Chapter 6

Mimi didn’t have to wait long before she was able to prove herself again. It was only about six months after the Otis Fucking Wheeler incident that she accidentally fell into gaining us a client involved in a volatile, abusive relationship.

While shopping for groceries, she witnessed a man striking the woman he was with, then storming out of the store, leaving the woman in shock and too stunned to realize what had just happened to her.

Mimi approached her, having a couple of tissues in her pocket she used to stop the bleeding on the corner of the young lady’s mouth. Once she ascertained the victim’s jaw was in one piece and there was probably no broken facial structure, she started to call 911, when the woman reached out for the arm holding the phone and stopped her.

“He’ll only hit me harder next time.”

Mimi, all five feet nothing of her, told the woman, “There won’t be a next time, sweetheart. I’m sorry, but I have to report this. You’re safe now. Trust me.”

The young lady broke down in tears and unknowingly collapsed on a do-gooder prepared for the worst. Mimi continued the call and held her until the police arrived.

She was released into Mimi’s care, and after speaking with Shara and me about the situation, put the woman up at a hotel near us, setting her up with a meal and telling her to get a good night’s sleep. She told us to have one of the others get groceries and she’d be out to the house as soon as she got the lady settled. Mimi also asked her for her phone.

“Do you have children at home?” Mimi asked her.

“No, that’s part of the problem. I haven’t given him a son yet,” the woman replied.

“Class act that man of yours. Let me have your phone then. You won’t need it. You don’t want it, more precisely. Here is my card with my personal number on it. Use the phone here in the room to call me if you need anything. Don’t contact your husband. Do NOT. If he calls your phone, your lawyer is going to answer it. Stephanie, your husband is a criminal. Good men do not do what your husband has done to you. You’ve told me this wasn’t the first time. It was the last, though. You need to understand that. You can’t let him beat you until there is nothing left, then leave what remains, and go find a new victim. That is what these men do. They have names for them. Psychopath fits pretty well in most cases. Don’t try to contact him. He’s waiting for you to crawl back to him as we speak.”

“I won’t, Mimi. I won’t. I just want out, I guess. Thank you for talking to me. Why I wouldn’t listen to my sister, I’ll never know, but she said the same thing after the second time. I didn’t listen. Maybe this time...”

“Please do, Stephanie. If you don’t ... Let’s just say you won’t regret letting us help you. Do you have any money?”

“Lots. My own, as well as what he provides.”

“I just want to make sure you can afford some clothing and food until we can get some of your stuff for you. This is going to be crazy for a while. You mentioned your sister. Does your sister live here?”

Stephanie shook her head. “No, Santa Barbara. She teaches there.”

“We’ll do what we can. A shelter, a motel, with me ... I don’t know yet, but we’ll get you to safety and keep you that way.”

“If he finds me, he ... He’ll kill me. He told me before, if I tried to leave him, he’d ... He’d do it. He’d kill me.”

“We’ll do our best, hon. We’ll do our level best.” Mimi hugged her, then telling her she’d be back in a little while, left the poor girl alone in her sorrow, with Hallmark movies playing on the room’s TV. Hallmark is not necessarily reality, but Mimi thought it would be a break from the life she was really living.

We discussed it over dinner, then Mimi and Shara decided to return to the hotel together, speak with Stephanie about representing her, at least enough to get her husband to stop beating her, then, and only then, if she was amenable to the proposition, they could represent her if she wanted to pursue a separation and divorce.

There is no coming back from a violent domestic situation. There just isn’t. If anyone has any data showing that beating one’s spouse can end without recidivism, they need to come forward. In reality, there just hasn’t been that certain ‘anyone’ to come forward with such data.

The discussions went on well into the night, and at Stephanie’s request, the ladies just stayed with her, sleeping on the other bed, since there were two queen sized beds in the room, to keep her company overnight. Her phone didn’t ring until seven in the morning.

“Hello,” Shara said.

“Where’s my breakfast?” Mr. Tom Robinson asked her.

Shara said she laughed and hung up on him. The police obviously hadn’t yet paid him a visit.

