At the terminal, Roger did a 180-degree turnaround. He behaved as if nothing had happened. He was polite and nice, not only to Sophia, but to Frank. Frank goaded Roger several more times, but Roger had changed. He was controlled and detached. It was eerie. Frank stopped.
A switch had flipped in Roger. He could not be ruffled.
⌘
Chapter 37
Let’s Be Frank, Frank
In San Francisco, when Sophia entered her room at the Westin St. Francis, she knew she had arrived. It was spacious with color coordinated gray and maroon décor, from the tweed wall-to-wall rug to the maroon and gray curtains and maroon herringbone wallpaper. The furniture was contemporary with overstuffed everything and every detail had been taken care of: from a coffee center to Westin St. Francis notepads and pens, together with an array of guide books, menus, and goodies in the mini-bar and basket.
Sophia took pictures with her new cell phone to show her parents. She had a couple of hours before dinner at eight p.m. in the dining room. A dinner with two men ready to rip each other’s throats out.
She decided to enjoy her five-star room and christen it with a long hot bath. The bathroom was shiny white and gray marble. On the counter were not-so-little soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and even nail files and cotton balls. Sophia was delighted. She hopped in the tub to soak, taking her depo notes with her to review.
At seven p.m., with the greatest of pleasure, she put on her new gray suit with a cream silk blouse. She had charged it on her only credit card not maxed out from her three years of law school. She looked in the mirror and was pleased she looked the part she was playing: associate extraordinaire on the way up the Thorne & Chase ladder to partnership.
* * *
Sophia arrived in the dining room before the others and was seated. The waiter held her chair and placed the linen napkin on her lap. She surprised herself by taking it all in stride.
“What type of water, madam? Sparkling, flat, or would you like to select from the menu?”
Sophia looked at the menu and sure enough there was a short list of water under beverages. She picked one from New Zealand.
“I’ll wait for my dinner companions.”
“Would you like a cocktail while you wait?”
She saw Roger coming in and decided she would follow his cue about cocktails when he sat down.
“No, thank you.”
Sophia waved at Roger and then pulled her hand down. It was exactly a wave that her mother would have done, and she cringed at her bush-league behavior.
“Sophia.” Roger sat down and ordered sparkling water from the menu. “Did you get the wine?”
“No, I just got here.”
She knew nothing about ordering wine, but knew she had to learn. Judith was right on her first day. If you want to play with the big boys you have to be prepared, in many ways.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon. Frank and I have some differences we are trying to iron out. How’s your room?”
“Wonderful.” Sophia searched for something to say, but Roger was ahead of her.
“So you went to law school when you were a little older. Like me. I was a CPA for a couple of years before.” Roger signaled the waiter and got the wine list.
“An accountant. I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Sophia told a big fat lie. She would have guessed that in a heart beat. He looked like a bean counter.
“We’ll have the Chateau Cos d’Estournel Saint Estephe 2002,” Roger ordered in his raspy voice with expert pronunciation.
Sophia had taken high school French and could recognize mastery, but had no facility for it herself.
“Yes, I gave up a nice salary as a CPA. Nice, but not large. I wanted to give my family a better, more comfortable life. So we sold our house to manage the three years of law school.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was.” Roger paused as he tasted the wine the waiter poured, and then gave a perfunctory nod of approval to continue. “What did you give up to go through three years of law school?”
“My life.” Sophia took a sip of her wine and was pleased.
“I hear you.”
“And my horse.”
“Interesting,” Roger downed half his glass of wine. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. How long did you have it?”
“Her.” Sophia remembered the beautiful animal. “I had her almost two years. I got her after I started teaching and sold her when I started law school. I was in a riding group. We had so much fun on the weekends. We packed food for the day and just took off.”
“You sound like you really loved riding.”
“I did love it.” She knew that she had loved more than just the riding. “But the last few months the rides became bittersweet for all of us.”
“Why?”
“The de facto leader of our group died riding alone on a Sunday.”
“How?”
“I cancelled going . . . all of us had cancelled because of the rain . . . well, really a storm. I got a call when his horse came back without him that night. We all went out with search and rescue looking for him. We found him about midnight. His horse had dragged him. The paramedics said he had been dead for hours.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It looked like he lost his seat in the saddle when lightning spooked his horse. He got his foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged. His head hit rocks and the horse’s hooves hit him. No one knows for sure how long he lay there before he . . .”
There was silence.
“He was special to you?”
“He was a special person.” Sophia went to the generic and secreted her more personal relationship.
“Are horses that dangerous?”
“If they’re spooked.”
The waiter topped off their wine. She wanted to change the subject and resorted to novice lawyer discourse.
“Do you mind if I ask you if you have any pointers for me in the deposition?”
“Just watch Frank. I’ll give it to him. He’s a master.” Roger had drunk enough wine that he was relaxing into the rhythm of their conversation. “Learn everything for when you get to do your own.”
