A Merry Marry Christmas

by Trey Martini

  "Don’t count on it. I think Tony experimented a long time ago."

  "If sex is a changing spectrum and Tony strayed once, maybe I can get him to try again. And if I nail him I’ll make sure he stays stuck."

  "You’re joking. He’s old enough to…"

  "Be my Daddy. Who could resist me? I’ve got missionary in my blood–I’ll give the judge heaven on earth. You know I like older men. And Tony is prime aged meat if I've ever seen it."

  "Just hold off. Let me think. Maybe there is something you can do…"

  "I’ll do the judge any time. I’ll teach him all about loving a man."

  "I believe he already knows." Sean's voice is sad. "Just be patient while I try to figure this out."

  CHAPTER 11

  Financial District, San Francisco

  The sun is setting on a spectacularly clear San Francisco evening. The penthouse offices of Walker, Lyons are high enough to capture the colors of the sunset on this remarkable night. Senior Partner Bernie Lyon stands by his office mini-bar with his hatchet man, good friend and junior partner, Alan LeBlanc. Somewhat younger than Bernie, Alan looks out of place in casual-chic San Francisco. Dapper in the manner of a Southern dandy, he is plump, pompous, and takes style cues from old French movies and recollections of his formative years in New Orleans.

  Bernie leads Alan in a toast. "To a good week, our best week in months." Bernie takes a deep drink. "I have a favor to ask."

  "A favor? So I can say no if I want?"

  "You have a choice. You know me."

  Alan smiles. "Yes, and I know I have no choice."

  "We need to make sure there are no scandals that touch the firm." Bernie is outlining the proposition.

  Alan catches on quickly." Aha. You want me to investigate another partner. I’m flattered. Fuck a colleague. Which one?"

  Bernie has perfected the art of verbal dodge ball. "You should clean up your language."

  "So I was right. Which one, Bernie?"

  Bernie has a dreamy look in his eyes. "Claire Morrelli."

  Alan sighs in delight. "The Ice Queen. The aristocratic blonde bombshell who went slumming and ended up with a working-class boy who somehow made it into the Ivy League. That cool piece gives me the shivers. What evil lurks there? Voting Democrat?"

  Bernie burps and finishes his cocktail. "There may be trouble in her marriage–I’d like to know before…"

  Alan finishes Bernie’s thought, "Before her ass hits the streets. What makes you think there's trouble in paradise–beautiful woman–handsome judge on the rise…"

  "Something I heard. About the rise."

  Alan laughs. "Ear at the door? What’d you hear?"

  "You think I’m a devil don’t you?"

  "I know you’re the devil. Come on now, what juicy bit did you hear that has you jumping to jump her?"

  "I heard her talking to Tony and complain that he’d slept through an opportunity …opportunities."

  "You mean that the judge had a headache and the Ice Queen had a wide on…is that what you're trying to say in that antebellum way of ours?"

  Bernie takes another gulp of Scotch and shakes his head. "I don’t think it was a headache–or E.D."

  Alan stands and heads to the bar for a refill. "Erectile dysfunction: a plague striking the spouses of bitches across the Western World. You see opportunity..."

  Bernie shakes his head. "He’s too young for E.D. If he’s not doing her, who’s he doing? We need to avoid scandals."

  "So what do I get if I find something on Judge Doolittle? Something more juicy than the truth–that she’s a bitch and he doesn’t want to screw her. What’s my reward?"

  Bernie tries a soft sell. "Helping the firm isn’t enough?"

  "What’s the carrot? What does she get if she sleeps with you? And me if I help you nail her? "

  "If you’re so good, you tell me." Bernie takes another gulp.

  Alan scratches his head and thinks aloud. "Better than money. Fame. That’s it: a named partnership."

  "Bingo!" Bernie raises his glass to toast.

  "So if I find something that'll stick on the judge–and send them to divorce court–I get my name on the wall."

  "Something like that."

  "And, if he’s clean and she doesn’t come across, I get the finger."

  Bernie shakes his head. "Don't worry. Won’t happen. Be creative."

  "Did you just tell me that what I don’t find, I can create?"

  Bernie shows disdain. "You make it sound so nasty."

