CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Sharon had been making eyes at him all morning, and still he wasn't noticing. He was too busy cradling the dog in his lap and hanging on every word the two attorneys spouted. Personally, Sharon made a point of never paying attention to the court proceedings. Nancy was one of the best, and you could always rely upon her to cut you a good deal. She'd been Sharon's babysitter way back when, and had seemed like the natural choice when it came time to divorce Heinrich. She had cut a great deal for Sharon then, and an equally excellent one with Al. The more freedom you gave her, the better things turned out.

Besides, Sharon didn't really care about the results of the hearing. Win or lose didn't matter. Sure, it would be nice to have Chester back. He was a loveable little furball, and she had some ideas for paintings that he would be able to help with, but if she didn't get him she'd hardly be heartbroken. What she wanted was to get Al in the back of her van.

He was gorgeous, she reflected. With that keen, piercing intelligence ignited in his dark eyes, there wasn't a man in the state who could hold a candle to him. That was a stupid expression, Sharon reflected. What the hell did it mean, anyway? Oh, well. Her ex was still unbelievably good-looking. No matter how hard he tried to subdue them, the curls always gave him a boyish air. Today was no exception, and with the faintest hint of an anxious frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, he looked more like an errant teenager waiting outside the principal's office than a forty-eight-year-old ex-astronaut with nothing to look forward to in his waning years but an eternity behind a desk and tomorrow's one-night stand.

Sharon let her eyes wander from his face to the rest of his body. His shoulders: beginning to slope a little with age and more stooped than they should have been, as though they were weary from bearing burdens the rest of the world could only imagine; but still ineffably sexy. His chest with its pale skin and fine black hair, webbed with faint but indelible scars—all three characteristics were covered by his orange paisley shirt and creamy vest. Through the silk satin backing of the latter, she could just make out the ridge of his spine. She liked to run her fingers up and down his vertebrae in the gasping moments between passions, feeling his vulgar inhalations from above as well as below as her hands caught here and there on still more scars. She eyed his belt, beneath which the crest of his hip bone was visible: his handsome, chiseled him. Yes, he was gorgeous…

He was also angry. He sprung to his feet, carrying Chester with him. "That's not fair!" he cried. "She was there with me!"

"Captain…" his lawyer hissed.

The justice, a man of about Al's age by the name of George Goldman, brought down his gavel. "Captain Calavicci!" he said. "I understand you have made appearances in civil court before today."

Al's eyes narrowed. "Yes, your honor," he said suspiciously.

"How many times?"

"Counting arraignments?"

"All appearances."

"Well…" Al's brow crinkled pensively. "My first divorce… I mean my second… we went back six times before they settled it all… twelve," he said firmly. "Twelve times, your honor. This is my thirteenth appearance."

"Good," the judge drawled. "So you're familiar with the process."

"Yes, your honor," Al allowed.

"Then you know that you'll have your turn to speak!" Goldman snapped. "So sit down and wait for it!" Al sat with the crispness of a soldier responding to a hated command. "Counsel for the plaintiff will continue her statement."

"That incident is only one such example, your honor," Nancy said. "I intend to show through several such events that Captain Calavicci is an irresponsible pet owner and an unfit custodian for dear little Chester. For his safety and wellbeing he should be placed under Ms. Quinn's care immediately." She nodded crisply to the bench and sat down next to Sharon.

"Defendant. Your statement," Goldman said boredly.

Al's lawyer stood. Gavin Prendergast was a tall man with a gourmet stomach: flabby from too much champagne and caviar. He was a top-notch family lawyer and had given Nancy a real run for her money over the divorce settlement.

"Your honor," he said; "my client is a distinguished citizen, a decorated war hero, a former astronaut, and a senior ranking officer in the United States Navy. You see before you a man who has given the very years of his prime, the very flesh off his back, and the very blood in his veins for his country. For our country. This is a man who, far from being the absent-minded pet owner my opponent would have you believe him to be, is a man entrusted with great authority and responsibility. This is a man who is capable of making decisions affecting dozens—potentially hundreds—of lives. He is perfectly able to care for one small dog."

He circled the table and took possession of the floor. "In addition, your honor, Captain Calavicci has a deep, abiding affection for dear little Chester. He dotes upon the dog. Fate did not bless Captain Calavicci with children; Chester is like a son to him. In the interests of the captain's wellbeing, he should be allowed to retain custody of the dog."

He returned to his place and sat.

"Plaintiff," Goldman said.

Nancy rose again, smiling at Sharon. "Ms. Quinn, would you please take the stand?"

Sharon rose and went to sit down in the box next to the bench. She smoothed her skirt and crossed her ankles primly, turning ever so slightly towards the judge as she donned the expression of sweet innocence that Nancy had coached her on.

"Now, Ms. Quinn," Nancy said; "please tell us a little bit about the domestic arrangements that you and the captain had during your marriage."

Sharon looked at her blankly. Domestic arrangements?

Like a good counselor, Nancy picked up on her confusion at once. "Tell us where you were living," she prompted.

