Buying Time

by Pamela Samuels Young

  Conversation came easily to them.

  “You have a great job,” Britney said. “You get to help people.”

  “I do like it,” Waverly said. “I actually got a call this morning from an L.A. Times reporter who’s doing a feature on the viatical industry. She wants to interview me. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to do it.”

  “Why not? It should be good for business.”

  Actually, he could use the publicity. But he couldn’t risk having the reporter dig into his background and find out that not only had he been disbarred, but that he’d gotten his viatical license illegally and was laundering drug money to boot. “We’ll see.”

  A little voice in Waverly’s head kept telling him to end the chitchat and go home to his wife. But something else kept him glued to the chair. It was ego-boosting to be in the presence of an attractive young woman, especially one who showered him with gratitude. He wanted to know more about her and she seemed willing and open to sharing.

  “How’d your last radiation session go?”

  Britney took a sip of her drink. “The doctor says I’m in remission now.”

  “That’s great news,” he said.

  Her face grew melancholy and Waverly got the feeling that she wanted more than words of comfort. He repositioned himself in the small wooden chair and tried to plan his exit.

  “I don’t expect to be in remission forever,” Britney said. “I know the cancer’s probably going to kill me before I’m forty. My father died of colon cancer and he was only thirty-five.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Waverly said, trying to sound empathetic. This time, he leaned forward and gave her hand a quick squeeze. When he tried to pull away, Britney placed her other hand on top of his and held it there.

  “It’s my fault,” she said, finally releasing him. “I never went in for checkups despite my family history.”

  Waverly had more questions, but held back. There was something in him that wanted to do more to help Britney than just hand her a check. She was a beautiful young woman who deserved to live a long, happy life. He dismissed her doom and gloom and figured she was just feeling sorry for herself.

  “I guess the good part of all this is that I don’t have any kids,” she said. “It was pretty rough when my dad died.”

  “No special guy in your life?” Waverly asked.

  She smiled. “Nope. I had just started dating this one guy when I found out about the cancer. It must’ve freaked him out. Haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”

  “Thanks. You’ve already done more than enough.”

  “Any reason you don’t want to go back to St. Paul?”

  “I’d just be a burden to my sister. My mother and I haven’t spoken in a couple of years.”

  “Do they even know about the cancer?”

  “Nope. If they find out, they’ll start pressuring me to move back home. I’ll tell them, but only when I have to.” She stared him directly in the eye. “Can I ask you something?”

  Waverly was about to give his consent, but Britney didn’t wait for it.

  “How long have you been married?”

  He really didn’t want the conversation to go in that direction. “Going on two and a half years.”

  “So you’re a newlywed,” Britney said. “Still happily married?”

  Waverly smiled. “Yes. Very.”

  “Your wife is really lucky to have a man like you.”

  In her own not-so-subtle way, Britney was coming on to him. A woman with her looks and body knew how to entice a man. But Waverly had never been much of a ladies’ man. He had a good thing with Deidra and wasn’t going to jeopardize it for a fling with a kid.

  “Is it okay if I call you sometime?” Britney asked. “Just to talk.”

  Waverly hesitated, then responded with an uncertain smile. “Sure.”

  He stood up. “I have to get home.”

  Waverly walked Britney to her car, where she thanked him for the umpteenth time. Her good-bye hug lasted much too long.

  As he climbed into his Lexus, Waverly scolded himself for staying as long as he had. He was giving the girl mixed signals. He hoped Britney didn’t call.

  If she did, he would befriend her from a distance, and that was it.

  CHAPTER 35

  Angela took the day off and spent most of it browsing furniture stores in Pasadena and West L.A. It was nearly seven when she finally returned home to do what she had to do. Cornell was in the den watching C-Span.

  “Glad you’re home,” he said, when she walked in. “You didn’t answer your cell. You feel like going out for dinner? I made reservations at Roy’s for eight.”

  A wineglass and open bottle of Merlot sat on the coffee table in front of him. It was just like Cornell to make dinner plans without inquiring where she might like to eat.

  “I already ate,” Angela said. It annoyed her that Cornell was pretending as if their conversation about calling off the wedding had never happened.

  “Cornell, we need to talk.” She set her purse on the coffee table, turned off the television and took a seat next to him on the couch.

  “You wouldn’t believe my day yesterday,” Cornell began, as if he hadn’t heard her. “The appellate court remanded another one of my cases. The idiots must be letting their interns write the decisions. And then this guy blows the date for filing his opposition brief and had the audacity to get nasty with me when I refused to grant him an extension. Can you believe that? I’m the goddamn judge. I have the power to hold him in contempt and he comes into my courtroom acting like an arrogant son of a bitch. It took every ounce of energy I could muster not to climb off the bench and kick his ass.”

  Angela almost laughed. Cornell had probably never had a fight in his life.

  “Did you hear me? I said we need to talk about the wedding.”

  “Yeah, I heard you. I figured I’d just leave the subject alone and wait for you to bring it up again. Are you done going through whatever hormonal stuff you were dealing with?”

