“Losing the election to Taylor has made Roger the biggest suck-up ever.” Paul said. “He’s validating his bruised ego with all the rainmakers. I bet there’s a little tension and distance between him and Taylor now.”
“Probably.” Sophia watched Taylor and Joe head their golf cart parallel to the fairway to hit their balls again. “But it’s for the best. I don’t think Taylor’s that much like Roger anyway.”
“Grow up, Sophia. We’re all like Roger. Even you. You’re just candy-coated.”
Sophia smiled at the compliment. “But Roger is vicious. I’m not.”
“Come on, Sophia. What about the Toak thing? You’ve got a lot of Roger in you. You just miscalculated.”
“But Toak is fair game. He’s not one of us.”
“One of us?” Paul looked quizzical. “He’s one of them, the old guard, you mean.”
“Yeah. And Roger has no allegiance to anything or anyone but himself.”
“I’ll give you that. Doug admitted to me that Roger accelerated his demise at the firm for his own benefit. I’m sure he’s helping you slip on the banana peel, too.”
“I know he is.”
Tricia finally came.
“Sorry I took so long. I forgot I loved this place so much. So I called Jay and told him not to wait out the rush hour and to leave when he finished up.”
“Good,” Paul approved.
“Did you order yet?”
“No,” Sophia said glancing over the menu. “We were just watching the scene out there.”
“The movers and shakers of the Los Angeles legal scene.” Tricia sat and read the menu. “Who cares? Let’s eat. Food interests me more. Especially free food.”
“Me too.” Paul scanned the menu, too. “Look here. A Southwestern Monte Cristo sandwich. How in the heck do they do that? Yuck.”
“I’m getting a salad.” Sophia watched Taylor’s golf cart now disappear down the fairway to the right beyond a stand of trees. “I’ll wait to pig out at the barbeque.”
“You’re on,” Tricia agreed. “The Cobb salad?”
“Okay,” Sophia replied.
“I’ll get the Cobb too, then," Paul grinned and added. “And on the side a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Double the bacon. Extra crisp.”
Sophia and Tricia shook their heads.
* * *
After lunch, Paul went for a nap and Tricia and Sophia took in the spa. They had a massage and then a sauna. Tricia taught Sophia to go from the dry heat to the cold dipping pool. It was a new, amazing experience and Sophia wanted to do it again next year. Afterward, they returned to their rooms to get ready for the evening.
Sophia showered, blow-dried her hair, and put on the plush white resort robe. She was in heaven. She sat down on the bed and leafed through the maroon retreat binder. As she skipped over the sections on Judith, Frank, and Dante, she felt a twinge of guilt for not helping Detective Rutger. She knew his concern for her was real, but dismissed it again as alarmist. She had aligned herself with the firm and would not waiver now. Whatever he discovered or did not discover in San Francisco was none of her business.
Sophia searched through the schedule for any time when she and Taylor could be together. After all, if Roger was out of the picture, just maybe Taylor was the man she thought he was. At the firm breakfast Taylor would be sitting with the Management Committee and the New York contingent.
She saw her chance later that day when Taylor was moderating the panel discussion on Intellectual Property—How Intellectual Property Law and The Digital Rights Management Act Affect Evolving Technologies on the Internet. She was not excited about the subject even though it was a growing area of the law, but she would get to see Taylor and more importantly be seen by him. She felt like a rock band groupie. At the open-seating lunch after, she would sit at his table.
Sophia wondered if she should text Taylor to join her before the cocktail party to share her champagne. She just wasn’t sure. She lay down to rest for a minute before she texted. As she debated the possibility of Taylor being done golfing and joining her, she dozed off to sleep.
* * *
The next thing Sophia knew she was awakened at five by her cell.
“Where are you? The cocktail party is half over,” Tricia asked over the country music blasting and the social talk rumbling about her.
“I fell asleep.” Sophia realized how long she had been asleep and was glad she had already done her hair.
“Get down here. Anne’s moving in on Taylor.”
Sophia threw on new jeans, the red flannel shirt, and tennis shoes. She grabbed a jacket and warm scarf and hurried down to the cocktail party, to protect her renewed interest in Taylor.
⌘
Chapter 88
The Pitfalls and the Pendulum
Cocktails were outside on the terraced verandas overlooking the lawn where they had arrived up the winding driveway. The gray, after-dusk sky silhouetted tall eucalyptus trees disappearing into blackness. The air was moist, but not ripe for precipitation. Sophia walked into her future and the best decision she had ever made. She would suck up to Toak tonight and become a true part of the firm.
The top veranda was crowded with cowboy-costumed attorneys, some with hats and boots. A country band played with a female singer—too loudly. The singer announced her next selection—“She’s Act’n Single, I’m Drink’n Double.”
Sophia couldn’t help but roll her eyes and mutter, “That’s why I don’t listen to country music.”
Most of the attorneys had brought their counterparts with them, wives, dates, or significant others. Sophia noted the associates and newer junior partners huddled together, with or without their counterparts, and looked like deer caught in the headlights. The veterans talked comfortably to each other, no doubt planning how to consume all the free weekend perks they could.
