Chapter 15: Divorce

“Mrs. Selletti will see you now.”

Barbara Blockings snapped her head around, startled out of her reverie. She looked at the receptionist standing before her. “Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Selletti will see you now,” repeated the receptionist. “You can follow me.”

Barbara nodded her head and stood. It was Friday, and the third time this week that she had been in the office, on the second floor of a small office park outside of town. She was seeing her attorney, her new attorney, the divorce lawyer Terri Tallman had recommended. It still felt somewhat surreal.

Monday morning at nine o’clock Terri had called and informed her she had called her lawyer friend and made an appointment for her that afternoon. No more than five minutes later, a secretary had called confirming this. It seemed to be moving awfully fast for Barbara, but she agreed with Terri that she couldn’t let things stand as they were. Something had to change, either for the better, or for the worse.

Monday had been a real eye opener. The only other times she had ever used a lawyer was when she and Jerry had bought their houses, the one they had bought when they first got married, and then ten years later when they bought their present home. This lawyer, Angela Selletti, was a middle-aged redhead with an easy smile but a very business-like demeanor. She had pointedly kept Barbara on track during their initial consultation, preventing her from going off on her husband, ranting and raving about his misdeeds, and had kept her focused. “What do you want to do?”

What did she want? In a perfect world, Jerry would come home and start paying attention to her. That was Option One. Option Two was a divorce. There didn’t seem to be any middle ground. The biggest eye opener had been when she was told there was a $2,000 non-refundable retainer. “How does that work?” she had asked.

Angela had smiled at this; it was a common question. “Well, everybody knows all about lawyers from TV. No TV lawyer ever asks for money, they always do it from the good of their hearts.” Barbara’s eyes had popped at this, but then she grinned and nodded in understanding. “Actually, one of my favorites was always Andy Griffith in Matlock, who always asked for money. He was a real mercenary SOB,” she said admiringly. “Anyway, the two grand retains my services. It covers a fair chunk of time and paperwork, but not if there’s a fight. If it gets involved, we work up a way to bill him in a settlement. And let’s be perfectly clear, once you write the check, even if you don’t get a divorce, I keep the money. If you come in here tomorrow morning and report that he’s been taking husband lessons, I keep the money.”

“Okay,” agreed Barbara.

“There’s another thousand I’ll need for expenses, primarily for an investigator. That’s refundable if it doesn’t get spent.”

Barbara had nodded and gotten her instructions. The first step was to fill out a long multi-page form she was handed on her finances. It covered a multitude of items - the house and mortgage and any home equity loans, checking and savings accounts, credit cards, stocks and bonds, brokerage accounts, credit sources, Jerry’s job and any money he had invested there. It authorized an investigator to check credit and a whole bunch of other things as well.

After a very late night trying to figure out as much as possible, Barbara had brought the form back to the lawyer’s office the next morning and handed it to the receptionist. She was informed that she would be contacted later in the week, and then left. Thursday afternoon she was called and asked to come in late Friday morning.

“We’ve developed some information on your husband since you came in,” said Angela. “I wanted to discuss it with you and figure out what is happening next.”

“Okay. That seems awfully fast,” commented Barbara.

Her lawyer gave a pleasant shrug. “An awful lot of stuff can be found online these days. Bank and credit records, that sort of thing. An incredible amount of information can be found with a computer and a telephone. We don’t really send out Tom Selleck with a zoom lens anymore.”

It was the first time in a week Barbara had laughed. “Is the news good or bad?”

Angela continued. “I would say it’s ... interesting. On the positive side, your husband is not blowing through the cash. He’s still making regular payroll deposits in the checking and savings accounts and no withdrawals...”

“Jerry doesn’t have a checkbook,” commented Barbara.”

Angela nodded and moved on. “ ... and he hasn’t touched any of the brokerage accounts. We’ve traced him to a small Motel 6 sort of place just south of Orlando, clean but basic, fairly inexpensive. He’s paying cash. How much cash was he taking out of his paycheck every week?”

“Normally he kept a few hundred out. He called it his allowance. Everything else was automatic deposit.”

“Well, this place isn’t very expensive, but he must be getting some cash elsewhere. He’s not living large, but he has to eat.”

Barbara gave a thoughtful look. “I bet he could bury a lot of lunches on his expense account, maybe a few breakfasts and dinners as well.”

