He triumphantly turned the master key to an unfamiliar suite. Stephanie and Harlan looked at each other. The clerk’s inebriated cheeks flushed red and stared expectantly at Harlan for a tip. In response, Harlan pulled out his empty bathrobe pockets. The clerk’s eyes laughed as he shut the door.
Infuriated, Stephanie drew her robe around her and plopped down on one side of the bed. Harlan did the same. They looked up at the ceiling. Its mirror revealed their irritated faces.
Candles flickered on a low table at the foot of the bed. A silky white comforter enveloped their bodies with its soft feathery contours. A fireplace raged from a stone setting. And a champagne bottle lay snug in its golden ice bucket.
Harlan leapt up from the bed, uncorked the bottle, and poured two glasses.
“This is nice. To calm my woman down.” He clinked his glass against hers.
“Whoever she may be. I’ll drink to that. I guess being in the honeymoon suite with you isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”
“Thank you very much.”
“What would people think Harlan? The two of us? Together?”
“Stephanie, no one would ever think of the two of us. Except the two of us.”
“I’m not agreeing to this room,” she said.
“Excuse me. Did I ask you to agree? I think you’re giving me answers to questions I’m not asking.” Harlan walked to the door.
“How dare you? I’ll walk out,” Stephanie said. The Southern French wind banged against the door like a jealous lover left alone in the night.
You put people in a prison and they act like prisoners. You put people in a mental hospital and they act like mental patients. You put two opposing lawyers in a honeymoon suite and they act like opposing lawyers.
Not really. HA.
Chapter Nineteen
Melvin Seams struggled with the styrofoam covering on his box of Advil. His head throbbed.
“Why hadn’t that bartender cut him off? Bartenders should be more responsible. He thought as he punctured the styrofoam with a pen. Now, if only he could deal with the ridiculous cotton filling, he could get a pill out and maybe find some relief.
As he put the bottle down, his hand knocked over his coffee. “Fuck!” He yelled. No one else was there to hear him. He looked at the liquid spill across Stephanie St. Claire’s desk top. It wasn’t her desk anyway. It was his. And he wasn’t that bitch’s servant. Who the hell did she think she was? What an arrogant female.
He chuckled at thought of her in France. In a small village, at a deposition with that arrogant creep Harlan Michaels, an urbane woman like Stephanie St. Claire must be miserable. How satisfying.
He went through her files. The bitch was actually doing a good job. Without him. She’d taken ten cases to arbitration. She won all ten. The bitch. How dare she be so aloof, so smart, and so cute.
He would show her. He’d make her try the multipiece wheel case against Harlan Michaels. Then she would see how smart she was. That would show her. She would be begging for help then. And maybe he would help her. If she begged really sweetly.
In the meantime, he’d make things even more perplexing and difficult for her. And make things even easier for himself. In one fell swoop, he reassigned twenty-five cases of Stephanie’s. He chuckled. As soon as she came back from the hellacious tour of Europe with Harlan Michaels, she would start to worry that she wasn’t really profitable. He chuckled again. It was only a matter of time. And Stephanie St. Claire would be on her knees, in front of him, begging for help.
“Hi Big Guy.”
Melvin looked up and savored the sight of her in her black, sweat drenched leotard outfit smiling at him. Now, this was his idea of an associate attorney. Candy Wilcox, tall, blonde and eager to please. He’d let his partner hire her after Stephanie spurned him. She was the antithesis of Stephanie St. Claire.
“Hi baby.” The smile deepened and she came over to the desk and rubbed up against his arm. God, he hoped Stephanie would feel jealous and threatened by Candy. But so far, it looked like the opposite was happening if Candy’s recent breast implants were any indication.
“What’s up?” She pressed the sweaty front of her leotard against his arm again.
“I am going through Stephanie’s files.”
“Do you think Stephanie’s pretty?”
“No.” He lied.
“I’ve never thought of Stephanie that way. She’s just a lawyer to me.” He lied again. He dug his hand into the chair.
