Do This For Me

by Eliza Kennedy

  “Never change, maniac.” She hugged me goodbye. “I love you. Call me when it’s over.”

  The bridge officer read the charges against Rona in a dull monotone. Bergman beckoned to me irritably. “It’s a breach of etiquette to force a reading of the complaint.”

  “My client has the right to hear the charges against her. How else can we fight them?”

  “This isn’t trial! We’ve got two objectives here—serving the required legal notices and determining bail. You’re deliberately slowing this down!”

  “I’m being an effective advocate. You should try it sometime. Because this thing?” I held up the complaint against Rona. “Is a piece of garbage.”

  “We’re here gathering information,” Emily was telling the reporter. “My co-counsel, Ms. Moore, was in the Tombs all night, interviewing prospective plaintiffs.”

  “And now she’s representing them?”

  “We’re trying to illustrate how different the outcomes can be when lawyers have the resources to advocate effectively for their clients.”

  The reporter scribbled rapidly. Then he peered up at me. “Why is she wearing an evening gown?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Emily said.

  The bridge officer finished reading and sat down. I stood. “Your Honor—”

  “No no no.” The judge shook a finger at me. “It’s not your turn, Ms. Moore. Mr. Bergman, do you have any notices?”

  “Yes, Judge.” He shuffled around some papers. “We’re serving a seven-ten-thirty-one-a and a one-ninety-fifty.”

  The judge regarded me warily over his reading glasses. “Ms. Moore?”

  “Your Honor, we’re serving a cross one-ninety-fifty. I’d also like to note for the record that we’ll be moving to suppress evidence from the line-up, and—”

  “Ms. Moore, this is neither the time nor the place to—”

  “We’ll also be moving to dismiss the complaint.”

  Bergman couldn’t help himself. “On what grounds?”

  I was skimming the statute Amanda had called up on her phone. “It fails to state all of the elements of the crime. Nowhere does it claim that the damage my client is alleged to have inflicted on the complainant’s motor scooter exceeds two hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Bergman flipped rapidly through his copy. “That’s an inadvertent omission, Judge. I’ll file an amended complaint, and—”

  The judge shuffled his papers, casting an annoyed glance at Bergman. “This is the second defective complaint this morning, Mr. Bergman.”

  “Mr. Bergman’s ‘omission’ is the difference between a felony and a misdemeanor for Ms. Evans,” I said. “A preliminary review of my other clients’ files shows similar flaws.”

  “We’ll get to that, Ms. Moore. Mr. Bergman, do you have a statement with respect to bail?”

  “We ask that it be set at five thousand dollars, Judge.”

  “We strenuously object, Your Honor.” I scrolled down Cameron’s screen as Rona whispered in my ear. “Ms. Evans has extensive ties to the community. Three generations of her family live in the city. She has two children in the New York City school system. She works as a registered nurse at Montefiore Medical Center. She is the opposite of a flight risk. Moreover, I can personally guarantee her appearance, as we’ll be working together on a civil rights lawsuit concerning the circumstances of her arrest. I’d also like to point out—”

  “Enough,” the judge said wearily. “Enough.” He paged through the file in front of him. He held a whispered conference with his courtroom deputy. Then he removed his glasses.

  “I’m releasing the defendant on her own recognizance.”

  Rona beamed. In the back of the courtroom, someone cheered.

  “Clean up the complaint and refile it today, Mr. Bergman.”

  “Yes, Judge.”

  “I’ve offered to negotiate with Mr. Bergman for a reduced charge,” I said. “He refuses to discuss it with me.”

  “Ms. Moore, your interjections are most unhelpful.” The judge paused. “Why on earth won’t you plea-bargain, Mr. Bergman?”

  “Ms. Moore is intentionally gumming up the works, Judge. This courtroom has slowed to a crawl. Cases are piling up on our end, and—”

  The judge’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll worry about the management of my docket. I suggest you do your share to expedite matters. And Ms. Moore. No more wasting time.”

  “Of course not, Your Honor.”

  I smiled at Bergman. He murdered me with his eyes.

  The next defendant was from a different cell. I moved aside for his lawyer. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. Marty was standing there.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He’d found me. No surprise, I guess—the man had the instincts of a bloodhound. But his presence could mean only one thing: my partners had decided my fate.

  “A little pro bono work,” I said. “How was the gala?”

  Marty was staring hard at Emily, trying to place her. She smiled at him. “Hey, Marty!”

  The reporter perked up. “Marty Rauschenberger?”

  “That’s right,” Em said, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Calder Tayfield’s managing partner.”

  The reporter stuck out his hand. “Kevin Mooney, New York Times.”

  Marty took in the notebook, the ID badge, the air of eager inquisitiveness. He didn’t flinch or even blink. Unless you knew him as well as I did, you’d have no idea he was dying quietly.

  Marty hated publicity. Especially the negative kind. The kind that generates headlines like “Partner at White Shoe Law Firm Charged with Assault in Drunken Rampage.”

