Gables Court

by Alan S. Kessler

  He closed his eyes and started snoring.

  She slept on the other bed.

  Morning light through thin, torn curtains cut into his eyes, full sunlight opening them as Kate pulled the drapes wide. Queasy, head throbbing, he kept blinking.

  “I brought breakfast,” Kate said.

  Samuel stared at the greasy sausage and eggs.

  “Looks good.” He squeezed his stomach. “Where’s yours?”

  “Already ate. Have some coffee.”

  He took a few sips, sat up and noticed he still had his clothes on.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I was feeling great, then everything crashed. But there’s two full days left! We can hang out at the beach, maybe take a ride on the train. Whatever you like. Just give me a few minutes.” He drank more coffee.

  “I have to get back,” Kate said.

  “Leave? When?”

  “Now. There’s a test on Monday and I left my book and notes in the apartment.”

  “You just remembered?”

  “No, last night, after you passed out. See you in the car.”

  Samuel paid the bill. They drove back across the bridges, the ocean and gulf rippling gray waves under a canopy of dark sky.

  Kate slept.

  As the Pinto’s tires ground to a quiet stop on the gravel pavement of Gables Court, she sat up.

  “Back so soon?” Kate opened the door. “Thanks, Samuel, I had a nice time.”

  “Would you like to get together later?” he asked.

  “I’ll be in library all day today and tomorrow. It’s a big test.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  Samuel went to the Jersey boys’ apartment.

  “Hey, Gary! It’s the lawyer!” Benny called out, turned and walked over to where Wolfman sat half-naked and drinking. Opening a bottle, Benny poured beer over his roommate’s head.

  “You bastard!” Wolfman jumped up and pushed Benny to the floor. They punched, rolled, and goosed each other.

  Gary stepped over them.

  “I thought you were away for the weekend.”

  “Kate has schoolwork. If you have time, we can move the cans into my apartment.”

  “Are you sure? It can wait until your dad’s ready.”

  “Fuck that!” Benny said. “Get that crap out of here!”

  “It stinks worse than Benny’s shit!” Wolfman said. Dressed, he blew his nose in a towel and adjusted his crotch. “Whenever he takes a dump it’s like something died in the bathroom.”

  “I shit in the bathroom. You go in there with Five Finger Mary!”

  Feigning a slap fight, they flapped their hands at each other.

  “It’ll be easier for me to ship from my apartment,” Samuel told Gary.

  “OK, Bud, I’ll get the boxes.”

  Stained by the additive and marked with the Stallion logo, they began filling them.

  “See ya later, Stallion boys, have fun,” Benny said.

  Wolfman splashed more English Leather cologne on his chest and left with Benny to visit Lil.

  “Are you still going to get your own place?” Samuel asked Gary.

  “Because of those two? Yeah, they’re selfish to the core, but I’ve got to stretch that three thousand and figure out what to do next. Maybe I can bunk with you.”

  “Maybe,” Samuel said. “There’s only one bed…”

  “Don’t look so worried! I was just kidding! I know you’ve already got someone to share it with!”

  Lipman stopped them as they carried out the first box.

  “I told you weeks ago to get rid of that garbage. Don’t dump it around here. Just keep moving.”

  “Sure, Mr. Lipman, no problem,” Samuel said.

  “Not for me, you’re damn right about that!” The manager left quickly at the beep.

  “What do we do now?” Gary asked.

  “Sneak the boxes into my apartment,” Samuel answered.

  In between clandestine runs they drank beer and talked.

  “Want to get some food?” Samuel asked after they’d finished. Tired and sweaty, they sat on the hood of the Pinto, the sun setting.

  “Like to, but I’ve got a date. Say, why don’t you come with us! I was thinking about the drive-in, but bowling would be fun. We’re going in her car. You can just sit back and relax!”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to mess up your plans.”

  “You won’t…”

  “Right. Girl. Drive-in. See you tomorrow.” He walked away, Gary yelling for him to come back.

  At Burger King, Samuel treated himself to a Whaler and large strawberry shake. Customers came in, ate and left. He continued to sit at the booth. After writing ‘yes’ and ‘no’ on a napkin, Samuel spun his empty cup, did it a few more times before the straw pointed to the answer he wanted.

  He left for the library.

  On the campus path between black palms, his footsteps absorbed by the night, the faint and remote rustle of invisible fronds only deepened the quiet. Buildings had disappeared, vanishing in the dark emptiness of this moonless space.

  Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw the library’s welcoming lights. Samuel hurried toward them—stopped and waited. For what? he wondered. The chance that Kate might be leaving, wave, and run over?

  I’ll go in…

  “Don’t bother her,” the child inside him whispered.

  Samuel turned and walked slowly away.

  Sunday, he sat in his car at Gables Court, the rain falling hard in silver sheets, the sound to him metal against metal. In the gloom of the afternoon he waited, hoping to see Kate, waited into the night before walking slowly to his door.

