“I think I’m going to need that drink,” she said. Kevin laughed, and the three of them started across the room, stopping by a waiter so that John Milton could get them a cocktail before proceeding with introductions.
Kevin was impressed with the variety of professionals attending Mr. Milton’s party. There were lawyers from other firms, many of which Kevin had heard of or remembered from his college days when the law students would discuss ideal places to work. He and Miriam were introduced to two doctors, both heart specialists. He recognized a rather famous Broadway actor, known for his character roles. They met a well-known New York Post columnist and were eventually introduced to Bob McKensie, an assistant district attorney.
“Bob likes to visit the enemy camp once in a while,” Mr. Milton joked, and then added in a mock-serious tone, “especially when we have a new star.”
“I’m not a star yet,” Kevin said and shook McKensie’s long hand. To Kevin, McKensie looked Lincolnesque, standing at least six feet five, lanky but firm, something he could tell from the man’s grip. McKensie had a narrow, dark face with deep, sad eyes and sharply cut features.
“Trouble is,” McKensie said, “everyone who works for John Milton becomes a star sooner or later. Which makes work for the prosecutor’s office that much harder.”
John Milton laughed. “Listen, Bob,” he said, “we don’t make your job harder; we make you strive to be the best you can be. You should be thanking us.”
“Listen to that logic,” McKensie said, shaking his head. “See why he and all his associates are so formidable in court? Nice to meet you, Kevin. I understand you’re going to handle the Rothberg case.”
“Yes.”
“As they say, see you in court.” McKensie nodded to Miriam and went off to talk to other people.
“Rather serious fellow,” Kevin said. “Doesn’t he ever smile?”
“Hasn’t got all that much to smile about these days,” Mr. Milton replied, his eyes twinkling. “Now let me show you the rest of the penthouse.” John Milton took Miriam’s arm. He led them to the left, where the doorway opened to a corridor, off of which were three guest bedrooms, a study, three bathrooms, and John Milton’s bedroom.
All the rooms were large. The bathrooms were tiled and plush, each with its own whirlpool, just as the associates had described.
“I don’t like this railroad car arrangement,” John Milton said as they walked down the corridor, “but I didn’t feel like ripping everything out to start all over.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Miriam exclaimed, especially when they stopped at one of the bathrooms.
John Milton gazed at her a moment and then winked at Kevin. “Later, if you want, feel free to use a whirlpool. It’s first come, first served.”
When they reached John Milton’s bedroom and looked in, Kevin understood why Paul and the others talked about the luxury and hedonism of the penthouse. The heavy oak bed at the center of the room was enormous. The mattress, box spring, and bedding all had to be custom-made. It looked like a bed Henry VIII might have had constructed. The posts were large and tall. An artisan had carved mythological figures into them—unicorns, satyrs, cyclops. Kevin was reminded of some of the furniture in John Milton’s office. Perhaps the same craftsman had built this bed.
The bedspread and oversized pillows were done in a pattern of scarlet and white, which matched the room’s decor—scarlet and white drapes, ruby lamp shades, and white walls with spiraling bursts of red that looked like explosions of stars. The same white rug covering the floor in the large room covered the floor here.
Above the bed was a ceiling of mirrors. When they gazed up, it looked as if they were liquefied and spilling down toward the center of the room. The distortions must make for interesting erotic pictures, Kevin mused.
“I gather red’s your favorite color,” he said when he saw how John Milton was smiling at him.
“Yes. I like sharp, clean colors—reds, whites, stark black. I suppose it’s my leaning toward clear and unclouded things. I hate it when people say someone or something is neither good nor bad. Life is much simpler when we identify everything for what it is, don’t you think?” he asked Miriam.
“Oh yes, yes,” she said, still intrigued with the furniture, the closets, the artwork, and the great bed. In the wall directly across from it was a built-in giant television screen.
“Well, I’ve kept you two from the party long enough. Let’s go back and have some fun, eh?” He snapped off the bedroom lights, and they returned to the gathering.
