by Reed Arvin
Henry saw the edge; he felt the now familiar destabilizing rush, longing to step over it. Nevertheless, the size of this leap was unprecedented, a dance with career death. He paused, leaned, and stepped into space. “How can Kramp deliver Orion, Sheldon?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“I asked you how Kramp can deliver Orion. I thought Kramp didn’t work for Orion.”
Parker stared back at his protégé blankly. He had been working hard lately. It wasn’t like him to make a slip like this. “Orion’s not the point.”
“You knew, Sheldon,” Henry said. He felt himself falling, vertigo taking him over. “You knew because Kramp said he could hand you Orion, and he couldn’t have done that unless talks were under way from the beginning. God, Sheldon, you knew about this from day one.”
“The thing to do is stay calm,” Parker said. “Things like this blow over if everyone keeps their head.”
“What does that mean? Lie to a grand jury?”
“It means thinking long-term. It means being realistic and doing what it takes to win. It means staying loyal.”
“And if you knew . . . Jesus, Sheldon, have you been buying Orion stock?” Dark clouds were gathering in Henry’s mind. “Orion’s a hell of a bargain right now, isn’t it? And what did you say about the Centel thing— they have some new technology in data storage, right? So once Orion assimilates Centel, it will be a whole new company. Somebody on the inside could make a fortune.”
Parker’s face became a mask. “I assume that’s true, if someone were to do what you’re suggesting.”
“It’s insider trading, Sheldon. On top of everything else.”
“In no way do I confirm your implication. I will state that it happens every day. It’s something that, for example, you have the opportunity to make a personal decision about.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve already stated that Orion’s stock is in the toilet. I assume you own a calculator. The math for someone aware of the . . . let’s say the circumstances, is compelling.”
Henry was surprised by how calm he felt, how clear things looked to him. Falling in space, he found, was more comfortable than trying to balance the life he had been leading. He had pushed with Parker from day one, taking risk after risk. Staying in Council Grove so long in the first place showed that. But this line was terminal, and he recognized it as such at once. The clear-cut nature of what had happened made his choice remarkably easy. He was his father’s son, and that meant that he would not work another day for Sheldon Parker. There was no mistaking what that meant for his future with the firm: it was over. He had crossed a lot of lines to be a success, little compromises not with the law but with his nature. To compensate, he had developed the nervous tic of outrageous banter with Parker, pushing him, almost daring him to unload. But this line he would never cross. There was no reason to extend the conversation a minute longer, no reason to see Sheldon embarrass himself further. “I won’t do it, Sheldon,” he said simply. “You can forget it.”
Parker eyed him warily. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but there was venom just below the surface.
“We’re clear that I have admitted nothing to you.”
Henry suddenly felt tired. “Yes, Sheldon. Nothing at all.”
Parker regarded him for a moment, and his face softened slightly. “Let me explain something. Every year over six thousand people graduate from law school. They come rooting around for jobs like little hogs. We don’t bother interviewing anybody but the top one percent. You know why?”
Henry said nothing; he was already detached, listening to Sheldon only in objective fascination. He was watching the way a man morally deconstructs himself. He was seeing what, perhaps, in time he would have become.
“We don’t waste our time with second best because we know it’s a damn tough world out there. What the hell do you think business is? It’s Darwinian, Preacher. It’s kill or be killed. This firm is made up of survivors.” He finished off his second tumbler. “We eat the weak, Henry. From the day I entered law school I knew one thing: I’ll never be the weak.”
Henry watched, feeling something he had never felt for the man before: simple pity. “I won’t do it, Sheldon.”
“Take twenty-four hours, Preacher. This is a big decision. It’s hard to get back on the fast track when you’ve been bumped off.”
“It won’t matter, Sheldon. I won’t do it.”
“Go to your party, Henry. Talk to Elaine.”
Elaine. He hadn’t thought about her in the tension of the moment. It was miserable timing, coming on the night of her triumph.