  His room dark except for one small light, Samuel read his Superman comics as the rain continued to slam down.

  17

  Monday at noon, Samuel went to the bank and transferred $3000 into his regular checking account. When back in the office, he shut the conference room door and called Mr. Miller’s sister.

  “My name’s Samuel Baas. I’m the attorney handling the eviction involving your brother.”

  No response.

  “I’d like you to give him a message,” Samuel pressed on, lowering his voice. “Tell him to file an answer to the complaint, original to the court, a copy to me. All he has to do is write that he denies—use that word—the allegations. Should I spell that for you?”

  “No, but I’ll spell the word arrogant for you,” the woman answered. “Good-bye, Mr. Baas.”

  “Wait! Don’t hang up! This isn’t a trick.” He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “If your brother answers I can’t file for a default order.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “The case has to go in front of a judge. That could take a few months, even more if I delay setting it for a hearing. Mr. Miller will have time to find a new place, maybe get a job.”

  “Why are you helping him?”

  “Because I said I would,” Samuel answered.

  “Are you sure you’re a lawyer? I’ll tell him you called.” The phone clicked.

  He slid Miller’s papers under a stack of files. Happy he had done something that would make Kate proud of him, Samuel leaned back, hands behind his head… shot forward, banging his elbows on the table as Eldridge marched in.

  “Relaxing?”

  “No sir,” Samuel said, getting up quickly.

  Eldridge threw a file onto the table.

  “Horowitz. Mr. Baxter wants
him out. Don’t screw this up.”

  “He’s the…”

  “Fat accountant who moved down the hall because we needed his space. File the eviction. By the way, I’ve heard a rather disturbing rumor. We talked about this. If you’re a fruit, better tell me now.”

  “I…I have a girlfriend.”

  “Are you’re fucking her?”

  “Sometimes,” Samuel said, his throat constricting.

  “An answer not exactly dispositive of the question. Here’s what I think. You took my advice. Never shit where you eat.”

  “I’m sorry…I don’t understand.”

  “I told you Crystal’s off limits. You understood, correctly, this also meant Susan. Or am I wrong? Is the issue your sexuality?”

  “No sir, you’re right.”

  “She’s telling anyone who will listen that you’re a homosexual. Susan is a nice piece of ass, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I guess so, I mean, yes…”

  “Horowitz is now your most important case. One more thing. About your hair. You look queer.”

  Eldridge left. Samuel stood sweaty and drained, unable even to see gray.

  “A jury!” Samuel bit his fingernail, pressed his hands against the edge of Vera’s desk to keep them from shaking. “Are you sure?”

  “I didn’t go to law school, but I can read. ‘Defendant requests trial by jury.’” She waved the paper in front of him.

  “What should I do now?”

  “How would I know? You’re the lawyer.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Eldridge.”

  “Yeah, great idea, except for one small problem. He’s never tried a case in his life. OK, you want advice, I’ll give you some. Get a book and study up on it. Better do it quick. Evictions are fast-tracked. The case is set for next Friday.”

  “Can I get the date changed?”

  “You mean a continuance? Sure, file for one, but I don’t think that would make Baxter happy. This is ego, Baas. Big Shot wants the whole floor. His fancy house, cars, and that girlfriend out there aren’t enough. He needs more, all financed by other people’s money.”

  “Careful, Vera, he might hear you.”

  “Who gives a shit! I’m too old for this monkey business.” She rocked back in her chair and lit up.

  Samuel quickly left the building and drove to the university’s law library, the old pain in his stomach returning as soon as he stepped into the quiet, book lined room of the bowed heads. As he took notes on trial strategy, his stomach rumblings made the students at his table look up at him, then, in unison, drop their heads back down.

  Over the next two weeks he read about jury trials, his studying and Kate’s schedule making it difficult to arrange dates. They made love…sometimes.

  Poolside at Gables Court the day before the trial, Samuel reread the note cards on his lap while Gary sunned himself.

  “Hot for January.” Gary put his sun reflector down. “Want me to go over any of that with you?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to do it myself. I’m really nervous.”

  “Why?’

  “Because I don’t know anything.”

  “You graduated law school. You’re a lawyer. Didn’t they teach you all this stuff?”

  “It was questions and answers. I’ve never been in a courtroom. Eldridge and Baxter will go nuts if I lose.”

  “You won’t. The key is confidence. Stallion didn’t work out for me, but the next thing I do will be great! I know it! That’s what you’ve got to have, Sam. Big balls! I believe in you. You’re going to evict that bastard! Serves him right for not paying!”

  “He pays.”

  For a second, Gary just looked at him.

  “Let’s have another beer, buddy.”

  Samuel heard a baby crying.

  Gary wanted to watch the trial. He drove, while Samuel, sitting in front, gripped his leather briefcase tight to his chest. They parked downtown in a lot near the courthouse and crossed Flagler Street. Twenty-eight stories high, the municipal building with its terra cotta façade and fluted columns loomed over them. Samuel looked up at the steep roof.