Both Kevin and Miriam thought it was a wonderful party. Conversations were stimulating and interesting. People were discussing the new shows on Broadway and off-Broadway. Kevin got into a heated political discussion with some lawyers and a state supreme court judge. He and Miriam danced with each other and with other people, especially Ted and Dave and their wives.
But Helen Scholefield never moved from her chair. Whenever Kevin looked over, he found her looking at him. Finally, he made his way across the room and said hello. He noticed Paul standing beside Mr. Milton. They were both watching him closely. Probably worrying about her, Kevin thought.
“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” he said. “Can I get you something to eat or drink, ask you to dance . . .”
“No, I’m fine. You should worry about yourself . . . and your wife,” she replied, without any sarcasm or anger.
“Pardon?”
“Are you having a good time, Kevin Taylor?”
He laughed. “You can just call me Kevin. Yes, as a matter of fact. This is quite a party.”
“It’s only the beginning. The party hasn’t even begun yet.”
“No?” He looked around. She was staring up at him, glaring at him the way she had at the elevator the day he met her. It made him nervous, self-conscious. “So . . . tell me, are any of these paintings yours?”
“Yes, some of mine are here. They’re from my early days, though. I was painting only what Mr. Milton wanted me to paint then. You can be sure he didn’t want me to do the painting that’s in your apartment. Is it still there?”
“Oh yeah, sure. I find it . . . interesting.”
“Keep looking at it, Kevin Taylor. It’s the only hope you have,” she said just before Paul stepped up to them.
“Helen, how are you doing, honey?”
“I’m tired, Paul. Would you mind very much if I slipped away?”
Paul turned instinctively in Mr. Milton’s direction.
“Mr. Milton shouldn’t care,” she added quickly. “He has new entertainment.” She turned to Kevin and looked at him pointedly.
Kevin glanced at Paul with confusion, but Paul only shook his head. “No problem, honey. You go on down to our apartment. I won’t stay late.”
“No later than you usually stay, I’m sure,” she replied dryly. She stood up. “Good night, Kevin Taylor,” she said and started away. Then she stopped and turned back, tilting her head to one side before speaking. “You do like all this, don’t you?”
Kevin smiled and lifted his arms a bit.
“How can anyone not help but like it?” he replied.
She nodded, confirming a thought. “He chooses well,” she said.
“Go on down, Helen,” Paul snapped. She turned obediently and continued toward the elevator. “I’m sorry,” Paul muttered, looking after her. “I thought bringing her to the party might help cheer her up a bit, but she’s just so depressed. She’s taking something the doctor prescribed, but it’s not helping. I’ll have to speak to him tomorrow.”
“It’s too bad. If there is anything Miriam and I can do . . .”
“Thanks. You guys just have a good time. It’s your night. Don’t let this put a damper on anything. Come on, let’s go into Mr. Milton’s study. Ted and Dave are in there.” Paul glared in his wife’s direction, scowling and shaking his head as she got into the elevator. She stood like a statue, with a puzzling Mona Lisa smile on her face as the doors closed.
&n
bsp; Kevin looked for Miriam and saw her moving toward the dance floor with Mr. Milton. He waited for them to start.
“Look at the boss. From here he looks twenty years younger.”
“Yeah,” Paul said, his face returning to a relaxed smile. “What a guy. Come on.”
Paul followed him across the room. Just before they stepped into the corridor, he glanced back and saw Miriam turning and twisting her body more suggestively than he had ever seen her do in public before.
“Come on,” Paul repeated, and Kevin continued down the corridor to the den where the other associates waited.
From the smiles on Ted’s, Dave’s, and Paul’s faces, Kevin realized the gathering in the study was not spontaneous. After Ted poured him another glass of champagne, this time from a bottle of Dom Perignon, Dave cleared his throat.
“We wanted to get away from the crowd for a few private moments with you, Kevin,” he said. “But first things first.” He raised his glass. “We three would like to take this opportunity to welcome a new member to our legal family. May his talents, wit, and knowledge reach their full strength in the courtroom battles yet to come.”