“Did you ever notice that I am a woman?” She asked as she unzipped his jeans.
“I can’t think of when I didn’t notice.” He responded.
“Hello. Who’s here?” Donna Mosscato’s voice reverberated through the hallway.
“Candy, I need to talk to Donna for a minute,” Melvin said hurriedly as he reluctantly nudged Candy’s leotard clad body through the doorway.
“Donna, I know you’re upset,” he said.
“Brilliant insight Melvin. Maybe there’s a career for you in jury consulting. If you can tell what prospective jurors are thinking, you might even be worth money to successful lawyers.”
Fat bitch was needling him. This nobody cow who he let out of the pen once a week—who he allowed to be seen with him—had the nerve to needle him.
“I’d enjoy getting money off successful lawyers. I’d like to take on Harlan Michaels.”
“Why don’t you try the orphaned schoolgirl’s case?” She asked brightly.
The amused look in her eyes was too much. It would feel good to crush her skull. Or stick his fingers around that thick neck and strangle the ingrate.
“It’s too dangerous. We need to get out of this one. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Michaels will sniff something out. And you’ll go down.”
“I’m not the one with a trial to lose,” she said smugly.
“But you’re the one with a livelihood to lose. The Executive Committee could fire both of us. I have savings. I can afford to move to another state. You can’t. You lose this job, how long can you survive?”
Donna lived paycheck to paycheck, teetering on collapse twice each month, and painfully aware of the fragile separation between her and homelessness. She looked devastated.
Satisfied, Melvin rubbed his hands together. Like a good dog, once kicked, she’d offer cowed loyalty again. Donna wouldn’t be a problem. Everything was under control.
“Why don’t you take on Michaels at trial? Go ahead. I’m not making any offers. I’ll be watching ringside.”
She knew now he’d always been too afraid to try a case. He counted on her to come up with settlement money. And explain it to Safety Tire’s Executive Committee.
“Donna, what the fuck is wrong with you? We can’t appear at the settlement conference without an offer! Judge Franklin will go ballistic! Are you crazy?”
“No. I’ve never felt more sane.” An unhappy woman, she stared coldly at the one who’d played her heart for his own game.
“I can’t go before Judge Franklin like this! I’ll be humiliated.”
“So what are you going to do, Melvin?”
He paused. “I’ll send Stephanie St. Claire.”
Chapter Twenty
“Harlan, you are the only one making money off this case. It costs Rick and me money. And it’s not my idea of how to spend community assets. I can’t disrupt my entire morning to go to court! I haven’t had time to think about what to wear. I haven’t had my hair done.” Debbie spoke in measured breaths as she increased the incline on her treadmill.
“I’m not making money off this case. So far, I’m just spending money. My own money.” Harlan reminded her.
“Where’s Rick?” He asked.
“He’s out of the country.”
“What? He’s known about this for months!” Harlan erupted.
“Where? What country? I’ll go get him myself.” He jabbed a legal pad with one of his ball point pens and watched the paper rip. Debbie made him sick.
“He
’s in Hong Kong. And I’m on my treadmill.” She began to pant. “I don’t have his itinerary at my fingertips. Look, we’ll both be available by phone.”
“Like you’re available for Kathy?”
“You’re welcome to get Kathy yourself. Anytime.”
“I will. Get me Rick’s number.”
He needed Kathy at the settlement conference. She’d be an irresistible witness. Even Judge Franklin could melt. And Franklin loved to effectuate settlements. To Franklin, a consummated settlement demonstrated unequivocally that judicial power had properly vested in him. Under his control, judicial economy could be readily achieved, as he alone determined which cases to settle, brought the lesser beings within his dominion to heel, and freed his calendar for worthier tasks.
“It’s not really that different from the uniforms that we have to wear,” Kathy whispered when they got to the courthouse.
Harlan smiled. Kathy was afraid she had said something stupid. He smoothed a curl back from her forehead.
