All Novel XO
155
NEW STORY TITLE: Fortune (Loving Wives/erotica)
Gold does not always glitter.
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enjoy the story.
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I sat waiting in my lawyer’s conference room. Not much had changed in the five years from when I had retained him. Same paintings on the wall, same furniture, even the same damn National Geographic magazine located at the end table in the corner. Kinda sad considering that for all the money I had paid him in the past, he could’ve afforded a subscription to eternity.
Luckily, this wasn’t costing anywhere near his hourly rate since I was alone in the room. So why was I in a lawyer’s office if I wasn’t actually going to use a lawyer? Well that was a good question. The short answer would be because of Stella Jefferson, my ex wife.
For the past couple of weeks she had been trying to call me without success. The reason why she didn’t have any success was due to her penchant to introduce me to justice, divorce style. I had learned the hard way that any unauthorized contact with Stella would result in police and court appearances.
I was made a true believer when she lured me to meet with her while the divorce was still pending to talk over some custody issues for our children. When I got to the restaurant where she wanted to meet I was hoping that it was a good sign since it was where we had our meal where I had proposed marriage to her.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.
Against all logic, I was hoping that she was in a reconciliation mood. Even after all the pain and humiliation she had caused me, I just wanted my wife and family back. I had dressed up in a sport jacket and tie for the upscale restaurant and I eagerly looked for her in the hustle of the busy establishment.
Finally, I spotted her at a corner table looking outside the window. Maybe she was looking for me to arrive. I pointed her out to the hostess and made my way to her table. I was still enthralled by her beauty. A tall statuesque brunette you wouldn’t believe that she was the mother of two children especially how she looked in her little black dress. She was the epitome of elegance as I approached.
My movements alerted her and she directed her gaze at me as I prepared to sit down at the table. Her lovely visage harden into a cold animosity which puzzled me. Before I could say hello or ask what was wrong, a number of people approached our table. Two were uniformed police officers who asked if I was John Perry and told me I was under arrest for violating a temporary restraining order issued by the judge presiding over our divorce case.
While I protested that she had called me to meet her, I was told that I could take that up with the judge. The court order was quite specific that I was not allowed any contact with her without the court’s permission. That was because she had alleged that I physically abused her and the children and she feared for their lives if I wasn’t kept away.
I had been dumbfounded when I had initially read the divorce pleadings that I had been served with. She had beaten me to the punch in filing for a divorce and she had taken a no holds barred approach as I read through all the lies she and her attorney had put to paper. The upshot was the court determined that I was a risk to the safety of my wife and children and the judge would be the sole arbiter of if and when I would see them again.
I’m sure that most people have no idea of the embarrassment of being arrested. As I was physically doubled over the table and handcuffed behind my back I saw a young child recoiling in horror at an adjoining table. I wanted to explain to him that I wasn’t a bad person, but, how do you start that conversation?
It wasn’t like I would have had the time to finish an explanation as I was manhandled out of the building and into the back of a police cruiser. All during the trip I protested my innocence to the officers. They continued to ignore me as they drove to the municipal jail. I suppose they had heard it all before and ignoring me was the standard practice.
Then I was booked and processed into the facility. Fingerprints and mugshot completed, I was asked for information regarding my name, residence, place of work, and vital statistics. I complied with all their enquiries fully expecting an opportunity to explain what had happened. Instead I was led to a general holding cell with about fifty men milling around aimlessly.
Before I was led inside, I said, “Wait a minute, don’t I get a phone call? How do I see about getting bonded out?”
The police sergeant patiently told me, “A phone is brought around each morning for inmates’ use. You can make any local call. If you call long distance the party you call will have to accept the charges before you are connected. As far as bond, you are charged with being in contempt of the judge’s order; therefore, you will have to appear before the judge before you can even think about being released. And since today is Friday, you won’t be scheduled to appear in court until Monday at the earliest.”
