“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”
“There is something wrong, J.T. I know it, and so do you. What is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve just been very busy lately.”
“I know that. It’s not just that we rarely see each other anymore”—there was a reprimand in her voice—“but when we do get together, there’s something between us, some kind of barrier.”
“I haven’t noticed that,” said J.T.
“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you,” everyone was singing to the little girl in the high chair. “Happy birthday, dear Muffy, Happy birthday to you.”
Plates of cake were passed around by a black woman in a white serving apron and matching lace tiara. After a couple of forkfuls, the guests, plates in hand, drifted back to the den. The television was turned on again, and the guests sat holding their birthday plates, tears beginning to roll down their cheeks again.
“J.T., I’d like to have a little talk with you,” said Delafield, walking to where J.T. stood by the dining room table.
“Sure, Mr. Delafield,” J.T. said, putting his plate down.
“Let’s go inside, so I can get myself a drink.”
“Sure,” said J.T., knowing this had to do either with the firm or with Dana.
They entered the den. Delafield went to the bar and fixed a drink for himself, watching the reflection of the TV in the mirror. Somehow, between the television and the mixing of the drink, Delafield forgot about J.T. He sat on the couch again and began to watch a speech being made by the new President.
“I have to leave for a while,” J.T. whispered to Marty, who was standing back against a wall.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to interview one of our new clients.”
“Now?”
“We don’t have so many clients that we can be independent.”
“Since when?”
“Since this is Mrs. Steinfeld and we’re going to handle her divorce. I think it could be a very lucrative source of new clients. Matrimonial lawyers are usually assholes.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Marty asked sarcastically.
“Now that you mention it, yes.” J.T. smiled.
“Aren’t you going to say something to Dana, or take her home?”
“You explain to her.”
“Explain what?”
“You can do it.”
“Thanks a lot, Otto.”
J.T. opened the door and slipped silently out.
January 13, 1964
“It’s good to have you both back,” Delafield said with satisfaction to J.T. and Marty. “Is that Bedardo situation all finished now?”
“Not exactly finished, sir,” said J.T.
“What does that mean?” Delafield said with a tinge of concern. “I thought you had returned to the firm all ready to go to work full time.”
“We have,” said Marty. “There’s technically still a writ of certiori for the United States Supreme Court to hear the case. But there’s virtually no hope of that being granted.”
“Oh,” said Delafield, relieved. “Well, we certainly missed your shock power around here, J.T., and your way of keeping things out of the newspapers.”
J.T. grinned. His return to the firm was bittersweet. His stab at being independent had not been overwhelmingly successful, not by his own standards. True, he had handled a couple of matrimonials while on leave of absence, but the number of clients, the flow of excitement, was not sufficient to satisfy J.T. He didn’t seem to have the patience for slowly building success. The instant he walked into Delafield’s office, he was sure Stevenson & Stetinius wasn’t the answer either.
“In fact,” said Delafield, not aware of J.T.’s distracted thoughts, “we have a situation right now with Worldwide Films. We represent the company against some dissident stockholders who have brought a stockholders’ suit for mismanagement and misfeasance against the officers and directors. They say they have proof the board made investments outside the regular business purposes of the company. They claim that Worldwide has been brought to the brink of financial disaster as a result of diversification into some hotels in Hawaii, which have turned out to be bad investments.”
“Are the hotels bad investments?” asked J.T.
“I don’t know if I would classify them as lemons,” said Delafield, amusement glowing in his eyes. “However, the hotels are not filled to capacity. There were supposed to be new roads built, but the federal funds have been held up. When the roads are finished—if ever—the hotels should boom. But right now they’re getting deeper in the red every day. There’s a little spice to this stew. Several of the members of the Worldwide board owned the land on which the hotels were built. They sold it, through a dummy corporation, to Worldwide.”
“Other than that, is there any merit to the stockholders’ suit?” J.T. chided.
“I told you we needed some help on this one,” Delafield smiled.
“What’s the status of the suit?” asked J.T.
“They’ve served the board with a summons and complaint. Now the most desirable thing we can do for our client is to keep the suit buttoned up until after Worldwide’s merger with CRA. CRA owns a lot of the film and TV stars and their contracts, and it also has a substantial amount of liquid capital. If the merger goes through, it will put the company in a financial position to be able to make some decent pictures.”
“What’s the status of the merger?” asked J.T.
“It’s in the serious negotiation stage. I needn’t tell you that if CRA gets wind of some lawsuit that alleges misappropriation of funds by Worldwide’s directors, it wouldn’t be the soundest position from which to negotiate. We have to keep this lawsuit under wraps. Which is where you come in, J.T.”
“You want me to handle the suit?”
“Some of our men are already on it. But I suggest that you be the attorney out in front, the one who deals exclusively with the opposition. We just got their summons and complaint about a week ago, and we haven’t put in an answer yet. What we intend to do is to make some motions, based on legal technicalities, to dismiss their suit. I think it would be advantageous if your name appeared on the affidavits in support of the motion. Let the other side know, right at the outset, what we have in store for them. And no adjournments, no time delays of any sort, no professional courtesy. We really have to play hardball on this one.”