Mimi called the number on the case identification card left by the officer and spoke to the person in charge of the case. They said they were leaving for his house as soon as they checked in with their unit and would take care of it. They verified that charges were to be pressed, at which time Mimi put Stephanie’s phone on speaker.

“Stephanie, the detective wants to make sure you are pressing charges. It’s your choice, but you told us several times, both last night and this morning, that you were going to. Tell Detective Simms of your decision so he can go do his job.”

“Yes, sir. I think I need to do this. If not, I’m probably going to be in the same position forever. If not me, someone else. Yes, please, I’ll press charges.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We need more brave people like you to end the madness. I’ll contact you, counselor, as soon as we have paperwork ready at the station. Thank you, again.” He ended the call, the three women looked at each other, then got dressed and headed to our house to get ready for the day. None of them had anything to wear but what they had on last night.

Naturally, as soon as they hit home, they filled us all in on the latest.

I was able to hold myself to one bad joke. It was tasteless at the time, I admit, but after referring to the fact that Mrs. Robinson was younger than me, not older, and that it would take a bit to get used to that, I had to promise to keep my thoughts to myself until later. Much later. They ate breakfast, then fixed the clothing issue, Mrs. Robinson getting a simple outfit from Elenore to wear, then when Detective Simms called and said they needed the paperwork signed, all three went in to take care of it.

After that, they were supposed to go to her house, get everything she could grab that was important to her, or that she needed to survive, then clear out, as her husband was probably going to be making bail that afternoon. He had the money, regardless of what they deemed appropriate for his bond. They lived in a small mansion, owned fine cars, and as Stephanie explained, she didn’t work, just kept house, and took care of her husband. He was worth millions. Several times over.

That should have been considered a noble undertaking. Being a loyal and effective housewife used to be the epitome of every woman’s dreams. Evidently after three years of trying to procreate, and failing, Mr. Thomas Robinson started getting frustrated and taking his temper out on his beautiful, young, industrious wife. I say industrious, since the girls said her house was immaculate, the leftovers in the fridge were from five-star eligible homemade meals, and their yard was manicured to the level of a fine golf course. All Stephanie’s doing.

Shara made sure that her name, number, and the knowledge that our firm’s resources were fully behind Mrs. Robinson and her wellbeing, was passed on, giving all information necessary so that Detective Simms could provide it to any member of her husband’s legal team that might ask for it.

That evening, at the house, Stephanie also explained to a houseful of interested people that there was also a prenuptial agreement in effect. That brought up memories and a discussion of one of Shara’s first cases after joining the firm. Stephanie had a folder she brought with her from her house that morning and shared the document with us.

If she cheated, she got little to nothing. If he cheated, she was to receive quite a bit with her divorce if she left him for that reason. There was nothing in the prenup stating that if she couldn’t conceive, and he beat the snot out of her, that there would be a problem with the division of assets.

Most of their fortune had been realized in the last two years of his trading and buying into very successful startups. He was a genius as a businessman, no doubt about that. As a human being, a man, and empathetic creature, he was an abject failure.

I explained to Stephanie, trying to keep away from the Mrs. Robinson humor, that she was probably going to come into a lot of money, soon, but it wouldn’t come quickly, and it wasn’t going to be easy. Her husband was not the type to let it go easily, and unless we got very honest and unwavering judges during the trial and appeal phases, it would be a rough row to hoe.

“I have about two hundred thousand stashed that he doesn’t know about. At least I don’t think he does. He gave me an allowance for the first two years, and I ratholed most of it. He cut back when I couldn’t get pregnant. I still saved even some of that. I’m just not the country club, tennis, golf, bridge, and pickle ball type. I wanted a husband to love, a house to take care of, a family to lovingly raise in it, and that’s about it. I got some of what I wanted. He didn’t. I think he just wants a son to give his name and money and fame to. I used to think he loved me. The more I think about it, the more I think he loves his money more than he’ll ever love me and I’m basically just a cum dump and bearer of offspring. I didn’t feel that way until this morning. It’s strange how just removing myself from his threats would change my outlook on my life.”