Without the confession and without the evidence they had taken from the apartment, the district attorney was seriously considering whether he should proceed with the case. Mr. Milton predicted the charges against Obermeister would be dropped by Monday.
“When that happens,” Dave said, “Obermeister will leave the city.”
“But Dave,” Kevin asked after their staff conference. “Don’t you think he will commit the same crime wherever he goes?”
“Kevin, are you going out there on the street and have everyone you think has the potential to commit a crime arrested? You’d stuff the jails until they burst. Besides, I’ll be finished with Obermeister. And as for feelings of guilt later on, Bob McKensie blew this one, Kevin. Let him live with it,” Dave emphasized.
Kevin nodded. It wasn’t a point lost on him. He had made the same one himself when Miriam worried about his defense of Lois Wilson. His defense of her had laid more of a burden on his conscience than he would like to admit, but when he had these feelings, he went back to Mr. Milton’s explanation of what the law was and what his responsibilities to it and to a client were. Those were the standards against which to measure action. Conscience, when it came to the law, was just excess baggage. He had worked under that philosophy; he was working that way now.
But did he believe it truly? He tried desperately to avoid that question. There was too much at stake. He wanted to succeed here and live up to Mr. Milton’s expectations. This wasn’t the time to question one’s legal philosophy and get soft. He had a major case coming to trial.
And besides, with every passing day Miriam grew more and more enamored of the life they had chosen for themselves. Every day when he returned home from the office, he found her just as excited, as happy, and as full of energy as the day before. She rarely talked about Blithedale and her old friends and their old life. She stopped returning phone calls and wrote no letters. Whatever regrets she had voiced in the beginning were gone. Maybe it was still the honeymoon period, but he couldn’t think of a dark moment between them since they had arrived.
Even so, he was astonished at the way she spoke to her mother on the phone, defending everything they had done, attacking her mother’s views as silly prejudicial ideas, even calling her narrow-minded. And when her parents came to dinner on Thursday, she overwhelmed them by first cooking a wonderful gourmet meal. (Norma got her the recipe from a chef at the Four Seasons.) Then she brought out all the play and concert programs she had attended with her friends since moving to the city. She ranted on and on about her museum forays, the restaurants she had been to, the people she had met. Her conversation was full of references to Jean and Norma, the only downer being a short discussion of Helen Scholefield.
Kevin was surprised at how Miriam had avoided telling her parents the reason for Helen’s depression, blaming it all on their discovery that she was unable to have children.
“That’s why we still have that horrible painting hanging there, Mom. Actually, Kevin suggested we keep it for a while, so the woman’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt.” She turned to him. “Isn’t he just a big softy when it comes right down to it? But I love him for being so thoughtful.”
“Well, it is thoughtful of you, Kevin,” Miriam’s mother said, “but that painting is so ghastly, I just can’t look at it. It gives me the chills.”
“Oh, let’s not think about it. Here,” Miriam said, getting up and taking the picture down. “I’ll keep it on the floor facing the wall until you leave. Daddy,” she said, “I’m going to play your favorite piece.”
She went to the piano and played, more beautifully, with more feeling than Kevin could remember. When he looked at her parents, he saw amazement in their faces, too.
On the way out at the end of the evening, her mother pulled him aside while Miriam was saying goodbye to her father.
“She really is happy here, Kevin. I didn’t think she would be when I first heard about all this, but it looks as if you’ve made a wonderful move. I’m happy for both of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ll be calling your parents and giving them my reviews,” she whispered.
“They’ll be here next week, but I’m sure Mom’s waiting to hear from you.”
“She is. Five stars,” she added and kissed him on the cheek.
