BREACH OF PROMISE

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “I’m talking about the color and style of your clothing. The big shoulders, the severe suits make you look authoritative, but they’d rather you persuaded them more softly. Go for something quite neutral with a hint of warmth. A taupey-peach. Pastels mixed with beiges. You need to emphasize the feminine in this trial. This is a case about a woman, don’t forget, and it’s classic in the sense that it’s a woman who’s getting shafted by a man.”

  “Taupey-peach? You’ve got to be kidding,” Nina said.

  “Other impressions were fairly uniform. They thought you seemed quite professional. They liked your manner, except that they find you too reserved.”

  More smiling, Nina reminded herself, practicing.

  Winston said, “What about me?”

  “You know you’re good, Win. You started off well. They liked the simple statements of fact, and they liked it that you didn’t raise your voice or get emotional on them. But once you got past the essentials, I’m afraid you wandered too far afield and lost them.”

  “Oh?”

  “They didn’t want to hear in dollars and cents how much Lindy made, how much she should have made, how much they made when they started out, their current per annum income before taxes. What’s at stake is so ungodly huge, it doesn’t compute compared to ordinary experience. So we don’t talk about specific amounts. We just say, she ought to get half.”

  “Don’t want them thinking about how much each one of the Markovs blows on car wax each month,” said Winston.

  “That’s right,” said Genevieve, snapping open her briefcase. She handed out to each of them a report fastened inside transparent binding. “These are all my suggestions, based on telephone interviews, the demographics, the shadow jury comments, the focus groups, and so on.” At twenty-five pages long, it barely fit inside its binding. Winston picked it up and let his arm drop to his side heavily, pretending he couldn’t even hold it up.

  “I’ve spoken with Lindy and told her to lose the beautiful clothes, let some of the gray show in her hair and not to be afraid to show her feelings on the stand,” Genevieve said. “This is no time for discretion.”

  “She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s going to have a problem with discretion. The opposite, maybe,” said Winston.

  “She needs to be warned about appearing bitter or vengeful. These are qualities our jurors derided. Andrea, playing Lindy, got a little too angry when she talked about Mike. The right mood seems to be wistful and sad for Lindy, whereas we need to be very matter-of-fact. We should be perceived as advocates who are just stating the bald facts, not too pushy, just cognizant of the weight of evidence we have that proves our case.

  “Nina, when you talk with Lindy about her testimony, be sure you go over that with her. Make sure she knows how important it is to be consistent in the exact language about what was said, and make sure she uses the phrase ’expressly promised me,’ especially when it comes to that promise made in consideration stuff.

  “Go over her deposition with her until she knows better than to contradict it. Our shadow felt that there were some contradictions in what Andrea said. I’ve made notes on those statements, and I know you’ll want to look them over with Lindy, so that we can be perfectly clear this time around.

  “Oh, and I’m afraid the ’wedding vows’ they exchanged in lieu of a legal marriage made a poor impression. On the whole, our shadows didn’t feel it was important. We can’t ignore the fact that a religious juror might find it significant, but we should probably only touch on this event.

  “Now, regarding the statement from Lindy that he repeatedly made her all those promises. The men found that humorous and pitiful, I’m sorry to say.”

  “What about the women?” Nina asked.

  “With the right approach, barring a hard-sell leader from the opposition, the women can be persuaded to stick with our side. One problem we’re left with is not to antagonize the men. We’ll talk more about that before the trial. Oh, and here’s another point suggested by one of the shadow jurors: We might hint that maybe Mike would have failed without Lindy. After all, before he met her, he wasn’t doing well at all.”

  Nina said, “That’s good. I hadn’t thought of that. You’ve done a nice job, Genevieve. Let’s talk more after I get a chance to read the whole thing.”

  “I second that motion. Hey, Genny,” Winston said. “We finished here for now? Want to see what’s lucky today at the craps table back at the hotel?” He said over his shoulder to Nina, “Can’t even get close on weekend nights. Too many people.”

