spent at the park near his home, teaching his six-year-old boy, Justin, how to field ground balls and how to perfect his Tee Ball swing. Martin also went on and on, bragging about his three-year-old daughter, Monica’s, prowess in toddler tumbling class. Martin took her there every Saturday morning, he said, so his wife could ‘sleep in.’
Initially, Swindell had found all this paternal gushing on Martin’s part to be a bit excessive, almost bordering on the effeminate. At the same time, though, it made him painfully aware of the lack of closeness in his relationship with his own thirty-three-year-old son, a marine biologist now living in southern California. He and Randall rarely spoke, and Swindell normally had to board a plane just to effect a face-to-face meeting with him. But that was to be expected, he thought, when he considered his own emotionally starved childhood, growing up in a household dominated by his distant, demanding and aristocratic father, Chester, Sr.
Swindell may have envied his client for the closeness of his relationship with his children, but he found little else appealing about Martin’s present life or circumstances. Late the previous afternoon, for instance, he had received a disturbing phone call from Gloria Cheswick, a fellow divorce attorney, who served with Swindell on the county bar association’s Civil Procedures committee. Swindell secretly disliked Gloria, whom he considered to be a women’s rights zealot and a bit of a nut case.
“Chester,” Gloria had begun somewhat sternly, once she had dispensed with the usual pleasantries, “ please tell me the rumors I’m hearing aren’t true.”
“What rumors, Gloria?”
“Tell me you are not representing that awful man.”
“Who?”
“Martin Silkwood. Tell me, it’s not true.”
“I’m not tellin’ you anythin’, Gloria—one way or the other. What’s your interest in this case, anyway? You representin’ the wife?”
“My interest is strictly personal, Chester. Katie Silkwood is a good and dear friend.”
“Then, you might not want to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Gloria. If your intent is to interfere with my representation of a client by slanderin’ that individual, you could end up gettin’ yourself sanctioned by the court.”
“You would report me to the judge, Chester—over this?”
“I’d do it before I’d allow your actions to compromise me, yes.”
“He’s a monster, Chester. An absolute monster!”
“Where’s all this fervor comin’ from, Gloria? You got any first-hand knowledge you want to share?”
Gloria thought a moment before replying. “No, I don’t. But I know what this man is capable of. Katie has told me everything.”
“That’s all hearsay, Gloria: inadmissible in court and inappropriate here…. Did the Silkwood woman put you up to this?”
“Of course, not!”
“Then, I guess she’s got more sense than you!”
“You are representing him, aren’t you, Chester?” Gloria said with a gasp. “And all along, I thought you were one of the good guys!”
Swindell laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of thin’s, in my time, Gloria, but that’s a first! Listen, it’s been real nice chattin’ with ya, but I have got to run now. Bye!” And with that, Swindell had hung up the phone. Even now, as he replayed that conversation in his mind, Swindell rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Gloria Cheswick clearly had wandered far off ‘the reservation.’
He shuddered at the thought that he might, one day, have the misfortune of facing Gloria in court. Unlike Beverly West, who played the ‘domestic violence’ card frequently, but always in a cold, calculated way, Gloria Cheswick behaved erratically...and emotionally.
Gloria seemed to fancy herself as a true champion of oppressed and victimized women. For some unknown reason, all the domestic violence propaganda freely circulating within the legal community seemed to resonate with Gloria on a deeply