The War of the Roses

Title 16-904, Section C,' Goldstein said smugly, watching his face. 'It allows a no-fault divorce even if a man and woman live under one roof. Separately, of course. No cohabitation. The waiting period is not affected.'

'So I don't have to leave?'

'No. But. ..' Goldstein held up his hand. 'Who gets the house and its contents is still up to the court. The judge could decide it's too contentious and order everything to be sold and the proceeds split. We could appeal. It could go on for years, considering the crowded dockets.'

Oliver felt a surge of hope.

'And my willingness to stay there. Fight for it. That will show my fervor. Maybe . . . my very presence will force her out.'

'Don't get overly ambitious. There's still the kids to think about.'

'Maybe she'll see the light. Hell, she's getting the kids. She can easily buy another place with the money I'm prepared to give her.' He stood up and clapped his hands, then reality intruded again. 'How in hell can I live in the same house with her? It'll be a nightmare. Who the hell thought up such a stupid idea?'

'The schvartzes,' Goldstein said, getting up and starting to pace about the office. 'Many of them couldn't afford to maintain two domiciles, so they made it easy on themselves and had a law passed.'

'Maybe that's why there are so many domestic murders among the blacks,' Oliver said gloomily, his elation disintegrating.

'God damn it, Goldstein,' he thundered suddenly. 'I can't do it. I can't possibly do it. While she's there I can't possibly live in that house. The way I feel now I'll want to strangle her every time I see her.'

'That,' Goldstein said, pointing a chubby forefinger, like a threatening gun barrel, at his head, 'is what loses cases.' He paused and moved back to his desk. 'Number one.' He lifted a fat pinky. 'Do you want to lose the house entirely?' 'Absolutely not.'

'Then I strongly suggest 16-904, Section C,' Goldstein said emphatically. A sudden thought seemed to intrude. 'You could also make sure she doesn't sell anything . .. these collections.'

'My Staffordshire.'

'Or your wines. Then comes number two.' Goldstein lifted the finger next to his pinky. It stood surprisingly straight, as if he had had much practice in exercising that particular joint. 'You have to be willing to sacrifice. You mustn't give her a single cause for legal action. She will undoubtedly try to dislodge you.'

'Like how?'

'By making you miserable.' 'I can do the same.'

Goldstein held up a hand, like a traffic cop.

'Don't interfere with the household. Be like a little mouse. No girlfriends in the house. Nothing she can hang a case on.'

'No sex?'

'Not in the house. Better nothing. It's not long. A year.'

'I thought you said six months.'

'If one of the parties contests, it's a year. We're going to contest. The divorce will still get granted under no- fault. But why make it easy? Maybe the tension will break down her demands. This is a war, Rose. It's not Monopoly.'

'You think we can win?'

'A judge is a putz? Goldstein smiled. 'Also unpredictable. Who knows?'

'I have no choice, then.'

'Of course you do. You can move out.'

'That's no choice,' Oliver said firmly.

'All you have to do is live there. As innocuously as

possible. Don't take your meals there. Leave her the kitchen. Let her run the house as always. Be just a squatter. The best tack is to be inconspicuous. As I said, like a mouse.' 'And the kids?'

'It doesn't look like the kids will be a problem. Be fatherly, but under no circumstances let them be made an issue. In terms of Mrs Rose, try to be cool, polite, proper, and distant. If you think she's up to something fishy, tell me. Don't give her any cause for action. Don't do anything stupid. Don't take anything out of the house. If she does, tell me immediately.'

'I've got to be a prisoner in my own house,' he mumbled. Goldstein ignored him.

'Number three.' The middle digit joined the others. 'Be patient. Exercise. Go to the movies a lot. Play with yourself. Anything to keep your mind off your problems.'

'Fat chance,' he said. 'And number four?'

'Number four,' Goldstein said, shaking his head sadly and looking deep into Oliver's face, 'is not to be a schmuck and do something that you'll be sorry for. And number five' - Goldstein smiled, showing a line of spaced teeth like a picket fence - 'is to pay my monthly retainer on time.'

Oliver sat in his office long after the others had gone. He had shooed away the cleaning woman, a portly Spanish-looking lady who looked at him knowingly. He was certain she had guessed that he was sitting there because he had no place to go.