“How quaint,” Miriam said, looking at the knocker. “I just love antiques.”
Paul took out the door keys, unlocked the door, and stepped back after swinging it open. At the opposite end of the wide foyer and visible on entering was the dining room, the gold-trimmed deep blue velvet curtains pulled back so that the row of windows was uncovered. Even on so gray a day as this, the light poured in.
“Bright . . . airy,” Miriam said as soon as they entered.
They stepped into the foyer which had hardwood floors. To the right about eight feet in was the entrance to the stepdown living room which had a white marble fireplace. The carpet, which looked brand new, was a light blue, not quite as bright as the carpet they had back in Blithedale. The room was not empty, however. In the right corner was a spinet.
“Oh, Kev!” Miriam exclaimed. She brought her hand to the base of her throat. “What I’ve always wanted!” She stepped down the two steps into the living room and tapped the keys. “It’s in tune!” She played the first few bars of “Memory.”
“Miriam can play well,” Kevin explained. “We were talking about buying a piano, but we figured we’d wait until we had our house.”
“How come it’s here?” Miriam inquired.
“Belongs to Mr. Milton,” Paul stated simply. He shrugged. “He always had it here.”
She ran her hand over the top of the piano lovingly and smiled. “What a wonderful surprise,” she muttered.
“Glad you’ll make use of it,” Paul said.
Miriam shook her head in astonishment and continued on to the dining room. “I was going to put up paper something like this in our own dining room. In fact, I went to a store nearby and picked it out.”
Miriam glanced up at the sparkling chandelier and continued on to the long, lemon-yellow kitchen, shaking her head at the brand-new appliances, the long counter and work space. There was a large window in the breakfast nook with the same view of the Hudson River the dining room had.
But it was the master bedroom that took her breath away. Even Kevin was speechless. It was nearly twice the size of their master bedroom in Blithedale, and there was a long marble vanity table built on a landing to the right of the bathroom. The mirrors extended the width of the wall.
“Our bedroom set is going to look tiny in here, Kev. We’ll need some more furniture.”
“Uh-huh!” He shifted his eyes toward Paul. “It starts already. We need this, we need that.”
“Well, we will, Kev.”
“All right, all right.”
“Don’t worry about it, Miriam. Kevin can afford it now,” Paul said.
“Thanks a lot for your support, buddy.”
Paul laughed. “The same thing happened to me, my friend. My wife’s still out there on a shopping safari.”
Miriam oohed and ahhed over the master bathroom with its whirlpool tub and brass fixtures and then went on to inspect the second bedroom.
She returned declaring that whoever had lived here before had obviously made it into a nursery. “There’s wallpaper with cartoon characters on the walls,” she said.
“Well, you can change anything you want to change,” Paul remarked.
“Oh no. A nursery is just fine. We were planning on starting our family soon anyway,” she replied, looking to Kevin for confirmation. He nodded, smiling.
“I suppose this means you could be happy here?” Paul Scholefield teased.
“Happy? How fast can we move in?” she said, and even Kevin had to laugh at her unexpected enthusiasm. He had been anticipating all sorts of resistance, no matter how nice the apartment was. Even though Blithedale and the surrounding communities had grown considerably more urban during the last decade, she liked to think of herself as a country girl. There was always the question of safety and having to deal with congestion and pollution. Both her parents and his reinforced these negatives, not only because they believed they were true but because they wanted Kevin and Miriam to remain where they were. But Miriam seemed to have forgotten all that. At least for the moment.
“Oh Kev, I didn’t even notice the patio,” she said, moving across the living room to the glass doors. Kevin looked at Paul, but Paul didn’t show any emotion, even though from that patio a highly successful attorney and good friend had tossed away his life. Miriam opened the doors and stepped out. “Kevin, come here.”
He joined her, and they both stood there taking in the magnificent view.
“It takes my breath away,” Miriam said. “Just imagine sitting out here on warm nights, sipping wine, looking up at the stars.”
