by Beth Orsoff
What surprised me was that the house wasn’t bigger. It was large, but not a mansion. The facade was light gray stone with rows of black shuttered windows on either side of the double front door. In most parts of the country, a house like this would probably cost $300,000. In Bel Air, it was worth ten times that much.
The interior was much more impressive. The marble foyer was flanked on the left by a living room about twice the size of my apartment and on the right by a study that was almost as large. A maid disappeared with our coats and Todd led us into the living room where a handful of guests were gathered. The three of us were the only ones under fifty.
I hung back near the entrance with Simone while Todd ventured deep into the interior. Simone nodded in the direction of a well-preserved woman wearing diamond earrings large enough to be visible from across the room. “That’s his mother,” Simone whispered.
She didn’t look anything like the drawing I’d tacked to Simone’s dart board. With the Botox injections, the salon highlights, and a size six figure maintained with the assistance of a personal pilates trainer, she looked like a woman in her early fifties. Simone told me she was actually sixty-four.
Todd hugged his mother and she kissed his cheek, then Todd led her over to where Simone and I were standing.
“Hello Grace,” Simone said to her future mother-in-law. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Todd’s mother leaned in and air kissed Simone. “It’s so nice to see you, dear. I’m surprised you remembered how to get here.”
“I didn’t,” Simone said, “Todd drove.” Then she introduced me.
Todd’s mother gave me a limp handshake and a phony smile. I tried to hand her the bottle of wine I’d brought, but she’d already linked her arm through Todd’s. “Just put that in the kitchen, dear,” she said, barely glancing at the bottle. “Simone can take you there.”
“Come with me, honey,” she said beaming at her son. “I have some people I want you to meet.”
Todd and his mother disappeared into the far corners of the living room and I followed Simone back to the foyer. “Do you see what I have to deal with?” she said.
I sensed a rant coming. “Maybe we should just open the wine.”
* * *
Simone led me down the hallway to the kitchen where she yanked open drawers and slammed them closed until a bartender appeared with a cork screw. He opened the wine and poured Simone and I each a glass. When he started to walk away with the bottle, Simone pulled it out of his hand. Then she led me and the wine bottle on a tour of the house.
Simone walked me through the dining room and the den and then led me upstairs to the five bedrooms. We stopped in the master and Simone walked around the room pouring drops of red wine onto the white carpet.
“Ooops,” she said. “Sometimes I’m just so clumsy.”
“You’re wasting your time. You know she’s just going to call someone to clean the carpet. It’s not like your mother-in-law is going to be down on her hands and knees scrubbing out those stains.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said and downed the rest of her wine. “Maybe I should steal her jewelry instead.”
“Simone!”
“I’m kidding. But I need to do something to get back at her.”
“You already have.”
“What?”
“You’ve taken her darling baby boy away from her.”
“True,” she said and grinned. “But it’s not enough.”
We went back downstairs and Simone walked me around the grounds pointing out the garden, the pool, and the tennis courts. By the time we returned to the house, it had filled up. The kids and their nannies were ensconced in the den, the living room still held the over-fifty crowd, and the younger set was in the study watching football. Someone had finally opened the credenza and uncovered the large screen TV.
I followed Simone into the study and sat on the chair across from her when she sat down on the couch next to Todd. She whispered something in his ear and he nodded. At the next commercial, Todd left with his empty glass and returned a few minutes later with a refill and a man with dark blond hair wearing black pants and a burgundy sweater. The man was probably 5’10,” but looked short compared to Todd’s 6’4” frame.
Todd introduced me to Marty and we shook hands, then Marty sat down on the couch with Todd and the two of them watched the game. After being ignored for two more commercial breaks, I left for a refill on my wine. Simone had already finished our bottle and it looked like it was going to be a long, dull afternoon.
Simone followed me into the kitchen, and as soon as we were out of hearing range said, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s pretty clear he’s not interested in me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he’s been ignoring me for the last half hour.”
“No, he hasn’t. He’s just watching the game.”
“He’s not watching the game during the commercials.”
“That’s when they catch up. You know guys don’t talk when they’re watching football.”
“They just saw each other yesterday. What do they have to say?”
“I’m sure Todd’s having exactly the same conversation with Marty that I’m having with you. Marty’s probably wondering why you’re not talking to him.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’ll see,” she said. “I’ll make sure the two of you sit next to each other at dinner. Then you can get acquainted without distractions.”
* * *
“I hear you’re a top notch litigator,” Marty said during the first of our five courses.
Flattery was always a good start. “I try. And you’re a financial wizard, right?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Which works out really well for me because I have no other skills.”
“None?” I asked with a suggestive look. I really needed to stop drinking the wine.