“You’re right. Most lawyers spend their lives in blue suits. And judges wear black robes. It is like putting on your school uniform on everyday. That’s a good analogy.”
Kathy wasn’t sure what analogy meant but felt happy that she had said something good.
Donna Mosscato sneered at the two of them, especially Kathy, an eleven year old child, obviously out to get money. She hated the claimants, the other adjusters, and the lawyers most of all. They all owed her. She held the checkbook. The entire process would grind to a halt without her. Judge Franklin’s sheriff, George, stood poised with one hand over his gun, ready to draw on any lawyer whose cell phone rang.
“Slade v. Safety Tire.” George announced their case. “He will see you in chambers.”
The lawyers walked slowly, as if in a death march, to Judge Franklin’s chambers. No one emerged from Judge Franklin’s chambers unscathed.
Stephanie watched a Law Offices of Randy Johnstone associate leave nervously. No one had ever seen Johnstone himself appear anywhere but on television. Rumor had it that Johnstone established a settlement quota for his associates each month. Under penalty of termination, associates would scramble to settle cases, ignoring client needs. Defense lawyers seized the chance to discard personal injury cases for less than the amount of medical bills incurred by the injured person. Associates just tried to hold on to their jobs. The world downsized around them. And still, Johnstone’s commercials came on every night, with the happy guy in a wheelchair holding a check, talking joyously of being run over by a truck, meeting Johnstone, and becoming a multi-millionaire.
Judge Franklin looked at Stephanie St. Claire and smiled. He liked lawyers young and malleable. They scared easily. Harlan Michaels stood behind her. Of course, there were exceptions to every rule. Even in his first year of practice, Harlan Michaels hadn’t scared.
Wincing, Donna Mosscato lifted expando files off the floor. She always brought her entire claims file to settlement conferences, no matter how unwieldy, as it seemed necessary to establish her preeminence at the proceedings. Barely managing to keep from toppling over, she defied gravity, and carried the weighty documents at one side.
“How do you value this case, Mr. Michaels?” Judge Franklin asked politely.
“Three million.”
Donna Mosscato gasped reflexively. In her customary response to any settlement demand, she rolled her eyes.
Judge Franklin sighed.
“What’s your offer, Ms. St. Claire?”
“I don’t have one.” She gulped.
“Then Ms. St. Claire, I suggest you simply bend over, grab your ankles, and kiss your ass goodbye,” Judge Franklin said.
“I believe the truck driver used poor judgment. Poor maintenance and poor driving caused this unfortunate accident.” Donna Mosscato interjected.
“Ms. Mosscato,” Judge Franklin sighed with the exasperation of a kindergarten teacher unable to reach a child with obvious intelligence limitations, “The issue isn’t what you believe. It’s what plaintiff is willing to accept in a case of catastrophic tragedy, all of which, if Mr. Michaels is to be believed, could have been prevented if Safety Tire had simply recalled a product that it knew to be inherently dangerous. How do you think your corporate suits are going to look alongside a little girl?”
“It’s not our fault,” Donna said. Judge Franklin stared out the window.
“Have you received anything from the truck driver?” Judge Franklin asked.
“The limits of his insurance policy, your Honor. He doesn’t have any penetrable assets. His income goes to child support and alimony,” he said.
“Mr Michaels, as I heard you say in one of your seminars a few years ago, ‘anything can happen in the courtroom, and the best lawyers know that even in the best of cases, they have only an eighty percent chance of winning.”‘
“When a family dies, because a company wants to save a few bucks, I’ll take that eighty percent chance,” Harlan said.
“Well, is that going to be your attitude, Mr. Michaels?” Judge Franklin asked.
“Yes. It is your Honor.”
Judge Franklin looked at Stephanie next. He leaned towards her, to increase the intimidation effect. “With early intervention, cases stop polluting the Court’s calendar. That didn’t happen here. You should have settled with Mr. Michaels months ago. I am offended by your case’s presence on my calendar, Ms. St. Claire. Now, that being said, think again, and then tell me, what are you prepared to offer today?”
