The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (32 page)

And of course, Robert couldn’t watch the news or the stock
reports, Suzanne could not play music, or cook, or draw a bath in the fabulous
tub.

They had no friends to visit. Maggie and Joe did not show up
in Washington on September first, much to Suzanne’s dismay. And Robert had not
paid attention to what the other temps had lined up for the fall when they
attended the June meeting.

Sure, they could drop in on their neighbors, and eavesdrop
on their conversations. But how pathetic was that?

* * *

The early morning rain blew sideways forcing pedestrians to
charge the onslaught with umbrellas thrust forward.

Lounging back in a wrought-iron chair, Robert stretched his
feet out from beneath the overhang of the coffee shop. A curtain of water
flowed off the building and through his legs. He and Suzanne were the only
brave souls sitting at the sidewalk tables.

“Remember the smell of rain?” she asked, her hands folded
casually in her lap.

“No,” he said. “I was the one rushing to work.”

As though to illustrate Robert’s statement, a bus stopped
and when the door opened, a man launched himself off the bottom step and across
the sidewalk. He briefly shook rain off his umbrella before dashing inside for
a cup of the latest latte.

“You were the one standing in the rain with your head tipped
up, bathing in its glory,” he chided.

“Someone has to appreciate life,” she said.

“So, what’s on your agenda for today?”

Lightning crackled, and Suzanne waited for the rumble of
thunder to stop.

“I’m going to meet the Lenox Square walkers at eight. One of
the women, Lucy, had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. They’re all concerned
about a mole on her back.”

“You don’t want to be late for that mini drama.”

“Just because you don’t eavesdrop on the gossip at the gym,
doesn’t mean I can’t get to know these women.”

“Men don’t gossip,” Robert pointed out. “They talk about
sports.”

Suzanne groaned. “I’ll take moles any day.”

“Why don’t you meet me at Audrey’s tonight? We can catch a
show, or a movie.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She stood, blew him a kiss, then stepped out into the
driving rain.

Robert zipped to his favorite fitness center at the corner
of Piedmont and Peachtree. Scanning the bank of televisions suspended from the
ceiling, he found the one playing CNN and positioned himself in front of it.
The sound was muted. The people on treadmills in front of the TV’s all wore
headphones. But usually the closed-captioning was turned on so Robert could
catch up on what was happening in the world.

The anchor of the morning program stated that Robbie’s trial
had begun. A two-second sound bite showed spectators jostling one another to
get a seat in the courtroom. Then there was a quick shot of Robbie and his
attorney, Donald Briscoe sitting at the defendant’s table. It was the first
time Robert had ever seen his son in a suit, at least as an adult. Had Briscoe
picked it out? Or had Rachel?

Three quick pics of Amanda, Robert, and Morgan, were flashed
in a box beside the anchor’s head as she retold the gruesome story once again.
The program even showed Robbie with his face bloodied and bruised from the
beating at the jail.

So Robbie’s trial was big enough news to attract national
attention. The courthouse and surrounding area would be a zoo. And yet, the
next morning, that’s exactly where Robert was: standing in the hallway in front
of the courtroom watching people push and shove to get a coveted seat for the
trial. The crowd of spectators leaned heavily to women. Probably Audrey’s
groupies.

There was no fanfare like on TV, where the attorney and
client climb out of a car and are mobbed by the press. Robbie and Donald
Briscoe merely stepped into the courtroom by a side door and took their seats.

Robbie looked like the clean-cut American success story.
Hair cut, tailored suit, even a power tie, like he was a businessman who had to
take time out from his busy schedule to get this misunderstanding settled.

First Robbie’s attorney tried to get the case dismissed for
numerous reasons. And the prosecutor objected. They met at the judge’s bench to
discuss.

Robert tuned out the argument and scanned the courtroom,
playing the game he and Suzanne sometimes did of guessing who the spectators
were and what they did for a living.

