by Fox, Susan
“Me either. I mean, you.” I took a breath and tried again, parroting his words. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Grace hurried out of the kitchen. “Gabriel, it’s good to see you.” She hugged him as warmly as she’d hugged me.
He hugged her back, seeming to feel none of the awkwardness that characterized our own relationship. When had the two of them progressed to hugging? And had they progressed beyond it to something more intimate? I darted a glance at Jimmy Lee but he was smiling benignly. Not that he’d be likely to care if his common-law wife and his lawyer got it on. I would never, ever, understand my parents’ lack of possessiveness or jealousy.
Pogo trotted out from the kitchen and scampered over to sit at Gabriel’s feet, his head tilted inquiringly to one side. Gabriel bent down. “And who’s this? I didn’t meet you the other night.”
“Pogo. He’s with me.”
My dog sniffed Gabriel’s hand, gave it a lick, then bounced up onto all three feet, his tail wagging furiously.
“Pogo?” Gabriel echoed, squatting to stroke his back. “Making one leg do for two?”
“That’s the idea.”
Grace and Jimmy Lee had gone to the kitchen to make the final lunch preparations. I said to Gabriel, “You like animals?”
“Sure. What’s not to like?”
“Richard never had a pet when he was growing up.”
His hand stilled on Pogo’s back. “Had a gerbil once,” he said, a faraway expression in his eyes.
I frowned. Richard had never mentioned that.
A moment later Gabriel shook his head, gave Pogo another quick stroke, then rose to his feet. “But Diane’s allergic to cats and dogs.” Slanting me a sideways look, he said wryly, “Can’t blame that one on me.”
Richard hadn’t mentioned his mother’s allergies either. “No,” I murmured. In Richard’s stories, his mother was always the good parent and Gabriel the rotten one.
Suddenly it hit me. Tomorrow, Richard would likely call Gabriel and drop his bombshell. A wave of dizziness swept over me.
“Isadora?” He gripped my shoulders. “Are you all right? You look like you saw a ghost.”
I raised a shaking hand to my face. “I, uh, I’m fine. I guess someone walked over my grave.”
Here we were, talking in trite phrases, when Gabriel’s life was about to … what? Be turned on its head? Or was Richard right, and Gabriel wouldn’t care if Richard wasn’t his son?
I gazed into his face, saw the concern in his eyes, saw the moment it turned to something else. I became utterly aware of his hands, warm and firm on my shoulders, overlapping the thin cotton of my sleeveless top and touching my bare skin. Knowing I should move didn’t make it happen. My feet were locked in place.
Apparently, Gabriel’s were too, despite the fact Pogo was dancing around, giving attention-seeking whuffles and whines.
If he’d been any other man, I would have thought he intended to kiss me. If he was any other man, I’d have wanted him to.
No! No, of course I wouldn’t. I jumped backward and his hands dropped away. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Good.” He bent to Pogo again, and I couldn’t see his face, just glossy strands of black hair. Did that hair feel as soft as it looked?
I took a long, steadying breath, then went to greet the cats and apologize to them for Pogo’s presence. Soothing their anxiety settled my own nerves. So what if I had a physical reaction to Gabriel? No big deal; it was chemistry, plain and simple. Nothing would ever come of it.
When we all settled at the table, I even managed to look at him and ask, “What’s happening with Jimmy Lee’s case?”
“The cops and Crown Counsel seem convinced he’s guilty, and I’m operating on the assumption someone’s trying to frame him.” He turned to my dad. “Come up with any names for me to investigate?”
“Fuck, man, you’re on the wrong track. No-one would do that.”
“Jimmy Lee,” Grace said impatiently, “you’re being naive.”
“I like to think the best of people.”
“So do I. But let’s face it, some people do rotten things.”
“Okay, Grace, then you tell me. Who’d try to frame me and send me to prison for years and years?” My father glared at her.
Grace winced at the “years and years,” then shook her head. “I’ve been thinking and thinking but I haven’t a clue,” she admitted. Then, turning to Gabriel, “Maybe my naive man is right and it’s not a frame job. It’s possible that someone with the same initials dropped the lighter. And it may have nothing to do with the fire.”