  Turkey vultures circled overhead.

  He swallowed and slowly climbed the stone steps.

  In the massive lobby, lawyers hurried in all directions, their indifference to anyone around them showing they believed themselves very important. Overwhelmed by the size of the building and the bustle of these aggressive looking men knowing what they were doing, Samuel couldn’t move or think.

  “Where’s the courtroom?” Gary asked. “Sam?”

  “Third floor…” Samuel answered.

  “The elevators are over there.”

  His legs heavy weights, Samuel walked slowly to where a pack of attorneys in shiny, three-piece suits impatiently pushed the up button. Shoved inside the elevator as soon as the door opened, squeezed by lawyers projecting superiority through their Rolex watches and Ivy League faces, Samuel experienced waves of queasiness more intense in this compressed space than the pain he felt when exposed to the sickening miasma of a law library. There he could move.

  When the elevator door opened, he got off quickly, Gary right behind him.

  “That’s it, Bud, just breathe, you’ll be fine.”

  “Mr. Baas?” The voice deep, his once muscular body devolved into three hundred pounds of fat, the man lumbered over.

  “Yes…”

  “I’m Joseph Montgomery, attorney for Mr. Horowitz. Is this your client?”

  He glanced at Gary, who wearing a T-shirt and jeans obviously wasn’t a lawyer.

  “No…”

  “His representative?”

  “A friend,” Samuel answered.

  Montgomery stepped closer, his back to Gary, the fleshy folds of his face like those of an old bulldog.

  “Are you really going ahead with this?”

  “Mr. Baxter needs the office space. I’m sure he would give Mr. Horowitz a reasonable time to move out.”

  “See you in court, Baas,” Montgomery turned and walked away.

  “What an asshole,” Gary said. “You sounded just like a lawyer! ‘Reasonable time’, that’s just the kind of lawyer talk you hear on T.V! Should we go in?”

  “Yeah,” Samuel knew all he had to do was make one phone call. After his father’s friend visited Mr. Horowitz, no matter what happened today, the accountant would leave. This idea calmed him.

  The courtroom had once been a jail. Wooden, churchlike pews faced the front, the view from some of the seats blocked by posts. Samuel sat at the plaintiff’s table. He glanced over at Montgomery and his chubby client.

  “All rise,” the bailiff called out, Gary the only one in the spectator area. “County Court is now in session, the Honorable Borys Kowalski presiding. Pleased be seated.”

  A small man with sparse gray hair and humorous dark eyes, the judge looked down at Samuel.

  “Counselor, are you sure this matter can’t be settled?” he asked, speaking with a slight accent. “I have a number of cases on my docket. A jury trial in an eviction case will unnecessarily take the court’s time, especially since the defendant stands ready and willing to pay his rent. This is his offer, isn’t it, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Montgomery responded.

  “Then it looks like we’re in agreement.” Judge Kowalski again turned toward Samuel.

  “A voluntary dismissal, Mr. Baas?”

  “My client wants to continue,” the answer almost inaudible.

  “I’m sorry. Did
I hear you correctly?”

  “Yes sir,” Samuel answered, his voice shaking. “The plaintiff is ready for trial.”

  “Bailiff, bring the panel in,” the judge said while directing his unblinking death stare at Samuel who looked down at his desk.

  Montgomery smiled at the four men and two women entering the jury box. Greeted by the judge, they sat and waited.

  “Plaintiff,” the judge said, the word all ice.

  Samuel stood, dropped his notes, picked them up, and nervously approached the prospective jurors.

  “Good afternoon,” he took a breath. “My name is Samuel Baas and I represent the landlord in this case, Reginald Baxter. I would like to ask you a few questions. Who owns a house?”

  All but one woman raised their hand.

  Samuel turned to her.

  “Do you rent?”

  “Yes.” Middle-aged, graying, she clutched her little cloth purse tight.

  “Have you ever been evicted?”

  “Of course not!” she answered indignantly. “I send my rent in the first of each month.”

  “And the rest of you?” Samuel asked. “Do you pay your mortgages on time?”

  All nodded.

  “OK, counselor,” Judge Kowalski said. “I think you’ve examined the panel long enough.”

  “But Your Honor, I have other questions for voir dire.” Samuel held a long list in his sweaty hand. “And I have challenges.”

  “I’m sure you do. Let’s move this along. Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” His loud footsteps conveying with his size his ability to dominate space, he walked over to the jury box and leaned in.

  “This is an action for eviction. I have a simple question I’d like to ask you. If the facts in this case show that my client, the defendant, paid his rent and kept all the other terms of his lease with the plaintiff, would you find for him and against the landlord?”

  “Yes,” they all said, some emphasizing their answer by shaking their head.

  “Thank you ladies, gentlemen.” Montgomery went back to the defense table. “I accept the panel,” he told the judge.