  Cornell’s belittling attitude only strengthened her resolve. “You asked me to give my decision to call off the wedding some thought and I have. But nothing’s changed. I can’t marry you. I put the cancellation announcements in the mail a few minutes ago. I’m sorry.”

  His eyes narrowed and he didn’t say anything for a long while. “What’s his name?” he asked coolly.

  “This has nothing to do with anybody else.” Angela braced herself for an argument. “I just don’t think we should get married. It’s just not working for me.”

  “Not working for you?” His body stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t want to argue about it. I made my decision.” Angela stood up.

  Cornell charged off the couch and grabbed her arm. “Come back here. Do you realize what you’re doing? Do you know how many women would love to be in your shoes? After all I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get?”

  Angela felt a brief wave of panic, but knew showing fear would only embolden him. She snatched her arm away.

  “I’m sorry, Cornell. I’ll be packing up my stuff tomorrow.” She had anticipated that Cornell would not easily accept her decision. She had prepared an overnight bag, which was already in the trunk of her car. “I’m moving in with my sister. Tonight.”

  As she attempted to leave, Cornell grabbed her by the arm again.

  “Don’t you walk away from me!”

  Angela calmly matched his irate gaze with one of her own. “Let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”

  His grip tightened. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Somebody who doesn’t want to be married to you and this is precisely the reason why. You’re not a man, you’re a bully. Now let go of my arm!”

  It took another couple of seconds before Cornell roughly pushed her away. Angela swayed, then lost her footing and fell to the floor.

  His bul
ging eyes held such hostility that, for a moment, she feared that he might kick her.

  Angela crab-walked away from him, then awkwardly rose to her feet. “I was hoping we didn’t have to go through any drama, but I should have expected this kind of childish behavior from you.”

  “I don’t need you. If you want to go, then go.” He plopped back down on the couch and picked up the remote.

  Her heart beating wildly, Angela darted into the bedroom to retrieve her purse, then realized she’d left it on the coffee table in the den. When she walked back into the room, she found Cornell riffling through her purse.

  “You had the nerve to rent an apartment?” He held up her lease papers. “Where is it?” He scanned the pages, searching for the address.

  “None of your business,” Angela shouted, snatching the papers and stuffing them into her purse.

  She had almost made it to the front door when she felt Cornell’s fingers grip the back of her neck. He pulled her body toward him, almost lifting her off her feet, then twirled her around and hurled her against the wall. An explosion of pain shot down her back.

  “I want to know who you’re fucking!” he yelled, gripping her forearms and pinning her to the wall. She could feel his fiery breath on her face.

  Angela’s brave façade evaporated. She did not recognize this man.

  “Cornell, what are you doing?” she said, her voice trembling. “Please let me go.”

  He leaned in and roughly kissed her. Angela tried to wrestle away from him when the ringing of her BlackBerry halted his assault.

  Cornell snatched Angela’s purse from her shoulder and fished around until he found her BlackBerry. “Maybe it’s your boyfriend calling,” he scoffed. “Who is this?” he shouted into the phone.

  Angela prayed that it wasn’t Dre. She had promised to call him as soon as she finished breaking off things with Cornell. He’d probably become worried when she hadn’t called.

  Her chest heaved up and down as Cornell listened in silence for way too long. “Here,” he said finally, jamming the BlackBerry into her chest.

  Angela placed it to her ear. It was Jon’s sister, Debbie. She lived in the Chicago area. “Jon’s been in a car accident.”

  “What? I just talked to him a few hours ago.”

  “His car went off an embankment in Palos Verdes.”

  Angela closed her eyes and shuttered. “My God! Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Debbie said, clearly shaken. “They couldn’t tell me much. I just booked a red-eye. I won’t get there until morning. Before he passed out, Jon told the paramedics he needed to talk to you.”

  Angela immediately knew why. Jon’s accident was not an accident. Live Now really was murdering its clients. “I’ll head over now. Which hospital?”

  When she hung up, Cornell was standing in front of the door, blocking her path. “Why do you have to go?” he snorted. “He’s not your family.”

  “He’s my friend. Now move!”

  “We need to finish our conversation.” Cornell, looking flustered now, wiped his palm down his face. “Look, I’m sorry I—”

  “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Angela shouted. “Just get the hell out of my way.”

  She reached around him, opened the door and rushed out.

  CHAPTER 36

  Erickson knew it was nonsense, but he felt like a failure.

  “Just cool out,” Becker urged his friend. They were having lunch at the Jonathan Club. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  Earlier that morning, Erickson had received a call from the White House, but not the one he had been expecting. President Bancroft had made his pick and it wasn’t him. Marianna Cer-vantes, a prominent Latina lawyer from L.A. with strong political ties, would be the next U.S. Attorney General. The formal announcement would be made Monday morning.

  “It’s not like you’re not still chairman of one of the most influential law firms in the world,” Becker reminded him.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Erickson said dejectedly, sipping his second scotch, even though it was barely noon. “With the nonsense Ashley’s been spouting, it would have been quite an embarrassment to win the appointment and have the media jump on that story.”