“Anything’s possible.” Gabriel sounded doubtful. “I asked the cops if they’d run the initials through their database. They said yes, and the only likely prospect they turned up was Jimmy Lee. You’ve already told me none of your picketers have the initials JLW. So don’t discount the idea of a frame job. Keep your eyes and ears open. See if anyone’s been bad-mouthing you.”
“We’re getting together with some folks tonight. We’ll see if anyone’s acting strange,” Jimmy Lee said reluctantly. He passed the platter of grilled vegetables to Gabriel. “The meeting’s about the government cuts to programs for people with disabilities. We’re going to organize a protest, maybe a letter-writing campaign, rattle the cages of those government assholes.”
“Thought about legal action?” Gabriel asked, helping himself to a generous selection of peppers, zucchini, onions, and mushrooms.
“A lawsuit? Could we do that?”
“You and your friends likely wouldn’t have standing to bring an action unless any of them are suffering personally because of the cuts. The people who’d have standing are those with disabilities, whose employment, health, or quality of life are threatened. Get some of them together, file a class action suit. Might win in court. Even if not, it’d bring a lot of public attention. Bad PR for the government assholes.”
Gabriel passed the vegetable platter to me and I helped myself as I listened to the conversation.
“Come to this meeting and talk to us about it?” Jimmy Lee invited.
“Glad to. When and where?”
“Seven. Here. Though the group’s up past two dozen now.” He glanced around the small room doubtfully.
I winced at the thought of so many bodies crammed into this tiny apartment. And what did they intend to do with Alyssa? Someone would for sure be smoking pot.
“My place is big enough,” Gabriel said. “Would that work? You’d have to contact everyone and let them know.”
“No problem. Hey, that’s cool,” Jimmy Lee said enthusiastically.
Grace poked him with her elbow. “I’m not sure we can leave the apartment tonight.”
“Why? Oh.”
Knowing they were thinking of Alyssa, I jumped in. “I’ll look after that for you.”
“Would you, hon?” Grace asked gratefully.
Terrific. Now I was even more complicit. But it seemed like the least I could do, babysitting a frightened girl so my parents could do their bit to make our corner of the world a more humane place. It figured Gabriel would so easily let himself be co-opted to the cause. They were three peas in a pod, my parents and Richard’s father.
And the world would be a far better place if there were more like them.
I could be one, if I chose to. Grace could probably prevail on Libby’s mother to baby-sit tonight so I could go to the meeting at Gabriel’s. It was an important issue, one I believed in strongly.
The three of them were discussing what to bring in the way of food and drinks, firming up the details for the evening. Munching on grilled vegetables and home-made bread, I felt like an outsider. All it would take to become one of the club was to say I’d come to the meeting, and offer to bring a box of wine. But habit—my long-time desire to be someone different from my parents—kept me silent.
When talk turned back to Jimmy Lee’s case, I said, “Gabriel, you’ve spent a lot of time on this. What about your fees and disbursements? A
re you sure I can’t contribute?”
My dad promptly said, “I got it handled, Izzie.”
“Jimmy Lee and I’ve worked it out,” Gabriel confirmed.
“Have you really?” I asked skeptically.
“Same arrangement as last time Gabe represented me,” Jimmy Lee said. “Little bit a month until it’s paid off.” He dug into the bowl of kim chee.
“That’s not fair to Gabriel. You’re asking him to finance you.”
“Isadora, this is between Jimmy Lee and me,” Gabriel said firmly.
“But…” As I’d suspected, the man had no more business sense than my parents.
Grace’s brow furrowed. “Hon, Gabriel knows we don’t want to take advantage of him.”
“He’s in business,” I said to her. “Not only is he spending time on this case, he’s laying out money for disbursements.” I turned to Gabriel. “It’s not right you should be out of pocket for expenses.”
He shook his head, looking more amused than annoyed. “Thanks for your concern, Isadora, but I can afford to front a few disbursements.”
