Ladies' Night

forward, like an obedient schoolgirl on her first day of class, “Mr. Stanton has effectively impoverished my client. She has no funds, no home, and no way to make a living, thanks to him.”
“No way to work?” Stackpole looked startled. “Now how is that possible? Didn’t you tell me Ms. Stanton was some kind of professional writer?”
“Yes sir,” Mitzi said. “Ms. Stanton is—or she was before all this happened—one of the most successful lifestyle bloggers in the country.”
“A blogger?” Stackpole’s high forehead wrinkled and his lips thinned in distaste. He waved his hands in the direction of the neat printouts Grace had made of six months’ worth of Gracenotes. “Do you mean to tell me Ms. Stanton here makes a living writing this material?” He picked up one of the sheets and skimmed its contents.
“Recipes? Pictures of sofas? Directions for painting an old table? This looks like some kind of hobby to me, Ms. Stillwell.”
Grace’s heart sank. Mitzi had warned her that Stackpole might not take her work seriously.
“No sir,” Mitzi said sharply. “Not a hobby in any way. Ms. Stanton’s blog has 450,000 followers. That’s just people who have subscribed to her RSS feed. Her blog receives 1.3 million unique visits each month. Since Gracenotes was monetized, which means Ms. Stanton started accepting paid advertisers, the site has consistently generated twenty thousand dollars a month in revenues.”
“Impressive,” the judge admitted.
Mitzi beamed. “We think so. Judge, Gracenotes is named for Grace Stanton. It was conceived by her and it is written and photographed solely by her. There are no other outside contributors. In other words, this blog is intellectual property, and, as such, it belongs to her. But Ms. Stanton’s estranged husband, Ben Stanton, is deliberately blocking her from access to her blog.”
“I see,” Stackpole said. He swung his head to the left, smiling at Dickie Murphree.
“What do you say to that, Mr. Murphree?”
Dickie thrust his hands in his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Obviously, Judge, we’d refute just about everything Ms. Stillwell has just said. Grace Stanton is free to write whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and, as far as I know, there’s nobody stopping her from doing that. The Internet is a big ol’ marketplace, and there’s plenty of room in it for everybody, last I heard.”
“Mm-hmm,” Stackpole said. “And what do you have to say about the dire financial situation of your client’s estranged wife? Ms. Stillwell makes a convincing case that your client has effectively cut off her access to all the couple’s marital assets.”
Dickie’s face registered what passed for genuine shock. Grace wondered if Dickie had ever done anything in his life that was genuine.
“Judge, I would just point out to you that Ms. Stanton is the one who initiated all the turmoil in this marriage. It was she who abandoned my client, moving out of their home, of her own accord, after a violent outburst. And, I would add, she did so in a manner that was calculated to humiliate and embarrass my client—not just in front of this couple’s immediate neighbors, but in front of everybody in this community, and across the country, for that matter. If her business has been damaged, that is Ms. Stanton’s own doing.”
“He went there,” Mitzi muttered under his breath. “I should have known.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Stackpole said.
The lawyer clapped a reassuring hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Your Honor, I deeply regret having to trot this out again. My client certainly didn’t want me to drag all this out in the open again, but sometimes, sir, you have to get these things out in the open.”
“What things?” Stackpole asked, leaning back in his chair.
Dickie let out a long, anguished sigh. “Well, ahhh, it’s a long story, Judge.”
Mitzi stood up. “Your Honor? If Mr. Murphree is referring to the matter I think he is, that matter has no direct bearing on the issue of my client’s right to her share of this couple’s marital assets. And I strongly object to his trying to introduce it here today.”
“What matter?” Stackpole asked, looking peevish.
Dickie shrugged. “The matter of Ms. Stanton intentionally driving my client’s 175,000 dollar Audi convertible into the swimming pool of their home on Sand Dollar Lane, thus destroying it. The matter of her assaulting and slandering my client’s employee.”
“What?” Stackpole’s eyebrows shot up. “When was this?”
“The night of May eighth,” Dickie said. “Ms. Stanton misunderstood some communication between my client and his employee and flew into a rage. My client eventually began to fear for his life and locked himself into his home and called the police, who, unfortunately, arrived on the scene after Ms. Stanton destroyed the Audi.”
Stackpole gave Grace a stern look. “Is this true?”
Grace’s voice came out in a squeak. “It’s true that I drove the car into the pool, yes sir. But it’s not true that I assaulted J’Aimee. I would have, but I couldn’t catch her. And anyway, she was my assistant, not Ben’s. And it’s a joke to think that Ben would be afraid of me. But Your Honor, you haven’t heard the whole story.”
“That’s right, Judge,” Dickie said quickly. “You haven’t heard how Ms. Stanton raised such a ruckus that their entire neighborhood could listen in on this private marital spat. And I’m assuming you didn’t see the network news footage of the aftermath—including footage showing Mr. Stanton’s personal vehicle sitting at the bottom of his pool?”
Stackpole’s eyebrows shot up. “It was on the news?”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Grace offered.
“Enough!” Stackpole glared over the top of his glasses at her.
Dickie held up a small plastic rectangle. “I have the news footage right here on a flash drive, if Your Honor would like to see it.”
“I don’t intend to do any such thing,” Stackpole said. “Let’s get back to the matter of finances. Mr. Murphree, I want your client to come to some kind of equitable agreement with Ms. Stanton.” He flipped through the files before him.
“Ms. Stanton? Your attorney has asked for what seems like