Hanging on a String (10 page)

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Authors: Janette M. Louard

BOOK: Hanging on a String
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9
“What do you mean you're letting an associate handle my case!”
I could hear Vincent Crown's outrage even before I knocked on Raymond's closed office door later that evening. Well, I thought as I knocked and waited to gain entrance, Vincent couldn't be more displeased than I was. I just hoped his displeasure carried more weight than mine.
“Come in,” Raymond called out.
I took a deep breath and calmed myself before I entered Raymond's office. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I had the impression from Vincent's shouting and carrying on that the next hour or so of my life would not be pleasant.
I opened the door and planted a grim smile on my face.
Raymond stood when I entered the room. Vincent remained seated, with a look that was at once dismissive and contemptuous. He was a man who had his own sense of style. From his permed hair, which hung to his shoulders, to his distinctive and quite obviously expensive tailored suit, and his grey alligator shoes, Vincent did not look like a man with self-esteem problems. He looked better in person than he did on television and in the various photographs of him in the newspaper. His skin was smooth and brown, and his features, while not particularly striking, were pleasant.
“This is Jasmine Spain,” said Raymond, as if this information mattered to Vincent.
“Mr. Crown.” I walked over to where Vincent sat and extended my hand in greeting.
Vincent refused to take my hand. He turned to Raymond and said, “There is no way in hell I'm going to let this woman take my case. She's an associate, for God's sake! Looks like she just passed the bar, for heaven's sake!”
I have often been told that one of my many vices is my inability to keep my mouth shut. The way Vincent looked at me was the same way my seventh-grade teacher had looked at me when I had told her I was going to be a lawyer one day. Contempt mingled with incredulity. Contempt at my brazen nature in daring to be something better than what he ever assumed I would be, and incredulity that I could be so stupid as to not recognize my limitations.
“Councilman Crown,” I said, stretching out the word “councilman” for emphasis. “I passed the bar approximately eight years ago, with the second highest passing mark in New York State for that particular year. Since then I have tried and won every single case that has come my way. Cases that have presented far more difficult issues than a man, albeit a high-powered politician, busted for soliciting prostitutes.”
Raymond cleared his throat, and I turned to look at him. Judging from his outward appearance, he remained calm and collected, but I could tell by the way he was tapping his index finger on his chin, with a quick tap-tap-tap, that he was livid. The one golden rule that Raymond adhered to was that every attorney who worked in a firm that carried his name must accept that the client was always right and should never, ever, not in this lifetime, be publicly contradicted or ridiculed. I had just broken that rule.
Let the chips fall where they may,
I thought as I found the nearest chair to sit in. I would be damned before I let some crooked politician who couldn't control his libido, and who was threatening to bring down the firm where I had spent a good part of my life these past eight years, talk about me as if I were yesterday's trash.
Oh no, as Dahlia would say, I'm not having it.
The councilman looked slightly amused and, I was horrified to see, turned on. Yuck. “Oh, you got a live wire right here, Raymond.”
“No,” I responded, “Raymond has a damn good attorney right here, Mr. Crown. An attorney who can keep you out of jail and help you repair what's left of your sorry reputation.”
Raymond started to cough. I knew I had gone too far, but it was too late to turn back now. If I was going down, I was going down in a blaze of fire.
I stood up and faced Raymond. “Raymond, it's obvious that the councilman objects to my presence on the case. Perhaps you and he can find another attorney to handle this business. I hear that there is a need for good advocates in prison. Mr. Crown is well known for his lobbying skills. I'm sure that he'll fit right in.”
Even though I disliked and had no respect for Vincent, his dismissal of my abilities stung. “Sit down, Miss Spain,” said Vincent.
I looked at him and waited for the magic word. I did not have to wait long.
“Please.”
I complied with Vincent's request. I thought I saw a look of admiration cross Raymond's otherwise inscrutable features, but I wasn't sure.
“I like a woman with fire,” said Vincent, with a low chuckle.
“So I've heard,” I responded. I was gratified that my response knocked the smile right off his face.
We spent the next two hours talking about the case. Vincent was now unsure about Chester's plea-bargain strategy. He was inclined to have the prosecutors prove their case. No jury was going to convict him. Vincent was convinced his popularity would insulate him from conviction, but I reminded him there were plenty of popular folks in jail. He wouldn't be the first one. It was finally decided that we would at least explore the possibility of a plea bargain with the possibility of counseling and community service, just as Chester had originally suggested.
I knew one of the assistant district attorneys in the case, Dante Maxwell. We'd gone to Columbia together. I was sure that we could talk off the record about a possible plea, and I was sure that Dante would be straight with me.
After we decided on the preliminary strategy, Vincent seemed to relax. “You're not half bad, Jasmine,” he said.
“Wait till you see her in action,” said Raymond, who appeared to be satisfied with the outcome of the meeting.
“Raymond, if you had put this pretty lady on my case in the first place, then I wouldn't be wondering what Chester did with my money.”
Raymond immediately grew tense. “We're working on that, Vincent. Give us time.”
“I want my money, Raymond,” replied Vincent.
I might as well have been invisible as Raymond and Vincent stared at each other.
Raymond was stalling for time. “We're working on it as fast as we can, Vincent.”
“Well,” Vincent said, standing up, “see that you do that. I would hate to have to go to the press about this, or worse, I would hate to have to take y'all to court. By the way, I assume that I won't be billed for this meeting?”
“No,” said Raymond calmly, but he had begun to tap his chin again.
Vincent left the office after a few more comments about my personal appearance and his desire to have his money returned.
“That guy is trouble, Raymond,” I said as soon as Vincent left, thinking of the mess that Chester had left behind.
Raymond nodded his head, his eyes far away.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know, Jasmine,” he said. “I wish to hell I knew.”
 
