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better settlement
out of me. “They want me to say that I've been traumatized by the
repeated batterings,” Nicole said.
    “Repeated batterings!” I said. “What the hell is that supposed
to mean? What repeated batterings?”
“I know,” Nicole said. “I can't believe it either. They're trying
to convince me that I'm a victim of abuse.”
I didn't know what she was going to do, frankly, but I figured
that when the time came she'd do right by me. As it turned out, I
was called to the stand first. I admitted that I'd become physical
with Nicole in 1989, and I described in detail the events leading to
the blowup, and I pretty much blamed Nicole for the argument.
Still, I took full responsibility for my response. I also said that
Nicole had attacked me on several occasions, in the years prior and
in the years since, but that I had learned to handle it by physically
removing myself from the room—from the house, if necessary.
Nicole sat in the courtroom, listening, saying nothing, and
the session ended before she could take the stand. She came over,
smiled pleasantly, and asked if I was free for dinner. We had a very
nice time at dinner. I felt like we were married again.
The next day, we were back in court, and it was Nicole's turn
to testify, but she didn't show up. She reached me on my cell, in
court, and said, “O.J., I just can't do it.” I must tell you, I was pretty
impressed. She was a good, moral, churchgoing person, and she
simply refused to lie.
While we waited for the divorce to become final, we some-
times hung out together, mostly for the sake of the kids, and it was
fairly pleasant. There was absolutely no animosity at that point.
Some couples get angry and stay angry, and some just feel sad, and
we woe definitely closer to the latter type. I think, like many peo-
ple, both of us wished it had worked out. I had always imagined
growing old with Nicole, and watching our kids grow up and have
kids of their own, but that wasn't in the cards. So I dealt with it—
we both did—and tried to get on with this business of living.
My older daughter, Arnelle, was in college at the time, and
one day she asked me how come I wasn't angry with Nicole. “When
she calls, you talk to her. When she asks you for advice, you give it.
And when she just needs you to listen to her, you listen. I don't get
it. I thought the divorce was her idea.”
“What's there to get?” I said. “The marriage ended. We both
got us to this place. What sense would it make to be angry with her?
When you're angry, you're only hurting yourself. Life is too short to
be carrying grudges. You gotta rove on.”
And that's what we did, Nicole and I—we moved on. I didn't
ask about her boyfriends, and she didn't ask about Paula, and
whenever we were together we were focused on the kids. The idea
was to make them feel safe, to let them know that we were there
for them, and that—the divorce notwithstanding—we loved them
more than ever.
As it turned out, these little family gatherings began to affect
Nicole, too. Before long, she was calling me again, at all hours of
the day and night, to tell me how sad and confused she was, and to
reminisce about our many years together. I guess that's normal—
part of the grieving process or something—but it was beginning to
affect my relationship with Paula, and I decided I needed to put an
end to it. Now, when the phone rang, I always checked to see who
was calling, and whenever it was Nicole I tended not to answer.
    One day she kept calling and calling, and I wondered if some-
thing was wrong, but I knew Cathy would be picking up the kids
later, and dropping them off, and if anything was wrong I'd hear it
from her. But about an hour before the kids were due over, they
showed up—with Nicole, not Cathy. I hugged and kissed the kids,
and they ran past me into the house, heading for the pool.
“What's up?” I asked Nicole.
“Nothing,” she said.
I could see that something was on her mind, but I didn't