  Genevieve said, “Give me ten minutes. I have to find something I stuck away somewhere under all the garbage on my desk.”

  “I’ll wait, then.”

  “You brought me over this morning. You better wait.” She went to her desk in the corner and sifted through the disorder.

  “Well, I’d better go now if I’m going to catch Bob’s basketball game over at the school,” Nina said, checking her watch. “Bye.” She went out to the parking lot of the empty building and started feeling around in her purse. No keys. She must have left them on her desk. She walked rapidly back and down the long dark hallway to her office and found them. Now that she was here, she decided she might as well pick up Lindy’s deposition to take with her, but after a cursory search, she couldn’t find it. Maybe Winston had a copy she could borrow.

  Without knocking on the door to his office, she opened it and looked inside. Letting out a yelp, she jumped backward.

  Winston had Genevieve on the ground, her body pressed down on the rug below him. Her arms looped around his neck, and her skirt had worked its way up to the top of her thighs.

  It was some kiss.

  14

  Nina watched Bob’s basketball game without seeing much. Her mind’s eye was stuck on the image of Winston and Genevieve on the rug. They had jumped up when she came in, offering a weak apology that had done nothing to ease the jolt they had given her. She hadn’t realized they were involved with each other—in that way. They weren’t kids! They should have known not to carry on at the office.

  Blanching at the the piercing sound of squeaking shoes, she sat in the bleachers beside the other parents in the gym, shouting, whistling, and stomping when the others did. She had brought the team snack, and after they won their third victory in a row, the boys ran for her and she slapped the fruit drinks and miniature bagels she had picked up on the way into their clammy hands.

  At home, Bob showered and changed. Nina picked up a friend of his and dropped them at the movies, then headed for Caesar’s and the long elevator ride to Paul’s digs on the tenth floor.

  She knocked three times before getting an answer.

  “Well, look who’s here,” said Paul.

  No smile. No embrace.

  He opened the door wide. He wore gray athletic shorts and he was drying his hair with a towel. Humid air from the shower floated into the hall.

  “Can I come in?”

  He stepped aside, beckoning. “Take a seat,” he said. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “That would be straight whiskey, then.”

  “Fine.”

  He poured her a glass from the pint bottle on the table and handed it over, then sat down across from her, wrapping the towel around his shoulders so he looked like a model in a men’s wear ad, right down to his trendily surly expression. He must have been working out on the Nautilus machines in the health club several floors down.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nina.

  “Are you,” said Paul.

  “I don’t know why I’ve been in such a mood. In my own defense, I can only say I was insane.”

  “The insanity defense never works in California. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “You have a right to your opinion of the case. I know you’ll do a good job for me either way.”

  Paul took a longer drink than usual. She took that to mean he needed fortifying. He hadn’t forgiven he
r yet. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Right now, your shirtless self. The smell of soap wafting off of your body. The tan line where your socks usually stop.”

  The shadow of a smile flickered on his face. “Don’t stop there.”

  “Can we start over, please?”

  Paul gave his hair a final thoughtful ruffling with the towel, and she thought she could see satisfaction in his eyes. He was enjoying this uncustomarily abject attitude of hers.

  Well, fine. He had a right. “I need you,” she said. “Not just for the investigation, but to talk to, Paul.”

  “I ought to tape this,” Paul said, throwing his towel on the floor, and she could see from the diminished tension in his body he had eased up. “Then I’ll play it back next time you get going on me. You get so self-righteous. Because you’re invested in a cause, everybody close to you has to rally around to your side. Well, that’s not always going to happen. Some of us prefer to maintain some detachment.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call you detached.”

  “Ah ah ah,” Paul said, wagging his finger at her. “Don’t blow it now. Tell me some more about my tan line.” He looked down at his ankles and laid a dopey grin on her. She laughed.

  “I’ve made my speech.”

  “Okay, then,” Paul said. He got up and sat down beside her, on the bed. “Fill me in. How’s it going?”

  “Well, I saw something this afternoon. Winston and Genevieve kissing in my offices.”

  “Ah. You didn’t like that.”