Young male and female servers passed with trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine. They wore white shirts topped by red and white checked neck scarves, black pants, and straw cowboy hats, the cirque costume shop $1.99 variety. Sophia was hungry after the Cobb salad and eyed the waiters who came close.
“I’ll try that.” Sophia grabbed a napkin and a crab-stuffed puff pastry with a toasted topping.
“Garlic!”
She artfully spit it into the napkin and then searched the crowd, first for Tricia and then specifically Taylor. She spotted Tricia in a group of oldies. Sophia wanted to avoid that grouping. She started across the room to the bar at the other end of the veranda, scanning for Taylor.
On the way, from another theme-costumed waiter Sophia grabbed something squishy piled on endive to quell the garlic. That was a mistake, too. Raw tuna. No napkin. She gagged and swallowed. She looked around for a server with a tray of wine and saw none. She bee-lined to the bar.
“Hello.” Sophia greeted Carlisle as she slid past. “Wonderful party.”
James waylaid Sophia as she walked by him. “Sophia. I want you to meet my wife Vivian.”
“Hello.” Sophia talked over the singer, who was now nearer and louder. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you having a nice time?”
“Yes.” Vivian smiled. “Thank you.”
“Vivian plays bridge.” James announced. “She’s looking for a foursome for tomorrow.”
“Do you play?” Vivian asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t,” Sophia lied, as she had learned to do when she saw the hammer falling.
“I could teach you,” James’ perky wife volunteered.
“Oh, my. I’m terrible at cards.” Yet another lie.
God, Sophia thought. Bridge. Really? Besides, she didn’t come to these things to babysit someone else’s wife while he went off and had fun. James had married her. He should play bridge with her. She had played “Greek” party bridge for years with her parents and boisterous relatives who loved to argue about the rules that none of them really knew. But by the time the argument was done, everyone knew everyone else’s cards and could
then bid knowledgeably. Her uncle Elias would peek at his opponents’ cards when he couldn't get an argument going. When he got caught peeking, he denied, denied, denied at the top of his lungs, thinking volume was the key to absolution.
Sophia needed a drink to get the raw tuna taste out of her mouth, and she caught a glimpse of Taylor at the bar.
“I’m on my way to the bar.” She disentangled herself from the couple. “Nice meeting you, Vivian. I’ll catch you later.”
“Great.” James looked around for another sucker to dump his wife on.
Sophia made her way straight to the end of the bar where Taylor was. It was farther away from the band and quieter, but the singer still whined too loudly about staying with her man, having no money, and being pregnant again.
“Hi.” She walked up to Taylor.
“Hi. You know Anne Whitfield, don’t you?”
“Yes. Hi, Anne.” Tricia was right, and a true friend.
Anne smiled up at Taylor, flipped her hair back, and purred, “It’s a nice night, thank heavens. Taylor was just reassuring me it’s a short hayride and we can get back quickly if the weather changes again.”
“Great.” Sophia caught Taylor’s eyes scanning Anne’s body.
“I hope none of us are allergic to hay.” Anne giggled. “Hay fever!”
Taylor laughed. Too loudly.
“I’m not.” Sophia smiled. “But I am allergic to this ‘I’m-so-helpless’ sexist country song.”
She laughed—alone.
“Excuse me, girls.” Taylor made his way down to the end of the bar where Chet and Carlisle were talking.
Sophia was left standing face-to-face with Anne. All these men were dumping women on her. She had nothing to say to Anne, but she knew that this woman had better not flip her hair at her. Sophia wanted to be with Taylor. It was clear Anne did too.
“It’s so beautiful here.” Anne dropped the purr. “When did you arrive?”
“Noon-ish.” Sophia noted again how beautiful Anne was.
She observed that Anne had highlighted her hair for the retreat. It made her face brighter and brought out her eyes. But Sophia didn’t want to be the one gazing into them.
“Excuse me, Anne. I was just going to get a drink.” She extracted herself from the estrogen ooze.
She looked for Taylor. He was gone.
Sophia got a glass of white wine and wandered across to the stucco wall edging the upper veranda overlooking the other verandas and expanse of grass. She stopped, leaned on it, and looked back at the gathering. The party was beautiful. Or, it was until she saw the two security guards lurking at the far doorway talking and grabbing hors d’oeuvres. It unfortunately reminded her of Detective Rutger’s warning.
Sophia her turned back on the pseudo-cowboy scene and looked out into the evening darkness. She unhappily sipped her wine alone.
⌘
Chapter 89
Over the Wall
Over the wall and on the terraces below she saw a few couples. Then she saw Taylor on the lowest veranda in the shadows near the steps leading down. Sophia started down the steps. She wanted to catch Taylor alone and ask him to come to her room after the barbeque for champagne tonight. As she got close, she saw he wasn’t alone. Roger was to the side behind the wall. She heard them arguing. Sophia stopped.
“You’re not going to do that,” Taylor said. “What difference does it make? Rutger can’t do anything. If he could, he would have.”
“That’s fine for you, but what if he decides to go after me? I look bad. You don’t. It’s not your neck.”
“I could be in trouble, too. We all could.”
