Bessies Island Pt 02 Christie

Pt. 2 - Christie's Tale

I suppose I should preface my story with how I came to be where I was when I met Martin. My professional life wasn't going well. I was an attorney working in a three-year-old one-person law firm. It wasn't a particularly successful practice. Mostly because it was in a small town with a population of less than a thousand. The county seat wasn't much larger. There really wasn't much demand for legal services. I had about a dozen clients, most of them pro-bono. A year earlier, I had a case that garnered some coverage in the Portland newspapers and actually yielded a fee. But like I've already said, there wasn't much call for my legal services.

Fortunately, I didn't need the income. When my mother passed away while I was in high school, she left a small fortune to me and a larger one to my father. I had managed to make mine grow significantly. Plus, there was the monthly stipend from the family trust, which, since I was one of the primary beneficiaries, was more than I needed. Since I didn't have much to do when I was at the office, I used my undergraduate degrees and MBA in finance to find ways to make my inheritance grow.

I was nearly a year divorced. My ex was a deputy sheriff. Shortly after we got married, he began to drink. He abused me when he was drinking, which was pretty much any time he was off duty. Counseling didn't help. He did stop drinking for a while, but that doesn't mean he stopped abusing me. He always managed to do it in a way that left no obvious physical evidence. Eventually, I abandoned the house I owned and got a restraining order.

He violated the restraining order and beat me severely enough that I had to be hospitalized. That finally convinced his law enforcement buddies it was time to intercede. He was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to eighteen to twenty-four months. It also cost him his job. The prosecutor was a friend and made every effort to get the judge to throw the book at him. I thought he got off easy.

I had a court appearance for a DUI client a few days after I was discharged from the hospital. It was my third time representing him. By then, the stitches had been removed from my lip and the swelling was nearly gone. But the black eye had spread under the other eye and the bruised cheek was a horrible mix of blue, black, purple and yellow. My ribs still hurt. Every move had to be slow and deliberate.

My client was first on the docket that day. The bailiff called the case. The prosecutor and I stepped forward. The judge scowled.

The first words out of his mouth were 'Five-minute recess.' Turning his attention to me, he said 'Chambers.' Turning to the prosecutor, he added 'You, too.'

'Are you alright, Christie? You're up to working already?' he asked impatiently.

'I'm fine, your Honor.' I said, trying unsuccessfully not to wince when I spoke.

'No, you're not,' he said knowingly. He turned his attention to the prosecutor. 'You'd like a ten-day continuance, Mr. Tyler?' We both knew it was an order rather than a question.

'I offered, your Honor, but she insisted we proceed,' Tyler responded sheepishly. I felt bad about getting him in trouble.

The judge turned his attention back to me. I spoke before he did. 'Your Honor, my client has already been in custody for since Friday evening. A ten-day continuance will be a hardship for him. This is just an arraignment and bail hearing.' I explained. It was going to be handled a little differently from an ordinary DUI and everyone knew it. My client had hit a school bus. Fortunately, there were no kids on the bus and the bus driver was only unnerved, not injured.

The judge was livid. 'He should have thought of that before he got drunk and drove. This is his third appearance for driving under the influence. And it's his second appearance for driving with a suspended license. You know as well as I do that conviction this time calls for mandatory incarceration. I'll give him credit for time served at sentencing. In the meantime, he can enjoy the accommodations at the county jail.'

'Yes, you Honor.' I turned to leave, but it wasn't to be. Tyler was lucky. He escaped.

'Christie,' the judge said in a voice full of kindness and concern. 'Go home, rest and heal. Don't come back until the bruises are gone and your ribs healed.' His tone turned stern again. 'Your client will be fine. He doesn't deserve a break. He'll get a fair shake. Unfortunately, his attorney is temporarily unavailable due to an unfortunate - accident. Understood?'

The judge knew I hadn't had an accident. Everyone with business at the courthouse knew about the deputy sheriff that had beat his attorney wife and put her in the hospital. They also knew where the deputy sheriff was because he hadn't made bail yet. I wasn't about to bail him out. And for some reason, the only local bail-bond business in the area didn't step up. Sometimes blood is thicker than marital ties.

'Yes, your Honor.'

It didn't go well for my client when I was finally able to return to court. But then, he made his problems himself.

