“It’s okay,” she said. “Honestly, it might be nice to have someone other than a psychologist to talk to about it. I don’t know what they suspect. I don’t think they suspect anything. Maybe Jonathan thinks there is something going on between me and his dad, what with me always traveling with Tim whenever he goes out of town. I don’t think that Tim suspects anything about my seeing Jonathan.”
“How long have you been able to keep this up?”
“I started seeing Tim when I first went to work at Peters & Sullivan four years ago. I met Jonathan when he came by himself to a firm Christmas party. Tim and Amy were there.
“Cozy,” I said. “Do you think Amy knows anything about it?”
“She must know about my involvement with Tim. I don’t see how she couldn’t. I’m not so naïve as to think that I’m the first ‘other woman’ with whom Tim has been involved. I think she tries to pretend that I don’t exist, and that if she maintains that pretense long enough, Tim will come back to his senses and dump me. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he will. It will probably be because I screw up some case or something, since I guess I know that it will somehow end badly for me. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of constantly scheduling my life around Tim’s marriage. Maybe that is why I started seeing Jonathan.”
“Amy doesn’t ever ask me about Tim,” I said. “I think that Amy thinks I know more about him than I let on, although she doesn’t ask. It’s just a feeling I get when I catch her looking at me. Lately I’ve wondered if she’s worried that I might say something to Michelle about Tim. Of course I never would. You don’t need to worry about that. I do get the idea that Amy has spent a considerable amount of time and effort shielding Michelle and Jonathan from knowing everything about their father. I also think that Michelle and Jonathan try to protect their mom from knowing everything about her husband. It can all get very confusing and I try to avoid getting caught in the middle.”
We sat there without either of us saying anything for a moment.
“Are you in love with either of them . . . or maybe both of them?” I asked.
“Who knows?” she said. “Who knows what love is? Sometimes I think I am in love with one or both of them. Sometimes I’m just so tired of all of the hassle that I don’t care if I ever see either one of them again. You know what Sullivan says love is?”
I shook my head. I had never heard that particular Sullivanism. I guess it was one topic that I had never discussed with him. Probably most associates don’t discuss the meaning of love with their senior partner.
“Sullivan says that ‘love is the white stuff that comes out of a man’s penis.’”
I flushed red, and again we sat there without either one saying anything.
“You must have to avoid being around Tim when you’re with Jonathan. Doesn’t that cause Jonathan some suspicion?” I finally asked.
“Maybe,” she said, “but I don’t think he has ever let his dates meet his parents. Jonathan probably wants to be sure that the dates like him for him and not some estate in River Oaks. He’s also very secretive around his parents. I don’t know why. I’ve told Jonathan that it would be bad for me at work if Tim knew I was dating his son. I’m not sure he accepts that. I guess the relationship with Jonathan just has not gone far enough that it has become a problem yet. Probably, it never will. That is a shame because I really like Jonathan. He is smart and clever like his dad, but his personality is different. It is never all about Jonathan.”
“You mean that if you were forced to choose between Tim and Jonathan because Jonathan had invited you to Thanksgiving at the Sullivan house, you would choose Tim?”
“I guess so, at this point. In the long-run, I don’t know. In fact, there probably won’t be a long-run.”
“Why Tim over Jonathan?” I asked.
“You mean because Jonathan is more my age? I don’t know. My counselor says I have unresolved issues with my stepdad. Whatever that means. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been involved with Tim longer than Jonathan. I’ve never been involved with an older man before, much less a married one. Not that Tim’s that old. I think he needs me. I give him something that he otherwise would be lacking. I understand the pressure he’s under at the law firm. I see it every day. I don’t think his family really knows what he goes through. They’re used to the fabulous income he brings home, but they don’t really know what it takes to maintain that level of success.”
“Do you think he’ll ever quit practicing law?”