  "It is nasty, Tony’s a judge, Bernie. What you're proposing is dangerous."

  Bernie scoffs. "American as apple pie. Remember the weapons of mass destruction? The man got re-elected. Things have just gotten better for us: nobody even mentions the President’s tax returns, affairs, lies and daily dirty tricks. And since the evangelicals call the White House home now, down-and-dirty is even the Christian way. The little project could give you your keys into heaven."

  "OK Bernie, get specific, what do you want me to do?"

  "You know, the works."

  "The works? On one of our own partners?

  Bernie offers his reason. "Well, a divorce may be involved."

  Alan outlines possible actions. "So, surveillance, email and phone monitoring…"

  "Sshhh." Bernie whispers. "Everything. No need to discuss this anymore. Everything…

  Alan ignores him. "Phones, credit checks, medical records, her computer at home and work, his laptop at home…at work?"

  "He is a judge, Alan. Some of the best stuff could be at work."

  "So I have to use good help."

  "We’ve been monitoring their home computers for more than a year so we have some of the groundwork already done for you."

  "We? Their?"

  Bernie takes another belt of the Scotch. "Cheech and Chong, the IT guys."

  "You mean Chen and Cruz?"

  "Yeah, whatever. Chen set her up at home last year. We did the whole family. They’re all due for an upgrade."

  Alan is astounded. "You've been monitoring the entire family? On what budget?"

  "We have specialists on the payroll for other cases. Nobody will know."

  "You mean pad bills on other cases?"

  "You make it sound so wrong. Old-fashion morals get in the way. This is the 20th Century."

  Alan shakes his head. "Bernie this is the 21st Century."

  "That's what I mean. Don't drive this project like your father's Oldsmobile. Wake them up Sunday morning at 7 with geeks bearing gifts. Catch them half asleep."

  Alan is curious. "When you say 'do the teenagers', what meaning of the word ‘do’ do you intend?

  "The Clinton sense of the word. The laptops will show us what they do in fantasyland. We need to see what they do when fantasy walks in the door smiling wide." Bernie smiles wide himself as he pours another drink. The two men quietly watch the night sky turn dark."

  In another office within the law firm suite, two men, one Asian, one Hispanic, sit at their computers with headphones on. Jimmy Chen and Daniel Cruz curse simultaneously as they listen to the crazy discussion between Bernie and Alan.

  "Ready for a refill?" Bernie smiles and nods as Alan pours.

  "I have just the fantasy couple."

  "That's the spirit," Bernie salutes Alan, “who do you have in mind?"

  Alan stands to pace. "Psychiatric post-docs at UCSF–French foxes. They’ll do anything for a buck. And they have great IT skills–perfect."

  A light goes on for Bernie. "Oh, Jacques and Jeanne. Right age to rock the judge. Good choice. They're young enough to turn-on the kids too. That covers everyone. We've thought of everything. Now we need to move fast on this–I was thinking Sunday morning. Damn, Claire' ll be home Sunday. She knows Jacques, used him on one of her cases."

  Alan is thinking and talking. "The tech thing is a no brainer. We say there’s a virus problem–scare everybody. Say we need to do maintenance. In an hour we can bug every corner of that house. Only problem i
s Claire. We do need Claire out–but how? "

  Bernie takes a large gulp of his fresh drink. "Claire can come in for an early meeting. Chen and the French can hit the house at 7–the other Morrellis will be too groggy to ask questions."

  Alan has his doubts. "A meeting at the firm Sunday morning? That’s extreme. What about the judge, he doesn’t seem like the type you can fool."

  Bernie keeps thinking. "The Steele divorce settlement today gives us an excuse. Dinner celebration Saturday–tomorrow night. Command performance, they can’t say no. Send a limo, so Tony can get very drunk."

  "What Italian would say no to that?" Alan grins wide.

  "Give him some Aleve to avoid a hangover. Swap in a Viagra or two; can’t tell the little blue pills apart. Tony’ll wake up with a headache and a hard-on Sunday. A little France in his pants will tell us everything we need to know about the man."