With that he firmly pushed me into the cell and the metallic clang of the cell door and the latching of the key echoed against the dank cold concrete walls. Without making eye contact with anyone I found a spot against the wall and sat on the floor and huddled to ride out the three days.
Really there’s no way to adequately describe being in that environment. There were people from every spectrum that circulated through that weekend. Hardened criminals, gangbangers, college frat boys, drunks, addicts, and the occasional good citizen like me. The ebb and flow of new people arriving and people leaving after making a bond, kept the noise a disruptive flow.
A pecking order was in place for everything. It didn’t matter if it was for using the phone, or for meals, or even if you were issued a blanket. The anti social personalities would seek out the weakest links and agitate them into a fight which would eventually require the police to intervene and take the victims to get medical treatment and disperse the perpetrators into an adjoining holding cell for “violent offenders.”
Dressed as I was, I drew some attention throughout the three days. I guess everybody figured if I could afford to dress like that then I should have been able to afford a bond. That was as far as it got for me. I guess as pissed off as I felt that I probably looked the same way and the jackals decided to go for easier targets.
Monday morning, we were all roused and ankle chained together as we shuffled outside to a bus. There we were unchained and placed into the seats and coupled to wrist restraints. After a vocal tally we were driven to the courthouse where we were again ankle chained and escorted into a basement holding cell and then we awaited our turn to appear before our designated judge.
Finally around two p. m. the bailiffs for my court came for me and I appeared in my unkempt disheveled clothes, reeking from the odor of the jail cell, sporting a three-day beard shadow before the baleful eyes of the judge.
Stella sat there with a gloating look as her attorney regurgitated the events of Friday night from Stella’s perception. “Your Honor, my client was tending to her own business dining out when she was traumatized by the appearance of her husband. Before he could commit bodily harm to her, the police called to the scene were able to successfully interdict before any injuries were sustained to my client!” he thundered with righteous indignation.
To my surprise my lawyer was there and countered that I had no such intentions. I found out later that even though I had failed to contact him, the judge’s clerk had made a call that morning to tell him to be in court to represent me. I tried to hurriedly whisper to him what had happened and he was simultaneously parroting what I was telling him to the judge.
Finally after enough squabbling the judge shut the attorneys off and looked at me. “Mr. Perry, do you think you’ve learned your lesson? When I issue a restraining order and a no contact order I mean for you to obey them!”
I began to open my mouth to protest only to have my attorney firmly clench my arm and hissed for me to shut up. The judge continued his diatribe for a couple of minutes and eventually ordered for my release and again warned me not to contact Stella. With that the court was adjourned and I watched Stella rise from her seat and walk out of the courtroom accompanied by Ted Jefferson. Both wore a look of triumph as they left.
My lawyer spent a few minutes of hurried advice to me as the bailiffs handcuffed me to escort me back to the basement holding cell. Then it was a matter of waiting until all the individuals were through with court and we were driven back to the jail. I was culled out of the line and taken to a process room where my personal belongings were returned to me. I was handed paperwork showing me where my truck had been towed and how to contact and pay for it to be released.
I sighed and as I left the building I called the towing service and made arrangement to pick up my truck. Then I called a cab and waited. I tried to call my boss but the phone went to voicemail since it was past five p. m. I decided I would tell him in person tomorrow.
I was hoping for a quiet ride to the tow yard and as my luck would have it I drew a particularly friendly cabdriver that wanted to converse the entire trip. As he kept yakking and asking questions, I would respond with monosyllabic answers. Still he continued until I finally said, “I’m going to start deducting your tip for every word you say to me.” That finally shut him up and we finished the drive in peace. I did feel guilty for lashing out at him and I did leave a big tip.
Then I had the pleasure of trying to get my vehicle back. If I thought, the bureaucratic paperwork was daunting by the police I was shocked by the hoops I had to go through to ransom my vehicle back to me. I was finally able to placate them and drove home.