He nodded, but he couldn’t help wondering about Richard Jaffee. What went through a man’s mind to make him do such a thing? Because of the way the railing was shaped, he must have climbed up and swung himself over. It wasn’t something that could be done easily, impulsively. He had to have thought it through, felt there was no other course of action. How depressing.
“Kevin, don’t you think so?’
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. It’s beyond words,” he said. He was grateful for the sound of the doorbell.
“Guests already?” Paul mused.
The three of them went to the foyer and opened the door. Norma Kotein and Jean McCarthy came rushing in like a fresh breeze of spring air, both women laughing and talking at once.
“I’m Norma Kotein.”
“And I’m Jean McCarthy.”
“Obviously you must be Miriam,” Norma said. “We couldn’t wait. Dave said to give you two a chance to settle in, but Jean said . . .”
“Whatever for? That’s our job anyway: helping you settle in.”
“Hi,” Norma said, taking Miriam’s hand in hers. Miriam just stood there smiling. “I’m in 15B.”
“I’m in 15C,” Jean said. She took Miriam’s hand the moment Norma released it.
Then they paused to catch their breath.
“Paul?” Norma demanded.
“Oh. This is Kevin and Miriam Taylor. You know who they are already.”
“Just like an attorney,” Jean said. “Won’t waste a word unless he’s being paid for it.”
They both laughed, almost in unison. In some ways they did look like sisters. Although Norma’s hair was trimmed into a neat pageboy and Jean’s was long and scooped up at the ends which lay softly over her collarbone, both had light brown hair, Norma’s barely a shade darker. They were both about five feet six inches tall, with firm, petite figures, Norma a little more buxom.
Kevin thought they were the two most bubbly women he had ever met. Norma’s light blue eyes sparkled like jewels under ice, and Jean’s green eyes twinkled with a similar glitter. Both had soft, smooth complexions with bright, healthy cheeks and rich red lips. Dressed in jeans and similar dark blue sweatshirts with pink LA Gear sneakers, it was as if they were wearing some sort of uniform.
“You’ll come to my apartment for coffee. I’ve got these great sugarless muffins,” Jean said, scooping her arm under Miriam’s. “There’s this bakery just over on Broadway and Sixty-third . . .”
“She acts like she discovered it. I found it first,” Norma whined playfully.
Miriam had to laugh as they practically turned her toward the door. She glanced helplessly at Kevin.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Paul and I are going to the office. I’ll be back in a couple of hours . . . to rescue you,” he added and laughed.
“Rescue her?” Norma straightened up. “That’s what we’re doing. Why would she want to have anything to do with all that boring legal gibberish when we have loads of shopping information to pour into her?”
“At least she won’t be bored while I’m away,” Kevin muttered.
“There’ll never be a boring day in her life again,” Paul said, but he said it with such arrogance and determination, Kevin had to look at him to be sure he wasn’t deliberately exaggerating to be humorous.
He wasn’t.
“Where’s your wife, Paul?”
“Helen’s a little more laid back than
those two, but she’s just as friendly once you get to know her,” he said. “Anyway, let’s be on our way. The limo’s out front.”
Kevin nodded. He looked back before they closed the door behind them and heard Norma and Jean’s peal of laughter, followed by Miriam’s.
Wasn’t this all wonderful? Wasn’t this all good?
He wondered why he even had to ask himself the questions.
“Coffee?” Paul asked. He leaned over to pour them both a cup from the pot the chauffeur had prepared and left on the warmer built into the cabinet.
“Sure.” Kevin sat back in the smooth, black leather seats and ran his hands appreciatively over the cushions as the limo pulled away from the curb. It was a Mercedes limousine with some interior customizing. “This is really the way to travel through New York.”
“I’ll say.” Paul handed him his cup. “You don’t even notice the city from in here.” He sat back in the seat across from Kevin and crossed his legs. “Every morning we have our coffee. There’s always a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the seat so we can relax before getting into the war. I’ve been doing it so long, I just take it for granted now.”