After they left, Miriam went into the kitchen to clean up, and Kevin returned to the living room. His gaze drifted to Helen Scholefield’s painting on the floor. He picked it up and rehung it and then stepped back. For a long moment, he stared at it. He felt himself drawn to the woman’s face. He could almost hear her cries as she was poured over the edge into the boiling red sea below. As he stared, her facial characteristics took more shape, and for an instant it looked like Miriam’s face. Kevin felt a wave of heat and then a chill race up and down his spine, and he had to close his eyes. When he opened them again the painting was the way it had always been—abstract. Miriam’s face was gone. But what an illusion, even for a moment, he thought.
Kevin walked into the kitchen to find Miriam and took her in his arms. He turned her to him and kissed her as if he were kissing her for the last time.
“Kev,” she said, catching her breath. “What is it?”
“Nothing . . . you made a great meal. It was a great evening, and I wanted you to know just how much I love you. I’m going to do all I can to make you happy, Miriam.”
“Oh, Kev, I know that. Look at all you’ve done already. I don’t mind putting my future in your hands.” She kissed him on the cheek and turned back to the dishes and silverware. He watched her for a moment and then wandered out to the patio. Despite the cold November night air, he stepped out and peered over the edge. The world below looked unreal. He tried to imagine what it would be like falling from such a height.
Was it only his wife’s tragic death that had made Richard Jaffee do it? Why wouldn’t he be thinking about his infant son and his responsibility to him?
Suddenly a sheet of light fell over him. He shaded his eyes with his forehead and looked up. He realized John Milton had come home and put on his rooftop lights and patio lights. Most of the small spotlights were directed so that their illumination would shine downward, the light blanketing the building from the fifteenth floor up. It was as if the associates and their wives were under his protection.
Or under his spell, Kevin thought. It was the first time he had thought such a thing, but he blamed it on the melancholy mood he had put himself into by coming out on the patio and thinking of Richard Jaffee’s suicide. The cold night air drove him back inside. He heard Miriam singing in the kitchen. That and the warmth of his apartment put an end to his maudlin thoughts.
9
Charon brought us our very own key,” Miriam said, making no attempt to hide how impressed she was. “I called Norma and she told me all the associates have a key. Anyone else, guests and the like, has to have the security guard insert his key,” she added, a distinctly arrogant tone in her voice.
I thought I was the one with all the arrogance, Kevin thought. He nodded and looked at the gold key in Miriam’s palm. It looked like solid gold. She read his thoughts.
“It’s solid gold. I asked Charon if it was, and he said of course. He almost smiled.”
Kevin took the key and turned it over and then felt the weight of it in his palm. “Rather extravagant, don’t you think?”
She plucked it from his open hand. “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged and turned to look at herself one more time in the hallway mirror. She had gone shopping with Norma and Jean to buy something special for the occasion. Kevin was surprised at what she had chosen: a tight, black knit dress that fit so snugly to her body, one could actually see the imprint of her ribs in the material. It didn’t come off her shoulders, but the bodice was cut so low that more than half her bosom was visible. And she wasn’t wearing a regular bra. Instead, she wore a push-up bra, something Norma and Jean had talked her into wearing. It fit under her breasts, lifting and shaping them. There was
an enticing splash of crimson along the top edges of her cleavage.
It wasn’t Miriam, he thought. She could dress sexy and be alluring, but never in so obvious a way. She had more class, was more reserved, and cared more about being stylish and elegant than being seductive.
And she never wore this much makeup. Both the eyeliner and the eyeshadow were far too heavy. She had blended some rouge into her cheeks and had used a cardinal-red wet-look lipstick on her lips.
He saw she had decided against wearing the necklace that matched the gold and pearl earrings, a set he had bought her for her last birthday. Not that he thought she needed the added adornment. Miriam did have a graceful neck, the lines turning softly into her small, feminine shoulders, shoulders that fit so neatly into Kevin’s palms when he brought her to him to kiss. It was just that the absence of jewelry around her neck added to the nude look, making her appear even more provocative.