  Alan is impressed with Bernie's clear planning. "I love your fertile mind. The Frogs make it legit. A psycho-sexual evaluation of the family before promoting Claire. Half of Wall Street has used lie detector tests in their pre-employment screening: a precedent–an excuse. Whatever."

  Bernie is proud of his plan. "We’ll find out what turns Tony on. No straight man would hold out on Claire–bitch or not." He offers another toast: "To the American bitch."

  Alan clicks his glass against Bernie's: "To bitches worldwide. You don’t think he’s a fag, do you?"

  "Nobody’s still a Boy Scout at 43. It would be great though, if we found out Tony’s a Brownie."

  CHAPTER 12

  St. Paul’s High School, San Francisco

  The old Cherokee stands out among the expensive cars filling St. Paul’s parking lot on Saturday afternoon. Tony watches a lively water polo match between St. Paul and St. Peter’s varsity boys’ teams. His father, Anthony Morrelli, Sr., a retired SFPD detective, sits beside his son. Both are focused on the game and enjoying the buzz as their boys lead in number of shots and points scored. Todd enters the building and scans the bleachers at the indoor pool. He starts climbing through the crowd. Tony sees Todd approaching and holds his breath, turning red.

  "You alright?" Anthony Morrelli pats his son hard on the back.

  "Fine, why’d you ask?"

  "You look like you just saw a ghost. I thought maybe you were having a heart attack."

  A few minutes later, Todd makes his way up the bleachers, sits down beside Tony and offers his hand.

  "Hello, Judge Morrelli. Good to see you again."

  Tony turns redder but remembers his manners. "Todd, meet my Dad, Anthony."

  The two men shake.

  "Dad, Todd is captain of the USF water polo team. He's interested in the boys."

  "I'll bet." Anthony Morrelli doesn't miss much. "Good to see you again."

  Tony is confused. "You two know each other?"

  Anthony nods. "I never miss a game. And I never forget a face. This game's almost over. You've missed a lot of great polo, Toddler." The older man smirks as he says Todd’s pet name.

  Todd catches on. "So, you’re close to your grandsons, that’s great. How are they doing…with school and sports and…everything?” The two men are clearly reading each other’s minds.

  "Sometimes they’re spoiled brats but they’re good polo players."

  Todd smiles. "I’ll take them just the way they are."

  Anthony is surprised by Todd's choice of words. "Say what?

  Tony moves in to clarify what Anthony already knows. "Todd scouts for the USF polo team. He thinks they have a chance to play there when they graduate."

  Tony stands up and cheers as Luke scores. Todd stands and moves closer to Tony to talk. Anthony stays seated.

  Anthony’s eyes immediately lock on Todd’s lips, reading Toddler’s words to Tony.

  "Your sons are competitive. Are they more like you or your wife?"

  Tony laughs nervously and replies, "My wife–she’s bloodthirsty."

  "Never seen her here at the games–you two still married?

  Tony is surprised at the question. "Of course–almost 20 years."

  Todd moves in closer to Tony. "Heard you were quite the player yourself."

  Tony jerks back. "You heard what? From whom?"

  Todd leans in again. "From whom–perfect grammar. I heard you were good at water polo yourself–and a great shooter in other ways too. Incredible ball control–especially in bed. Or so I heard."

  Tony starts to move away–stunned. Todd calls him on it. "Stay close if you want this conversation private."

  Tony's upset. "Who…"

  "Sean Connors. He didn’t out you. He's too nice to do that. But I heard him talking to his sister Susan–about your past. About you and Bill. Relax. Sean’s a nice guy–but I’m not nice at all when I see something I want very much."

  "Look, I don’t have a lot of money…"

  "I don’t want money." Todd looks deep into Tony's eyes and licks his lips in a way that leaves little doubt what's on his mind.

  "Then what do you want? Just leave me–and my sons alone. Please."

  Todd laughs. Of course, I'll leave your sons alone. Deal. They're just boys. But I won’t leave you alone. I sure could use a Daddy of my own. And I sure do want you– any way you’ll have me."

  Tony is more than confused. "What do you really want from me?"

  Todd leans in closer, almost burying his lips in Tony's ear as he gets much more specific about his interest in Tony. A few minutes later, Todd gives Tony back some space. "You’re having a reaction to me already. Relax, watch the game. You won’t be leaving for a while."

