Afternoon Delight

RE: Tonight

I don’t have any plans. Derek took me to The Top of the Mark last night. (Keep your I-told-you-so to yourself, though. The irony that was not lost on me.)

I finally broke up with him. (Keep your I-never-liked-him-anyway to yourself, too.)

Rei

Unified Family Court, 400 McAllister Street, San Francisco

All kids need is a little help, a little hope and somebody who believes in them. —Earvin “Magic” Johnson

RE: Single again

I told you The Mark was a weird choice for a date. That’s where sailors had their last drink before shipping out to the Pacific in WWII.

Well, I’m sorry it’s over but, hell, I never liked Derek anyway. Like the other men you’ve chosen, he was opinionated, self-righteous and argumentative. You shouldn’t date lawyers.

When are you going to admit that I’m always right?

P.J.

RE: Already over it

Nice ego there, honey. You should have that checked.

And I told you not to say I told you!

I’m not as sorry as maybe I should be. Then again, it’s not like we were serious.

Rei

RE: You can’t be serious

Never had sex with him, huh?

I think one of our Break Away Nights is in order. I heard about this new place, Divas. Thursday night is Ladies Night so there’s bound to be great people (by that I mean men-who-are-not-lawyers) for you to meet. I’ll pick you up at your house at nine.

P.J.

RE: Break Away Night

Is that my nine or your nine? Because my nine is actually nine, whereas your nine usually means ten. So why don’t we say eight? That way we’ll both be on time.

Recess is almost over. See you later.

Rei

SUPERIOR COURT Commissioner Rei Davis clicked the button to send the message to her best friend then signed out of her e-mail program. Turning her chair, she gazed out the small grimy window to the French Renaissance facade of the War Memorial Opera House across Van Ness Avenue. She’d never actually been to an opera or even listened to one to find out if she liked it. Something else to add to her Life List.

Life. The word had a wonderful feel, one that spread through her like bright rays of sunlight through cloud. She’d just gone for her checkup with Dr. Solís this past Monday, April seventh, one year to the day…. She was blessed to still be alive and she knew it.

As she heard the outer door to her chambers open, she turned to see Mary Alice, her court services clerk. The petite older woman held an armful of case files, a harried expression on her kind face. “They’re ready for you, Commissioner. Five walk-ins were just added to the docket, including a case that was transferred from Judge Shuford.”

She schooled her expression, repressing a sigh. She’d already handled thirteen cases before calling a recess for lunch. Now the afternoon caseload would either run late or have to be rescheduled.

“All right, thanks. I’ll be right in.”

Once upon a time, she really had been quick-tempered and over-ambitious, an impatient and obsessively ambitious corporate law attorney who treated everything in her life like a merger or acquisition. Then she’d discovered a lump in her right breast that irrevocably changed her life…

Despite a partnership being well within reach, she had quit her lucrative position with the law firm. Instead she’d accepted a position as a referee, a Family Court officer appointed by the presiding judge to hear cases that involved juveniles. She’d been given a second chance and wanted to make a difference in the lives of others. She’d thrown herself into the job and three months later applied for one of the vacant Court Commissioner slots.

Family was the thread that wove together the fabric of society, the backbone of civilization. On a good day, she was proud to help maintain the family structure by approving adoptions, resolving custody disputes and returning kids in foster care to their homes.

Lately, however, she felt tired and disillusioned. The docket before her made it easy to believe the backbone of civilization was twisted and crumbling beneath the weight of crime, abuse and neglect. There were too many days when she felt like all she could do was shovel sand against the surge. But life was precious, especially the life of a child who had so much ahead if only someone gave them a chance.

Rei pushed away from the desk and stood up, brushing a hand over her chignon, and reached for the black robe hanging on her coat rack. Squaring her shoulders, she mentally prepared herself to tilt at some windmills and try to turn a few tides.

“VISITATION IS HEREBY revoked pending the Defendant’s completion of both anger management and substance abuse programs. Mrs. Landis will continue to have full custody of the children.”

“You can’t do this! You can’t take my kids away from me!”

“I just did, Mr. Landis.” Rei spoke sharply and frowned at the alcoholic who thought it was okay to strike his sons with a beer bottle. “We’ll reexamine this matter in three months. But for now, we’re done here.”

“I’m their father and I can damn well discipline my boys when they need it. You’re not taking my kids!”

Gathering the case files off the bench, Rei briefly glanced at Landis while a bailiff forcibly removed him from the courtroom. He didn’t deserve those kids. Or more to the point, those kids didn’t deserve him. Ignoring the empty threats echoing from the hall, she called the next case, Cannon v. Ogilvy.

“Mr. Willette, am I reading this file correctly?” Rei shot a baleful look at the young attorney standing before her. “You’re bringing charges of stalking and harassment?”

“That’s right, Your Honor. My client, Cindy Cannon, told her parents that James Ogilvy has been following her around and won’t leave her alone.”

“Your client is six years old, Mr. Willette, and so is the Defendant.” She scowled at the child’s mother. “I can’t believe you’re wasting the Court’s time with this.”

Mrs. Cannon, a prissy brunette with rigid features, stood up and wrung her hands. “Cindy talks about this boy all the time. She says he trails after her on the playground, tries to sit next to her at lunch and hides notes in her book bag.”

“That would be exhibits one through five, Your Honor.”

Rei held up the multi-colored sheets of construction paper. “You mean these crayon drawings of hearts and smiley faces, Mr. Willette?”

Defense counsel stood as well, but Rei held up one palm before she could speak. “Don’t bother, Ms. Schaefer. I’m on it.

She slid the “love letters” back into the file and shut it with a snap. “What we have here, people, is a case of very innocent, very normal, puppy love between elementary school children. Nothing more. Mrs. Cannon, I’m sure there are plenty of women at St. Francis Hospital who could clue you in about what stalking really is. I suggest you get a grip on reality. Case dismissed. What’s next?”

“Good afternoon, Commissioner Davis. Frank Dowd, Assistant State’s Attorney.” He smoothed his tie. “Bruce Grayson is accused of viciously beating an elderly storeowner during the course of an attempted robbery.”

Rei glanced over at the child slouched in a chair beside his lawyer. Bruce still had the chubby-faced appearance of a young boy, but his sullen expression and ancient eyes told another, too familiar story. Did happy childhoods only exist in movies and wishful thinking anymore?

“Jeffrey Bates for the Defense, Your Honor. Bruce is only twelve years old. He comes from a broken home, has been in and out of foster care—”