  “I have to question their judgment, that’s for sure.”

  “Those kids.”

  “Exactly. They aren’t kids. This isn’t hormones, it’s folly. Now, I know things get intense when you work closely with people. I don’t object to their fling. Just . . .”

  “You’d prefer they play in their own backyard.”

  “Exactly. And it doesn’t help that we had a meeting today where I finally saw the clashing between our styles clearly. Winston and Genevieve are only interested in tactics. Maybe they’re too big-city for me. They’re taking over, and I don’t like their—their cynicism. I feel ganged up on sometimes.”

  “They’re not hard to understand. They’re in it for the money. Just like you, right?”

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “It’s an important legal case with important issues.”

  “And important money,” Paul said.

  She kept her mouth shut to stave off any further talk on the matter. Kneeling down in front of her, he slipped her shoes off and began massaging her stockinged foot. “Listen, Nina. If you don’t like the way things are going, fire Romeo and Juliet. You’re the boss. Go it alone.”

  “Not possible at this point. With the trial just around the corner, I need them. Besides, they do seem to know more than I do about this whole jury business. It makes me mistrust my own judgment . . . .” His hands kneading her feet sent radiant heat coursing up her legs.

  “Ah, who cares what they do on the rug after-hours,” she said. Her voice trailed off.

  Paul got up and stood behind her. Taking a long strand of her hair, he curled it around his finger. His hands pulled gently at her jacket, and took it off. Immediately his thumbs pressed deeply into her shoulders as he began working the tight muscles around her neck. She sighed as her tension melted away at his touch. Her head drooped forward.

  Paul took the drink from her hand and put it on the table.

  “I find . . .” he said, continuing a mesmerizing circling motion at the center of her shoulder blades, “it’s always a good idea . . .” His fingers moved inside the top of her blouse. “When things look a little bleak . . .” They began a slow, gentle journey from the back of her neck. “I need to forget my troubles . . .” Settling in to explore the vicinity in front. “Lie down for a little while. Now, doesn’t that sound like a fine idea?” The hazy twilight had faded, and his hands appeared to ignite as they touched her skin, his tan against her pale.

  “Excellent . . .” Nina said.

  He turned her around, backing her onto the bed.

  “ . . . suggestion.” The light went off, but her eyes had closed anyway; there was only Paul’s clean-scented body beside her, burning.

  BOOK THREE TRIALS

  You don’t approach a case with

  the philosophy of applying abstract justice.

  You go in to win.

  —Percy Foreman

  15

  “Mrs. Lim fits. Age fifty-four, close to Lindy’s. Realtor, two grown kids, husband with heart problems. Member of the American Association of University Women. Her parents are both dead. Her questionnaire says she doesn’t have a problem with people shacking up. Equality in a relationship—she says it’s important,” Genevieve said rapidly. She reached for her jacket pocket and whispered, “Hang on. I’m getting beeped. It’s Paul.”

  She left the courtroom for a moment to call him. Paul had ferreted out the fifty-five names in the jury pool, and was finding out what he could about the candidates to help Lindy’s team make more informed selections.

  Nina stalled Susan Lim with a few more questions.

  The jury box was against the left wall of the cavelike courtroom, closely attended by the bailiff. Nina’s station, the table on the left reserved for the side bringing the main action, was closest to the box and about ten feet from the court reporter and the witness box in front.

  Milne’s roost occupied the right front corner. Over at the long table to Nina’s right, Riesner and his new associate, Rebecca Casey, put their heads so closely together, Nina could swear they touched. If he had done that to her—come to think of it, he had done that to her a couple of times—she would be cringing the same way she would from a scorpion in her shoe. In their encounters, Riesner usually edged up close, getting in her face, trying to intimidate.

  Rebecca, pleasant-faced and professional-looking, was Riesner’s match for Winston Reynolds. Educated at Stanford, she was younger than Winston, somewhere in her late thirties. Her confident air and no-nonsense attitude must be helpful when negotiating the testosterone-laden halls of Caplan Stamp etcetera. She nodded at something Riesner was saying and passed a quick note behind Riesner to Mike, who also sat at their table in a spiffy suit he had surely never worn before, his thick neck bulging out of the collar.

