Waiting for Cary Grant (2 page)

Melvin had been talking for awhile and she hadn’t heard anything for the last few minutes. She usually didn’t feel much for other lawyers. If she had a thought one way or the other, it was probably disgust. And then there was Harlan. Every time they talked on the phone, something rioted inside her.

“Isn’t the deposition of the truck driver coming up?” Stephanie asked.

“I don’t know,” Mel said. Stephanie’s demeanor grew more grating each day. Where was the admiration he’d expected to evoke in this insipid woman? She was too self-confident. He’d change that. She’d be nothing without him. He’d throw her in the water in the Slade case and she’d come begging for help.

“Is Harlan Michaels married?” She asked.

“I don’t know. Why?” Melvin stared at her.

“Idle curiosity. I was just wondering if he has kids. He called yesterday and seemed concerned about Kathy Slade. That little girl is in a boarding school. She misses her family,” Stephanie said.

“She’s a spoiled monster! You should see this school. I should have such a flicking good education. And they have all this French Louis whatever shit around what they call a parlor.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Yeah. It’s St. Francis Girls’ School, right?”

“Right.”

“One of my old high school buddies lives on the same street. We snuck onto the campus once. We were about sixteen. You should see these girls. They prance around in their little school girl uniforms. They have an attitude. Think they’re too good to go down on a public school boy. But they’ll lift their skirts for the first—”

“—Mel, she’s just a child!”

“Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking! Where was I?” He rubbed his hands together. “You know,” he smiled, “you hear about those molestation cases all the time. What if she got raped? By a priest? That would be great. We’ll tell the jury that’s why she’s a mess!”

Stephanie covered her face with her hands.

“I don’t feel bad for Kathy. She’ll grow up to be a snooty bitch who thinks she’s better than anyone else. Even worse, she’ll have her own money. Michaels always gets lucky. Have you heard anything about him and a Victoria’s Secret model?”

“No. We should settle this case. What could be more traumatic than losing your parents at eleven?”

“Private schoolgirls are already screwed up. In a few years, she’ll be a teenager. And who wouldn’t want to lose their parents at that age? These girls all have their own computers. They have more games more than I do. And horses. My daughters never went to St. Francis Boarding School.”

“I didn’t know you have daughters,” Stephanie said.

“They’re with their mother. I never see them.”

“I’d better get ready for the deposition,” Stephanie said, grateful for a reason to get away from Mel.

“Are you going to see Harlan Michaels?” Linda, a secretary, nearly fell against the door leading into Mel’s office.

Melvin looked up. If the bitches would spend half as much time working as gossiping, he could fire more of them.

“Go back to your desk,” He barked.

Stephanie grabbed work off her desk and ran out the office door. A pick-up truck sped by within an inch of her waist. The wind blew her skirt up. Somebody grabbed her. She’d almost walked right in front of that truck.

“Oh my God.” She whispered aloud. Muscular arms held her own. She felt the rapid breathing of the taut body that covered her. Someone had saved her.

“Try looking both ways.” A masculine voice sneered.

She stared into the eyes of Harlan Michaels. They looked angry.

He moved away but she could still feel him holding her. Something about his fingertips left imprints on her. She felt torn between gratitude and irritation.

And she felt something else. They’d been too close for any physical secrets. Harlan Michaels’ heart had pounded fast against her back.

She’d felt his fear.

“I
had a girlfriend who went to school here. That relationship didn’t work out too well. I was miserable. Thank God for the other women who helped me through it.” Harlan smiled.

He’s such a pig, Lana thought.

“Lana, I’m on your side,” Harlan said.

“I don’t have a side. Is this war?” She glared at him.

“Could be,” he said.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“Lana, it looks like we’re going to have to get along. I’m not the bad guy. Why do you work here? Are you training to be a school mistress. Head matron? What do they call it?” He asked.

“Oh, please.” She brushed back her hair. Was she starting to seem sexless? “I think the term is principal, Harlan. Forget about mistress.”

“Why do you have such an aversion to men?”