I was in my office one morning when Jerry Chamberlain showed up unannounced. The rest of the Chamberlain Trust board of trustees filed in behind him. My first thought was 'Oh, shit! This can't be good.' Jerry was a cousin. Fortunately, I rarely saw him. He was almost twenty years older than me. We had nothing in common. The rest of the trustees were all relatives of one stripe or another. I really didn't want to talk to them but couldn't just ignore them, either.

'Hello, Jerry. How are you?' I began, nodding at the rest. I knew Jerry, alpha dog that he thought himself, would speak for the group.

'I'm well, Christie,' he said. 'Do you have a few minutes for the trustees and me? It's important.'

Typical. Not so much as a hello. Jerry didn't trouble himself with social niceties. 'You really should have called for an appointment,' I told him. 'I'm very busy.'

'No, you're not,' he said brusquely, reminding me why I didn't like him. Two of the trustees, did I mention they were all relatives, laughed. 'You don't have any clients. At least no paying clients. Your last court filing was nearly a year ago. You have time for us.'

There was no fooling this guy. 'Okay. But I don't have enough chairs for everyone.'

'That's okay. We won't be long,' Jerry told me.

'What can I do for you? Do you need legal representation?' I asked, trying not to sound as sarcastic as I knew the question was.. The trust already had legal representation.

David Chamberlain, a distant cousin that I thought I liked, laughed this time.

'No, we have competent representation, thank you,' Jerry answered sarcastically. 'But we do wish to discuss other services. Are you familiar with Wexler, Bagley, and Tiff?'

'Of course.' WBT was a Boston-based firm that specialized in trusts and financial management services. They managed the trusts' finances.

'How about David Tiff?' Jerry continued.

'Yes.' He was the partner in the firm name and the trust's business and financial manager.

'He's retiring in a couple of months,' Jerry continued.

'Good for him,' I responded testily. It took a couple of moments, but Jerry's crack about competent representation had pushed my buttons. 'Now, again, what do you want?'

'Your mother died when you were in high school and left you about three hundred thousand? You managed to turn it into seven hundred fifty thousand by the time you left for Stanford.'

'That's none of your business.' I told him, pointedly. Jerry could piss anyone off by just opening his mouth. It was his super power. This was beyond the pale.

'Don't interrupt. You graduated from Stanford summa cum laude in three years with a double major in finance and math. Then completed your MBA in another year. You had a little over two-point-five mill when you left Stanford. University of Virginia Law School, law review, second in your class by an apparent coin flip. Passed the bar on your first attempt. You didn't do quite as well financially while you were in law school. Your account didn't quite double, giving you just under four mill. But you've made up for it since. You've now worth almost nine mill.'

'How do you know this?' I asked, gritting my teeth. He was only citing what he could ascertain from WBT, which didn't sit well. He apparently didn't know about my other financial assets.

'You keep your money with Wexler, Bagley, and Tiff. From what I understand, you make regular deposits, reinvest your monthly benefit check, and tell them what to do with your money. Apparently, you have some another source of funds that isn't with Wexler because you don't receive any disbursements from them. You don't seem to be starving and I know you're not getting rich from your legal practice. Plus, they do your taxes.'

'Okay, so I'm good with my money. What do you want?' I was annoyed, frustrated and beyond impatient with this conversation.

Jerry smiled. It always creeped me out when he smiled. 'We want you to work at Wexler and take over managing trust finances.'

It was my turn to laugh. 'That's not going to happen. They probably don't like me. I kicked Tiff Jr.'s butt in court last year. He hadn't lost case in forever. It was in the papers. I'm sure you read about it.' I felt smug just then.

'Actually, Tiff brought your name up. He expressed an interest in retaining your services but couldn't contact you. Mr. Tiff said you're an untapped talent. They want you to come in and meet with them. Tell me Christie, how is it that they have your money and do your taxes but don't have your phone number, email, or home address?'

I didn't say anything for fear of saying something stupid. I did that sometimes. I knew I was reasonably bright. But I could bury my foot in my mouth right up to the groin when dealing with fools. Someday, I'd have to learn to curb my tongue.

'Christie? What do you think?' Jerry pressed.

I hesitated. 'I'll have to think about it.'