Marty leaned in a little closer and I was mesmerized by his perfectly aligned teeth. Not even one was slightly crooked. “Actually,” he said, “I have a few, but they can’t be discussed in mixed company.” Then he nodded toward the older woman and her ten-year-old grandson whom Simone had seated on his right.
I don’t know if it was the sexual innuendo or the lack of interesting alternative dinner companions, but Marty spent the entire meal chatting me up. He was actually very funny and had a great laugh. His sense of humor made him more attractive. Or it could’ve been the wine.
After coffee and dessert, Simone decided that I’d had long enough to get to know Marty. She grabbed me and Todd for a post-meal getaway. When Marty saw us with our coats on, he said he needed to leave too.
The four of us walked out together, but once we were outside, Simone made sure she and Todd stayed ten paces behind.
“I had a great time today,” Marty said.
“Me too,” I replied. “If this stockbroker thing doesn’t work out for you, you could always try standup comedy.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” In my inebriated state, I really did.
“I’m leaving for Colorado tomorrow, skiing with some buddies, but I’d love to see you again when I get back.”
I agreed, and Marty pulled out his Palm Pilot and entered my name and number into his electronic black book. When we arrived at Todd’s SUV, Marty said goodbye and continued down the driveway to his Porsche.
Simone didn’t even wait for me to close my car door before she began interrogating me. “So? What did you think? Do you like him?
“He has potential,” I said. “He certainly kept me amused.”
“I know. I could tell.”
“Simone, you promised you wouldn’t spy on us.”
“I didn’t. I could hear the two of you laughing from the other end of the table.”
“Were we really that loud?”
“Not really. I was sort of listening. I know Marty can be really funny when he turns on the charm. So when are you
going to see him again?”
“I don’t know. All he did was ask for my number.”
“I’m sure he’ll call you. Don’t you think so Todd?”
“Sure,” Todd said, and switched tracks on the car stereo.
If he didn’t meet someone better on the ski slopes first. Marty was amusing and very charming, but definitely a player. I figured the odds were 50-50 that I’d ever hear from him again.
Chapter 57
Played
It’s amazing how quickly the weekend passes. Even a four-day weekend. It was already Monday again and I was back at the office. I wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to work, so I flipped through my desk calendar hoping to find some inspiration. Maybe a looming deadline or a hearing I’d forgotten about. What I found was my trial date against Just A Date, which was only three days away!
It was personal, and it was only small claims court, but it was still a trial. I pulled the folder out of my desk drawer where it lived under a pile of take-out menus. I wasn’t going to leave this one in my file cabinet where anyone might discover it. Simone was the only one in the office who knew I’d joined Just A Date, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Small claims court was much less intimidating than state and federal court, the only other courts I’d argued in. Instead of days or weeks, a small claims court trial lasts half an hour at most. But I still had to prove my case. So far, all I had for evidence was my contract with Just A Date and my sworn statement that I’d only had two dates before the company folded. I needed more.
I called Just A Date’s former phone number and reached the same recording telling me that the number had been disconnected. I called the phone company and asked the customer service representative if they would put that information in writing. After being transferred to five different departments and agreeing to pay a $15 service fee, the phone company agreed to fax me a letter stating that Just A Date’s phone number had been disconnected.
Next I called the management company for Just A Date’s former office building. I wanted a similar letter from them stating that Just A Date had been evicted from its office space. They were less cooperative. Their leasing agent told me it was their policy not to provide any information about their past or present clients without a court order. No exceptions.
If I hadn’t waited until the last minute to prepare, I could’ve mailed a letter to Just A Date’s offices. Then, if the post office did its job, the letter would’ve been returned to me marked “Addressee Unknown.” Now I was going to have to do this the hard way.
I left the office at noon and headed over to Just A Date’s former offices. I parked on a side street and walked the three blocks to the building just to avoid having to explain myself to the parking attendant.
I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and followed the hallway to Suite 504. The eviction notice was no longer posted, but it didn’t look like a new tenant had moved in yet. All that remained of Just A Date was a dirt outline on the office door. No one had bothered to clean the spot where their gold lettering had been removed.
I pulled out my cell phone and tried to remember how to use the built-in camera. I was still playing with it when a woman who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five came striding down the hall. I was surprised when she stopped in front of Just A Date’s door. She tried the handle, but of course it was locked.
“Do you know if they’re closed for lunch?” she asked.
“They’re closed permanently,” I said. “They’re out of business”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.” I pointed to the dirt outline that once held their name.
The woman introduced herself as Molly Truitt. She told me she was a journalist working on a story about dating in Los Angeles.
“Who do you work for?” I asked.
“I’m freelance.”
“Which magazine?” Maybe when the article came out, I could pick up a few pointers.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I’m writing the article first, then I’m going to submit it for publication.”