“To men? Did you ever think it might be personal?”

For once, Harlan Michaels was speechless.

“I don’t want Kathy exploited for a lawsuit. She’s been through enough trauma for a lifetime. And she’s only eleven,” Lana said.

“Lana, we both want to help Kathy.” He offered his most flattering smile.

“Don’t speak to me in that patronizing tone.” She replied.

“I’m not patronizing you. I’m fighting for Kathy too.”

“What’s this case about? Besides money for you?” Lana asked.

“Safety Tire’s a parasite. We’re all the hosts. We’re all getting sick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Multipiece wheels should have been off the road years ago. Safety Tire knew about the explosive separations in the seventies. Tire repair workers have been decapitated by the force of wheel parts separating out during servicing.”

She winced. “I remember seeing something about it on the Internet. I thought the National Highway Traffic Safety Association dropped their investigation of Safety Tire’s multipiece wheels. They didn’t order a recall.”

“And that means nothing’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m not that naive.”

“That’s good, Lana. They conservatively calculated the cost of a recall at one hundred fifty million dollars. A huge amount of money even for a corporation like Safety Tire. But the National Highway Traffic Safety Association had already realized that the accidents were only beginning. The rate of failure seems to be a function of the age of the wheel, maintenance, and to some extent, chance. Catastrophic wheel failures increase with the erosion of parts over time.

The locking ring that holds the rim base and wheel corrodes and causes an explosive separation. It’s completely unpredictable when it will happen.

So the National Highway Traffic Safety Association notified the company that shamelessly calls itself Safety Tire that the multipiece wheel investigation has become a top priority. And it’s an election year.

So Safety Tire Executives start to sweat. Even a consumer notification program will cost several million dollars. Their stock’s inflated.”

“So they didn’t do anything?” Lana asked.

“They did something. Just not the right thing. At the time, their European suppliers were paying substantial kickbacks. Safety Tire had been funneling the money through European bank accounts to avoid American taxes.

This bastion of patriotism suddenly feels an urge to contribute to the reelection campaign of a politician. Overnight, money empties out of the European bank accounts.

The head of the National Highway Traffic Safety Association’s investigation, an eminent engineer from M.I.T., is immediately transferred to an obscure position in the midwest. He’s replaced by someone who doesn’t know anything about product defects. The investigation closes without a consumer notification or recall.”

“And they got away with it?”

“Not completely. Irregularities showed up in the campaign contributions. Executives were subpoenaed to testify before Congress. The Chairman of the Board had a substantial memory deficit. He didn’t recall any government investigation pertaining to Safety Tire. At the time of the campaign contribution, with which he unintentionally, of course, violated Federal Election Laws, he was unaware of any material problems Safety Tire faced with any branch of the Federal Government.”

“So how did they explain the campaign contributions?”

“Altruistic concern for the welfare of the country.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I wish. I’ll be deposing one of these expatriates in Provence next week. He’s had a home there for years.”

“So how soon after they manufactured the multipiece wheel did they discover how dangerous it was?”

“What makes you think they found out after?”

“They knew before?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can you prove that?”

He nodded. “I can’t go into it with you now.”

“Harlan, if what you’re saying is true—“

“—Of course it’s true.” Harlan snapped. No one ever questioned him.

“It’s not just about her stutter, Harlan. It’s grief counseling. I’m trying to get her through it. She’s eleven and on the brink of adolescence and all that means. By stuttering, she may even be asking for attention. But then she’s not sure what to do with it when she gets it.”

“Sounds like a lot of girls I know.” Harlan winked.

Lana decided that comment was better left unexplored. “I’m working on building her trust. With you here, it could break down. Or worse.”

“What do you mean or worse?” No one had the nerve to speak to him like this.

“Transference. She’ll see us as parent figures. You’re already going after the wheel company that destroyed her family. You’re already looking like the good guy. To her.” Lana emphasized.

“I’m not going to play Mommy and Daddy with you, Lana.”