After leaving Raymond's office, I walked down the hallway, intending to go to the small cafeteria room at the other end of the hallway. I saw Nina and another woman walking in my direction. It was late—at least nine o'clock. I wondered what Nina was still doing at the firm but wasn't about to discuss that or anything else with her.
Nina, however, surprised me. Her dislike of me was well known, but she stopped in front of me as if she wanted to talk. The woman standing next to her was a prettier version of Nina. This was apparently the sister I had heard about. Nina's sister had darker skin, and she weighed at least a good twenty pounds more than Nina did. She was beautiful, with large eyes, long lashes, a perfect rosebud mouth, and small nose. She gave me a shy smile.
Nina spoke. “Jasmine, I owe you an apology.”
I fought the urge to look out of the window for signs of the apocalypse. Why was Nina suddenly playing nice?
“For what?” I asked.
“For the other day,” explained Nina. “In your office with Raymond. I guess I came on too strong.”
“Forget it,” I said. I already had.
“It's just everything has been ... you know, crazy since Chester... .” Nina's voice trailed off.
“It's no problem,” I said, wanting nothing more than to get away from Nina. She was only nice to folks when she wanted something. I was sure that she wanted something from me—probably information about what Raymond was up to—but I wasn't going to play that game. “Don't worry about it.”
“Jasmine, this is my sister, Gem,” Nina said, introducing me to the woman standing next to her.
Gem smiled again and stuck out her hand.
“Hi,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Jasmine,” Gem replied, giving me a firm handshake. Was this the sister who had the nervous breakdown? I wondered. I'd heard that Nina had taken care of her after her nervous breakdown. Looking at the pretty, smiling woman in front of me, I decided that she didn't seem to be particularly fragile. She was certainly friendlier than Nina.
“Well, I've got a lot of work to do—” I began.
Nina interrupted me. “Has Raymond found anything useful ... you know, anything that the police can use to catch whoever killed Chester?”
Bingo.
She wanted to pump me for information. Well, as they say, she was barking up the wrong tree.
“Not really,” I said. “Take care. Nice meeting you, Gem.”
I walked away quickly before Nina could ask me any more questions.
 
Dinner at my parents' apartment was usually a stressful affair. Dinner at my parents' apartment when there was drama surrounding either Thea or me became an exercise in dodging verbal grenades, usually lobbed by my mother. She didn't mean to be difficult; it just came naturally to her. My mother had summoned both Thea and me to her apartment for dinner. At first, I'd tried to get out of it, citing an unreasonable caseload and an impending trial, but my mother could not be moved. “I expect you here at eight o'clock sharp,” she'd said. “Your sister is coming, too.” I knew that my mother was beside herself with worry about Thea's marriage, but I didn't want to be dragged into what I was certain was going to be a prelude to all-out war. My mother was not going to go quietly. I just prayed that cooler heads, namely, Dad's, would prevail.
My parents had lived in their prewar apartment on Riverside Drive for over thirty years. The apartment, which had an unparalleled view of the Hudson River, occupied one of the corners of the fifteenth floor. A rarity in the New York housing market, the apartment was roomy, with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a formal dining room, living room, and separate library. My favorite room in the apartment was the huge, sunny yellow painted kitchen, which was filled with pots and pans, flowerpots jammed with flowers, and my mother's latest state-of-the-art kitchen appliances. My mother was an accomplished cook, and no matter how hard she worked, whenever I came home, there was always something delicious smelling cooking in her kitchen.
We sat in the kitchen, my mother, Thea, and I. My father and Reese had been banished to the living room. From the time I walked into the apartment, the atmosphere was tense. I was pleased to see that even though Thea was sad, she was holding her own against my mother, which was no small feat.
“One divorce in this family is enough,” my mother said as she sprinkled crushed garlic into the sauce she was cooking. “Jasmine, hand me the pepper over there.”
I did as I was told, but I also spoke up for my sister.
“Mom, if Thea wants to divorce Brooks, then we ought to support her.”
Thea mouthed a silent thank-you in my direction.
“But why?”
my mother railed. “She has no proof that Brooks was carrying on an affair ... and she's got to think about Reese. What's going to happen to him if Thea leaves her husband?”
Thea spoke up. “Reese will be fine, and so will I.”
My mother shook her head. “I don't know. I was watching one of those talk shows ... you know, with the kids piercing all sorts of body parts that don't need to be pierced, looking like cannibals ... and most of those kids came from divorced homes.”
“Mom, don't be ridiculous,” I said. I couldn't believe this was the same logical attorney who graduated at the top of her class. She sounded like someone who'd lost the ability to be rational, although I wasn't crazy enough to tell her that. “There are plenty of sociopaths that came from two-parent homes.”
“That's not the point,” my mother said, immediately abandoning her bad argument. “I
know
that sometimes even kids from the best of homes turn out to be juvenile delinquents, but Reese needs both of his parents.”
Thea sighed. “He'll have both of his parents. He just won't have us living in the same house.”
My mother started stirring the sauce vigorously. “This will
devastate
Reese.”

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