Jimmy Lee studied him. “Never really thought about it, but I guess a lot of your clients are like me. Not exactly deep pockets.”
“More like holes in their pockets.” Gabriel gave a rueful laugh. “You’re rich in comparison to some.”
“So you do pro bono work for the folks who can’t pay?” Grace asked.
“Sure, though most people want to pay something, even if it’s only a few dollars. It’s a matter of self-respect. Or they’ll provide some kind of service instead. I get free meals at half a dozen restaurants, which works great considering I’m a pitiful cook.”
“I’m guessing some of your clients are sex trade workers,” Jimmy Lee said, a twinkle in his eye.
Gabriel laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’ve lost count of the freebies I’ve been offered by them. Usually I’m fine with the barter system, but that’s where I draw the line.”
“Barter?” I said. He really was the most unbusinesslike man. Grace and Jimmy Lee were big on barter—or at least they had been until one of their friends got audited by Canada Revenue. “That can get you in trouble with the tax people,” I pointed out. “If you trade goods or services rather than pay cash, you’re supposed to report the value as income and pay income tax on it.”
“Yeah.” He studied my face, no doubt reading the censure on it.
After a moment, he went on in a measured tone. “You’re right. And I don’t want to get myself disbarred, so I’m careful about recording everything. My time, my bills, the value of goods and services I receive, any markdowns or write-offs I decide on. When it comes to income tax, I’m clean as a whistle.”
I was as surprised by what he’d said as by the fact he’d actually given me an explanation. He’d said he was no good at explanations, and I’d told him he could learn. Maybe he’d listened. And maybe I’d been wrong about his business sense. He might not make a lot of money, but he was responsible about managing his practice. “You still need a fair amount of cash, though. You can’t take all your payment in, uh, trade.”
He gave me another long, level stare. “Yeah, I gotta pay the rent, my assistant Miki, office expenses. And I do take in some cash.” A grin lit his face. “Literally. Actual bills, many of them pretty damn tattered. Miki says the bank’s finally stopped giving her funny looks when she makes the deposits.”
Reflecting on the nature of Gabriel’s clientele, I could imagine the source of some of those tattered bills. I wasn’t sure I’d even want to touch them, not without surgical gloves.
He leaned back, stretched. “Often think a person could write a book about the history of one of those bills. Starting out all clean off the printing press, then going from transaction to transaction, ending up in the hands of a sex trade worker, a junkie, a street person. And then to Miki and me, and then over to the bank.”
“In some cases the story has a happy ending,” Grace said. “When you can help the client.”
He nodded and dished out a second helping of kim chee. “I’ve had my share of successes.”
It struck me that his idea of success was very different from Richard’s. For Gabriel, it was springing a sex trade worker from jail or getting a welfare mom’s child back for her. “It must be difficult to make a go of it with a practice like yours.”
He shrugged. “Every now and then I get a file that’s worth a lot. Like now, I’m settling a medical malpractice case. Client’s an exotic dancer. I’d once represented her on a sexual harassment/wrongful dismissal case so she came back to me when she had another problem. She’d gone in for a lumpectomy and came out without a breast.”
Grace and I, both wincing, caught each other’s eyes.
“When she told me,” Gabriel said, “at first I figured the doc must have found the lump was malignant. He still shouldn’t have taken the breast without her consent, but it’d be hard to prove significant financial damages as she’d probably have been dead without the surgery. But when I started digging, it turned out the damn lump was benign. The hospital fucked up. Got her records mixed up with someone else’s and the doc didn’t notice.”
“You said she’s an exotic dancer?” Grace said.
“Was. And that’s our case for major damages. Lost income. Yeah, she got a breast reconstruction but her days of topless dancing are over. Could downgrade to bartender or waitress, but those jobs pay a lot less. She used to be a popular dancer at an upscale club. Some nights she’d take in a grand or more.”
“In cash,” I said. “Which she probably didn’t declare. How do you prove her income when you’re arguing for damages?”