  “I’d love to get a quote from you about the firm’s decision to get involved in this case,” the reporter said.

  “Raney,” Marty said.

  Amanda handed me a complaint. “Our next client. Check out the fifth paragraph.”

  “Raney,” Marty said.

  “I’m a little busy,” I told him. “Let’s catch up later?”

  As all this was happening, other defendants were being led into the courtroom. Prosecutors and defense lawyers were standing up, speaking and sitting down again. Marty jerked his head toward the side of the room. I followed him. Might as well get this over with.

  He angled himself so that his back was to the reporter. He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his cool.

  “Let’s recap, shall we? From what I understand, on your way to the museum last night, you stopped at a bar. There, you downed seven or eight drinks. Upon leaving, you accosted a stranger on the street, accused him of bullying you thirty years ago and broke his nose. Hours later, you rejected a plea deal that would have allowed you to walk out of here essentially scot-free. Instead, you chose to remain incarcerated, apparently so that you could stand up in open court—looking, you’ll excuse my candor, considerably the worse for wear—in order to represent a pack of prostitutes, petty thieves and other miscreants.”

  “Alleged miscreants,” I said. “Other than that, you nailed it. Mind if I get back to work?”

  “Don’t move.” He glanced back at the reporter. “Why in God’s name is the Times here?”

  “Em called them. She thought a sympathetic article would put pressure on the state to settle our indigent defense case.”

  “Does he know you’ve been arrested?”

  “Not yet. But who knows? Maybe it’ll add a touching human interest angle.”

  That was as much as Marty could take. “Goddammit, Raney Jane! Did you stop for an instant to consider the reputation of the firm, or your own reputation? Why couldn’t you fall apart like a normal person? Why do you always have to be so extreme?”

  “I’m an erratic person,” I conceded. “I should really get some help.”

  He ignored that little dig. “Do you re
alize the trouble you’re in? You’ve been charged with a felony. You could go to jail. Fortunately, I just persuaded your rather tiresome victim not to assist the prosecutor. Do you know how much I had to pay him to do that?”

  Marty had taken my arm as he spoke. I jerked away. “Feel free to deduct it from my final paycheck.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. Wally and Jonathan pulled your clients aside at the party last night and told them a movement was afoot to oust you. Everyone threatened to follow you wherever you went. Templeton was forced to drop the entire thing.”

  To my surprise, I found I couldn’t speak.

  “You’ll be delighted to know that half your partners love you, and the other half are terrified at the prospect of facing you in court one day.” Then his eyes went soft. “You’re safe, my dear.”

  Safe. I was safe.

  Tears pricked my eyes. I wiped them away.

  “Good,” I said. “Then I quit.”

  Amanda approached. “We’re up next.”

  “Amanda and I are starting our own firm,” I told Marty.

  “Uh,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You hung me out to dry, Marty! You stood by and let me be shamed, and insulted, and—”

  “You were completely out of control!”

  “Yes I was,” I said. “All the more reason for you to stand by me. It’s easy to support someone when they’re following the rules like a good girl. You always told me you were there for me. You said all I needed to do was ask. But when I really needed you, when I finally asked? You turned your back on me.”

  The bridge officer called out, “CR-167195, People versus Jade Hallenbeck.” I moved past Marty and took my place at the podium.

  The morning proceeded. Bergman issued notices. I issued cross-notices. He argued for bail. I argued against it. Emily interviewed potential plaintiffs for our lawsuit and offered the occasional word of advice. Cameron did research. Amanda reviewed the complaints and assisted on strategy.

  I kept talking.

  “My client wasn’t read her rights.”

  “We’re going to need discovery.”

  “The complaint fails to allege all of the elements of the crime of assault.”

  “…of forgery.”

  “…solicitation.”

  “…petit larceny.”

  “…health care fraud.”

  “…prostitution.”

  “Nowhere does the State allege the value of complainant’s elderly tropical pet,” I said.

  Bergman was furious. So was I. One of my clients hadn’t been read her rights. Another had been roughed up during a search. Others shouldn’t have been arrested at all. They’d been subject to harassment, illegal searches, discrimination.

  The judge was deeply annoyed—until he learned that a reporter was present. He stopped hollering at me and started hollering at Bergman. Why was the documentation sloppy? Why were so many of the charges excessive?

  I happened to be looking back at the gallery when the door opened and Aaron slipped in. He scanned the room for me. Our eyes met.

  I’d just gotten a complaint dismissed. My headache was gone. I was having fun.

  Without thinking, I smiled at him. He smiled back.

  The bridge officer called out, “CR-164532, People versus Raney Moore.”

  Bergman leaned toward me with an evil grin. “You’re going down.”

  “I take it you’re representing yourself, Ms. Moore?” the judge said.

  “I am. And if I may—”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Honor.” Marty entered the well of the courtroom. “I’m Martin Rauschenberger, of the firm Calder, Tayfield and Hartwell. I am Ms. Moore’s counsel.”