"Here in town," Sharon said. Then suddenly she thought she saw where Nancy was going. "In the Rising Sun Trailer Park on the west edge of the city."

"In a trailer park?" Nancy said in mild surprise, as if they were not all already aware of the fact. "Can you describe your dwelling in more detail?"

"It was a trailer," Sharon said. "Four rooms and a bathroom with a shower instead of a tub. It cost six hundred a month."

"Four rooms and a bathroom without a tub," Nancy reiterated, looking coldly at Al. "An interesting choice of residence for a decorated war hero, a former astronaut, and a senior ranking officer in the United States Navy."

Al looked like he wanted to bite her head off, but he glanced at Goldman and sat back, petting Chester almost wrathfully. The terrier's eyes closed in bliss under the pressure, and he licked his black button nose happily.

Nancy turned courteously back to Sharon. "Ms. Quinn, you are an artist, are you not?"

Sharon agreed that she was.

"During the year you were married, how many hours a week did you work outside the home?" Nancy queried.

"I taught three one-hour art classes a week," Sharon said.

"Here in town?"

"That's right."

"And Captain Calavicci. Where is he employed?"

Al started to rise. "Sharon, don't you dare—" he began, his stern voice at odds with the sudden alarm in his eyes. He was obviously worried that she was going to blow the lid off of his secret project.

Sharon knew that wasn't necessary. "He's assigned to a naval airfield in the desert," she said.

Al slumped back in his chair, clearly relieved. Sharon winked coyly at him, but the stupid man didn't seem to notice. He was busy with Chester again.

Goldman stared at her as if she was insane. "A naval base in the middle of the desert?"

"Yeah!" To everyone's surprise and the displeasure of all but Sharon, the reply came from Al. "See, the funny thing about planes is… all they need is air and a flat place to land! No water required!"

The judge glared at him, obviously not appreciating the subtle implication that he was an idiot. "Captain…" he growled. "Wait for your turn to speak!" He exhaled in a huff. "Get on with it, Ms. Busby," he sighed.

Nancy smiled pleasantly. "How far out in the desert?" she asked.

"Al could do it in an hour and a half," Sharon said, trying to catch his eye in order to remind him of their wild rides in the desert. It didn't work.

"One way?"

"That's right."

"And how many hours a week would you say that Captain Calavicci worked?" Nancy asked. Sharon looked at her helplessly Nancy went back to the plaintiff's table and picked up a pencil and a pat of paper, which she handed to Sharon. "Take your time," she said.

Sharon thought about it, working through the math. Up before dawn, home long after dark, a three hour commute… "I don't know," she said. "Probably sixty-five hours."

Al snorted a little. So it was more.

"All right," Nancy said. "Sixty five… six days a week?"

"Usually," Sharon said.

"So he was out of the house more than eighty hours a week!"

"At least," Sharon agreed.

"Then you were responsible for the majority of Chester's care," Nancy said.

Sharon shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I…"

"Ms. Quinn, do you believe Captain Calavicci has at times shown irresponsible behavior where Chester is concerned? Nancy queried.

"Well, yes," Sharon allowed.

"Could you give me an example?"

"He takes him on that bike," she said.

"Could you explain that?"

"Al rides a motorcycle," Sharon said. "He takes Chester out on the bike with him. Just zips him into the front of his jacket and rides."

"And that worries you."

"Yes!" she cried. "Al's already fallen once on that stupid bike! Chester hasn't even got a helmet, and even if he did he wouldn't stand a chance if Al rolled over on top of him or something! They could both be killed!"

Nancy frowned. "Why is a man of Captain Calavicci's age riding a motorcycle?" she asked.

"Objection!" Al's lawyer cried. "Captain Calavicci is a fit and healthy man who is perfectly capable—"

"I only want to point out—"

"Your honor, please—"

"—that Captain Calavicci—"

"Order!" Goldman cried. "Order! This court will disperse for a two-hour recess! Counsel will calm down!" He brought down his gavel, and then Al and Sharon had to scramble to their feet as he rose and marched from the room.

The door to the chambers slammed, and the bailiff began to tidy the courtroom. There was a silence. Al was clutching Chester against his shoulder. The dog couldn't have looked happier. His master, however, had all the amicable aura of a thundercloud. He set the terrier on the table and reached under his chair for a canvas tote bag. From it he took the dog's dish and a bottle of water with which to fill it. Chester drank eagerly, and Al stroked his back, still resolutely avoiding Sharon's gaze.

"Buy you lunch," Nancy offered, gathering her brief.

"Hang on," Sharon murmured. She came up behind Al. "Hey, sailor," she began. "Long time, no see."

"Why are you doing this?" Al asked softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the dog as he stroked him mechanically.

"Doing what?" Sharon asked, genuinely confused.

"This." He gestured at the courtroom.

"Oh! I want custody of Chester, of course," she said blithely. "C'mon, tiger. Admit you're glad to see me!"