“Who’s handling the papers now?”
“It’s with one of the young fellows downstairs for research at the moment. But the case is really being handled by Prentiss.”
“Marty,” said J.T., “why don’t you talk to Prentiss, see if you can get copies of all the papers.”
“Already been taken care of, J.T.,” said Delafield. “Copies of all the papers are on both your desks right now.”
“That’s organization for you,” said J.T.
“Marty, will you excuse us for a couple of minutes? I want to talk to J.T. privately.”
“I’ll start looking over the Worldwide papers. Buzz me when you’re finished, J.T. You want this door closed, Mr. Delafield?”
“Please.”
Delafield selected a cigar from a humidor on the credenza behind his desk. He delicately sliced off the end of the cigar with a gold cutter.
“J.T.,” he began tentatively, lighting the cigar, blowing smoke to the ceiling, “forgive me for butting into your personal life, but this matter does have just a little something to do with me, and I just wanted to have a chat with you about it.”
“About what?”
“You and Dana.”
J.T. nodded, studying Delafield, whose head disappeared momentarily behind a cloud of smoke.
“You two young folks have known each other a substantial period now … oh, hell, that’s not exactly the right way to put it. You two have seen each other for, oh, say a year and a half, two years?”
“A little more than that, sir. About two and a half years. I was still in Washington at the time.”
>
Delafield nodded. “You’ve always had an excellent power of retention, J.T. Recently I understand you’ve not been seeing each other very much. And I understand she’s rather upset about that. Fact is, she’s started to cause her parents some concern.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Hell, man, I’m really sorry I even have to have this conversation with you, but the family—well, Archie, anyway, you know how he is with Dana—he asked me to talk with you.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I hope so. Hell, I think people ought to be able to do what they feel like, without anyone else interfering. I’d be as annoyed as all get-out if I were you sitting there. By the way, would you like a drink, J.T.?”
“No, thanks, sir.”
Delafield swiveled in his chair and opened his credenza. He poured some straight vodka into a glass and filled the glass with ice he took from a little refrigerator.
“You don’t mind if I do, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“J.T., if you don’t want to see Dana any longer, I can understand that. I know these things happen. But if you do want to stop seeing her, then do just that. Stop seeing her.” Delafield sipped his drink, which was by now sufficiently chilled.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “if you want to continue seeing her, then do so. But please try and get yourself out of this middle ground, where you’re still seeing her but not very often and then not very … what’s the word?”
“Attentively.”
“Exactement.” Delafield raised his glass to J.T. and then sipped.
“You’ve just made me curious about my position with this firm, sir,” said J.T. “Does it depend upon my amorous entanglements with your niece?”
“Now you’ve hit a nerve.”
“I’m trying to.”
“That’s what I like most about you, J.T. You’re right out in the open, no fuzzing around the bush. Not fuzzing …”
“Beating, sir.”
“Beating it is. I should like to think that your amorous entanglements have nothing whatever to do with anything here. However, Archie is a powerful client of this firm. And I’m not able to control him all the time. If it came to any showdown around here, Archie’s the one who would prevail.”
“I understand, sir.”
Delafield just nodded and sipped his drink. “That’s the way it is, J.T. As a person who admires you, who thinks you have a lot on the ball, even if you are hump as a drinking companion, let me suggest that you get this thing with Dana straightened out one way or another. For my sake as well as yours.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“Good.” Delafield sat back and puffed on his cigar. He attempted to blow a smoke ring toward the ceiling, but it spiraled out of shape the moment it left his mouth. “Never could blow the damn things. I’d like to mention another thing, J.T.”
“Yes, sir?”
“The firm, as you know, was rather perturbed by your representing Mr. Benzadrino—”
“Bedardo.”
“Whatever. And while we’re having this heart-to-heart, let me just suggest that I’m only one of a lot of people around here. By the way, they also know about the fact you’ve been handling other cases, matrimonials and all.”
“They don’t object to that too, do they?”
“If I were you and I wanted to stay around here, I would not upset too many more applecarts.” Delafield sipped from his glass.
February 17, 1964
“Jesus Christ, J.T.,” groaned Delafield, his back to the young lawyer on the leather couch in his office. “What the hell is this now?” he asked, turning with a copy of the New York Mirror in his hand, opened to Lee Mortimer’s gossip column, “New York Confidential.”
“You mean the item about Margo Saperstein and me at El Morocco?”
Delafield read aloud, ignoring J.T.’s question.
“‘Hot shot lawyer-around-town J.T. Wright, of Organized Crime Investigation Hearing fame, was whispering romantically into buxom blonde beauty Margo Saperstein’s ear at swelegant El Morocco. Rumors say Margo and hubby are splitsville. Is Mr. Wright Mr. Right for Margo?’”