“That is one thing I ask him all the time. Why doesn’t he quit, get a divorce, and move with me to Santa Fe or Jackson Hole? Hell, I wouldn’t care if we moved to Paintsville. However, I don’t think he’ll ever do that. What is it about you guys and the thrill of the jury verdict?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t had the opportunity to win very often—unless I have been trying a case with Tim. It’s horrible to lose. You think the jury dislikes you. You take it personally, even though you tell yourself that you didn’t make the facts, you just presented them. And there is the economic aspect. I don’t mean that you fall in love with the money. I mean that you are always investing the money from this case into the next one, and the process just feeds on itself. It would be hard to just stop.”
“Of course you’re in love with the money,” she said. “It could be done, though. Just stop taking new cases, or taper off intake. Quit spending money. Just take cases that might be interesting to work on, rather than cases that might make a lot of money but cost a fortune to develop.”
“I guess you’re right. I know I don’t see myself doing this forever.”
“I’ll bet you do. You’re just like Tim. You’re a chaos junkie. You may tell yourself that you’re in it for the big score—that you’ll win some monster case and make a huge fee and retire. Though I doubt that it will work out that way. Instead, you’ll just buy a bigger house and more cars, and maybe even a plane like this one. Then the kids will graduate from private schools and attend expensive colleges, and you’ll look up and you’ll be caught up in the lifestyle unable to let go.”
I didn’t tell her that there was a real possibility that I could be divorced and out of a job on or before September 15th of this year. She was right about me being a chaos junkie. All trial lawyers, at least all the ones I know, are addicted to adrenaline. The unpredictability of the practice, particularly in the courtroom but also at the office with constant deadlines and tactical maneuvering against the other side, was what made it interesting. The challenge was to control something that was uncontrollable. No two cases were alike. You learned all about a subject, and then promptly forgot it, and went on to the next case and the next subject. While it might be a stressful life, it wasn’t boring.
Riza took my momentary pause as a sign to continue. “I’ll bet you there isn’t even a meeting tomorrow. I’ll bet that Tim was just lonely and had a few drinks and sent the plane for us to come join him.”
“You mean for you to come join him. I’m just a chaperone,” I said.
“Maybe. I know what you are saying, and, believe it or not, I’m really not offended. However, don’t kid yourself. Tim enjoys your company too. He sees you as an extension of himself. What is it that Tim always says?” she asked.
“Do not shit thyself,” I said.
“Exactly. Do not shit thyself. I am as much a chaperone in this triangle as you are. Have you ever compared your year-end bonus to the other associates?”
“No. Well, I assume it might be a little higher because I brought in a little more money than the other associates.”
“Try again, Clarence Darrow. Eli brings in the most money. True, he has been there a little longer, but your bonus is always larger than his. Substantially.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I sleep with the guy who decides what the bonuses are. Remember? Sullivan sees your income as a way of transferring wealth to Michelle at your income tax rate instead of the estate tax rate, and without having it pass
through various trusts over which he has no control.”
“Although he can’t control what I do with the money, can he?” I asked.
“Pretty much, he can. I know you haven’t thought about your income in this way. Do you have any idea how much money is coming your way once the baby is born? Tim is just salivating about how he’s going to circumvent the Uniform Gift to Minors Act through your working for the firm.”
I chewed the ice from my glass and stared out of the window. After a while, Riza put her earphones back on, and we flew along without saying anything more. Eventually the gentle hum of the jet engines and the scotch put me to sleep. I don’t know how long I slept. Although it didn’t seem long enough for us to have arrived in Kentucky, I woke up as we began our descent into what I assumed was the airport in Lexington. The pilot took off his headset and hollered back to us that there was a change of plans and that we were meeting Sullivan in Memphis. A car would pick us up and take us to the Peabody.
“Too late to see the ducks,” I said, and Riza laughed. She waited for the pilot to put his headset back on before saying anything.
“Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I see both of us in similar situations. I enjoyed getting the chance to talk to you. We haven’t really ever talked.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not upset. I just have a lot on my mind. So, how do you see this ending? You said it will probably end badly for you.”