“Here, here,” Ted and Paul added.
“To Kevin,” Dave said.
“To Kevin,” they repeated, and everyone drank.
“Thank you, guys. I want to say how much I appreciate the way you and your wives have made things easier for me and for Miriam. I really want to be a part of this. My only fear is that I won’t live up to your and Mr. Milton’s high expectations.”
“Oh, yes you will, buddy,” Paul said.
“We all started with that feeling,” Ted said. “You’ll be surprised how quickly it passes.”
They sat down because Dave had a new joke to tell. When he was finished, their laughter spilled out and into the corridor. More champagne was poured, more stories related. Kevin had no idea how much time had passed, but suddenly they all stopped talking because they heard the sounds of the piano.
“That must be your wife,” Dave said. “We heard she can play well.”
They got up quickly and joined the crowd that had surrounded Miriam and the piano. Mr. Milton was standing on her left side, his hand on the piano top, looking out at the audience. He wore a look of pride, as if Miriam were his daughter or even . . . his wife.
Kevin drew closer. Miriam’s fingers were flying over the keys with a movement and a grace he had never seen before. The expression on her face was somber, and she sat firmly, with a demeanor of confidence. There was no hesitation, no tentativeness, no uncertainty. She looked like a professional pianist.
And the music. It was wonderful. Kevin didn’t recognize the piece and wondered if it were something she had prepared just in case she was talked into doing this. Only she didn’t look like someone who had had to be talked into it. She looked like someone hired to play. When he looked at the faces in the crowd, he saw expressions of deep appreciation and awe. People nodded to each other, their eyes widening. It was as if Miriam were another one of Mr. Milton’s finds.
But she wasn’t, Kevin thought. This was strange. He began to feel a bit overwhelmed and regretted drinking so much champagne. He had lost track of how many glasses he had drunk, yet, when he looked at the champagne in his glass now, he felt an irresistible urge to sip it. It seemed to turn from a blush to blood-red right before his eyes.
He saw Diane staring at him and smiled at her. She nodded toward Miriam and raised her eyebrows. Suddenly the room took a spin. He staggered but kept his balance by taking hold of a high-back chair to his right. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he were an inch or two above a treadmill. The floor seemed to be flowing under him. He shook his head again and closed his eyes. When he opened them a second time, he found Diane at his side.
“You all right?” she whispered.
“Just a little dizzy. Too much champagne, I think.”
“It’s okay. No one’s paying any attention to you. They’re all infatuated with Miriam. Lean on me, and I’ll help you back to the study where you can rest up a bit. I’ll get you a wet washcloth, too.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
He let her lead him away, keeping his eyes closed most of the time, because every time he opened them the room spun. She guided him back onto the soft leather couch in the study and then went out to get him a washcloth. Kevin lay back, resting his head against the top of the couch, and tried to open his eyes. The ceiling looked like a whirlpool, and he had the horrible feeling he was falling into it, so he closed his eyes again and kept them closed until he felt the cold cloth on his forehead.
“You’ll be all right in a few minutes,” Diane said.
“Thank you.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll just rest a bit. As soon as Miriam’s finished playing, tell her where I am and that I’m all right.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks,” he said and closed his eyes. In moments he was asleep. He had no idea how long he was there. When he awoke, he was confused at first. Where was he? How did he get there? He scrubbed his face with his dry palms and looked around the study. It all came back to him in a moment, and he realized it was very, very quiet. There was no music, no sounds of the party.
Kevin got to his feet, a little unsteady at first, but quickly regained his composure. Then he went to the doorway and stepped out. The hallway was brightly lit, but the party room was only dimly illuminated. Confused, he moved down the hallway as quickly as he could until he reached the loft. The fountain was going, but all the colorful lights had been turned off. A small light was burning behind the bar. The curtains had been drawn over the large windows. The stereo was off, the disco removed. Most of the light in the room spilled out from the elevator, its door open.