In that split-second of eavesdropping, Sophia had sealed her fate. Although she turned and started back up the few steps, it was too late.
Roger saw her and grinned.
“Sophia. Don’t leave. Come on over. Let’s get your opinion on this.” Roger took her by the arm.
Taylor didn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to talk to . . .”
Roger threw his arm around Sophia’s shoulders and they tottered on the steps. She held onto the rail.
“I’d better leave.” Sophia struggled to free herself from his grip.
The more she struggled, the harder Roger squeezed. Too hard. “No, Sophia, you’d better stay. I just want to know what’s up with you and Rutger. How chummy are you?”
“We’re not chummy!”
“Bullshit. We both know better than that.”
“You don’t know anything.” She took the offensive to shut him up.
“I know he’s been saying you saw me push Frank in front of that truck.”
“No. No. I never said that. It’s not true.”
“What’s not true? That you never said it or that you never saw it?”
“Lay off, Roger.” Taylor came up the steps.
Roger held Sophia tighter and glowered straight in her face. His breath stank of scotch and the garlic, onion, and crab hors d’ouevres. Sophia gagged.
“We need to know what this little lady is spreading around. She seems to think we cracked Judith’s neck and poisoned Dante and squashed Frankie. Is that what you’ve been telling everyone, Sophia? Is it?”
“No.” Sophia started to lose her balance with Roger and grabbed at the rail.
Taylor hit Roger’s arm. “Let her go.”
Roger held Sophia tighter until her shoulder hurt.
“You’re hurting me, Roger. I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
She felt a sharp pain. Roger was dislocating her shoulder. He put his face so close to Sophia’s that their noses touched.
“But you could.”
Suddenly, he released Sophia and she fell into Taylor’s arms. Roger left, taking the steps three at a time with his long legs.
Sophia’s wine glass fell on the steps and broke. The sound was obscured by the country western music still blaring, and the singer still whining about her men. She began to shake and held her shoulder. She knew that Roger was alluding to her and the detective in the stairwell. She fought back her tears because her mascara would run and then she couldn’t go back to the party.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “I’m sorry. Is your shoulder all right?”
“Yes. I think so.” Sophia moved it slowly and the pain began to subside.
“Roger isn’t a bad guy.” Taylor glanced around and made sure none of the couples on the nearby terraces had noticed anything. They hadn’t.
“Are you sure of that?” She wiped away the few tears that seeped out.
“Look. Detective Rutger has pushed him too far. That’s all. You didn’t say those things about Roger, did you?”
“How can you ask that?”
Sophia pushed herself out of Taylor’s arms. She couldn’t believe that Taylor was questioning her, too. She was angry.
The resort staff began calling for everyone to get on the hay wagons to go to the barbeque and bonfire.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sophia, but we have to go. You can’t miss the wagons, and I have to drive the booze there.” Taylor started up the steps and then stopped. “Look, let’s just get through this retreat. Okay?”
Taylor flashed his winning smile and dimples. He held out his hand for her.
“I understand.” She took his hand and wondered if he was really sorry or just handling her.
“Let’s get back up to the party.” Taylor gave her a hug and a kiss, hard, on the lips. “I care for you, Sophia.”
Sophia believed him because she wanted to. Because he had protected her from Roger. She concluded that Roger had not mentioned the stairwell incident to Taylor. Perhaps Roger was keeping it as insurance.
“I told my parents I’d see them next weekend. It’s been so long. You can meet them. You’ll love my mom. She can really cook. And, by the way, so can I.”
Taylor looked down at Sophia. He kissed her quickly on the forehead.
“Sure, if I can. Come on. Let’s get back.”
He was up the stairs and gone. Sophia followed. She hadn’t had a chance to ask him about the champagne tonight.
⌘
Chapter 90
It Isn’t the Range, and It Isn’t Home
The hayride wagons weren’t wagons. They were trucks sprinkled with hay and fitted with benches and hay bales. Three “wagons” had taken off and the last was waiting for stragglers. Sean Peters and Adam Schneider raced up laughing, wearing checkered neck scarves and straw cowboy hats obviously wrangled from the waiters.
“Wait!” Adam yelled.
“Wait for us!” Sean called out.
A couple of the men gave the inebriated Sean and Adam a hand up into the truck bed. They tumbled onto the truck bed floor on the sparse hay strewn about and sat laughing. The truck was crowded. Men were standing holding the wood siding along the bed of the truck, and most of the women had grabbed seats on the hay bales.
Paul, Tricia, and Jay followed Adam and Sean up onto the truck. Sophia and Taylor then came running up, and Taylor helped Sophia on.
“I’ll catch up.” Taylor stepped back.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No, remember? I have to drive Carlisle’s special booze there.”
“Right. The carload of liquor.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll come with you.” Sophia started to jump off.
“No, I’ll see you there.” Taylor walked away alone.
The “wagon” started rolling slowly. Sophia angrily grabbed her seat again. This was too much under the radar for her taste.
“Where were you?” Tricia asked.
“Talking to Taylor.” Sophia decided to give Taylor the benefit of the doubt, like every whiny woman in every country song that she hated.
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