** Author Note-- Staci, thanks for sharing the idea & the inspiration...
*
Summer Franklin walked into my office for the first time one Tuesday afternoon last November. I was just getting ready to grab my coat and head out the door to get some lunch when my secretary buzzed me to say there was a walk-in client waiting in the lobby to see me.
I'd gotten to work about two hours early that morning to get a head start on an especially troublesome case and hadn't touched a morsel of food since the night before. Needless to say I was fidgety and not in the best of moods, and could almost taste the burger I was gonna order from Benny's Bar & Grill down the street when a nervous, but very well mannered black woman walked into my office. The bags beneath her eyes were the size of saucers and it was clear from her gait when she took a few steps that a good night's sleep hadn't been on her plate in quite awhile.
I laid my coat back down, smiled and extended my hand which she shook with a very tentative and slightly sweaty grip. She pulled her purse strap down over her shoulder and took the seat I'd offered her.
"I want to divorce my Husband," she managed to say, doing everything she could to avoid making eye contact.
Pushing the box of tissues I kept on my desk for just such occasions gently over to her, I leaned back in my seat and waited for her to continue.
The woman had a very intriguing air about her as she detailed the unraveling of her 12 year marriage. There was certainly a scab of hardness about her demeanor, but looking into the sparkling pool of tears just waiting to overflow from her eyes, it was clear that was also a vast gulf of vulnerability inside her as well. I listened patiently for over 10 minutes, nodding my head when she made an especially forceful point and jotting down an occasional note to come back to if need be, just as I'd done with the hundreds of other men and women I'd dealt with in similar situations since graduating from law school 20 years ago and going into business for myself.
I was sure there was an element of truth in what the sobbing woman was telling me, but from experience I was also sure the Husband probably had a few points on his side as well. More often than not, the truth lay somewhere in between. So as the woman continued laying out her case for me taking up her cause, I did what I often did when other disgruntled wives came into my office. I sat there and mentally undressed her.
Summer Franklin was a decent looking woman, but at 34 and forced to work three part time jobs to keep food in her two kids' mouths because of the philandering ways of her Husband, it was apparent she was aging quicker than she would have liked. No taller than 5'4" with an average build, the knee length dress Summer wore had seen many a Sunday at church I guessed, and sadly gave away very few secrets about the body hiding beneath.
Leaning forward slightly in my seat to feign more interest than I had, I looked deep into the welling swells of Summer's dark brown eyes and decided that I wanted her.
"So are you married?" she asked me out of the blue, breaking the temporary hypnosis I'd put myself under.
"Ah...use to be...divorced about 10 years ago. So yes...I've certainly been on your side of the desk before," I added, sensing my admission put Summer a little more at ease.
It took about 20 minutes but I felt I was earning Summer's trust. Her body language and tone had softened considerably being able to tell her side of the story, but I could see she was gearing herself to ask me a really tough question.
"...I'll be honest with you Mr. Jenson...ahh...Money's kind of tight right now," Summer hesitantly began.
"I'd be glad...you know...to maybe...kinda set up a payment plan...and...," she continued, the strength of her voice receding with each passing word as if she could gauge from my eyes what my eventual answer would be.
"I'll be honest with you Mrs. Franklin," I finally saved her the dignity and interrupted.
"I have a lot on my plate right now," I said, pointing towards the mountain of files piled on me desk. "Your case does sound very do-able though...I actually know a woman a few blocks over who's carved quite a niche for herself handling cases like yours. I've faced her several times in court...she knows what she's doing and from what I've heard she's much more reasonable on her fee...even does some pro-bono work for certain clients."
Summer's eyes visibly lit up hearing the pro-bono option and she gladly took the business card for the other lawyer when I'd fished one out of my desk drawer. Now it was my turn to ask her an awkward question.
"I have to ask Mrs. Franklin...you mentioned a few minutes ago you were worried if you filed for divorce that your Husband would seek full custody of the kids...That happens very rarely...even in extreme cases. Is there any reason that would be a genuine concern of yours?" I asked, more in a friendly tone than that of counsel.
Summer sighed several times and I could see her ringing her hands in her lap as I sat there patiently, allowing her tentativeness to dissolve.
"There might be a few things from my past that Larry might want to dredge up...nothing illegal or even all that much of a big deal... but stuff I'd like to keep in the past all the same," Summer said softly, now rubbing her left temple to fend of the obvious headache taking root.
Now I really was intrigued, but my stomach continued to growl.
"I was just headed out the door to grab some lunch...to the grill just down the street...care to join me...lunch is on me," I leaned back and offered as I once again grabbed my coat.
"I might have a few ideas having dealt with situations like yours Mrs. Franklin...and since I'm not taking your case, we might be able to color outside the lines a little here," I added.
Looking beat but a little intrigued herself, she looked up at me and cautiously agreed to join me for a bite to eat.
"Please...call me Summer...considering Franklin's my Husband's name...hearing it just makes me ill right now," she gathered the energy to smile and say.
"Then Summer it is," I replied before escorting her out the door and down the street.
______________________________________
Turns out Summer had been a stripper back in college. Certainly not on the far end of the 'You're gonna burn in Hell" continuum, but given Summer's concern over this little bit of dirty laundry being aired in the middle of a potential divorcee proceeding, I understood her concern. She told me she made the gut-wrenching decision to try stripping her Junior year at school after her scholarship money dried up a the same time her parents were facing some financial hurdles. She'd gotten a job working at one of the joints in Greensboro, a few of miles from where she was going to school at Winston Salem State, knowing full well against her better judgment that many of the boys attending classes there would frequent the club. One of those men happened to be a dashing senior named Larry Franklin, the man she would soon marry.
Larry had been at the club one night and happened to come along when a much less desirable gentleman was hassling Summer to no end. Larry had moved in and wound up giving the appreciative 21 year old girl a ride home that night. Four months later she was pregnant with his baby and by the Fall of what would have been her Senior year, Summer found herself married and not enrolled in school. Larry had been adamant about her staying home with their first child as he started his career, but it wasn't long after their Son was born that Summer found herself yet pregnant again. Returning to college soon became an afterthought.
Thankfully, only Summer's Husband and a handful of her college friends knew about that four month stint taking her clothes off and dancing for tips. She told me she'd be devastated if her Mom and Dad were to ever find out, especially since she did it when they were going through some tough times. Summer also dreaded the psychological fallout that would result if her two young kids had to discover she'd done that for a living. The fact that their Father met her while he was patronizing the place just wouldn't carry the same albatross of shame.
"It does sound like you're between a rock and a hard place," I told her as the waitress approached with our food.