“Talk to her, Henry. She’s a smart woman. Don’t make any final decisions without her.” Henry glanced quickly at his watch; it was nearly five-fifteen. The party started at seven. He would barely have time to drive home, change clothes, and make it all the way across town to the Hargroves’. He rose and headed for the door. “You could have been a hell of a lawyer, Preacher,” Parker said. “You still can be, if you stay calm.”
“Are you still coming tonight, Sheldon?”
“I’ll be there. Talk to her.”
Henry stopped by his office briefly before leaving; he looked blankly at the stack of files that cluttered its surface, realizing that none of the papers had meaning for him now. Nothing at Wilson, Lougherby and Mathers had meaning after his talk with Parker. Out of habit he reached toward a stack to put in his briefcase; stopping himself, he sat down, momentarily paralyzed.
Talk to her, Henry. She’s a smart woman. Parker’s words were true, but what had been growing in Henry ever since going to Council Grove now catapulted to the forefront of his mind, impossible to ignore. In the midst of Elaine’s fabulous capability there was something lacking, a human, nurturing quality that he realized he wanted. She would interpret his feelings as a weakness, he knew; he knew he was supposed to meet her halfway, two independent equals coming together out of mutual desire and benefit. But he realized now he needed something more from a woman: understanding, at a minimum, and ultimately faith. He wanted to be believed in, supported in such a difficult decision. In his heart he knew that Elaine would take what had happened as a crushing defeat in his life, and she was not tolerant of defeats. The thought of disappointing her was bad enough; the knowledge that her response would certainly disappoint him filled him with melancholy.
He reached down and opened a drawer on his right; it bulged with papers, on the top of which was his appointment book. None of those appointments would be kept by him. Into his place would slide another eager, young lawyer anxious to prove his loyalty and expertise in the art of power. Henry began to empty his desk into a large cardboard box he had retrieved from the file room. Pens, legal pads, pictures of Elaine, a bulky laptop due for replacing. Then a picture of his father, which stopped him. The photo showed his father sitting in his office back in Council Grove, his perpetually tired smile on his face. A stack of papers teetered behind him, a disorganized filing cabinet was stuck half open in the background. Henry looked at the picture, and felt a tingling crawling up his back.
With the sense of awkwardness that comes from being where you no longer belong, Henry packed quickly and efficiently. It took a surprisingly short time to erase himself from the place; the offices at the firm were notoriously small for the younger lawyers, and his personal effects had been kept to a minimum. In less than twenty minutes there was no visible trace of his life at Wilson, Lougherby and Mathers.
He sat at his desk, empty now except for a computer. Quickly, he wrote an E-mail to all the staff explaining that he would no longer be working at the firm and expressing his gratitude for the time he had spent there.
He spoke to no one on the way out. What it meant to leave the firm, he wanted to keep at bay, and talking about it would make that impossible. For now, he resolved simply to take the elevator as inconspicuously as possible and let himself feel it all later. The elevator door glided shut behind him, closing with a solid, final th
ud.
Charles Hargrove’s home loomed before Henry like a luxurious, sybaritic hotel. Henry stepped through double doors ten feet high and entered a huge foyer. Above him hung an enormous cut-glass chandelier; Henry overheard someone say it had been brought from a country estate in Italy. He stared at it a moment, wondering how all its perfectly shiny pieces were kept so impeccably clean. The entryway beckoned visitors into a great hall, exquisitely paneled in light ash with dark walnut accents. The floor was light-colored marble, and it shone like glass. Almost instantly he was presented with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
The party was a bustling, noisy affair that at first appeared to be nothing more than a throng of superbly dressed people chatting amiably and drinking. But as he moved through the crowd, his practiced eye noticed the office hierarchy that was perpetually, invisibly in force at such affairs. The main room was full of younger people, up-and-comers laughing and talking with exaggerated, almost fierce good nature. In an antechamber to the right a smaller, more subdued group mingled; their pretty wives wore expensive jewelry, and a couple of the men were smoking cigars. Executives, Henry thought with a smile. But not the top echelon, not yet. He moved through the party, passing one exquisitely decorated room after another. He passed a formal dining room with seating for twelve, then a study with a wet bar and sitting area. He turned down a short hallway and saw a group gathered in a large media room; the stereo was blaring dance music, although no one was dancing. Eventually he passed a dimly lit billiards room in which seven or eight older men were talking quietly. They were drinking what looked like brandy, a dark, liquid shine in large snifters. Their wives were congregated at the opposite end of the room, talking separately. Here they are, Henry thought, seeking refuge from the ass-kissers. The partners.