“Hmmm, interesting. I bet his company would want to know that.”

Barbara’s jaw dropped. “That could get him fired!”

“I didn’t say we would tell them. Knowledge is power. The more we know, the better. Anyway, he’s living very low key and quiet, except for one final thing. He has been seeing a prostitute.”

It suddenly became very quiet in the small office. Barbara stared at a silent Angela as her mouth became as dry as cotton and her breathing became labored. After a couple of false starts, she was able to rasp out, “A prostitute?”

“Yes.”

“That can’t be ... no ... there’s a mistake...”, stammered Barbara.

Angela replied, “I know the guy who investigated, and he doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes.”

“I can’t believe it. I want to talk to him. I have to see him.”

Angela looked at her for a few seconds and picked up the phone on her desk. She dialed an extension, and when it was answered, said, “Jack, I have a client wants to talk to you ... Barbara Blockings ... yeah ... fifteen minutes.” She hung up. “The investigator can see you in fifteen minutes, at noon.” She glanced at her watch, then jotted an address down on a notepad. She handed it across silently. “Call me later.”

Barbara nodded and excused herself. Fifteen minutes later she was knocking on another office door, in an office park west of Kissimmee. The name on the door said, ‘Jenkins Consulting’ and the knock was answered by a young woman’s voice telling her to enter. Barbara entered. A young woman was working at a computer terminal. Several offices opened off the lobby. “I’m here to see Mister Jenkins.”

A small and wiry man came out of an office off the small lobby. “Hi, I’m Jack Jenkins. You must be Barbara Blockings.” He came forward and extended his hand.

“Yes, Angela Selletti sent me over.”

“Let’s talk.” Placing a hand on Barbara’s elbow he maneuvered her into his office and closed the door behind them. He pointed Barbara towards a chair and moved around to sit behind his desk. “I gather Angela Selletti told you my findings.”

“There has to be a mistake.”

The detective shook his head. “I assume you aren’t arguing about where he is living or his cash flow. I assume you disagree about his ... activities.”

“You must be mistaken. Jerry may be a lot of things, but he’d never see a, a...” It took her a second before she could say the final word. “ ... a prostitute!”

“Let me explain our procedure here.” Jenkins waited until Barbara nodded her agreement, then said, “First, we take the information you provided, and we ran some standard computer and credit checks. The standard rule in the industry is ‘Follow the money!’ You’ve probably heard that on any number of cop shows.” He never waited for Barbara’s acknowledgement and went further. “So, everything looks fairly quiet with the cash. The next step is we follow him around for a day or two, see what he does. Last night, one of my people tailed him to a house in Orlando. He got these photos.”

Barbara stared at the photos spread the investigator spread out on the desk. She stared at them without understanding. It was definitely her husband, photographed both entering and leaving a house. A time stamp in the lower right corner showed he had been inside almost an hour. “I don’t understand.”

“This is your husband, Jerry Blockings?” Barbara nodded. “Mister Blockings was followed driving from his office to a house at this address.” Barbara stared without understanding. The address meant nothing to her. “He entered and came back out about an hour later. We tracked the owner of the property. It’s owned by a company in Jacksonville, which is owned by one Mary Beth O’Connor, the resident in the house. Miss O’Connor has a police record of several arrests for prostitution. According to the vice department, she is still in the business.”

Barbara began crying quietly. “I don’t understand.”

“Ma’am, I wouldn’t make this up.” He passed her a box of tissues from the credenza behind him.

“No, it’s just ... Why? Why would he go to a whore when he won’t...” Suddenly she clamped her mouth shut and looked away, embarrassed.

“Mrs. Blockings, this isn’t about you, it’s about him.” Barbara looked back at him in confusion. “There are a number of reasons men go to prostitutes. The first is simply for sex when in a situation where there may not be any amateurs available. Kids away from home on a military base, men who travel, that sort of thing.”

“But I’m right here! He comes home every night.”

Jenkins plowed forward despite the argument. “Another reason is because he can get something he can’t get at home.”

“Huh?”

The detective had a complete stone face as he said, “Something the man wants that the woman won’t provide. Oral. Anal. Something kinky. Whatever.”

“But I’d do those things!” Suddenly Barbara’s eyes snapped wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that!” She turned beet red.