Man at Work

by Elaine Fox

  It didn’t matter, though. Whether or not Truman had planned to reveal himself at the trial was beside the point.

  The point was he’d lied to her. Not just one little white lie or a fib that could be excused or explained away. He’d lied about everything.

  Every nerve quivered with outrage.

  Then there was the way she’d been made a fool in front of Win Downey. The look on his face when she’d turned around after Strape’s accusation could have melted polar icecaps. She was afraid to think of all the things he had to say to her now.

  As the courtroom emptied and she stuffed her pad, pens, index cards and notes back into her briefcase, she felt Win come to stand beside her table.

  “Ms. Paglinowski,” his deep voice, the one that resounded so authoritatively in courtrooms and intimidated too many judges and jurors to count, said.

  She looked up, steeling herself for the reprimand she knew was coming. Despite having triumphed on the ruling, she was sure it was obvious to everyone that there had been some sort of personal relationship between herself and Truman. She’d been unable to catch a glimpse of Strape’s pictures, but she’d sooner poke out her own eyes than admit to any interest in photographs of that sort.

  “Win, hello,” she said. Straightening and pressing her palms down the sides of her skirt. “I wanted to tell you I’m sor—”

  “I just wanted to congratulate you,” he said with a beaming smile.

  He held his hand out to her and, dazed, she put hers into it.

  “You were brilliant today, Marcy. Just brilliant,” he continued. “By God, when that contemptible…” He cast his eyes towards Strape’s table and shook his head, pressing his lips together. “You know I don’t like to speak ill of other attorneys, but when he pulled that stunt with the pictures I was ready to leap over the bar and have at him myself.”

  Marcy could only gape at him, her hand still being shaken by his. So he wasn’t angry with her when all that had come out, he was upset with Strape. Relief coursed through her.

  Win contemplated the contemptible Strape’s table a moment longer, then turned a brighter expression to Marcy. “But you recovered, Marcy, and you let him have it. I tell you, I couldn’t have been more proud. You’ve lived up to every ounce of expectation I’ve had of you since you wrote me that first letter from college.”

  She swallowed. “Win, thank you. That means so much. I…I don’t know what to say.”

  He beamed again and clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s all right. You had enough to say when it was important. And getting Tru Fleming as a witness! My word, what a stroke of luck it was that he was at the site, though I have to say I’m a bit perplexed by that. Maybe it was some sort of research for a case, as unorthodox as that would be. I suffered one of my most devastating losses at his hands, did I ever tell you that story?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She was pretty damn sure. If she’d ever heard Truman Fleming’s name before that day at the construction site, it could have saved her weeks of torment.

  “Sullivan versus the D.C. Board of Education,” Win said. “Remind me to tell you about it someday.”

  “I will. Yes, that would be very interesting.”

  He let go of her hand and twisted his watch around his wrist to see the face. “Gotta run. I didn’t mean to stay the whole day but you were doing so well and that—that—well, let’s just call him opposing counsel, shall we?” He grinned and winked at her. “He stirred things up so much I decided I had to stay in case he tried anything else.”

  “I do appreciate your being here, Win. I was really quite nervous.”

  “Didn’t show a bit, Marcy. But now I’m behind, so I’d better run. More tomorrow, eh? Well, you shouldn’t have any trouble taking care of that. Come to my office once things finish up, all right?”

  “Of course,” Marcy said. “And thank you again for being here.”

  Win laughed, the sound echoing around the now empty courtroom. “Thank you for making it too interesting to leave.”

  Marcy watched him go, then finished gathering her things. As she headed for the doors she turned and looked at the witness stand. The last place the Truman Fleming she had known had been, and the first place from which the real Truman Fleming had emerged.

  She turned, glanced at her watch, and walked up the aisle to the doors.

  She was meeting Calvin and Sheila for dinner in an hour, giving her just enough time to stop by the office, then go home, change her clothes, and drive to Kalorama to look for Sheila’s house.

  Apparently Calvin had told Sheila the truth and she’d taken it every bit as well as Marcy had thought she would. Now, tonight, they were having a small dinner in celebration and Calvin said it would mean the world if she could be there. After all, he and Sheila would never have met if it hadn’t been for Marcy.

  He also wouldn’t be on his way out of the shelter, he’d added on the phone last night, if not for her making it possible for him to begin catering. He was so excited about it all there was no way she could turn him down even though she knew she would be exhausted.

  Little did she know she’d also be shell-shocked. The day had taken everything she had out of her, and more.

  Truman watched his mother flutter around Calvin Deeds like a wildly hospitable butterfly. She was crazy about the man. And Truman had to admit he liked him too. Calvin Deeds was a gentleman of the old school, with quiet manners and an aura of dignity. From the moment he’d entered the house, handing Reginald his hat and overcoat with a gracious little bow and a “Thank you, sir,” Truman knew he would like the man.

  “You sure I can’t freshen your drink?” Tru’s mother asked Calvin again.

  “You can freshen mine,” Truman said, holding up his tumbler, now empty of scotch and soda.

  “Oh, you can freshen your own,” his mother said, with a wave of her hand.

  He chuckled and went to the bar as the two of them talked.