“I’ve decided that I’m going to try to end up with more money than any paralegal in the history of the American legal system. I may even go to law school. But, I realize that I probably won’t get either one of the guys. That’s okay. I’m fairly independent. Frankly, I’m getting tired of all the juggling. Someone else will come along. Jackson Hole is crawling with good-looking guys trying to meet a rich, single woman.”
“Here’s to foie gras and Montrachet,” I said, raising my empty glass. “You should go to law school. You’d be a better lawyer than I’ll ever be. I hope you will consider hiring me someday.”
“No Montrachet or law school tonight. I’m sure we’ll have to settle for barbecue. What time does the Rendezvous close?”
13
TO SOME EXTENT, WE are all creatures of habit. Some of us just have bigger habits than others. In addition to being home by five o’clock every evening, my dad ate lunch at the same place almost every day. Usually he took a book to the student center and went through the cafeteria line. He would order whatever was on special and sit quietly by himself and eat and read whatever novel he was reading that day. Sometimes he would go to the faculty club, but the glad-handing cut into his reading time. He read three novels a week.
Though he taught at a Church of Christ college, he was not a particularly religious person. Mom was the one who saw to it that we went to church on Sunday mornings and which church we attended. I can’t remember much about the Sunday school classes I attended other than learning to sign the Lord’s Prayer while we sang it. I remember thinking that if God was deaf, why were we singing while we were signing? When I was in high school, I began picking the church we attended based on which one I thought would have the best church-league basketball team.
Dad claimed that what little he knew about the Bible came from reading fiction. To understand the nuance or significance of a biblical reference in one of Shakespeare’s plays, Dad would go back and forth between the play and the scripture until he understood the context. “Isn’t God’s favorite teaching tool the parable?” Dad would ask. “‘I have multiplied visions and used similitudes by the ministry of the prophets.’ Isn’t a parable just an exercise in showing us a moral as applied to a specific situation in a way that we’ll remember it? That’s what good literature is . . . an attempt to reveal a universal truth that the audience probably already knows in its heart through a story or situation that the audience can relate to and remember. If I tell you not to lie, you might remember, but if I tell you that your nose will grow like Pinocchio’s when you lie, then there is a better chance that you will remember what I told you. Never discount the power of a good old-fashioned allegory to get a message across. ‘The pilgrim’s progress from this world to that which is to come, delivered under similitude of a dream.’”
I do not see Tim very often these days, although I could locate him with a few phone calls if I just knew which direction he was going when he left the office.
If he was going to Dallas near lunchtime, I would guess that he was at the Café Pacific or still at the Polo Shop on his way to the Café Pacific. If he was already there, he was ordering a Ramos Gin Fizz served in the classic style. If he was spending the night, he was at the Mansion on Turtle Creek, both to stay and for dinner. There are other hotels in Dallas as luxurious as the Mansion, but they seem larger and less discrete, and they don’t have a bar as dark as the bar at the Mansion gets at night. Also it’s a short stumble from the bar to the incredible restaurant.
If he was in San Antonio, he was probably staying at the Fairmount. But, from time to time, he would give other hotels a try—I think because he disliked the large glass window in the bar that looked out onto the street. He would have both lunch and dinner, and breakfast on Sundays, at a little place called El Mirador over on South St. Mary’s Street. An entire meal might cost less than an appetizer at the Mansion, but the food at El Mirador is incredible. I’ve heard that the owners are expanding it. I hope it doesn’t lose its charm. If available, Tim would order the lobster taco or the venison tamale; on Sunday mornings, the soups are the way to go.
If he was in Austin, Sullivan was at a round table in the bar of the Four Seasons, and you could ask any of the waitstaff about him by using his first name. If he wasn’t there, he was in the Cloak Room, a windowless basement bar equidistant between the Texas Supreme Court, the state capitol, and the TTLA building.