  “No he isn’t,” I said.

  Marty smiled genially at the judge. “May I confer with my client for a moment?” He grabbed my arm. “Knock it off.”

  “I don’t need to be saved, Marty. Not by you or anyone else.”

  He dropped his head. He sighed.

  “I should have stood up for you,” he said. “I should have told Templeton to go to hell the minute he walked in my office. Your behavior was utterly outlandish, but no worse than the stunts other partners have pulled over the years. I suppose I couldn’t accept that you were the one doing it, and that you wouldn’t confide in me.”

  That was all I needed to hear.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I showed terrible judgment. I was arrogant, and reckless, and incredibly stupid. I don’t know why I couldn’t talk to you. I just couldn’t.”

  “Please don’t leave the firm, Raney Jane. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “We need to deal with our problems.”

  “What do you want, Raney? What’s going to satisfy you?”

  I was ready with my answer. My full-throated, rah-rah speech.

  “This is going to sound corny and ridiculous, but I want to work at a place where I don’t have to hide who I am. Where nobody does. Where we air our grievances and treat each other decently. I want to kick ass and cry. To be respected and real. We have to set expectations for how clients and partners and associates behave, and make clear that our tolerance for shittiness is extremely limited.”

  “That all sounds wonderful,” Marty said. “And it will never work.”

  “It’s utopian and goofy,” I agreed. “And no, it won’t work—unless we try. But if we do try, we can make improvements. We can be good lawyers and good people, Marty. I know it.”

  He studied the ground for a moment. He rubbed his bald head. When he looked up, my spirits rose.

  Marty was in dealmaking mode.

  “No more sleeping with the support staff,” he said.

  “Done.”

  “No more personal business on the firm’s dime.”

  “No problem.”

  “We’ll arrange a series of partner meetings,” he said. “We’ll convene a working group. We’ll do studies and hire consultants and whatever else you think we need. You’re in charge. I’m still skeptical, but you have my support.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, partner.”

  “Mr. Rauschenberger?” the judge boomed. “We’re waiting.”

  Bergman wasn’t happy to learn he no longer had a cooperating victim. After a lot of huffing and puffing, he agreed to reduce the charge to disorderly conduct. I got off with a fine and a stern warning from the judge.

  The gallery cleared. I looked for Aaron, but he was gone. Amanda scooped up the files of our new clients from the table.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” I said. “Dragging you away from the big party, everything you had to deal with? I’m appalled at myself.”

  “We’ve each had a drunken tirade.” She smiled. “I’d say we’re even.”

  “Please don’t leave the firm, Amanda. I can fix this. I can make a start, anyway. But I need your help. I need a mentor.”

  She laughed. I kept pressing.

  “Give me a year. Or even six months.”

  “I can do that,” she said. “It means a lot that you want me to stick around.”

  “You won’t be sorry.”

  “Or bored.” She held up the files. “I’ll take these back to the office. See you Monday.”

  The next stop on my apology tour was near the door of the gallery, where Cameron was hovering.

  “Thanks for helping out today.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it, Boss.”

  “Were they hard on you?” I was thinking about Templeton, the paralegal supervisors and the rain of fire that must have come down on his head.

  “I definitely received what you might call a stern talking-to, but I bore it manfully. And honestly? Now that word about our ‘special project’ has spread
far and wide, my cred among the other paralegals is,” he pointed a thumb skyward, “stratospheric.”

  The rumors. How would I ever live them down?

  “Listen, Cameron. I’m sorry. About everything. The things I asked you to research, the claims I made on your time, the…”

  I trailed off. He looked at the floor.

  “I didn’t…” I swallowed hard. “You didn’t feel like you…had to sleep with me, did you?”

  “Had to? Boss, are you nuts? I’ve been into you forever.”

  “Forever?”

  “Okay, maybe not forever, but a long time. At least since that day back in September, when you went all Third Punic War on your husband. I think you’re amazing. I—”

  All at once he seemed to process what he was saying. He blushed harder than ever.

  “I just mean,” he mumbled, “I was, uh, pleased to be asked.”

  “That’s a relief. Still, given the circumstances, maybe you should transfer to another team.”

  His eyes widened with horror. “God, no. Anyway, I’m not sticking around much longer.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yet, but I’m going back to school.”

  “Not law school?”

  “Ha! No. Psychology, as a matter of fact. With a concentration in,” he blushed, “human sexuality.”

  I felt myself starting to smile. He grinned.

  “I’m going to be a sex researcher, Boss. All your doing—no pun intended. Actually, pun fully intended. But I’m not leaving for a few months. So if you need anything,” he blushed again, “you know where to find me.”

  He saluted me and loped out of the room.

  * * *

  —

  When I emerged from Central Booking, the afternoon light was failing. Aaron was waiting. We looked at each other across a patch of slushy sidewalk.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” he said.

  There was too much to say. Meaning that, for a while, neither of us said anything at all.