“You’ve been with Mr. Milton for six years?”
“Yes. I was working upstate, a little village called Monticello, mostly handling real estate work with an occasional traffic accident. Mr. Milton spotted me when I defended a local doctor against a malpractice suit.”
“Really? How did you do?”
“Complete victory.” He leaned toward Kevin. “Even though the bastard was guilty of the most arrogant, insensitive, irresponsible behavior.”
“How did you manage to win under those circumstances?”
“Confused the defendant badly on the stand for one thing. He had been treated for an eye injury and this doctor failed to examine him for days. He went off on a golfing holiday and forgot to tell his partner to look in on the poor slob. In the interim, his eye drained and he lost it.”
“Oh Christ.”
“He was a poor schnook, a highway department laborer. His sister was the one who pushed him into the lawsuit, but he couldn’t remember when the doctor looked at him, what the doctor really did, and, fortunately for us, the hospital kept poor records. Of course, I had a specialist from New York testify for the doctor that his cohort had done all the right things. Paid the bastard five thousand dollars for an hour’s work, but saved the physician quite a bundle.”
“What about the poor schnook?” Kevin asked before he had a chance to check his own thoughts.
Paul shrugged. “We had made his lawyer an offer, but the greedy bastard thought he was going to win a bundle.” He smiled. “We do what we have to do, buddy. You know that now.
“Anyway,” he continued, “shortly after that, Mr. Milton stopped by to see me. We went to lunch together and talked, and the next day I came into the city to visit him. Been here ever since.”
“Never regretted it, I imagine.”
“Not for a moment.”
“Well, I am impressed with everything and especially with Mr. Milton.” Kevin thought for a moment. “In all the excitement yesterday, I never got to ask him about himself. Where is he from?”
“Boston. Yale Law School.”
“One of those wealthy families? Father a lawyer, too?”
“Wealthy, but he wasn’t a lawyer. He doesn’t like to talk about his past that much. His mother died giving birth to him, and he didn’t get along with his father, who eventually threw him out.”
“Oh.”
“Apparently that was the best thing that could have happened. Forced to be on his own, he worked hard and built himself a reputation quickly. He’s a self-made man in every sense of the word.”
“How come he’s not married? He’s not . . .”
“Hardly. He has his women; he’s just wary of commitments. A confirmed bachelor, but happy. Hugh Hefner should have it so good,” Paul quipped. Kevin laughed and gazed out the window at the crowds of people crossing the street. It was exciting to be here, to be working in New York, to be surrounded with success, and to be offered so much.
What had he done to deserve it? he wondered, but picking up on his grandfather’s favorite warning not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he didn’t question it anymore. He was just eager to get started.
As soon as they entered the office, Diane informed them that Mr. Milton, Dave, and Ted were waiting for them in the conference room.
“Oh, I almost forgot, we have a staff meeting. Actually, that’s very fortunate,” Paul added, patting Kevin on the shoulder. “You’ll get baptized immediately.”
5
The conference room was a brightly lit, dark gray rectangular room with no windows. Except for a large IBM clock high on the rear wall, there were none of the elaborate paintings that hung in the lobby and corridor. The bland walls and immaculate gray floor tile gave Kevin the feeling he was in a hospital examination room. The room had no smell, pleasant or otherwise. A very low-sounding air-conditioning system forced sterile, cool air into the room.
Mr. Milton was at the head of the long black table which, along with the chairs, was the only furniture. Dave and Ted sat across from each other at the center with folders and papers neatly placed before them. There was an empty seat between them and Mr. Milton on both sides. Carla was serving coffee.
“Morning,” Mr. Milton said. “How does your wife like the apartment?”
“It’s fantastic. I don’t think I’ll get her out of it today.”
Dave and Ted nodded knowingly at each other. They had obviously been through a similar experience with their own wives. Kevin saw that John Milton had a way of holding his smile tightly around his eyes almost as if every part of his face had an independent reaction to things. His mouth remained firm, his cheeks taut.