“I’m talking about perception—”

“—I’m a trial lawyer. Don’t tell me about perception.”

“You can’t hook her and then just write her off. She’s a child. Not a disposable blonde.”

Harlan wondered if she’d seen him with one of his girlfriends. Where did women learn this stuff? He felt a tinge of paranoia. Then he looked down at Lana’s golden highlights.

“Oh, I get it. You’re a blonde. But not disposable?”

“That’s right. And neither is Kathy. Goodbye.”

O
n the way home, Lana kept thinking about Harlan. She didn’t want to run into a nosy neighbor. She moved furtively towards her little house.

She made it through the door undetected and sighed with relief. Then she answered the threatening meows of two oversized male cats.

Open that can now, her tabby commanded. She checked her Blackberry. An email confirmed her latest Cary Grant order from Netflix. She was just two Fancy Feast can openings away from relaxing with Cary Grant and a glass of wine.

“Moxie, you’re not starving.” She affectionately reminded all twenty pounds of him. But you don’t joke with a cat who wants to be fed. Unless you want an unpleasant surprise or two or three later.

When they stopped howling and started eating, she crawled under her comforter, reached for the remote and her worship began. The credits rolled out his name and his visage filled the screen. She’d picked out her favorite tonight. Every Girl Should Be Married. It was the perfect movie. Cary Grant starring with one of his real life wives, Betsy Drake.

Drake’s character exuded the immensely positive and unwavering belief that if she only marries Cary Grant, the whole world will come into balance and everything will be right. Cary Grant plays a baby pediatrician-which she enthusiastically proclaims is the most wonderful thing a man can be! Her assurance that marrying him will bring the whole universe into balance is unhindered by the cynics—including him—she encounters along the way.

More than anything, Lana wanted to live in a world where love conquers all, the good guys win and there’s a happy ending. Counseling traumatized kids came with vicarious sadness. And she had no ready explanation for Kathy. The defective wheel shouldn’t have been on the truck. The truck shouldn’t have hit her family.

She adored Cary Grant movies because love and hope flourished and usually culminated in an engagement ring.

In Every Girl Should Be Married, love triumphed and Cary wanted to be caught even though he didn’t realize it till the end.

She remembered Harlan Michaels. She thought his picture should be in the dictionary next to arrogance. Why didn’t they make them like Cary Grant anymore?

S
tephanie had made plans to see Lyla, her best friend and only balm to the insanity of her current litigation schedule.

“This table is reserved.” The waitress snapped when Lyla and Stephanie pulled out chairs at the best table adjacent to the dance floor after picking up drinks.

“Reserved for us,” Lyla said.

“No. Reserved for people who paid for dinner,” the waitress snapped.

“People will buy us dinner,” Lyla sat down.

“Most lawyers wouldn’t pull you back from a speeding truck. They’d push you in front of the truck and take the case. Stephanie, sit down and drink,” Lyla commanded.

“I think he did it instinctively.” Stephanie sipped her champagne.

“Can’t you drink a Cranberry Cosmo like everyone else?”

“I’m an old fashioned girl. I like champagne.”

“There’s something about him.” Stephanie thought about telling Lyla about feeling Harlan’s pounding heart. The feel of his fear. She changed her mind. It seemed too private.

“Hottie at 12 o’clock.” Lyla said. At their bar, Lyla insisted on identifying the good looking men’s location by hours on the clock.

Stephanie turned and looked at the hot young animal across the room. She nodded.

Filled with good looking young men, and a friendly atmosphere, it was a restaurant where any woman who said she was alone by choice had credibility. Stephanie and Lyla liked to go there for credibility.

“He’s intimidating. There’s something kind of hot about him though.”

“Low levels of fear and excitement produce similar physiological responses. People become confused. You’re a little frightened by Harlan. He’s a successful lawyer.”

“Are you saying that I don’t know the difference between scared and attracted?” Stephanie asked louder than she intended. Sometimes Lyla got on her nerves.

All ten men at the counter leaned forward. One smiled at Stephanie.