But as he walked into the courtroom, Bernie was thinking only of Chandler Scott and how much he hated him. They had the same judge they had had before, the only one available to them, the domestic relations judge, as he was called. He was a sleepy-looking man with white hair and a friendly smile, and he seemed to think that everyone loved everyone, or could be taught to, with a little effort.
He chided Scott for being “overenthusiastic about being alone with his daughter prematurely,” and Grossman had to grip Bernie's arm to keep him in his chair. And then he turned to Bernie and urged him to understand how strong a natural father's impulses were to be with his only child. And that time Bill was unable to restrain him.
“His natural impulses have not manifested themselves for nine years, Your Honor. And his strongest natural impulse was to try to extort a million dollars out of me for the safe return of my daughter when he …”
The judge smiled at Bernie benevolently. “I'm sure he was only joking, Mr. Fine. Please be seated.” Bernie wanted to cry as he listened to the proceedings. He had called his mother the night before, to bring them up to date, and she was convinced that they were persecuting him because he was Jewish. He knew that wasn't the case. But they were persecuting him because he wasn't Jane's natural father, as though that made a difference. Chandler Scott's only claim to fame was to have slept with Jane's mother and have gotten her pregnant. That had been his only contribution to Jane's life and well-being, whereas for half of her life, Bernie had been everything to her. And Grossman did everything he could to get the point across.
“My client feels very strongly that Mr. Scott is not emotionally or financially prepared to take on the responsibility of a child at this time. Perhaps at some later date, Your Honor …” Bernie lurched forward again, and Bill stared him into silence. “Mr. Scott has had several encounters with the law, and has not had regular employment for several years, from what we've been able to determine. And at the moment he is living in a transient hotel in East Oakland.” Scott squirmed in his seat but only slightly.
“Is that true, Mr. Scott?” The judge smiled at him, anxious for a truth that would make Scott a good father in his eyes, and Scott was anxious to help him.
“Not exactly, Your Honor. I've been living on a trust my family left me a while ago.” The aura of the country club again, but Grossman was quick to challenge it.
“Can you prove that, Mr. Scott?” he interjected.
“Of course …that money is gone now, I'm afraid. But I'm going to start work with the Atlas Bank this week.”
“With his record?” Bernie whispered to Grossman.
“Never mind. We'll force him to prove it.”
“And I rented an apartment in the city yesterday.” He looked triumphantly at Grossman and Bernie, and the judge nodded. “Of course, I don't have as much money as Mr. Fine, but I hope Jane won't mind that very much.”
The judge nodded again, anxious to please Chandler. “Material goods are not what's important here, and of course I'm sure you'll be happy to agree to a visitation schedule for Mr. Fine to see Jane.”
Bernie suddenly looked at Grossman in terror, and leaned over to speak to him in a whisper. “What's he talking about? What does he mean a 'visitation schedule' for me? Is he crazy?”
Grossman waited a moment and then questioned the judge as to his intention, and he asked Bill to wait a moment, but then explained it to all parties concerned. “There is no question here but that Mr. Fine loves his stepdaughter, and that is not the issue here, but the fact remains that a natural father belongs with his child, in the absence of the natural mother. With the unfortunate death of Mrs. Fine, Jane must revert to living with her father. The court fully understands how painful this is for Mr. Fine, and we will remain open to discussion as we see how the new arrangement works out.” He smiled benignly at Scott, as Bernie sat shaking in his seat. He had failed her. He had failed Liz completely. And now he was going to lose Jane. It was like hearing that they were going to tear off his arm. And actually he would have preferred it. Given the choice, he would gladly have given up any limb and kept the child, but they didn't offer him that option. The judge looked at both men, their attorneys, and finished his pronouncement. “Custody is hereby being given to Chandler Scott, with a satisfactory visiting schedule to be given to Bernard Fine, perhaps a biweekly visit,” he suggested as Bernie gaped from his seat. “The child is to be turned over to Mr. Scott in forty-eight hours, at her domicile, at twelve noon on December twenty-third. I feel that the unfortunate little mishap in Mexico is only an indication of how anxious Mr. Scott is to begin a normal life with his daughter, and the court would like to see him do that as quickly as possible.” For the first time in his adult life, Bernie thought he was going to faint as the judge rapped the gavel. He was as white as a sheet and he was staring down at the table when Bill Grossman looked at him. The room was spinning in front of his eyes, and he felt as though Liz had just died again. He could almost hear her voice in his ears …swear to me, Bernie …swear to me you'll never let him near her….
“Are you all right?” Grossman was frightened as he looked at him. He was leaning over him and he signaled to the clerk for a glass of water. They handed Bernie a soggy paper cup filled with lukewarm water, and a sip of it helped bring him to his senses. He silently got to his feet and followed Bill Grossman out of the courtroom.
“Do I have any recourse? Can I appeal this?” He looked badly shaken.
“You can ask for another hearing, but you have to give up the child in the meantime.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact way, hoping to defuse the emotions, but there was no way to do that. Bernie was staring at him with open hatred. Hatred of Scott and the judge and the system, and he wasn't entirely sure Bernie didn't hate him too. And he wasn't sure he would have blamed him. It was a travesty of justice, but they were helpless.
“What if I don't give her up to him on the twenty-third?” he asked in an undertone outside the courtroom.
“They'll put you in jail sooner or later. But he'll have to come back with a deputy sheriff to do it.”
“Good.” Bernie's mouth set in a thin line, and he looked at his attorney. “And you better get ready to bail me out of jail, because I'm not giving Jane to him. And I'm going to offer to buy him off when he comes. He wants to sell me the kid? Great. Name the price. I'm buying.”
“Bernie, things might go more smoothly if you turn Jane over to him and then try to deal with him. The court will take a dim view of it if…”
“To hell with the court,” Bernie spat at him. “And to hell with you too. Not one of you bastards gives a damn about my kid. You just want to keep each other happy and not rock the goddamn boat. Well, you're not talking about a boat, you're talking about my daughter, and I know what's good for her and what isn't. One of these days that bastard is going to kill my kid, and you're all going to tell me how sorry you are. I told you he was going to kidnap her, and you thought I was crazy. Well, I was right. And this time I'm telling you that I'm not giving her up to him on Thursday. And if you don't like it, Grossman, you can get off the goddamn case for all I care.” Grossman felt desperately sorry for him. It was a rotten situation.