No Defense (39 page)

When they were done, Rick had begun to cry,
a strangled, sad sound she’d never heard from him. She’d raised
herself up on her elbow and kissed the tears on his cheek. “What,
Rick?” And he’d told her. He was in love with Will Larson. “Will?”
She swallowed hard and sat up, pulling the cover over her naked
body. “Will?”

Marilee had crawled out from under the
covers where she’d hidden for a week – claiming to have the flu –
and she and Rick focused on Ellie, on what was best for Ellie, on
how to make the transition work for Ellie
.
Rick moved to
Washington, DC, when the semester ended.

Those first few weeks after Rick moved
Marilee had felt tired and nauseated. Who wouldn’t? As it turned
out though, her broken heart wasn’t the cause, she was pregnant.
The first person she’d shared the news with, unsure if she was
sharing good or bad news, was Dede, who worried that Marilee would
be taking on too much with another child, or worse, that this
unborn child was a substitute for the husband she’d lost. She
offered to fly home and take her to the clinic in Mobile where a
bunch of their friends had been at one time or another in high
school and college. Marilee decided not to take Dede up on her
offer, worried Ellie would never have a brother or sister otherwise
and just plain too worn out to make a different decision. The
status quo had been the path of least resistance.

Now, back in her office, Marilee locked her
door and sat down at her desk. Thanks to Sue Scanlon, she had just
two months to produce a polished law review article or she’d lose
the job she loved. When Sue arrived, Marilee had hoped they’d be
friends. Sue was a woman in her late twenties, like Marilee, but
Sue had quickly made it clear that she wasn’t interested in a
friendship, that she didn’t respect Clinical Law, and that she was
out for herself, no matter who she had to stab in the back to get
ahead.

Marilee flipped through the stack of papers
on her desk: rough drafts of articles about Clinical Law that she’d
drafted over the last two years. Unfortunately, her thoughts about
Clinical teaching, based on her own experience as well as
discussions with other Clinicians and students over the years, did
not constitute publishable law review articles. Not even close. The
average law review was fifty to seventy pages long and included
hundreds of footnotes. Each of her humorously titled draft articles
ran a mere twenty to thirty pages and there wasn’t a footnote in
sight. To convert any one of her essays into a publishable article
could require months of painstaking research and rewriting. If she
had nothing else to do it might be possible to meet the deadline,
but she had a class to teach, students to supervise, and last but
not least, a baby to deliver in the next few weeks.

She knew she should pick up the essay on the
top of the pile and dive right in, she knew she had to make the
effort, but instead she had an overwhelming urge to throw the whole
stack of papers out the window, forget about the looming
publication deadline, and walk away, the wind in her hair, a smile
on her face, laughing and free. But she didn’t. She called Dede’s
cell.

“Did you talk to the Dean?” Dede asked.

“Yeah. Not good; I’ll tell you about it
later. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Going for a run, helping Mama with
invitations for some event, and then going out.” Since she’d come
home, she exercised hours each day, then spent the rest of her time
smoking and partying.

“What time are you going out?”

“Seven-ish. Scott’s band is playing in
Montgomery.” Scott, one of Dede’s best friends in high school, was
a member of a Ska punk band that played in bars across the
southeast. Although Dede hung out with him whenever she visited,
since arriving in town, she’d spent almost every evening with him.
Was there more to their relationship than friendship? Maybe Scott,
rather than Nikolai, was behind her prolonged visit home.

“Could you pick Ellie up at her Montessori
school at 5:00? I need to stay here and get some work done, but
I’ll be home by 6:30.”

“Sure.”

“Great. Remember her car seat. And remember
to buckle her in. And tell her I’ll be home soon and…”

“I know, I know, M’lee.”

Marilee took the essay that happened to be
on the top of the pile, grabbed a red pen, and turned on her desk
lamp. The title: IF YOU PRICK THEM, DO THEY NOT BLEED? HOW TO TREAT
YOUR CLIENT AS A PERSON, NOT A LEGAL PROBLEM. She would have to
devote every spare moment and every free evening, work hard early
mornings and late nights and weekends until the end of the semester
to keep her job. The baby? Some women were back at work hours after
the doctor cut the umbilical cord. Why not her? Could she meet the
deadline Sue had set for her? She had to try.