The heavy woman in the sweat suit had probably dropped her
kids off at school and rushed right over to get that front row seat. Or she’d
elbowed her way to the front of the queue. The man in the business suit
scribbling notes was an attorney, either getting tips on a case of his own, or
taking notes for Briscoe’s own firm. The elderly couple was easy; they had
nothing better to do. Robert counted 67 people, all willing to spend their day
watching Robbie’s trial.

The prosecutor had barely gotten through his opening
statement when Robbie began tugging at his tie. Once loosened, he unbuttoned
the stiff top button of his shirt with a grunt, like he might choke to death if
he didn’t get free.

The judge, a woman with short-cut gray hair, glared at him.

Half an hour later, there was a small commotion at the
defense table. Briscoe leaned to his assistant, who left immediately and
returned with water for Robbie.

After the lunch break, Robbie returned with his tie cinched
up tight again, but it looked like there might have been a struggle because the
knot was slightly off-center. Once the trial resumed, Robbie slipped a hand up,
yanked on the knot, and completely removed the tie. Robert could see Briscoe’s
jaw clench as he caught Robbie’s sabotage out of the corner of his eye.

By mid-afternoon, Robbie was fidgeting in his chair, wiping
his forehead with first one hand, then the other. Robert moved up right next to
Robbie for a closer look. He was sweating, drops rolling down the sides of his
cheeks and dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

Robbie started to shrug out of his jacket. Briscoe latched
onto the front placket, hoping to stop him. But it was like trying to settle a
four-year-old during the prayer at church. Robbie would have his way.

The train wreck continued. And the jacket was removed.

By the time the day’s session broke up at four o’clock,
Briscoe looked almost as wrung out as Robbie. He seemed to be holding himself
rigid, like he might explode before he got out of the courtroom. When he
reached out for the handle of the door, Robert noticed a small ring of sweat
under his arm. Good God, Robbie had driven a six-figure lawyer to distraction.

Robert went back to Rachel’s office to wait for Suzanne.
They were going to Veni Vidi Vici for dinner.

The phone on Rachel’s desk buzzed, and her personal
assistant announced that Donald Briscoe was calling.

Rachel checked her watch then took the call. Robert scooted
up close to hear both sides of the conversation.

“That was a complete disaster,” Briscoe said.

“How bad?”

“I’m beginning to think I should go with a plea of
incompetent to stand trial. For a while there, I was afraid Robbie was going to
strip down to his undershorts.”

“I guess our gamble backfired.”

“No,” Briscoe said. “Putting him in isolation was the right
thing to do. I had to get him healed up for trial. He would have picked another
fight first chance he got. I couldn’t have jurors staring at his beat-up face
and thinking he got what he deserved for killing his mother.”

“But now he’s off the pain killers.”

“And going through withdrawal big time. The judge called me
to the bench and I told her I thought he might be suffering from food
poisoning. I asked for a postponement, but she wasn’t buying it. We’ve got to
be back tomorrow morning.”

“What can I do?”

“I’d ask you to call him, but I’m not sure even you could
get through to him. I can’t. One thing is certain. He’s going to need another
suit. He sweated right through this one.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rachel said, and hung up.

She called her personal assistant into her office.

“Brenda, I need another suit from Muse’s sent to the
courthouse, and Robbie’s suit needs to be picked up and taken to the cleaners.”

“Same style okay?” Brenda asked.

Rachel nodded then called to her before she reached the
door. “You better send over a couple extra shirts, too. Make sure they’re all
cotton.”

* * *

The minute Robert and Suzanne got to the restaurant, he
headed upstairs to the bar. He needed a double.

The place was packed for happy hour, and he had no trouble
finding a scotch drinker. He did feel a bit guilty though, when he slipped into
a businessman drinking alone, and encouraged him to take a big long gulp.

Sheepishly, Robert sidled back over to Suzanne once he
popped back out. She was perched on a bar stool next to a woman sipping white
wine.