  In that suit, Mike didn’t look honest. Was it the perspiration dotting his forehead and the bashed-up nose? His jaw worked as he gritted and relaxed his teeth. The yellow-tinged lights in the ceiling of the paneled courtroom shone down on him without mercy. He looked unwell, the flesh on his face sagging more than Nina remembered from his deposition a few months ago.

  Obviously he felt the pressure of the judgment facing him up front as well as the judgment behind him, which consisted of the corps of reporters and other media types jamming the courtroom. Lindy, who sat on Nina’s left, closest to the jury box, had been leaning over frequently to look at him, not a wise idea. Winston, who had handled the voir dire the day before, loafed in his seat next to her. He was relying completely on Genevieve, but Nina couldn’t do that.

  Nina turned back to Mrs. Lim and asked a few more polite questions. Aside from the fact that she fit Genevieve’s profile of a “friendly” juror, Nina liked Mrs. Lim’s earnestness and the thought she put into her answers. She looked successful and smart in the tweed suit, like someone who would listen carefully to the judge’s instructions and think through the issues.

  Genevieve returned in the nick of time, sliding in next to Nina, and said breathlessly, “Paul just found out that she filed an employment discrimination complaint with the Office for Civil Rights twenty-two years ago, when she was just getting started in the business world. Don’t look at me! We’ve got to have her. Look bored.” She yawned and opened her notebook. Nina looked at the clock above the jury seats. Eleven-eighteen, already well into the fifth day of jury selection.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lim,” Nina said. Using the prospective juror’s name was another of Genevieve�
�s innovations and an indubitable improvement. The more you acknowledged a person’s identity, as she put it, the more loyalty you won. The grocery clerks where Nina shopped used the same technique after she handed them a check. “Thank you, Mrs. Reilly,” they would say, and she’d think almost subliminally, exactly as intended, aw, they noticed me.

  Milne announced, “Mr. Riesner? I believe you have the next challenge.” Riesner could now exercise one of his six peremptory challenges on any of the twelve nervous people sitting up there, some nervous because they wanted to be excused, some interested enough in the process and free enough of commitments to want to stay there.

  “The cross-defendants will thank and excuse Mr. Melrose,” Riesner said, offering Mr. Melrose the consolation prize of a simpering smile that said, nothing personal, I’m sure. He had chosen well. Nina had decided that Melrose, a Lutheran widower with a sad look in his eyes, would be kindhearted about the situation, a reaction that could only help Lindy. Poor Mr. Melrose edged his way awkwardly from the jury box and disappeared forever from the case.

  Mrs. Lim remained. She wore her gleaming black hair short, tucked behind her ears, neat and businesslike. She would remain a sitting duck until—

  “How many more peremptories do we have?” Nina whispered to Genevieve.

  “Last one,” Genevieve scribbled. Nina bit her lip and searched the faces in the jury box. None of them looked back.

  Lindy also scrutinized each person. Now and then during the selection process she had written a vehement NO! orYES! as various jurors were called to the jury seats and questioned. Most of the time Nina had agreed with Lindy’s assessments. And she had to admit that so far she also agreed more or less with Genevieve. The primary difference seemed to be that Nina never felt sure of anybody, while Genevieve watched, consulted her notes and profiles, and judged without doubt.

  So far, their disagreements had been minor and resolvable. Of the eleven people seated in the box this morning, besides Mrs. Lim Nina liked four, had doubts about four, and feared two. Riesner’s team had unseated her strongest choices over the past few days, and she in turn had thanked and excused the ones he had to love, the ones who fit Genevieve’s other profile, the negative one. Avoid: her report read, Conservatives. No higher education. Divorced men. Hunters, fishers. Young married women. Republicans—since political and religious affiliations had been nosed out by Paul—follower types, wealthy types. There were many more such guidelines, graded by degree of hazard.