'I understand.' Jerry smiled. I suppressed my discomfort at suffering that smarmy grin again. 'I can certainly appreciate how it would be difficult to tear yourself away from these luxurious surroundings.

Now I was pissed but I still bit my tongue. My office was an old storefront in the little town center. It wasn't much. The rent was cheap. It was clean and neat. Okay, it needed to paint. And some of the linoleum tiles were missing. Others were broken. The bathroom bordered on gross. Okay, it was a dump. I knew already. I didn't need Jerry to point it out.

Jerry and his mute chorus left after giving me Tiff's business card and telling me he was expecting my call.

Ten minutes later my cell rang. The caller ID told me it was my high school best friend, Debbie, an elementary school teacher and mother of twin girls. She was also married to one of my ex's former colleagues. We had remained friends and talked regularly though didn't get to see each other much. She never called during school hours

'What's wrong, Debbie?' I asked before she got a word in.

'Donnie sent a text asking me to call when I went to lunch,' she answered without missing a beat. 'Gary's getting out. He'll be released the first of the month.'

My ex. Three weeks and he'd be out after just fourteen months. I hadn't seen him since the trial and then only the day I testified. I divorced him while he was in jail. I had to provide a significant financial inducement to get him to sign the divorce papers. It still irked me that I had to pay him.

'He's getting out early?'

'Four months off his sentence for good behavior,' she told me uneasily. 'I gotta go, the kids are due back from recess any minute. Call me tonight.'

I decided then and there to 'reluctantly' close my law firm and leave town.

I wasn't sure about working for Wexler, Bagley, and Tiff but I called. After learning that Jerry had already told him not to expect a call from me, we had a pleasant business-like talk. We arranged to meet in his office later that week. I put my meager files in my briefcase, took my laptop, turned off the lights and locked up for the last time.

I found I liked David Tiff. He was smiling as he shook my hand. 'You really humiliated my son in court last year. He said he under-estimated you because you'd never litigated before. I read the trial transcripts. He made the wrong argument, not that he had an argument to make. It's a lot easier to live with him now. He was getting too full of himself. You did him a bigger favor than he knows but he'll probably resent you forever.'

We talked about my investment philosophy. He asked about the giant windfall I collected when I shorted Xigeng Electronics while everyone else was going long. I assured him everything was above board. The SEC had already raked me over the coals and found no wrong-doing. I queried him about how the trust's money was invested. I told him I thought the investments were too conservative. He agreed but had to follow the trustee's directions. I expressed some concerns about never having managed such a large amount of money. He assured me he would be available to provide advice any time I wanted.

Our last topic of discussion was about the politics of dealing with the trustees. Jerry bullied the other trustees into going along with his ideas. I'd have to change that. David took me to meet with Wexler and Bagley. The three of us spent several hours with together.

I got an offer from WBT the following week. I would be coming in as a junior partner, which I knew was going to ruffle a few feathers. In addition to the Chamberlain Trust, I'd get most of Tiff's portfolio. The salary offered was generous and included a significant bonus potential. I would also have a staff. That would be an adjustment. I had always worked alone. I accepted the offer.

It was after starting work at Wexler, Bagley and Tiff that Martin and I crossed paths.

I called my great-uncle, Enos, a month before my vacation to make sure he could take me to the cabin. He always did and would never take my money, not even for fuel. I once used another boat because Enos wouldn't let me pay him. He blew a fuse. He told every captain for miles in every direction that if they took my money, there'd be hell to pay. None of them wanted to cross a Chamberlain. Uncle Enos adored me and I loved him dearly. I just wished he'd let me pay his going rate.

I was considering inviting Martin but hadn't yet. My therapist had been on my case about him. She knew I'd been seeing Martin for some time. And she also knew I'd not begun a sexual relationship with him despite seeing him for nearly two years.

My therapist, Dr. Casey, had recently met Martin when I ran into her at a restaurant. I introduced her by name, as a professional acquaintance, leaving out the doctor part. We had a drink together in the bar while we waited for our tables. I cringed when Martin suggested the four of us dine together, but Dr. Casey declined, saying she and her companion had some personal matters to discuss.

My next session with Dr. Casey got contentious.

'Last week you told me you were going on vacation and were thinking about inviting Martin. Have you?'