He plopped down next to Suzanne. She tilted her head down
and to the side as she glanced over at him.

“Rough day?” she asked.

“Kind of.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let the business get to
you?”

“I’m not.”

Still staring, she squinted her eyes at him. “Well,
something’s going on. You haven’t said two words to me since we left the
office.”

“I guess I’m just preoccupied.”

Her head straightened, and she looked across to the row of
bottles on a shelf before she turned back to Robert, her eyes flaring. “You
didn’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve been inside someone’s head. Who was it? Rachel?” Her
head quivered with anger. “I told you if you ever tried to interfere—”

Robert held up a hand to stop her. “Robbie’s trial started
today. I was at the courthouse, not Audrey’s.”

Instantly, she deflated. “Oh, Robert. How did it go?”

“All I can say is, I’m glad I’m dead, because I certainly
wouldn’t want to face the press after his performance today.”

“That bad?”

“You have no idea.”

Robert held up a finger, slipped down three seats, and got
another shot of scotch. Then he came back to the seat beside Suzanne and
continued.

“His attorney called Rachel after he left the courthouse. I
swear the man has never worked this hard for a fee in his life.” Robert shook
his head. “I found out something interesting, too. Remember the first time
Robbie got beat up and sent to the hospital? They put him on painkillers. But
when he got back to the jail, he was on his own again. So he picked a fight
with some guy that put him
back
in
the hospital. Briscoe finally insisted Robbie be secluded from the general
population at the jail, just so he’d heal up for his trial.”

“Dear God, he’s willing to take a beating for drugs?”

“I guess so. Now he’s going through withdrawal, and he can
barely sit still at the trial.”

“I suppose the news media is having a ball with that.”

“I don’t even want to watch the news,” Robert said, staring
off into the distance. “Poor Rachel, going through this alone.”

Suzanne placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s not alone. And
neither are you.”

Later, back at their model home, Robert lounged on their
fabulous bed, his arms tucked behind his head. Suzanne curled up next to him.

“Are you going back to the courthouse tomorrow?” she asked.

“I guess. I feel like it’s my duty, like I’m paying penance
for Robbie’s screwed up life.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She snuggled up closer, with her arm hugged across his
chest, and her leg draped over his thighs. Never in his life had he experienced
such intimacy. Sex was not an option. He couldn’t even feel her body wrapped
around his. But he felt the emotion. They were a team now, partners. No problem
was too great that they couldn’t face it together. And everything in his life
was made better because she was a part of it.

A twinge of pain needled Robert as he recalled Amanda and
Martin together in bed that morning, all wrapped up in each other; her not
caring that her hair was a mess. He’d understood immediately that they were in
love. And he was bitter that he’d been cheated of that experience.

Drawing his hands out from under his head, he draped Suzanne
in an embrace. He closed his eyes and let his mouth relax into a lazy smile.

“I love you,” he said softly.

She wriggled against him, trying in vain to get closer. “I
love you, too.”

“Even if we’re together for a hundred years,” he said, “It
won’t be enough.”

She lay quietly at his side for so long that he thought she
must have zoned out. But then a small whimper broke the silence.

“Aw, honey. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He sat up,
cursing himself for being such a turkey. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she wailed. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone
has ever said to me. It’s just that I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re
gone.” She buried her face in the crook of his arm. “I know I won’t be able to
watch you meet someone and fall in love again.”

“Aw, sweetie,” he chuckled. “I thought we went all over
this. We’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of us.”

He tickled his fingers under her chin.

“And what makes you think I’ll ever find another woman like
you? Every time some babe tries to get close, I’ll remember all the wonderful
times you and I have had. She won’t stand a chance.”

But instead of cheering her up, he seemed to have made things
worse. She whimpered again.

“That’s the thing,” she cried feebly. “I’ve been wondering
about our memories. Your memories. You know how you told me that your brain is
like a hard drive. When they thaw you out, they’ll just restart your computer
and you’ll be you.”