Sophia knew she had chosen a mutually agreeable subject. She liked to pick experienced attorneys’ brains and that type always liked to talk, endlessly in most cases.
“To me, the most important thing to remember is that no one will ever know what you did in the deposition beyond the court reporter’s transcribed written record.”
“Unless it’s videotaped.”
“Yes, but they’re another animal, and these depositions aren’t being videotaped. You know, I remember the first deposition I defended. My client was being deposed and wouldn’t shut up.”
“That’s not good. They are supposed to just answer ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ‘I don’t recall’ if they can.”
“My client was old.” Roger enjoyed both his wine and being in the limelight telling his war story. “I had prepared him for the deposition for two days. But even with all that prep, he would ramble on and on after the simplest question. He was tanking the case.”
“What did you do?”
“I stopped the deposition and talked to him a couple of times to pull him back in line. But I couldn’t keep doing that without it looking like I was coaching my client.”
“Of course. Well, did he tank the case?”
“I figured out a way to stop him.” Roger leaned forward with a sly grin. “No one could see under the table, so on our last break, we agreed I would kick him when he had answered the question and should stop.”
“Weren’t you afraid he was going to say ouch 'on the record’?”
“No, it was perfect. The rest of the depo went great. And the transcript of the depo didn’t say ‘ouch’ or ‘the client’s attorney kicked client under the table’!”
Roger laughed.
“Thank you. I’ll remember ‘the kick-your-client technique’.” Sophia laughed also and felt the c
amaraderie and trust that Taylor must have relied on at the Grill that night.
She was still laughing when Roger’s smile straightened to a thin line and his brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the hotel lobby. Sophia looked over. It was Frank. He was carrying a soaked tan raincoat, a black scarf over his arm, a dripping tan and black Burberry umbrella, and a small package under his elbow.
Frank handed the maître d’ everything but the package, and the maître d’ had his assistant send the wet things by bellboy to Frank’s room. Sophia marveled at the service.
Then, the maître d’ led Frank to the table.
⌘
Chapter 38
Cubans Unlit and Dessert
“There he is.” Roger glared at Frank coming toward the table. “A word of advice. Don’t let Frank near your clients. They won’t be yours for long.”
“Sorry I’m late, kids.” Frank settled in as the waiter poured his wine. “These are worth their weight in gold.”
When the waiter retreated, Frank held up his package over the table and whispered, “Cuban.”
“Cuban?” Sophia played Frank’s game of “amazement” while Roger frowned at the illegally imported box of cigars.
“Shh. Yes . . . Cuban.” Frank took a long drink of wine. “There’s a small place up Grant Avenue that still gets Cubans. They pass customs with generic wrappers and then put the Cuban labels back on over here.”
“Interesting!”
“Roger, here, thinks I’m being bamboozled, but I have smoked Cuban my whole life and these are the real McCoy.”
“Frank’s being cheated and robbed.” Roger topped his wine himself. “How does it feel, Frank? Getting cheated and robbed.”
“We’d better order before Roger gets sloppy.” Frank put a period on the Cuban conversation and Roger’s double entendre. “Sophia, have you looked at the menu? There is not one thing on it that is not superb. I always have the filet mignon au poivre. It’s wonderful if you like cracked pepper. The brandy cream sauce is delicious and the beef here is like butter. You can cut it with your fork.”
“Then beef it is. In fact, the filet mignon for me also.” Sophia knew she needed to be a good audience and lightning rod.
“We’re in San Francisco, Sophia,” Roger chimed in. “Get the fish. Fish is what this place is famous for. Fisherman’s Wharf. Fresh delicious fish everywhere. Try the swordfish a la Siciliana with me. It’s smothered in tomatoes, pine nuts, raisins, and olives. A bunch of stuff. Very unusual. My wife even learned how to make it for me.”
They ordered. Sophia, being politic, stuck with Frank’s recommendation and then sat back to watch these two men claw at each other. She was the pawn. She would decline dessert and coffee and hopefully get out of there and back to her room before they blew up.
By the time the dinner was served, the three were on their second bottle of wine. The conversation was sparse and limited to unpleasant ego jousting.
“Are you ready for the depo?” Frank asked Sophia, relishing every bite of his filet. “You thought about the follow-up questions I told you about on Saturday for eight and fourteen?”
“Yes, I did.” She was no longer amazed at Frank’s steel-trap memory, but she was amazed that her filet actually could be cut with her fork. “I’m ready, and Roger helped me with his depo war stories before you came.”
“Good.” Frank glanced over at Roger who was drinking and silent now. “Roger is an excellent litigator, but he still has a lot to learn about practical business.”
“Oh, that’s what you call it? Practical business?” Roger leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and scowled at Frank.
“Yes, that’s what I call it and that’s the way it is.” Frank unwrapped a cigar, licked the end, and held it in his mouth without lighting it.
“We’ll see.”
“We’ve already seen.” Frank held his cigar between his teeth and grinned.
“I’m not Doug, you know,” Roger barked, red-faced and angry. “I’m not going quietly.”