He walked past the room, following the flow of the house toward the pool area. Here the heavy architecture gave way, softening into an immense Italian courtyard. The entryway led to a great covered patio with bleached-oak floors, the center of which contained a large bar. Island music came from hidden loudspeakers, and two tuxedoed bartenders smiled blandly as they mixed drinks. Little groups of people milled around the edge of the pool, their laughter filtering across the water. Then he heard her.
He looked to his left. There, surrounded by a small group of young, absurdly eager men, was Elaine. She was laughing with them, but her refined pleasure floated to him separately from all others, his ears attuned to her sound. Seeing her from a distance, he saw her objectively, almost as if they had never met. She was startlingly attractive, one of the most impressive women he had ever seen. Tall, with high cheekbones, short but feminine hair, and every inch emanating a sense of refined grace and power. She was wearing the dress she had described, the one she had called an investment. Seeing her now, on the eve of her success, he had to agree. She resonated with private clubs, tennis courts, and generations of uninterrupted success. He was a fool, he knew. She was a ticket to everything he had thought he wanted, a business and social asset he would never be able to equal. But where he most needed to be touched, she lacked the simple capacity to find him. More, he doubted whether she regarded those areas as important in the first place. And he had this comfort: if he left her, she wouldn’t be alone one second longer than she wanted to be.
He looked a long moment, and as if by telepathy, she turned and met his eyes. She smiled, and for a moment, he wavered. She was flawless. Her dark magenta dress came tight at the waist, her white bosom lifted, her long legs tapered to high heels. He moved toward her. He had crossed half the distance when her glance looked past him, and she waved.
“Sheldon,” she cried, “you came!” She beamed. “Look, Henry, Sheldon’s here. How wonderful.” Henry turned and saw Parker striding toward them, a drink in each hand. Parker nodded to Henry and stared rapaciously at Elaine.
“You look lovely, my dear,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “You must try this. Cristal Roederer, ’85.”
“My goodness, for a party this size,” Elaine said, smiling.
“Not for a party this size,” Parker said. “I’ve been chatting with Chuck . . .”
“Mr. Hargrove? I didn’t even know you were acquainted.”
“We weren’t. But we’re both Exeter,” Parker said casually. “Bond of brothers, all that. Anyway, he insisted I get the good stuff, and he took me down to his cellar. I brought you back a glass. Exquisite.” He turned and said, “Hello, Henry. Remind me to give you something before I leave.” His tone was completely neutral; no trace remained of their earlier argument.
Henry turned to Elaine and said, “How are you, darling?” He kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations. You look fantastic.”
Elaine twirled. “It does work, doesn’t it?” she said. “I’m never wearing prêt-à-porter again.”
Parker laughed. “It’s the woman who makes the dress, my dear.”
“When’s the award ceremony?” Henry asked, stepping intuitively between them.
“In about thirty minutes,” she answered. “I’m on pins and needles.”
Parker leaned forward and gave her a faux buss on the cheek. “Enjoy it,” he said, grinning. “And get used to it.” Turning to Henry, he said, “I’m sure you’ll get out of your little mess, Henry. Just talk things over with this very sensible woman. Five minutes with her and things will seem so much clearer.” He stepped back, consuming her, his eyes full of unashamed avarice. “Remarkable,” he said. “Simply remarkable.” Parker backed away and then was gone, vanishing into a crowd of evening wear.