“Oh, and before I forget, thank you very much for the ring.”
“Been into your desk drawers already, huh?” John Milton turned to Dave and Ted, who smiled widely. “Told you this was an enthusiastic young attorney.” Everyone looked at Kevin approvingly. “Kevin, why don’t you sit to the right of Dave.”
“Fine,” Kevin said, looking down at Dave. “Morning.” Both Ted and he responded. Paul took the seat to the right of Mr. Milton and put on his reading glasses as he opened the folder.
“We’re just about to begin,” John Milton explained. “I’m glad you could make this. Nothing formal, but we do have these meetings periodically so we can all be aware of what everyone’s doing.”
“Coffee?” Carla asked softly.
“No thank you. I’ve already had too many cups this morning.”
She retreated quickly to the chair behind Mr. Milton, where she had a pad and pen. Then she looked up, poised.
“Ted, why don’t you begin?” Mr. Milton said. Ted McCarthy gazed down at his folder.
“All right. Martin Crowley lives on the second floor of an apartment house on Eighty-third and York. He’s a short-order cook at Ginger’s Pub on Fifty-seventh and Sixth. He’s had this job for nearly four years. The owners and the manager have only good things to say about him: hard worker, responsible. He’s been a bachelor all his life, no family in New York. He’s stout but keeps his hair short, about as short as Dave’s,” he added, looking up at Dave and smiling. Dave did not smile.
“Go on,” Mr. Milton said softly, his eyelids closing as though Ted’s words gave him a sensual pleasure.
“Anyway, his neighbors, other than the Blatts, of course, don’t have much to say about him. He’s a loner, friendly, but keeps to himself. Has a hobby . . . model airplane construction. His place is literally inundated with them.”
“How old is he?” Dave asked.
“Oh. He’s forty-one.”
“Get to the girl,” Mr. Milton commanded.
“His next-door neighbors, the Blatts, have two children, a boy ten and a daughter fifteen. The daughter, Tina, came home one night hysterical, claiming Martin had invited her into his apartment to show her his mode
l planes and while she was there, subdued her and raped her. They called the police.”
“Was she taken to a doctor?”
“She was. When no semen was found, she claimed Martin wore a condom.” Ted looked up. “She said that even though he was raping her, he told her he was concerned about AIDS.”
“Getting it or giving it?” Dave quipped.
“She didn’t say.”
“What do they have, then, besides the girl’s testimony?” Mr. Milton demanded, his tone of voice pulling everyone back on track.
“Well, there were some abrasions on her shoulders and arms. Her panties had been ripped. A subsequent search of Martin’s apartment produced a pearl hair comb Tina’s mother claimed was Tina’s.”
“Even if it were hers, that only proves she was in the apartment, not that she was raped,” Paul commented.
“Martin said nothing incriminating?” John Milton asked.
“He was smart enough to refuse to answer any questions until he had an attorney.”
“Was he home at the time she alleged she was attacked?”
“Yes. And alone, claiming to be working on a new model plane.”
“What else?”
“Well . . .” Ted looked at his notes. “About six years ago, he was accused of raping a twelve-year-old in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It never went to trial.”
“No problem. Even if you put him on the stand, they can’t ask about prior accusations, only prior convictions.”
“I don’t think we have to put him on the stand. I did some digging around at the girl’s school today. She has a reputation for being sexually promiscuous. I found two high school boys who would be willing to testify. I can discredit her quickly. In fact, I’m leaking that to the family now. Maybe we won’t even go to trial.”
“Very good, Ted.” Mr. Milton’s smile trickled down from his eyes, trembled through his cheeks, and reached the corners of his mouth. “Very good,” he repeated softly. “I’d like to read the details of the Tulsa incident, though,” he added and made a small gesture with his right hand that started Carla scribbling on her pad. “Dave?”
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