If he was in Los Angeles, he was at the Hotel Bel-Air, or in the Polo Lounge at The Beverly Hills Hotel.
If he was in San Francisco, he was at The Sherman House.
In Chicago he was at Nick’s Fishmarket.
If he was in Washington, DC, he was in the Round Robin Bar at The Willard.
In Boston he could be found ordering a bowl of the catch–of–the–day fish soup at the No Name Restaurant out on the pier.
If he was in New York, he was at the St. Regis; and if it was after dark, he was probably in the King Cole. I got the chance to eat with him at so many restaurants in New York that I don’t really know where he would be at lunch or dinner. I remember one dinner at Le Cirque before the remodel where we started with a bottle of Cristal and each had a large divot of foie gras, but I don’t remember much after that. Chances are that you would eventually see him at the oyster bar in Grand Central Station or having a cocktail at the Bull & Bear in the Waldorf. At breakfast, though, he would be crowded into Viand Café, up the street from the St. Regis, with the rest of the people on their way to work. Again, he would be at Viand Café with the hope that the grease from the bacon, fried eggs, and hash browns might soak up the alcohol from the night before. Vitamin “G.”
The point is, whatever his staff or family might say about how difficult it could be to find Tim Sullivan, the truth is, you just had to know where to look. If you knew he was going to be in Memphis, then you should ask for him at the Peabody and wait for him to come in for dinner at the Rendezvous, a place famous for its “barbecued” ribs. By Texas standards, it’s not really barbecue, a process by which marinated or rubbed meat is smoked on a grill. Because at the Rendezvous, the pork ribs are coated with a dry rub and then baked in an oven.
Practicing law in Texas, I’ve had the opportunity to eat barbecue at most of the great barbecue venues. I like different items at different places. I like the sausage in Luling at Luling City Market and in Giddings at the City Meat Market. They’re also famous for their sausage at the Southside Market in Elgin, but I like the pork steak there and the pork chop at Cooper’s in Llano or at Opie’s in Spicewood or at either Smitty’s or
Kreuz’s in Lockhart. For brisket, I’d suggest Mueller’s in Taylor, or the Ironworks in Austin. I also like House Park Bar-B-Q in Austin just because I like the sign: “You need no teef to eat my beef.” For ribs, I’d probably go back to Luling, just because I love the sauce, or to the Country Tavern in Kilgore; but it’s hard to beat the ribs, or the sauce for that matter, at some of the bigger “shops” like Rudy’s.
If you like ribs, though, you owe it to yourself to see how it’s done at the Rendezvous in Memphis. If you have to have sauce, the waiter will get you some, although he will insist that you “Try ‘em the right way first.”
Riza and I had the driver take us directly to the Rendezvous, and then drop our bags off with the concierge at the Peabody. The concierge would see to it that the proper bags went to the proper rooms.
We found Tim downstairs toward the back of the restaurant beneath a photograph of an old judge in a black robe. The judge was a black man with a grey goatee that exacerbated his “don’t bring that shit in here” scowl. Sullivan was sitting at a table with a section of a newspaper, a large pitcher of beer, and three mugs. He waved, and we went over and sat down as he poured each of us a beer. It appeared that he might have been there for quite a while judging by the crumpled stack of newspapers beside his chair.
“How was the flight?” he asked, to no one in particular.
“Great,” said Riza. “We had a tailwind all the way.”
“Good,” Tim said. “I’m starving. I took the liberty of ordering us all ribs.” He looked across the room to catch the eye of a person I assumed would be our waiter. The greasy, green-painted, brick-walled room was full of people drinking beer, eating ribs, and talking loudly over red-checkered tablecloths. In the center of the room was a large, oval bar. Most of the basement room walls were covered with memorabilia that ranged from an antique rifle collection to a pair of framed panels of stained glass made of shards of green, burgundy, gold, and purple.
A Minor Fall Page 17