. (See Chapter 9) The flashback ends when Malarkey approaches Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz.
“May I have a few words with you?”
“Of course.”
They walk out of earshot of Luciana.
“With all due respect counselor, uh, what the fuck is this?”
“It’s a court order, Mister, er, Doctor Malarkey.”
“It’s a joke, right?” Malarkey flips through the pages. “Spousal support, overdue car payments, towing charges, child support. Really? My daughter is about to turn twentyone and she lived with me since the divorce.”
“No, it’s not a joke, Doctor Malarkey. We’re here because you’re suing my client for attorney fees related to a deed transfer.”
“Which she refused to sign and that forced me to hire an expensive Beverly Hills attorney named Bernie Brillstein because all Jewish Beverly Hills attorneys are named Bernie and all Jewish Beverly Hills attorneys named Bernie are fucking expensive! You are aware the court awarded me the bungalow on Center Street, right?”
“I understand that, Doctor Malarkey, but unless you waive the attorney fees we’ll countersue for everything listed. See you inside. Tenga un buen dia.”
And so Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz walks away with Malarkey still holding the documents and fanning himself as if that’s going to cool him off. It doesn’t. Momentarily, they are called into the courtroom, and they sit as several other cases are heard before theirs. For some reason, Luciana remains outside the courtroom and eventually Malarkey finds himself standing next to Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz as Judge Norma Wingate, a black-robed, sixty-something judge, who looks so much like Judge Judy she could be Judge Judy so think of her as Judge Judy, peruses some documents, then looks up.
“Just why are you here, Ms. De la Cruz?”
“We’re here to settle some issues that weren’t settled at the time of the divorce.”
“You do know that this court has no jurisdiction on this case, right?” she says, more than a bit miffed. “It was adjudicated …” she looks at the paperwork “… over a decade ago so why are you bringing it to me now?”
“I know, your honor, but my client was married to Mister Malarkey for almost twenty years and as such, is entitled to some things that were never divided.”
“But he’s suing your client for attorney fees associated with a deed transfer that your client refused to sign.”
“I’m aware of that, your honor, but we feel there are other issues that were not resolved anticipatory to today’s hearing which need to be resolved.”
“Do you not have representation, Mister Malarkey?”
“No, my attorney didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“Well, you know the adage.”
“A man who’s his own lawyer saves a shit load of money especially if his attorney is named Bernie.”
Malarkey smiles and turns to those in the audience who are stifling chuckles.
“I’ll overlook that comment, Mister Malarkey, but do you have anything of relevance to say, and I emphasize the word relevance?”
“Nothing that I couldn’t be held in contempt for.”
“Pardon me?”
“No, nothing, your honor, well, yes. The reason I’m here is because Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz’s client refused to sign the deed to my house, which the court awarded me at the time of the divorce.”
“Mister Malarkey, I’m not an idiot so don’t explain the obvious to me. As a matter of fact, as I read the settlement, I think you got the better of the deal here.”
“Well …”
“Well what?”
Malarkey points at the documents the judge has in her hand.
“Do you see those documents you have?”
“Yes.”
“Does it indicate in the document that she was fornicating with foreigners?”
There’s a collective gasp from the sitting litigants.
“Mister Malarkey, do you really want to be held in contempt?”
“Uh, no, preferably not, your honor.”
“Your honor, I don’t want to take up the court’s time. Could I ask for a continuance on this issue?” Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz asks.
“I’ll grant you a continuance, but my opinion is you should settle this nonsense out of court and not bother me again. Is that clear? Continuance requested until April.”
They both nod.
Malarkey can’t wait to get out of court, rushes home to call Bernie Brillstein, who dresses the part of a highly successful Jewish Beverly Hills attorney since he is a highly successful Jewish Beverly Hills attorney and, because of that, charges an enormous hourly rate. All the way home, Malarkey repeats to himself, “When will this be over, when will this be over” as if merely repeating the phrase and tapping his heels three times will make it happen. Once home, Malarkey looks over the documents as he talks to Bernie.
“Did you get my email?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What the bloody hell is this all about?”
“Simple, Malcolm. She’s going to sue you for all those things she’s listed if you don’t drop suing her for the attorney fees.”
What Malcolm doesn’t see, but which the Reader does, is that Bernie’s attention is drawn by a beautiful, twentyish Latina assistant who’s wearing a very tight, very short, mini skirt. She smiles at him and leaves a document on his desk. As she walks away, Bernie slaps her on the ass.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That sound.”
“What sound?”
“I’ve heard that sound before when I’m talking to you. Did you just slap your assistant on the ass again?”
“You’re wasting my time.”
“Listen, we’ve been divorced for a fucking decade! She forced me to hire you!”
“Doesn’t matter. I thought you knew about hot Brazilians before you married one. You know, that schoolboy fetish you had for Sonia Braga.”
“Oh, Doctor Phil, what would I do without you?”
“If you want me to handle it, Malcolm, it’ll cost you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Work it out with the Sonia Maria Sorjuana Allende Castillo Ejevarilla de la Cruz chick. Is she hot? Would you do her?”
“Bernie, you’d do anything in a miniskirt and I’m not excluding anyone in kilts.”
“Just make a fucking deal, Malcolm.”
“What kind of deal?”
“She already signed the deed, so waive the attorney fees in exchange for dismissing everything else.”
“But she’s a bloody psychologist and doesn’t need spousal support. Thanks to California, she got half my fucking pension! I don’t have a pot to piss in.”
“I’ll send you a pot. Listen, I thought you were a professor.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“You’re a lousy listener. Eat the attorney fees and be done with it. It’s simple. You want to go back to court or go forward with your life? Last free call, Malcolm, next time the meter starts—bye.”
Bernie hangs up. Malcolm looks at the documents, then turns to the Reader and shakes his head.
“Fuck.”