Someone knocked on Marilee’s office door,
immediately turned the knob, and pushed. It was never locked,
except today.

“Just a minute,” Marilee called. She looked
at her calendar. Damn. Two of the Clinic students, Lance and Paula,
Mr. Hallowell’s student attorneys, were scheduled to meet with her
three minutes from now. She pulled the compact out of her desktop
to check her tear-streaked face. Ugh. She touched it up as best she
could with a little powder, then grabbed her office comb and ran it
through her hair. She moved slowly from behind her desk to the
door, trying to come up with a good excuse to cancel the
supervision meeting so she could work on an article. But the weekly
meetings between each student lawyer team and their faculty
supervisor were a critical part of the Clinical program, and she
couldn’t throw the students under the bus to get her article done;
she’d have to find time somewhere else.

She opened the door. “Sorry.”

Lance, a tall, curly haired guy in his late
twenties, balanced a cup of coffee and a Twix candy bar in one hand
as he waited for Paula to enter before him.

Paula, who looked sixteen but was actually
twenty-four, pulled her backpack on wheels behind her.

Like most of their law school classmates,
both were dressed in worn-out jeans, likely purchased new but in a
scruffy “distressed” condition, and T-shirts.

They came in and sat across from
Marilee.

“Ready for the joke of the day?” Lance, who
bartended weekend nights, liked to begin almost any encounter with
a joke and tried to associate the jokes with either current events
or something else happening to him or those around him.

“Sure.” Marilee enjoyed his jokes most of
the time, viewing them as good practice for the narrative skills
he’d need to be a trial lawyer; seasoned litigators swore by the
maxim that whoever told the best story in court won the case. Today
though she doubted she could enjoy anything.

Paula rolled her eyes, waiting to start the
meeting until the joke played out. An assertive, stubborn young
woman, she reminded Marilee of herself at that age.

Lance began: “A small-town prosecuting
attorney calls his first witness to the stand. She’s an elderly
woman. He approaches her and asks, ‘Mrs. Saunders, do you know
me?’

She responds, ‘Why yes, I know you. I’ve
known you since you were a young boy. And frankly, you’ve been a
big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, you
manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think
you’re a big shot but you haven’t got the brains to realize you’ll
never amount to anything more than a two-bit small-town paper
pusher.’

The lawyer’s stunned. ‘Mrs. Saunders, do you
know the defense attorney?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she says. ‘I’ve known Mr.
Hammer since he was a youngster. I used to babysit for him. And he,
too, has been a big disappointment. He’s lazy, bigoted, and he has
a drinking problem. His law practice is one of the shoddiest in the
state.’

At this point the judge raps his gavel and
calls both attorneys to the bench. In a quiet, menacing voice, he
says, ‘If either of you asks her if she knows me, you’ll be jailed
for contempt before you can say another word!’”

Lance smiled broadly.

“Funny,” Paula said, feigning enthusiasm. As
Lance’s Clinic partner, she’d heard more than her share of
jokes.

Marilee laughed, for a moment distracted
from her problems, only to stop suddenly, as though she’d been
slapped. Standing in her doorway was Dwight Hurley. He smiled his
most engaging smile, held up his hand, and gave her a little
wave.

The students turned around to see what had
diverted her attention from them. When they saw a man they didn’t
know, they turned back to her, expectantly.

Marilee cleared her throat. “Lance Ford,
Paula Scott, this is our newest faculty member, Dwight Hurley.” She
tried to sound welcoming, but even she could hear that her tone
sounded fake-cheerful, like a doctor explaining how you’d learn to
love life without whatever part he was about to surgically
remove.

Nevertheless, Dwight took her words as an
invitation to enter her office. As he shook each student’s hand and
looked each right in the eyes, they basked in the light of his
attention. “Morning, Lance, Paula. It’s a pleasure to meet you
both,” he said.

