process that the federal court calls discovery.”
“What a funny name for it,” Monique says as we stop at the top of the stairway.
“I never really thought about it before,” I say, “but, I suppose it is.”
“I guess it’s because I’ll be discovering a lot of things about my husband?” she asks with a laugh. “Things that the court assumes that I don’t already know? Well, Brooke, I can assure you—after over thirty years together—I already know all there is to know about him.”
“There’s always more to find out about someone,” I say, thinking of a particular case I had when I was still practicing at Gilson, Hecht. In a routine discovery process, some e-mails sent by the CEO of a company were revealed that his shareholders probably didn’t know about and that his wife most definitely did not know about. Apparently, he’d purchased a mail order bride over the Internet and was keeping her and their two love children in a home in Minnesota. Even though this bit of information showcased his ability to multi-task, one of the most important qualities you’d look for in a CEO, he was still fired and served with divorce papers from wife number one the very next day. “You’d be surprised about how much you can learn about a person you really thought you knew.”
Column Five
You didn’t hear it from us…
OVERHEARD over a glass of wine at the reception following Monique deVouvray and Jean Luc Renault’s renewal of the vows ceremony: “Why is it that every time a couple renews their vows, the relationship crashes and burns six months later?”
Sour grapes? Or in vino veritas?
9
“A nd she says to me: ‘yes, that would be fine,’” I tell Jack as our taxicab lurches up Park Avenue. We’re fifteen minutes late already and I don’t want to keep my parents waiting at the florist. God forbid they give my mother a glass of champagne to celebrate. Then the next thing you know, she’ll be passed out in a patch of begonias and my father will have negotiated a real “steal” on the floral arrangements by using flowers that were previously used the weekend before at a funeral.
“Fine?” he asks, tilting his head down to look at me. I love it how, when we sit together in a taxicab, he always puts his arm around the back of the seat so that I can get close to him.
“Yes,” I explain. “I ask Elizabeth to be a bridesmaid and she says—and I quote—‘yes, that would be fine. ’”
“I thought you said it was Patricia?” he says, turning to face me.
“Which one’s the oldest?” I ask. “It was the oldest.”
“Patricia, then Elizabeth, then Lisa,” he says, counting them off one by one on his fingers for me.
“Right,” I say, “then it was Patricia.”
“That is so like her,” he says, baby blues narrowing.
“Really?” I ask, excited to get some Solomon family gossip. Jack never speaks badly about any of his family members. Ever. Come to think of it, he never really talks about his family at all, so I was excited to get the inside scoop. As an only child, there’s really not much to talk about with each other (Dad: Did you hear that your mother is making meat loaf for dinner again? Again? Me: Why don’t you just ask her about it? She’s standing right there.) I mean, what’s the point of being part of a big family if you don’t get to gossip about each other?
“No,” he says, “not really. I just thought I was still doing that whole ‘you have to agree with me all the time thing.’”
“Yeah,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips. “That’s pretty much always in effect.”
“Maybe you called her the wrong name and that’s why she wasn’t that excited about it,” he says, looking down at me with a smile.
“Um, still in effect!” I say and Jack smiles even wider.
We sit in silence, looking out our respective windows, me leaning on Jack, as the cab drives through the Helmsley building over Grand Central Station and into midtown
“What a funny name for it,” Monique says as we stop at the top of the stairway.
“I never really thought about it before,” I say, “but, I suppose it is.”
“I guess it’s because I’ll be discovering a lot of things about my husband?” she asks with a laugh. “Things that the court assumes that I don’t already know? Well, Brooke, I can assure you—after over thirty years together—I already know all there is to know about him.”
“There’s always more to find out about someone,” I say, thinking of a particular case I had when I was still practicing at Gilson, Hecht. In a routine discovery process, some e-mails sent by the CEO of a company were revealed that his shareholders probably didn’t know about and that his wife most definitely did not know about. Apparently, he’d purchased a mail order bride over the Internet and was keeping her and their two love children in a home in Minnesota. Even though this bit of information showcased his ability to multi-task, one of the most important qualities you’d look for in a CEO, he was still fired and served with divorce papers from wife number one the very next day. “You’d be surprised about how much you can learn about a person you really thought you knew.”
Column Five
You didn’t hear it from us…
OVERHEARD over a glass of wine at the reception following Monique deVouvray and Jean Luc Renault’s renewal of the vows ceremony: “Why is it that every time a couple renews their vows, the relationship crashes and burns six months later?”
Sour grapes? Or in vino veritas?
9
“A nd she says to me: ‘yes, that would be fine,’” I tell Jack as our taxicab lurches up Park Avenue. We’re fifteen minutes late already and I don’t want to keep my parents waiting at the florist. God forbid they give my mother a glass of champagne to celebrate. Then the next thing you know, she’ll be passed out in a patch of begonias and my father will have negotiated a real “steal” on the floral arrangements by using flowers that were previously used the weekend before at a funeral.
“Fine?” he asks, tilting his head down to look at me. I love it how, when we sit together in a taxicab, he always puts his arm around the back of the seat so that I can get close to him.
“Yes,” I explain. “I ask Elizabeth to be a bridesmaid and she says—and I quote—‘yes, that would be fine. ’”
“I thought you said it was Patricia?” he says, turning to face me.
“Which one’s the oldest?” I ask. “It was the oldest.”
“Patricia, then Elizabeth, then Lisa,” he says, counting them off one by one on his fingers for me.
“Right,” I say, “then it was Patricia.”
“That is so like her,” he says, baby blues narrowing.
“Really?” I ask, excited to get some Solomon family gossip. Jack never speaks badly about any of his family members. Ever. Come to think of it, he never really talks about his family at all, so I was excited to get the inside scoop. As an only child, there’s really not much to talk about with each other (Dad: Did you hear that your mother is making meat loaf for dinner again? Again? Me: Why don’t you just ask her about it? She’s standing right there.) I mean, what’s the point of being part of a big family if you don’t get to gossip about each other?
“No,” he says, “not really. I just thought I was still doing that whole ‘you have to agree with me all the time thing.’”
“Yeah,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips. “That’s pretty much always in effect.”
“Maybe you called her the wrong name and that’s why she wasn’t that excited about it,” he says, looking down at me with a smile.
“Um, still in effect!” I say and Jack smiles even wider.
We sit in silence, looking out our respective windows, me leaning on Jack, as the cab drives through the Helmsley building over Grand Central Station and into midtown
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