When Henry looked back at Elaine, her face had clouded. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“It can wait. There’s no reason to darken a perfect evening with my problems.”
“What kind of problems? Don’t tell me it has anything to do with that absurd will.”
“Not really. Or I suppose, in a way, it does. But anyway, it’s not going to change in the next few hours, so let’s just have a wonderful night.”
She looked at him, an incisive, penetrating look. He felt, for the moment, like an equity she was evaluating. She took him by the arm and led him to a small study nearby and closed the door. “Tell me what’s going on between you and Sheldon, Henry.”
Henry exhaled. “I’d rather not, for your sake. It’s going to be a long talk, and this isn’t the place or the time. You look marvelous, and you’re going to get your award in a half hour. Trust me, Elaine, we don’t want to do this right now.”
Concern grew on Elaine’s face. “What have you done, Henry? Sheldon wouldn’t have said what he did if you hadn’t done something.”
Henry looked at her. “Why are you assuming I’m in the wrong? The fact is, I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why did he say that?”
“We’ll talk, Elaine. But later.”
She fixed him in her gaze. “If you’re having trouble with Sheldon, tonight is the perfect chance to patch it up. You’re both here, and it’s a casual environment. You’ll both be more reasonable.”
He sighed; she was a better, more persistent fighter than he was. He could never fully turn on his lawyer mode in a debate with her; somehow it had always felt unseemly, and she had exploited that compunction often. Not that she was cruel, he admitted; it was just that she was a winner, always and in every possible circumstance. “I can’t do that,” he said. “And I’m not sure I want to, anyway.”
Shock covered her face. “That kind of statement is exactly why you need me. You constantly lose perspective.”
Her persistence annoyed him. “Perspective is just what I think I found.”
“If it involves damaging your relationship with Sheldon, I’d say you’re terribly wrong. Did you see him tonight, Henry? Sheldon Parker was drinking champagne with Charles Hargrove in fifteen minutes. Mr. Hargrove took him to his wine cellar. There are people who have worked at our firm for twenty years and never got that invitation. Sheldon Parker’s charming, he’s witty, and he’s incredibly success
ful. He’s also a big supporter of yours. Arguing with him is certainly a mistake.”
All right, Henry thought. You have to win, even when it costs you. Then here it is. “Sheldon is the best lawyer I’ve ever seen,” Henry said evenly. “He’s also an utterly corrupt man.”
She pulled away, startled by his blunt statement. “I will never believe that, Henry. And I hate that kind of sanctimonious talk. It’s not your place to judge another person.”
“Then let’s call it something else. Say that something came between us that can’t be fixed.”
“Don’t scare me like this, Henry. It has to be fixed. I don’t want this tonight.”
“I don’t want it tonight either,” Henry said, his sense of exasperation growing. He grabbed her hand, starting to lead her back toward the door. “For once let it go. For once. For me. Come on, you’ll be missed.”
She pulled her hand back. “Don’t patronize me, Henry,” she said. “I’m not some little girl to be led away. It’s my life, too.”
Henry stopped. “What does that mean?”
She softened for a moment. “Everything’s working out so well, darling,” she said. “My award, Sheldon taking you under his wing. It’s all just like we planned. Don’t mess up everything. It’s ridiculous.”
“Like we planned.”
“Of course. I always pictured us together.” She paused, and added, “I know you did, too.”
She was right; he had pictured them together, right from the beginning. At first it had been merely a hope. Then, to his utter surprise, she had wanted him in the way he wanted her. It had never dawned on him that he would be the one to leave. “I never wanted to create any problems,” he said. “Things are changing too fast lately. I can’t keep up.”
“Then let me, darling. Let me fix everything. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding with Sheldon. Now promise me before you leave tonight you’ll patch everything up.”
He looked at her, radiant and purposeful. She was more than he deserved, in every objective sense. But he had never lied to her before, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I can’t promise that, because we aren’t going to patch things up. I’ve already resigned from the firm, Elaine. It’s effective immediately.”