“What will you be teaching?” Paula’s mouth
parted slightly, in awe of Dwight’s easy charm and striking good
looks.
Women!
Although Marilee wasn’t interested in dating
anyone right now, especially Dwight, she couldn’t help but notice
what Dede had told her earlier: he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
But even if she’d been looking for love, she wouldn’t look in the
direction of Dwight Hurley, a cocky interloper. As her students so
often said:
been there, done that
.

“Clinic,” he said.

“Great!” Paula replied. “With Professor
Cooper!”

“He’s the recipient of the Bailey Clinical
Chair,” Marilee said before Dwight had a chance to toot his own
horn. She looked at her watch. “And I’m sure he understands how
busy we all are, and that we need to get back to our supervision
meeting.”

“Oh,” Dwight said. “Of course. Sorry.” He
sounded disappointed. “Can we meet afterward, Marilee?” His eyes
locked onto Marilee’s.

No we can’t.
But she kept the smile
plastered on her face. “My afternoon’s pretty busy. Maybe
tomorrow?” Although she couldn’t dodge him forever, she could
postpone the meeting, for days, maybe weeks.

“I’ll be around all day meeting the students
and the faculty, so if you have any time, I’m here.” He turned his
attention back to Lance and Paula. “I look forward to working with
both of you.” He nodded at them and left.

Paula watched him walk away, her attention
on Dwight.

Marilee cleared her throat. “Your client?”
She prodded. “Mr. Hallowell?”

“Right, right.” Paula swiveled her head back
to face Marilee.

“I saw him in the stairwell earlier,”
Marilee explained.

“Oh no! We have an appointment tomorrow
morning with him, not today.” Lance shook his head, worried.

Paula sighed. “Maybe he was confused about
the time. We can call and make sure he knows the appointment is
tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow, if he shows up?”
Marilee asked.

“A counseling session about his options for
getting his kids back,” Lance answered. “I have an outline all
typed up for what we have to discuss with him.” He pulled his
backpack into his lap, unzipped it, and searched for the counseling
notes, dropping his three-ring binder as soon as he removed it from
his backpack. “I’m just a little nervous. Helping someone who
hasn’t seen his kids in two years get custody is a big
responsibility.”

The student lawyers in the ASU Clinic
sometimes got cold feet before they interviewed or counseled a
client or made a court appearance. As part of the nondirective
pedagogy of the Clinic, the student lawyers were primarily
responsible for the clients while the “real attorneys” supervised
their work from a distance. The purpose of the supervision meeting
was to discuss how the students planned to conduct the counseling
of Mr. Hallowell, as well as how they planned to address any issues
likely to arise. After the counseling session, they’d meet with
Marilee again to discuss what they did, how successful it was, and
what might have worked better.

The independence Marilee gave the students
with her nondirective, hands-off approach provided them with a
unique opportunity to experience lawyering first hand. If Marilee
attended the client counseling the next morning with Lance and
Paula, they would defer to her, and Mr. Hallowell likely would look
to her as the “real attorney,” undermining the students’ ability to
take on the serious responsibility of representing a client, to own
the work. Nothing took away ownership more quickly than the
presence of a senior lawyer at every important juncture.

Among clinics in the U.S., there were
varying degrees of senior staff involvement in student attorneys’
work, ranging from the nondirective clinics, like ASU’s, to the
directive clinics, like the Redmont Law School Clinic where Dwight
last taught. There, the supervising attorneys represented the
clients while the students served as glorified law clerks. The
battle between the various models of clinical teaching was being
waged in the annals of every Clinical Law Journal in the country,
if not the world.

One of Marilee’s draft essays in the pile of
papers on her desk addressed the different supervision
methodologies and made the case for the nondirective model employed
at ASU: PREPARING OUR STUDENTS FOR PRACTICE – WHY SUPERVISING
ATTORNEYS SHOULD STAY OUT OF THE WAY.

Lance picked up the binder and flipped
through it for his outline. “Here it is,” he said, sounding
relieved.

“You could do the counseling without the
notes, Lance,” Paula assured him. “You drafted most of it from
memory, for goodness sake.”