“What the . . . where the hell . . .”
He rubbed his face vigorously, as if doing so would restore the evening, but nothing changed.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the great room. “Mr. Milton?”
He turned and looked down the corridor.
“Miriam?”
He heard nothing but the monotonous soft sound of the fountain.
Miriam certainly wouldn’t have left without me, he thought. That’s insane. Where the hell is everyone? What is this, some kind of practical joke being played on me for passing out from too much champagne? Sure, what else could it be? Everyone, at least the associates, was probably hiding in these rooms. He laughed to himself and shook his head. What a bunch of guys.
He started down the corridor, moving as quietly as he could, expecting Dave or Ted to burst out of a room. But when he paused at the first door and looked in, he saw nothing but darkness. It was the same at the second bedroom doorway and the third, and no one was in any of the large bathrooms. He already knew no one was in the study.
He stopped at Mr. Milton’s bedroom door and listened. All was quiet. He knocked gently and waited.
“Mr. Milton?”
There was no response. Should he knock louder? He must have gone to sleep, Kevin thought. The party ended, everyone left, and he went to bed. Miriam did leave me. Maybe she was angry and left in a huff. Diane told her where I was and what had happened. She came to get me, couldn’t wake me, and was embarrassed. Mr. Milton probably told her to let me sleep it off. If I woke up, he’d send me down. That had to be it. What else could it be? he wondered.
He listened at the doorway a few more moments and then turned and went back through the corridor to the loft and to the elevator. “What a night,” he muttered to himself after he pushed the button and the elevator doors began to close.
They opened again on a deadly quiet corridor. He stepped out and quickly made his way to his apartment door, fumbling for his key. He was surprised that all the lights in the apartment were off. Didn’t she think he’d come home? Damn, she must be angry, he thought. It was the first time he could ever remember being so dead drunk.<
br />
He made his way through the apartment and stopped when he saw that their bedroom door was closed. There was some light leaking under it. At least she had left a lamp on for him in there, he thought. He began to frame his apologies. But when he reached for the doorknob, he stopped, because he heard something that sounded like muffled moans. He listened for a moment. The moaning grew louder. It was an erotic moan, and it cut through him like a sword of ice. He reached for the doorknob again, but the moment he touched it his fingers grew numb, frozen. The doorknob burned the tips of his fingers as if it were made of dry ice. He tried pulling his hand away, but his skin was stuck to the metal. His fingers were no longer under his control. They turned the knob, and his arm pushed the door forward, inches at a time until it was open wide enough for him to see clearly.
There was a naked couple on the bed. Something about the man’s head seemed terribly familiar. He stepped into the room. Was that Miriam? He moved to the foot of the bed. The man’s body paused, his thrusting halted. The woman beneath him shifted to her right and then sat up enough for him to see her clearly. It was Miriam!
“No!” he screamed.
The man lifted his lips from Miriam’s but held himself frozen in position, looking down at her. Miriam reached up to draw the man back to her and pulled him down so she could kiss his lips. In a moment they were back at it, moving in rhythm, Miriam moaning, her fingers pressed firmly into his buttocks, pulling him into her, demanding longer, deeper thrusts. She lifted her legs and wrapped them tightly around his waist. The energy and force of their lovemaking was so great that the bed shook and the mattress springs squeaked.
“No!” Kevin screamed.
He moved quickly around the side of the bed and reached forward to take hold of the man’s shoulders, pulling him away, pulling him up. The man seemed glued to her, firmly attached. Kevin pounded him on the back, putting the full weight of his body behind each blow, but the man seemed not to feel it. On and on the man went, thrusting, driving. Kevin seized him at the waist, but instead of pulling him off Miriam, he was drawn into the man’s movement, and he found he was pushing the man downward with each thrust and pulling him back with each return. He struggled to free himself from the man’s body, but his hands were stuck. Miriam’s moans grew louder. She peaked and screamed with ecstasy.
Judgement Day Page 43