  He didn’t normally drink hard liquor, but the day had been extraordinarily draining. Not just the trial, but the agonizing period afterward when he second-guessed every decision he’d made in the last two weeks. Though he’d left his failed secret life without a clue to Marcy where to find him, he still struggled with what he’d done, from disappearing to revealing himself to her.

  Not that he’d planned on the latter, necessarily. He’d actually planned to show up, testify, and leave. He and Marcy had said everything to each other they’d needed to say that night at the Rock ’n’ Roll holiday party. They’d each stated their beliefs and they were mutually exclusive. What good would revealing himself do?

  Then the moment in court had arrived and Strape had pissed him off so badly that without giving it additional thought, Truman had done what he could to push the man off balance.

  Ultimately it didn’t matter, however, he told himself. Even if he hadn’t said who he was, Win Downey, whom he hadn’t realized was involved enough in the case to actually be there, would have told her just who he was and would probably even tell her where to find him now, if she really wanted to know.

  And if she sought him out now, he’d know it was because he’d been transformed from the pauper into the prince.

  His only real problem was that he couldn’t let the damn thing lie. He kept asking himself if ending things with her was the only answer. Would he really never know if she cared for him? What if they tried a relationship with everything out in the open? Would he not be able to tell how she felt about him? Surely the worst that would happen was he’d discover in her what he’d discovered in other women—that they liked the socialite life-style more than he could tolerate.

  But it was no use. His own wariness, he knew, more than anything else, would make a relationship impossible.

  Besides, he thought, he’d made his decision about the life-style too. Instead of trying—unsuccessfully, he’d finally determined—to make it in a blue-collar world, he was instead going to put his education and training to work in the small tow
n of Windslip, North Carolina. He was going to open his own firm and hopefully get a chance to help people who couldn’t ordinarily afford to hire an attorney.

  The doorbell rang and Truman saw Reginald cross the hallway outside the parlor and head toward the door.

  “That must be Calvin’s friend,” Tru’s mother said. “I do hope she’s not too tired from her busy day.”

  Truman experienced a sinking feeling in his gut. He hadn’t known Calvin’s “friend,” also invited to dinner, was a woman. Were the lovebirds setting him up with someone? He closed his eyes in dread.

  “She’s a lawyer, too, Truman.” His mother gave him an encouraging smile. “She was in court today, so Calvin was afraid she wouldn’t be able to make it.”

  They were trying to set him up. Truman wondered how he could excuse himself early, like before the appetizer. He was through with women, he thought resolutely, at least for a while.

  Calvin stood as the noises of entry sounded in the hall, soft talk, the exchange of coat for drink order, then the footsteps toward the parlor.

  Calvin approached the archway to the hall. Truman just caught a glimpse of dark hair on a small, slender woman before Calvin hugged her and Marcy’s face appeared over his shoulder.

  Truman’s breath stopped. How—when—did his mother know about Marcy?

  But it was Calvin who was hugging her.

  A second later Calvin turned her loose and, with a smile, she moved toward his mother with her hand out. As her gaze scanned the room, however, it landed on him and she froze, hand still outstretched toward his mother.

  Okay, Truman thought, so she hadn’t known he would be here.

  But how—if she knew his mother, surely she must have thought there was a chance…

  “Truman,” she said. “What on earth…?” She glanced back at Calvin.

  Calvin gave a chagrined jump and came forward. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Marcy, this is Sheila’s son, the one I was telling you about.”

  Marcy’s stunned gaze was still on her friend. “The one you were telling me about?” She looked confused, then aware. “The Peace Corps one?”

  “The Peace Corps?” Truman echoed.

  “Well, not really, but yes, that’s the one. You remember, don’t you, Marcy?” Calvin asked.

  Marcy turned slowly back to Truman. “You’re Sheila’s son? You’re the one who…?” She stopped talking and looked into his face, into his eyes, with such a penetrating look of astonishment he didn’t know what to say.

  “Yes. I am Sheila’s son,” he said finally. “How do you know my mother?”

  “You two know each other? How wonderful!” His mother clapped her hands together once. “Although I guess it’s not really surprising, since you’re both lawyers.”

  “There are thousands upon thousands of lawyers in D.C., Mother. I didn’t meet Marcy until…”

  He looked at her, unable to continue. He pictured her that night they’d stolen the dog. So beautiful and so capable. She was always so sure of herself. Even today in the courtroom she’d handled things better than he ever would have expected in the face of what had happened.

  Marcy turned suddenly toward his mother. “Sheila, I’m so sorry. How rude of me. I haven’t even said hello. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too, dear,” his mother said, taking Marcy’s hand in both of hers.

  “I had no idea you were Truman’s mother. He was an important witness in my case today. That’s how we know each other. I guess I never got your last name when we met at the Downey Fin party. And Calvin always refers to you as ‘Sheila,’ or ‘dear lady.’” She sent her friend an affectionate smile.

  Truman thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Or more untouchable.

  His mother smiled, gratified. “Isn’t that sweet?” She turned to Truman. “I didn’t know you were a witness in a case.”

  Truman raised a brow. “No?”