“Don’t even tell me what it’s all about, J.T.,” Delafield said, looking up. “I don’t really want to get involved in all of this, I’ve told you that before. But I have no choice when an item appears in the columns about you and dames. Every time you step out on Dana, she tells her father, and he tells me.”
“I’m sorry, sir—I mean about the fact that you get into the middle of this. I’m not really stepping out. It’s strictly professional.”
“Not only that, J.T.,” Delafield continued, not really listening. It was after lunchtime, J.T. figured. Delafield already had a couple of drinks. “I even have to listen to the other partners around here about you. They feel these items and the notoriety that you garner from them reflects poorly on the firm.”
“How so?” asked J.T. “The article is about me, not the firm. And certainly the firm can’t object to a fee of a hundred thousand dollars.”
“A hundred thousand?”
“When it’s all totaled up, that’s what the divorce is going to cost Mr. Saperstein in legal fees by the time I—we—get finished with him.”
“You mean you’re going to represent this Margo Saperstein?”
“The firm is, sir. If it’s all right with the rest of the partners, of course,” J.T. said innocently. “I can’t imagine why they would object. After all, it’s a matrimonial, not a criminal case.”
Delafield nodded without conviction. “Yes, but it’s going to be somewhat sensational, from what I’ve read in the papers. A little seamy. This prospective client of ours isn’t exactly a sit-at-home type.”
“I think I can keep the matter very quiet. It definitely will not get to court.”
“You’re sure about that, J.T.?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Delafield shrugged. “Well, of course, your explanation is a bit better than what this gossip column implies, but I’m still not sure that some of the more conservative partners will be thrilled by the prospect of handling a hotly contested matrimonial.”
“The firm has handled matrimonials before.”
“Not scandalous ones.”
“It won’t take long to wrap the entire thing up. I’ve got Marty Boxer doing a draft of a basic separation agreement, one that we can use with a little modification in all our cases.”
“All our cases? What does that mean?”
“That means that this is an easy way to make big fees, and I’d like to bring as many of these cases as I can into the firm.”
“I’m not sure the partners are going to be happy with the idea that they’re running a divorce mill.”
“Matrimonials like these aren’t the run of the mill. Our clients will be society folks, people who can pay substantial fees and want no mudslinging court fights.”
Delafield frowned thoughtfully.
“When you see my name in the paper in the future, sir, you’ll know that I’m out in the vineyards, harvesting the crop. You can tell that to people who put you in the middle.”
Delafield leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re clever, J.T., really clever. Remember me when you get to your kingdom.”
J.T. smiled.
March 20, 1964
It was spring again in New York. The warm smell of the earth and budding trees filled the air with a promise of life. Bright sunlight glinted from the windows of midtown skyscrapers as J.T. and Aloysius R. Murphy, special counsel to the Governor, walked slowly west on Fifty-fifth Street. They had just lunched at “21” and were headed back toward the Governor’s New York City office.
Murphy had called J.T. to “talk.” About what, J.T. had had no idea. It had been mysterious and exhilarating—greatly exhilarating—to know that the Governor of New York State was even aware of him, and, better yet, that he wanted one of his special emissaries t
o “talk” with him.
“Frankly, we can’t sit still with all this bad press spilling over the top about corruption and scandal in the criminal justice system. Cops on the take, judges accepting bribes—I don’t buy the stuff about the judges, by the way, J.T. Oh, sure, there may be a few venal judges with whom you can still put in a contract, but my opinion is that the judiciary is pretty clean.”
Traffic was stalled all the way back to Fifth Avenue. Horns blared and cab drivers cursed out their windows. But J.T. was so caught up in the excitement of this meeting he hardly heard the cacophony around them.
“The media is on the Governor’s back about appointing a special prosecutor to investigate our criminal justice system,” Murphy continued. “So the Governor tells me, ‘Al, look around for somebody who can stand up to the pressure—somebody clean, without political affiliations, who can run the grafters down.’ That’s why I thought I’d talk to you, J.T. You have the right credentials.”
J.T. was flattered. “It sounds very interesting,” was all he allowed, although his mind was racing with thoughts of the power and prestige that would go with such a position. If the power wasn’t built into the job, he’d make sure it got there before long. He’d make sure he was the terror of the state judiciary and the justice system. The Mountaineers’ Club would have to rise higher than ever, he thought.
“I realize that the money couldn’t compare to those big fees you’re pulling down on Wall Street, J.T. I’ve seen the articles in the papers about you and the divorcees you’ve been representing lately. But then, you’ve worked in government before. You know what’s involved in budgets and that sort of thing. The Governor has earmarked a budget of only a million to run the whole office. I know it’s not much to get an entire staff, but it’s a start.”
“How many people do you anticipate on staff?” J.T. asked.
“That’d be up to you.”
“Do all the personnel have to be lawyers or ancillary personnel?”
“I don’t get you, J.T. What do you mean?”
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