She had done her hair quite differently, teasing and blowing it out. It gave her a wild, tempestuous appearance. He wasn’t against that per se, but wearing that dress and all that makeup, combined with this coiffure, made her appear cheap, more like a street prostitute. Yes, there was a new sensuality about her, and it stirred him; but he was upset about it, too.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like the way I look?”
“It’s . . . different,” he said as diplomatically as he could.
She turned back to her image in the mirror. “Yes, isn’t it? I thought I should change my appearance a bit. Both Norma and Jean thought I was too conservative.” She laughed. “You should have seen their imitation of an upper-middle-class Long Island type—you know, the steel jaw, tight vowels, nasal sounds. May I see that fox wrap?” she added, imitating the imitators and pretending to be in a fur coat store.
“I never thought you were a type, honey. And I never thought you were too conservative. You’ve always been quite fashionable. Is this really what women your age are wearing now?”
“Women my age? Really, Kevin.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled.
“Just asking. Maybe I’ve had my nose in law books and missed what’s happening.”
“I think we both have, more than we realized.”
“Really?” How remarkable, he thought. Just a short while ago, he was trying to convince her of that, and now she was making it sound as if he were the one who had wanted to remain in their safe haven on Long Island.
“You don’t like how I look, do you?” She began to pout.
“I’m not saying I don’t like it. It’s very nice. I just don’t know if I can let you out of the house. I’ll have to fight them off you all night.”
“Oh, Kevin.” She looked at her watch. “We’d better go up. It’s fashionably late.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, opening the door. As she passed him, he pecked the side of her neck.
“Kevin! You’ll mess up my makeup.”
“All right, all right.” He lifted his hands. Then he leaned into her, leering. “Only, I think this is the night we make the baby.”
“Later.”
“I can wait . . . a little.” He laughed as they went to the elevator. After the door opened and they stepped in, Miriam inserted the gold key under the letter “P” and turned it, smiling up at him as the doors closed. He shook his head. She dropped the key into her small, matching black handbag.
“It opens to his living room,” she whispered as the elevator climbed.
“I know. The boys told me.”
When the doors parted, however, they both stood there for a moment, awestruck. Mr. Milton’s living room was as wide and as long as a converted warehouse loft. There was a fountain at the center, surrounded by a circular burgundy couch done in velvet with large cushions and throw pillows. Small spotlights painted the colors of the rainbow over the sparkling water that rose from a giant white marble lily in the center.
The floor was covered with a thick, fluffy milk-white carpet, the kind, Kevin thought, that makes you want to get down on your knees and run your hands over it. Ruby-red drapes were hung on the walls, interspersed here and there with paintings, most of them modern, and nearly all were originals. Some even looked as if they had been painted by Helen Scholefield. Along the walls and placed between various pieces of furniture were pedestals with stone and wood sculpture.
The far wall consisted of the large windows Dave, Ted, and Paul had described so passionately in the limo. The long drapes had been pulled completely open to provide a breathtaking view of the New York skyline. Off to the far right was the grand piano, with a gold candelabra—solid gold, Kevin conjectured—placed on it. In the left corner, built into the wall, was a large stereo unit, its quadraphonic speakers also embedded in the walls and even the ceiling. A tall, very thin black disc jockey had a turntable set up in front and provided commentary along with the music. His black silk shirt was opened to his navel, and a gold medallion on a thick gold chain glittered against his ebony skin.
The room was illuminated by rows of recessed lights along the ceiling, and some Tiffany and Waterford crystal lamps in a variety of shapes and sizes were lit next to the settees and lounge chairs. On the immediate right was the bar, its facing constructed with polished fieldstone, its long, narrow top built from oak. There were black-cushioned bar stools with high backs lined up against it. Behind the bar, two bartenders shook and mixed cocktails, their mirrored twin images giving the illusion of being just a split second late no matter how they twisted or turned. Wineglasses glittering like dangling diamonds hung in a hickory rack above them.