  Tony is begging now. "Please just go away."

  "Not a chance. Not yet." Todd hands Tony an envelope. "Put this in your pocket. Open it later, check out the details."

  "What is it?"

  "Tickets–a New York weekend. My treat. There’s a judges’ conference so it’ll look legit. You’ll take this trip–you’ll be safe–and you’ll be glad you did. Now, shake my hand, and feel it."

  Tony is alarmed now. "Feel what?"

  "The electricity between us." Todd pauses then switches his attention and reaches over to shake Anthony’s hand. "See you again, sir."

  The detective sizes up Todd carefully. "I'd tell you to stay out of trouble but it looks like you love to play in deep water." Neither Todd nor Tony really listen to the remark.

  Todd reaches over closer to Tony and adds a little smirk and something mischievous for the road, “As I jump down the bleachers, be sure to check out my ass. I’ve been told my glutes are beauts.” Todd turns and Tony takes a deep breath at the sight of his perfect butt enshrined in worn, white-cotton gym shorts.

  Tony tries to cover up his agitation through small talk. "Good of you to come today, Dad."

  "Never miss a game. How are things with the warden?"

  "She’s OK, I guess."

  "Marie behaving?"

  "More or less."

  Anthony transitions smoothly. "Need a ride to the airport?

  Tony is shocked. "What do you mean?"

  "Airline ticket in your left pocket. Must be going out of town."

  Tony has always been impressed with his father's powers of observation. "Don’t miss a thing do you?"

  "Haven’t yet. And I can still drive, no matter what Claire says."

  "How’d you know about that so soon?"

  "The kids. They tell me everything. This is all I can stand of this hard bench. Gotta go now. You’re too pre-occupied to be a good conversationalist anyway." Anthony Morrelli stops for a moment and looks directly into his son's troubled eyes. "Life’s a lot like this bench, you know?"

  "How’s that, Dad?"

  "Sometimes you gotta get up and go when things are a pain in the ass." Tony is clearly distracted and not quite focused on what his father has said to him.

  "Didn’t hear a word I said, did you?"

  "Sorry Dad…the game…"

  "The game–my hairy Italian ass. Call me Thursday night, I’ll drive yo
u to the airport. Why pay a cab?"

  Tony admits defeat. "Thanks, I don’t know yet. When I figure things out I’ll give you a call."

  "That’ll be a nice change."

  Things begin to click in Tony’s head. He turns around just as Anthony athletically vaults the railing and jogs off in the same direction where Todd has just disappeared.

  CHAPTER 13

  Morrelli Home, San Francisco.

  Tony and Claire are getting dressed for the dinner celebrating their large settlement in the very lucrative Steele divorce case.

  "I’d planned a quiet evening." Claire is tired and clearly doesn't want to go.

  "I’m not complaining," Tony tries to add a positive perspective.

  "Liar,” Claire is always ready to argue, “you looked like you were run over by a truck when I told you."

  Tony does his best to improve Claire's foul mood. "Who could resist–limo and dinner at San Francisco’s finest hotel with my beautiful Claire."

  Claire explodes. There’s fire in her eyes as she pushes Tony hard. “My” Claire. Your possession–ruined compliment. Every time we leave your kids home alone something goes wrong. You've spoiled them."

  "They’re too old for a babysitter."

  Claire laughs bitterly. "Babysitters. Those were the days. Before these kids turned into monsters."

  "They’ll be happy with some pizza. They promised they wouldn't leave the house. What could go wrong?"

  Claire narrows her eyes and lashes out. "They'll find something to screw up."

  A few minutes later, a garish gold limo pulls up as Tony and the kids watch.

  Marie checks the time. "7:00 on the dot. What happened to basic black?"

  Jon is at his comedic best. "Bet there’s a Black guy driving."

  Tony calls out, "Claire, the limo’s here!"

  Claire enters, an elegant vision in beige. "You’ve never looked more beautiful."

  "Or felt more tired." She lectures sternly to the kids, "Bed by 11–be good or else."

  When Tony opens the door Claire spots the limo.

  "Now the neighbors will think we’re Mafia, Christ."