  Frowning at him his mother turned her attention back to Marcy. “Well, I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Yes…I…” Marcy glanced at Truman. “I’m so sorry, as it turns out I can’t stay long, only a minute after all.”

  “Oh, no,” his mother said, looking truly crestfallen.

  “Didn’t things go well today?” Calvin asked, worry mottling his brow.

  “Actually,” Marcy glanced fleetingly at Truman again and he noticed the pink tingeing her cheeks. “Yes, things went very well. But there’s still one more day, and I really need to prepare. The opposing counsel in this case is apparently adept at coming up with unexpected, and disturbingly unorthodox, ways to seek the advantage.”

  “Surely you can stay for dinner, though,” Tru’s mother said. “We’ll eat right away. You have to eat sometime, don’t you, dear?”

  He’d known his mother would like her. He just hadn’t known she’d meet her unless he’d orchestrated it.

  “Yes,” Truman said, feeling suddenly afraid that if she walked out that door now he’d never see her again. He didn’t think about the fact that never seeing her again was precisely what he’d planned just hours ago. “Do stay. For dinner. It’s all ready.” He swept a hand out toward the dining room.

  She was here, after all, he told himself. And like his mother said, she did have to eat sometime. Surely one dinner together wouldn’t hurt. And he’d have a chance to tell her why things wouldn’t work out between them, despite their being more alike than she’d previously known. She probably thought she should leave because he was still angry with her after their argument.

  “No,” she said flatly, looking him straight in the eye. She turned to her friend. “Calvin, I’m really sorry. We’ll have to do this some other time. But I did want to stop by and say how happy I am for…” She glanced between Calvin and Tru’s mother. “Well, just for seeing you two together.”

  “We will do it again. Soon. When you’re free,” Truman’s mother said.

  “Thank you for stopping by anyway,” Calvin said, kissing her on the cheek as she turned to leave.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Truman said suddenly, surprising himself.

  “That’s really not necessary,” Marcy replied.

  “I think it is.”

  They all looked at him. Marcy just shrugged and turned to the door.

  As they walked to the hallway Truman berated himself with everything he had in him. What on earth was he walking her out for? He had no idea what she could be thinking, but he was pretty sure she was miffed at him for not telling her he was actually a lawyer not a construction worker. But was that something he should apologize for? If not, why did he want so badly to see her alone?

  He mentally cringed. What a godawful mess.

  Reginald met them by the door and handed Marcy her coat and purse. The same camelhair coat, Truman noted, that she’d worn the day she’d first confronted Chuck Lang.

  They stepped out onto the front porch. Truman shivered in his long-sleeved polo shirt.

  “Where’s Folly?” she asked the moment the door closed behind them.

  “She’s out back.” The hard tone of her voice took him by surprise. “There’s a yard—”

  “I’ll be coming to get her. I’m moving out of my apartment and I’ll be able to take her.” She glared up at him. “I know you never wanted her. Not really.”

  “Not in the beginning,” he admitted, still at a loss to decipher her mood. He didn’t want to lose the dog, too. But how stupidly sentimental would it be to hang on to her? “But now, I…”

  “You know, Truman,” she said, the words bursting from her as if they could not be contained any longer. “You really have some nerve. You had me questioning my entire life, everything I thought and did, and wore and bought for that matter, all for your stupid, pretentious experiment. Living honestly, you called it. Give me a break. Every person I know is living more honestly than you are, Truman Fleming, and that includes that snake Marty Strape from court today. While you were out there playing poor, and preaching to m
e about the real world, how real people live, did it ever occur to you to ask yourself how real you were, Truman?”

  She stopped for one quick breath and continued, “Of course it didn’t. Because you know everything. You’re superior to everyone. You can sit there in your hovel with the comforting knowledge that the family bucks will bail you out of any real trouble. And you sneered at my desire for security. Now you’ll be able to sit in your luxurious home or your posh office assuaging your affluent guilt with the knowledge that hey, you gave it a shot, you lived like a poor person once for a few months. You know how the other half lives. Well, guess what, Truman, you’ll never know how the other half lives. Only a person who’s had money his entire life could think that playing poor could possibly be the same as being poor. You’re an affront to all working people, you know that? And you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  She exhaled once, in finality, spun on her heel and strode down the steps toward her car. Truman stood paralyzed on the top step.

  As she opened the Lexus’s door, however, she turned.

  “By the way, where’s the truck, Truman? Didn’t it go with the outfit?” she asked, sweeping one last disparaging glance over him before getting in the car and slamming the door.

  She peeled out of the driveway, barely stopping in time to let the gates open before speeding down California Street toward home.

  Truman stood in the frigid air, no longer feeling it, staring at the red vapor trail left in his eyes by her tail-lights.

  She didn’t want him.

  She really didn’t want him.

  The money had made a difference all right, but not the one he’d expected.

  She thought he was a hypocrite.

  He exhaled slowly, his own perceptions of himself crumbling within him.

  Maybe he was a hypocrite.

  He turned numbly to the house and opened the door.

  “Truman, we’ve decided to eat now anyway,” his mother called as he walked in a daze across the hall. “Come to the dining room.”