“I thought magazines commissioned people to write articles they wanted to print.”
“Only when you’re established. When you’re starting out, you write the articles first and hope to get them published later.”
I finally pushed the right button and the screen on my phone converted to a viewfinder. I took three quick photos. When I confirmed the outline of the words JUST A DATE were clearly visible in two of the three, I shut my phone, wished Molly luck with her story, and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Molly said. “Why did you come down here if you knew they were out of business? Are you a client?”
“No, I’m just helping out a friend.” I wasn’t about to explain my situation to a reporter. The last thing I needed was my name in a quote. “Julie Burns, disgruntled dater.” No thanks. I stuck my phone in my purse and started walking toward the elevator.
Molly followed. “Why are you taking pictures of the place if they’re out of business?”
I pushed the elevator call button and looked at my watch. “Sorry, I really have to get back to work. Good luck with your story.”
When the elevator arrived, I stepped inside and pushed the button marked LOBBY. Molly jumped in as the doors were closing.
“Just tell me why you were taking pictures,” she said.
I looked straight ahead at the closed doors and tried to ignore her.
“Then just tell me who you’re taking them for.”
I stared at my fingernails and picked at the chipped paint. When the elevator doors opened, Molly followed me through the lobby shouting her same two questions. People were starting to stare.
“Please,” I hissed, “just leave me alone.”
“As soon as you answer my questions I will.”
“No,” I said and started walking again. Molly followed me through the building’s entrance and out onto the street.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and held it in front of her. “If you don’t stop following me I’m going to call the police and have you arrested.”
“For what?”
“Harassment.” I didn’t think police actually arrested people for harassment, but Molly must have. Her big brown eyes filled up with tears that quickly spilled onto her cheeks. She sat down on the curb with her head in her arms and sobbed.
“Oh for God’s sake, stop crying. I’m not going to have you arrested. I just want you to leave me alone.” I fished through my purse for a clean tissue and handed it to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said and stood up. “It’s just that I can’t get anyone to talk to me, and I can’t sell a story, and my boyfriend moved out without paying his half of the rent, and I can’t ask my parents for the money because they didn’t even know I was living with my boyfriend, and….”
Did I need this? “Okay, I get that you’re having a bad day. But you’re wasting your time. There’s no story here.”
“Then why won’t you tell me why you were taking those pictures?” She said, wiping her eyes.
“If I tell you, will you promise to leave me alone?”
“Yes,” she said and sniffed loudly.
“I was taking the pictures for a friend. She’s suing Just A Date and needs proof that the company’s out of business.”
“How does taking a picture of the door prove that they’re out of business?”
“It doesn’t by itself. It’s just one piece of evidence.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“Why?”
“Because you sound like a lawyer. And you’re dressed like one too.”
I looked down at my gray pin-striped pant suit. I suppose I did look like a lawyer. No point in denying it. “Yes, and now we’re done.” I started walking toward my car again.
Molly followed. “Are you suing the company? For your friend, I mean.”
“No.” I crossed to the other side of the street and Molly did too.
“Then who’s her lawyer?” Molly asked.
“She doesn’t have one.”
“Why not?”
“Because its small claims court. They don’t allow lawyers.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I replied and unlocked my car door.
“How come?”
What was this, twenty questions? “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask them that.”
“Can I get your name and number so I can call you if I have more questions?”
“No!”
“How about your friend’s?”
“Molly, you promised if I told you why I was taking the pictures you’d leave me alone. I told you why. Now go away.”
“I can’t. I smell a story.”
“There’s no story.”
“Then why is your friend suing them?”
“Because they breached their contract.”
“How?”
I shook my head and climbed into the car. I’d already said too much. Molly was still standing in the street shouting questions when I pulled away.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Even when she started crying, I should’ve kept on walking. She probably faked the tears and the whole story about her boyfriend just to play me. I must have the word “sucker” written across my forehead. Thank God at least I hadn’t given her my name.
Chapter 58
The Trial
I arrived at the courthouse Wednesday morning with the usual nausea that accompanied me whenever I went to court. Those were the times I always wondered why I went to law school. I hate public speaking. Fortunately for me, I don’t go to court very often.
When I walked into Courtroom 3, the judge was hearing another case. My trial was scheduled for 10 a.m. I still had another fifteen minutes, so I sat down in the gallery and listened.
The judge was in her early sixties and maintained an all business demeanor. She probably wished she could just retire instead of listening to people’s petty disputes all day. I know I would if I were her.
The judge rapped her gavel and the clerk called the next case. The parties for Hills v. Sparkling Dry Cleaners took their places. The judge allowed each party a few minutes to tell their side of the story, asked one question, then told both parties they would receive her ruling by mail.