The line should have worked, especially when she brushed her hip seductively against his. Instead, he stiffened at the contact. His voice was hard and unyielding. "He's mine," he said. "Chester's mine, and you can't take him. I'm not going to let you take him."

His lawyer stepped forward in instant damage control mode. "Captain Calavicci—"

"Is that a threat, Captain?" Nancy asked eagerly.

Al sighed. "No," he said flatly. "Not at all."

He caught up the dog in one arm and the leash that was lying on the table with the other. Then he left the room. His attorney rolled his eyes and muttered something, then gathered up his papers and followed. Sharon stared at the door through which Al had vanished, confused. Sure, she had cheated on him, but the second the wheels were in motion for divorce, he had cheated right back. Didn't he see how much fun it would be to have a courtroom fling with his ex-wife? He was taking it so seriously, as if it actually mattered which one of them wound up with the dog!

Nancy put a companionable hand on her shoulder. "We've got a great case!" she sang. "He's obviously volatile, and his idiot attorney's acting like your ex's wellbeing is more important than Chester's!"

"Isn't it?" Sharon asked, bewildered. After all, Al was a person and Chester was only a dog.

"In a custody hearing? Of course not!" Nancy cried. "If Chester was a kid the judge would have to look at just what's best for him, and if either parent—that's you and Al in this case—tried to look needy they'd come out selfish and manipulative. Face it, honey: we can't lose! You'll be spending the night with a ball of fuzz and love!"

Sharon grinned. "That's great, Nance. That's really great!"

Secretly, though, she reflected that unless she got a whole different kind of love tonight, she wouldn't count the day a success—no matter what happened in court.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

They re-adjourned and Nancy had Sharon retell such incidents as the Christmas Eve brandy mishap. The lawyer made it out to be Al's fault, both for cooking with liquor and for suggesting the living room picnic. Then she made a couple of points about Al's general immaturity and dodging of household responsibilities, and after that it was time for Gavin Prendergast to take his turn.

He played up Al's financial contribution to the household. Every time Sharon blanked on a detail he would look pointedly at Goldman as if to say, See? She doesn't even know what he did for her! After that there were a few questions about Al's general attitude towards the dog and her own initial indifference. Finally she was allowed to sit down, and Nancy called Al forward.

There was a moment of chaos when Nancy appealed to the judge not to allow Chester on the stand. Prendergast wanted to put him on a lease and tether him to the table. Al maintained that he would sit where he was told and didn't need to be restrained.

"I'll hold him," Sharon volunteered, trying to solve the problem.

"No!" Al snapped.

"That's a lovely idea!" Nancy gushed. "After all, Chester hasn't seen his mommy for almost three months! He must miss her horribly!"

"She can't—" Al fell silent at a meaningful look from his attorney. Nancy took Chester from his arms and gave him to Sharon. Al watched, his face a mask of indifference. Then suddenly he grinned and shrugged.

"All righty!" he said, bouncing onto the stand. "Let's get on with it! I got a hot date at eight."

He sized Nancy up.

"Of course, gorgeous, if you're free I can always stand her up," he teased.

Nancy gave him a cold smile. "Captain Calavicci, your attorney has claimed that Chester is like a son to you. Is that true?"

"No," Al said. "I don't need to nag him to clean up his room, and he never gives the teacher trouble."

Sharon giggled, and Chester looked up at her in puzzlement.

"However," Nancy said, as if he had replied in the affirmative; "haven't you told Ms. Quinn on several occasions that you are, and I quote 'not his daddy'?"

Al looked at her. "He's a dog," he said. "I can't be his daddy. Come to that, I don't see how Sharon can be his mommy, either. She's a lot of things I don't like, your honor, but she ain't a dog!"

Sharon flushed a little in pleasure. Al's compliments, even the flippant ones, were too delightful to pass up.

Nancy's grilling grew more intense, but Al kept laughing her off. The more serious she got, the more facetious he became. Sharon wondered what had brought about the sudden change. Even when his own attorney took over, Al kept on with the Groucho Marx routine. There was something not quite right about his voice… and finally Sharon realized what it was. He was tipsy. He had been drinking.

She didn't know whether Goodman had noticed, but he was clearly getting tired of the clown on the stands. He adjourned for only fifteen minutes before announcing his ruling.

As the two lawyers packed up, Sharon sauntered up to Al and made no secret of her feelings and intentions as she stroked his jaw with her index finger. "Hey, sailor," she murmured. "No hard feelings?"

He looked at her, and suddenly he was deathly pale. "This isn't over," he promised, his voice tightly controlled as if he was reigning in explosive anger. "I'll appeal. I'll do whatever I have to, but this isn't over."

Before she could even react, he was gone.

Sharon stood there, numb with confusion and disillusionment, completely oblivious to the Yorkshire terrier watching her from the plaintiff's table. Didn't he find her attractive anymore? Desirable? Wasn't she the same woman he'd married? The same one he'd called "gorgeous"? What had changed? She wanted him. Why didn't he want her now?