Back in September of 2009, I had been to see a divorce lawyer. The purpose of that meeting was for me to get a better understanding of the divorce process. At the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about our situation. In order for me to make an informed decision, what I needed was information. I had to know how things worked, what I needed to do and in what order I needed to do them. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about anything, especially about what and how much I was entitled to. I also had not a clue as to how much it would cost or how long it would take. I let my fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages, and settled on an attorney I felt would suit my needs at this point. This is not the best way to choose an attorney, and I would not suggest it to anyone. I knew it was better to ask around for recommendations, but I really didn’t want anyone to know what was going on just yet. Besides, I wasn’t going to hire this person; I was going to pick their brain. I chose a woman a few towns away. I felt that a woman would be more understanding and that I would feel more comfortable when it came down to revealing all the intimate details of the demise of my marriage. Most importantly, she was free. Well, not really, but she offered a free consultation so…sold!
When Lila LaRoux walked into her office I took one look at her and immediately had this feeling I was definitely going to get my money’s worth from her. By the time I left I knew that meeting was going to be the only time our paths would cross. You know what they say…you get what you pay for. The consult was free, but all I could think was that she should start charging, something, because she obviously couldn’t afford a comb. Her hair was reminiscent of Rosanne Rosanna Danna, of Saturday Night Live fame. Her clothes did not fit the image of a lawyer, at least not in my mind, and they didn’t fit her either...literally. She looked like…keeping with the Saturday Night Live theme here…The Church Lady…on crack…in hooker shoes. It was really most bizarre. The consultation was not what I had expected either. She did answer all of my questions, so that was good, but the rest of it was kind of odd. Ms. LaRoux hardly ever looked at me. She kept her head down as she wrote all my answers to her question on a legal pad. I started to tell her the saga of Dick’s affair, but she was more interested in knowing if there had been any abuse in the marriage. I began to explain how he belittled me, and used mental and emotional warfare. Apparently those were not abusive enough for her. Then her head popped up and she finally looked me in the eye and said, “Ya, that’s rough, but did he ever hit you or physically threaten you? Have you ever felt not safe around him or in fear for your life?” Now, these are good questions, questions that should be asked. It wasn’t what she was asking that was so off-putting, it was two other things. One, being that she was dismissive of what I felt was important and two, the look on her face when she asked and waited for me to answer those questions. It was creepy. I wanted to get her a drool-cup because she was salivating as she tried to imagine what gory details I would tell her. When I answered with a simple “No,” she made no attempt to conceal her disappointment. Her head dropped back down and she said, “Oh. Well that’s a shame...too bad.” as she began writing on her yellow legal pad again. The phrase, “Excuse me?” came out of my mouth as I was thinking, did she just imply it was not a good thing that Dick had never beaten me or threatened my life? Without raising her head she briefly explained that she meant it in terms of ammunition against Dick when it came to the judge deciding the amount of alimony I would receive. Well, that made some sense, but she was just a bit too eager in hoping that I had been beaten within an inch of my life at one time or another. I’ll say it again; you definitely get what you pay for. I left Lila LaRoux, never to return, armed with enough decent information to give me a clearer picture of what I was in for if I decided divorce was my only option. That afternoon, before Dick got home from work, I began copying everything and anything in that file cabinet that had to do with money. I did a little each day. I made copies of bank statements, three years worth of tax returns, investment statements, some paycheck stubs and oh, a check…a very large check. Apparently my darling Dick had closed out one of “his” accounts back in August and still hadn’t done anything with the bank check. I later found out that this was part of a large sum of money he had hoped he could hide in the event of a divorce, by loaning it to a friend. This was when I began to realize that Dick had more money than I ever could have imagined. He was constantly crying poor mouth, trying to make me feel bad. Now that the table was turned, I was not going to be the only one feeling bad.