Gabriel gave a satisfied grin. “She has detailed records. Didn’t used to, but when she first came to me we discussed her occupation and her business practices. Now she’s got everything in her bookkeeping program, and an accountant does her tax returns. She’s squeaky clean. The insurers had to admit it, and we’re settling out of court for a sum that’ll let her retrain to be an interior decorator, something she’s always been interested in.”
“And a job she can do for the rest of her life,” Jimmy Lee pointed out. “One that doesn’t depend on youth and looks.”
“It’s no compensation for losing a breast,” Grace said quietly. “Nor being forced out of a job she was successful at.”
Gabriel nodded. “True. And that’s the problem with cases like this. The money can’t fix the injury, can’t put things back the way they were, can’t heal the emotional scars. And the injured party has the ultimate frustration of knowing that, even if a hospital or doc screwed up badly, it’s the insurers who pay. At worst, someone gets a slap on the wrist.”
He popped a pickled radish into his mouth. “That’s the bad part. The good is the money. For her and for me. These cases pay for the others. I charge a contingency fee. Less than other firms but still pretty hefty.”
“If you don’t win the case, you don’t get paid at all,” I pointed out.
He shot me a gleaming glance. “Ah, but I’m a very good lawyer, Isadora.”
I could believe it. I had a moment of epiphany. I liked the man and respected him. Disconcerted, I nibbled a slice of pickled cucumber and glanced at him under my eyelashes as he talked to my parents.
Theoretically, it was good to like and respect my future father-in-law. But when I added those feelings to the attraction I’d felt from the moment I first saw him, Gabriel was looking far too appealing. So much for my theory that when I got to know him as a real person rather than a sexy stranger, I’d stop feeling this weird pheromonal buzz.
He turned one of those intense gazes on me and I realized he’d caught me staring. I swallowed, the cucumber went down wrong, and I began to cough.
When Pogo and I left the apartment half an hour later—having firmly refused a ride from Gabriel—I was edgy. I’d come seeking peace of mind and left feeling even more unsettled. Recently, that had been happening a lot.
Chapter 7
I
phoned Richard and left voice-mail saying I’d be spending the night at my folks’ place. I didn’t mention Alyssa, or the fact that I’d seen his father. Trying to conduct a relationship over the phone was pathetic. Hopefully we’d soon find the time to go apartment hunting.
Late in the afternoon, I took the bus back to my parents’ place, toting a backpack with some books and DVDs plus my overnight stuff. Knowing Jimmy Lee and Grace, they could be out to all hours.
My father came to greet me when I stepped into the apartment. Clinging to his hand was an elfin child with mocha skin, shy but sparkly brown eyes, and frizzy dark hair caught high in a ponytail. She reminded me of the cutest imaginable chocolate toy poodle.
From what Grace had said, Alyssa had been raised without many men in her life, but clearly she’d taken a shine to Jimmy Lee. Equally clearly, the feeling was mutual. It gave me both a chuckle and a pang of envy to see the doting expression on my father’s face.
The envy faded the moment Jimmy Lee gave me a warm smile and a wink. I leaned close to his ear and murmured, “So this is the child you’ve kidnapped.”
“Borrowed. Temporarily.”
I squatted down. “Hi, Alyssa. I’m Isadora. But if that’s too big a mouthful you can call me Izzie.”
“Hi,” the girl whispered, not attempting any form of my name.
“I hear we have something in common. Grace says you love animals, too.”
The response was a small nod.
“She’s been taking great care of our cats,” Jimmy Lee said.
“Good for you. I’ve got a couple of cats of my own, and a parrot. I have a little dog too, a terrier. He only has three legs.”
The girl’s eyes went big and round. “Three legs! Poor doggy.”
“He doesn’t think so. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s as fast on three legs as most dogs are on four. His name’s Pogo. If you want, you can meet him tomorrow when you come to visit my vet clinic.”
“Yes, please,” she murmured. And then, “Where is he now?”
“At home, guarding our apartment. Then he’s going to take my neighbor for a walk and make sure they both get their exercise.”