'No. I haven't made up my mind,' I answered without hesitation. 'I'm still not sure I want I want to be stuck with him for two weeks with no immediate means of escape.'

'Stuck with him? Oh please, Christie,' Dr. Casey responded. I could practically taste her sarcasm. 'When did see him last?'

'At lunch.'

'And before that?'

'We had dinner together last night at his place.'

'I seem to recall you have dinner with him almost every night. And lunch several times a week. I don't understand why you say you're not sure you want to be stuck with someone you spend all your free time with. Do you enjoy his company?'

I didn't hesitate. 'Very much.'

'What are you afraid of?'

I didn't have an answer for that. Martin didn't scare me. He was kind and considerate. I knew he wanted to sleep with me. I was confident it wasn't the only reason he spent so much time with me. He didn't care about my money though he didn't know how much I had. He had enough of his own. I shot him down every time he tried to get intimate. To his credit, or maybe his discredit, he didn't push it or get angry, though I knew he was frustrated with me.

'Christie? Are you still with me?'

'Yes.'

'Would you like to know what I think?' Dr. Casey asked.

'Would it matter if I said no?' I asked. I knew it didn't. She wanted me to arrive at the how and why I sabotaged my personal happiness on my own. Sometimes she succeeded. But she wasn't above telling me flat out either. I cowered as I waited for her next words.

'I don't understand why you're not sleeping with Martin. You've told me he's kind, considerate, affectionate, generous. He enjoys your company. You just said you enjoy his. He's certainly good-looking, if a little bookish. You've even told me you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. Hell, from what you've told me and what I saw over our drink together, if I hadn't met him when he was with you, I'd be all over him. Frankly, Christie, you need to get laid. The sooner the better.'

I was shocked. And my face must have shown it. 'But . . .' I really didn't have a response. It didn't matter. Dr. Casey wasn't finished.

'I'm not saying that sex is going to solve all your problems. But I think it might help resolve some of your issues as regards Martin. I also think once you accept that a man could find you desirable and doesn't want to use you as a punching bag, you might start to get a better handle on the rest of your emotional issues.'

I cried for a half hour in the exit room before I composed myself. I left the session badly shaken. It felt like Dr. Casey had kicked my butt, like my father might have. My father never physically hurt me. But he always found a way to get to the crux of a problem and deal with it directly. Sometimes he hurt my feelings. But what father doesn't reluctantly hurt his daughter's feelings while being a good parent? He didn't do it to be cruel. He did it because he loved me. I missed him badly. If he was still alive, I probably wouldn't need Dr. Casey and her two-hundred-dollar fifty-minute sessions.

I'd had no sex life for some time. My ex got most of his jollies abusing me. I hadn't even touched myself in ages. While the idea of sleeping with Martin wasn't repugnant, I just couldn't seem to do it.

That night at dinner, I invited Martin to go with me to the cabin. He told me he'd have to check his schedule, but I knew he'd join me. But despite what Dr. Casey thought, I wasn't about to sleep with him.

We left before sunrise. Martin was quiet during the drive. At first, I thought it was because of the early hour. We'd never spent time together that early in the morning. But as we got closer to the harbor, I realized he was nervous about the trip out to the island. He had never been on a boat.

Though my issues always kept Martin off-balance and unsure, he was otherwise supremely confident, sometimes bordering on cocky. I guess he had to be cocky to work with the professional athletes he saw in his physical therapy practice which specialized in sports injuries. I fought to keep from smiling. I liked that, for a change, he wasn't nervous about me. Because of me but not about me.

When we got to the dock, his unease became more apparent. He flinched when he saw me enthusiastically hug Uncle Enos. I hadn't mentioned Enos was family. Enos was my maternal grandmother's youngest brother, though at seventy-three, he was closer to my mother's age. Mom would have been in her mid-sixties. He was my last connection to my mother.

Martin got progressively more nervous after we shoved off. Enos and I caught up while Martin paced nervously. When we turned north at the end of the breakwater, we hit six-foot swells. Martin turned green, found a place to sit, and held on for dear life. I felt bad for him but I guiltily found it a little amusing, too. Enos thought it funny and made no effort to hide it. Martin somehow managed to hold it together. I was glad we skipped lunch. I got a little queasy myself.