On the immediate left, Mr. Milton had created a small dance floor of crimson tile. The strobe light spinning above it rained down a mixture of blues and greens and reds over the guests turning and twisting to the music. The dance floor was boxed in a wall of mirrors so that the light reflected everywhere and the dancers saw themselves move. Some looked mesmerized by their own kinetic images.
There were at least three dozen people already at the party. Kevin saw that each of the secretaries had an escort. Wendy waved from the dance floor. Diane, who was sitting on the couch with her date, waved, too.
“Those are two of our secretaries,” Kevin explained quickly.
“Secretaries?” Miriam looked from Wendy to Diane. Wendy wore a backless bright blue pants suit, the sides cut so sharply that half her bosom was visible from behind. Diane was in a black body suit and jeans, her braless breasts pressing against the thin material.
“No wonder you’re so eager to go to work every day,” Miriam complained. Kevin responded with a wicked smile.
But there were good-looking women everywhere, flanked by men dressed in sports jackets and suits. It had the look of an opulent affair—waiters in white jackets and black tie; waitresses in black skirts and white blouses moving through the room, carrying trays of delicious-looking hot hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, glasses of champagne.
Diane leaned back on the couch, and two men began feeding her grapes, teasing her and then touching her lips, until she took one man’s fingers into her mouth along with the grape. Just then Kevin heard a peal of feminine laughter to his left and turned to see men and women dancing so closely, they looked like they were in the throes of sexual ecstasy. In the center of the large room, a buxom redhead, barefoot and wearing something that looked more like a slip, seemed to float to the bar. Even women looked at her appreciatively. In the brighter light, the redhead’s bosom was completely revealed. She might as well have gone topless, Kevin thought. She joined two men at the bar who drew close to her as if she were a magnet and they were made of iron.
Kevin began to feel he and Miriam had entered a modern-day Roman orgy. He was fascinated, titillated, and amused. No wonder the associates were so excited about attending another party in the penthouse.
In the background, close to the windows, stood Mr. Milton and the associates, each holding a glass of champagne. Mr. Milton was wearing what looked to be a scarlet smoking jacket and a pair of matching slacks
. As soon as he saw Kevin and Miriam in the open elevator, he said something to Paul Scholefield. Paul nodded at the disc jockey working the turntable, and the music was stopped.
Everyone quieted down. Mr. Milton stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present our newest associate and his wife, Kevin and Miriam Taylor.”
The gathering broke into applause. Kevin looked at Miriam and saw she was beaming. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn’t remember her looking more radiant, her natural look burning through the makeup. She squeezed his hand in hers.
“Thank you,” Kevin said, nodding from left to right. Mr. Milton proceeded toward them, and the music continued. Everyone went back to what he or she was doing. Miriam looked about for Norma and Jean and saw them waving at her from the other side of the dance floor. About halfway across the room, on the left side, Helen Scholefield sat complacently, staring out at the gathering, a goblet of white wine in her hand. She sat so still, she looked like one of the alabaster statues.
“Welcome,” Mr. Milton said.
“Miriam, may I present Mr. Milton,” Kevin said. John Milton took Miriam’s extended hand into his right hand and then placed his left over it. He smiled.
“They told me you were a very attractive woman, Miriam. I can see that was a gross understatement.”
Miriam blushed. “Thank you. I don’t have to tell you that I feel I know you already. Everyone I meet talks so much about you.”
“All good, I hope.” He pretended to scowl at Kevin.
“Nothing you could even question,” Kevin said, raising his right hand. John Milton laughed.
“Let me get you two something to drink and then introduce you to some of my guests. And, not long after that,” he said, still holding Miriam’s hand, “we’ll see if we can talk Miriam into playing the piano for us.”
“Oh no. They told you.” She shot a chastising look toward Norma and Jean, who were both watching and smiling widely.
“They didn’t have to. I knew. Your reputation preceded you,” he added quickly, and Miriam laughed.
Judgement Day Page 42