“Yeah, you’re not Doug, and I don’t care how you go, but you’re going. And you’re off these depos. Get a plane out of here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. And I’m not repeating it. Good night, Roger, you’re dismissed.”
“Gant Foods is my client!” Roger brought his fist down on the table, attracting a couple of stares. “I brought it into the firm and I can take it away,”
Frank had tasted blood and went for the kill.
“I’m the lead on Gant Foods. I’m canceling your depo tomorrow . . . and I have already cancelled you at the firm. Get out of here. And get out of Thorne & Chase.”
“You can’t do that,” Roger shouted.
“I’m lead counsel. And I am management. I can do anything I want.” Frank jabbed at Roger with pleasure.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Frank. I’ll . . .” Roger stood and his napkin fell to the floor. His face was red, his veins popped from his forehead, and his fists were clenched and poised in readiness at his side.
Roger hesitated and looked around the crowded room, all eyes on him. He didn't say another word. He didn't look at Frank again—or Sophia. He just stomped out and disappeared through the lobby.
Sophia watched him leave. Frank took a long drink of wine, bit the tip from his cigar, and spit it on his plate. He chewed the cigar, now prepped to light and smoke later. The older Greek men in Sophia’s family did the same when their wives prohibited smoking in the house.
Frank finally took the nasty wet-ended cigar out of his mouth and smiled at Sophia with tobacco juice glazing his teeth.
“I feel like dessert.”
⌘
Chapter 39
Appearances Can Be Deceiving
Sophia was awakened at six the next morning, simultaneously by both her new cell phone’s alarm and a hotel automated wake-up call. Since law school exams, she had never trusted any single wake-up method on an important day. And here, her next backup was ordering breakfast for six-thirty a.m. sharp. It turned out she didn’t need any of these wake-up tricks; she was up even before her cell phone chimed.
The depo was at nine. She was showered, dressed, and packed before her breakfast arrived. As she reviewed the deposition questions, she enjoyed her nonfat latte, pecan waffle, and fruit compote of citrus sections and strawberries. Sophia was excited and nervous.
At seven, she called the front desk and had her bag taken down to be stored until she left for the airport. She had time to spare. The deposition was in a building only three blocks away. Sophia was glad at dinner that Frank had not mentioned breakfasting or walking to the deposition with her. He was vicious and cruel. And, Roger, if he was coming, was desperate and out of control.
From her fifth floor window, Sophia studied the rainy scene below: car tops, yellow taxi tops, and umbrellas ribboning on the sidewalk. She wondered if Roger was on a plane home or if Frank had given him a reprieve. Sophia looked at her broken watch, which she still kept in her pocket for luck.
“Eight?” Sophia mumbled.
She didn’t want to leave until eight-thirty. She took out her cell phone to call Trisha for moral support and it rang in her hand. It was Thorne &Chase’s number, all personal office numbers routed through the single main number for privacy.
“Trisha? I was about . . .”
“No, Taylor.”
“Oh,” Sophia took her surprise and joy down to casual. “Hi. How’d you get my number?”
“You’re part of Thorne & Chase now. You’re on the list!” Taylor laughed. “Just checking in before the depo.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you have any last-minute questions?”
“No, just wish me luck.”
“Good luck. But I know you won't need it. I know you’re over-prepared. I was for my first, too.”
“Yea, you hit the nail on the head. I am so ready I can recite the questions from memory. And I’ll give Frank notes if a
ny answers need a tweak for the summary adjudication motion we’re setting up.”
“You sound like a pro.”
“Thanks.” Sophia beamed and felt more relaxed.
“I heard the obligatory dinner with the boss was not all that pleasant?”
“You heard? From whom?”
“Roger called me last night.”
“It was awful.” She was glad Taylor brought it up before she did, and gave him a blow by blow.
“Poor Roger. But those two never get along. It’s not a big deal. Have you seen Roger since?”
“No. I don’t know if he left last night or if he’s still here. Can Frank do that? Just cancel a depo at the last minute?”
“Sure. He’s the lead . . . I wonder if Frank planned this public humiliation from the get-go?”
“Maybe.” Sophia thought back to Frank needling Roger.
“The Management Committee knows Roger won’t dance like a marionette anymore.”
“Frank really goaded Roger. Is that what happened with Jim Henning in the parking garage?”
“No, Frank wouldn’t goad a man with a gun. Just stay out of this, Sophia.”
“But . . .”
“This is not your fight. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“I have my ways. And if you let me take you for another drink, I will tell you some of my secrets.”
“Sure.” She felt better about Taylor and Roger now she that she was getting to know them and the inroads more.
“Don’t forget, I’m a junior partner so I have quite a few. When . . .”
“It’s eight-forty. I’m late.”
“You had better get going. Good luck, and tell me how it went later.”
“I will. Bye.”
As she grabbed her coat, Sophia pictured Taylor’s sparkling dark eyes when he squeezed her hand under the table at The Edinburgh Grill.
Lethal Lawyers Page 15