Stephanie tried to swallow down the shame. “I don’t have anything to offer today.”
“I beg your pardon, counsel?”
Stephanie shrunk under Judge Franklin’s glare. She couldn’t look at Harlan. Ever again.
“Ms. St. Claire, this is called a mandatory settlement conference. I can see that you’re a baby lawyer, and maybe no one has told you this yet, but the purpose of mandatory settlement conferences is to settle cases, and that typically involves the lawyers and parties making offers to settle. Otherwise, we wouldn’t waste everyone’s time having them. I’ll give you another tip. Don’t antagonize the court. Some fairly bright new lawyers realize that as a matter of common sense. But that doesn’t seem to have happened with you.”
The obsequious sheriff laughed.
Stephanie’s cheeks were burning. She couldn’t look at Harlan. He would hate her now.
“Your Honor, I don’t think Ms. St. Claire is the problem here.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Michaels?” Judge Franklin glared at the one with the audacity to speak.
“Apparently, the problem is with Safety Tire and Mr. Seams. It’s not Ms. St. Claire. I think Ms. St. Claire is just here as a pinch hitter for Mr. Seams. He’s the primary lawyer on the case.”
“Then why the hell isn’t he here?! Get him on the phone! Ms. St. Claire, the primary lawyer, the TRIAL LAWYER needs to appear at the mandatory settlement conference. It’s not professional for anyone else to appear.”
“Your Honor, Ms. St. Claire is always professional. She’s an exemplary member of the Bar.”
“Thank you, Mr. Michaels.”
“Thank you, Harlan.” She whispered.
He simply nodded. She’d been told that he was the fiercest, nastiest opponent she’d ever meet. And that was from his friends. Even his friends said that everyone has their Harlan tolerance. And yet he insisted on being nice to her. In the ugly and brutal world of litigation, Harlan Michaels was the only kind voice she heard.
“Your Honor, I’m requesting an immediate trial date.” Harlan said.
“You’ll get it.” Judge Franklin replied.
Harlan winked at Kathy as they walked out of the Courthouse.
“Kathy, I’m sorry. Things may have sounded a little rough in there. I’ve always loved the beach. I could drive you along the beach on the way back. Are you with me?” Harlan asked.
“I’m with you!” She said exuberantly.” She loved this man who treated her so sweetly. She loved the way he handl
ed everything. It was like he controlled everything. Maybe if he had been handling things from the beginning, her family wouldn’t have died.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you going to get married?”
He hesitated. An image of Stephanie flashed through his mind.
“No.”
That answer wasn’t enough.
“Why aren’t you married?” She had to ask him.
“I don’t know, Kathy.” He answered truthfully.
“Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“You’d be a good dad,” she said and leaned towards him.
Chapter Twenty One
“So, you want to try cases, Stephanie?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” Melvin sneered. “I’m going to build your reputation. Maybe you can try the Slade case against Harlan Michaels.”
Feeling a little dizzy, she sat down. Trial against Harlan. Her stomach twitched, remembering the South of France.
“How’d he do at deposition?” Melvin asked.
“He’s brilliant. He’s really talented,” she said.
“Brilliant?” Melvin scowled. “Oh.” He leaned over. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got a crush on Harlan Michaels.” His eyes widened. He looked at her closely. He threw back his head and laughed. “You can just forget it. You’d be the last bitch to get in his pants.”
“Well, no one will ever say that about any woman and you, Melvin.”
He looked startled.
She looked at the diplomas on her wall. The phrase kept ringing through her head. The last bitch to get in his pants.
“Pull all your cases and write summaries of what you’ve been doing for me. I want to go over them with you in the next couple days. It’ll mean working late. But I want to build your career. Look, if Safety Tire has done something illegal or has hidden some kind of knowledge of this defect...” He waved his hand. “I want to settle this case. It’s not right to do anything else.”
Waiting for Cary Grant Page 6