  Becker picked up a piece of fried cod fish with his fingers. “Nobody’s giving any credence to what Ashley’s saying.”

  It puzzled Erickson that Becker was not more concerned about Ashley’s slanderous rants. Becker was the one with everything on the line.

  “Do you really think anybody would believe you murdered your wife when she was already dying?” Becker said. “If we’re lucky, somebody’ll do us a favor and have Ashley committed.”

  “I don’t think we can just ignore her. She’s starting to make noise about the insurance money, claiming I stole it from her.”

  Becker stopped chewing. “I thought you were going to give her the money?”

  “I tried. She wouldn’t accept it.”

  Becker broke off another piece of fish. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  Erickson took a bite of his grilled salmon, but he only had an appetite for scotch. “Were you able to find out anything more about an autopsy supposedly being done?”

  “It’s not happening,” Becker said. “Claire had cancer and that’s the official cause of death.”

  Becker leaned forward and slapped him on the arm. “Cheer up. Maybe you should take some time off.”

  “Yeah? And do what? I’d be better off pouring myself into a nice contentious contract dispute.”

  “You’ve been practicing law for more than thirty years. When do you plan to retire?”

  “Probably never,” Erickson chuckled. “I’ll be one of those lawyers who dies keeled over a brief.”

  Becker’s face turned serious. “I think it’s time for you to start thinking about a suitable successor. And when you do, can I assume that my name will be at the top of your list?”

  Erickson hesitated. “There are more than a few partners at the firm who want my job.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Becker replied pointedly.

  “Of course I’ll be nominating you. But the decision isn’t mine alone to make.”

  “True. But your recommendation would carry a lot of weight.”

  “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere for the time being.”

  Erickson could see the disillusionment on Becker’s face and that surprised him.

  “It doesn’t sound like you think I deserve the job.” There was a defensiveness in Becker’s delivery.

  Erickson smiled. “I think you’d make a great chairman.”

  Actually, he didn’t believe Becker possessed the leadership traits required to run a law firm of the caliber of Jankowski, Parkins. He was a super-talented lawyer in terms of intellect, but he lacked people skills. He’d lorded over his staff like an army general and was far too inflexible. Even more troubling, his ethics, at times, were questionable. Becker also insisted on putting his family first. No true leader did that.

  “Well, when you do decide to retire,” Becker said, “I expect you to lobby hard for me as your replacement.”

  Erickson had trouble meeting his friend’s demanding gaze. Was this the quid pro quo? I kill your wife, you give me your job?

  “I’ve been extremely loyal to you,” Becker continued, “and I expect the same loyalty in return.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Waverly had gone back and forth trying to make up his mind about doing the interview with the L.A. Times reporter. He finally decided it wasn’t worth the risk. He left the reporter a voicemail message with his decision, but the woman was as persistent as a busy signal and continued to call.

  Waverly didn’t realize just how persistent she was until he was sitting at the counter at the Pantry, his favorite place to order breakfast for lunch.

  A thin redhead slid onto the stool next to him just as he was about to dig into a plate of scrambled eggs and fried ham. “How’s
it going, Mr. Sloan? I’m Jill Kerr.” She waited a few seconds, as if to allow time for her name to register. “From The Times.”

  Waverly’s mouth fell open. “So you’re stalking me now?”

  “Nope. I think this is what you call fate. The Pantry is a popular hangout for Times reporters. Running into you is a complete coincidence.”

  Waverly didn’t believe her. “We’ve never met before. How’d you even know what I look like?”

  “The Internet. There’re quite a few pictures of you from your lawyer days. You haven’t aged a bit.”

  “Thanks.” Waverly picked up his knife, cut off a piece of ham and stuck it into his mouth. “But I still don’t want to be interviewed.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t trust reporters,” he said, still chewing.

  “Well, you can trust me. This is a feature story, for God’s sake. What are you afraid of?”

  Jill Kerr’s demeanor was too easygoing, which made Waverly wonder if she already knew things about him that he didn’t want her to know. She had probably spent most of her life using her pen as a sword. Waverly didn’t want to be the next interview subject she sliced to pieces.

  “You’re in a pretty interesting business,” Kerr began, after ordering coffee.

  “I told you I don’t want to be interviewed.”

  “How about this?” she said. “The minute I ask a question you don’t like, the interview’s over.”

  Waverly told himself to just climb off the stool and walk out of the restaurant. Instead, he eyed his plate. Unfortunately, the food was too good to waste.

  Jill took his silence as acquiescence and pulled a pen and notepad from her purse. “How’d you first learn about this business?”

  Waverly reluctantly told her about meeting Vincent at a con-ference. “When he explained the viatical business to me, I knew it was something I wanted to get involved in. The humanitarian nature of the business appealed to me.”

  “How do you find your clients?”

  “I do presentations for cancer support groups, hospices, churches, places like that.” Waverly said. “But a lot of my business comes through word-of-mouth referrals. Most of my clients find me.”