Waiting for Cary Grant (3 page)

“No. Just that one can be similar to the other. Maybe you’re frightened but excited. Or excited but frightened. What’s that woman doing in here? She looks like a Victoria’s Secret Model.” Lyla sounded outraged.

Stephanie followed the direction of Lyla’s head. Harlan Michaels sat with a big-breasted blonde.

“That’s him. That’s Harlan Michaels.”

“From the look of those fake nails and breast implants, he’s not practicing Environmental Law. HA!” Lyla said.

“I just want to do a good job.” Stephanie crunched her napkin.

“I know. But watch out for Harlan Michaels. He wants to win this lawsuit. And you’re getting in his way. Stay strong. Keep a waxed upper lip.”

Stephanie remembered being pulled back against his taut body. If it hadn’t been for Harlan, she’d be splattered on the pavement now. She’d felt gratitude and irritation at the same time. Like everything about Harlan Michaels, her feelings about him were paradoxical.

She had to be at a deposition with him tomorrow. For the first time in weeks, she pondered what to wear the next day. Should she go shopping? Did she have the right pumps? Some of Harlan’s shoes cost more than hers. How irritating.

“Lyla,” Stephanie leaned over and whispered.

“I have a thing for Harlan.” She clutched her cocktail napkin tightly.

“Duh.” Lyla laughed.

“He’s hot. And you distracted him from a disposable blond.” She lifted her glass up for a toast.

Harlan walked over to their table.

“Would you girls like a private jet or something? What can I buy you? Are you drinking champagne Stephanie?”

“Why not?”

“I like that. Classy and elegant. Like you.”

“Who is sitting at the bar with you?”

“Would you believe me if I told you she’s my sister?”

“No.”

“She’s my friend’s sister. And she’s leaving.” The woman waved goodbye at the door without coming over to introduce herself.

“That’s how all my dates end,” Harlan joked.

“Did you just come from your house?” Stephanie asked.

“Good one. We’d reserved this table. I decided you were too cute to move.”

Their eyes lingered for a second. The recognition of the same in the other.

“I should interview your ex girlfriends,” Stephanie said. Lyla kicked her under the table.

“They’re all dead. Dance with me.” Harlan took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

Stephanie, undulating with Harlan, to the song, You Shook Me All Night Long, forgot he was an opponent. She never knew who kissed who first. She felt his heart beating again. And it wasn’t with fear.

When they went back to the table, Harlan offered to get more champagne.

“We won’t argue with that.” Lyla smiled.

“Nice moves. I thought, Stephanie really knows how to dance. I should get her to teach me some of those moves.”

“It was dark in the corner,” Stephanie said.

“It wasn’t dark. Your eyes were closed. You idiot,” Lyla said.

“There’s something about him.” Stephanie flipped her hair behind one ear.

“You’re too funny. You act like Harlan being hot is some kind of secret you discovered. A blind woman would notice.”

He came back with champagne.

When their glasses were full, he clinked his against Stephanie’s, “Here’s to being friendly opponents,” he said.

S
tephanie remembered dancing with Harlan when she watched him climb out of his Range Rover the next day. She didn’t usually look at men’s suits very closely but there was something about the way the cloth draped his body that approached reverence. She admired the Italian cut splayed across his form. And the Hermes tie just sets it off, she thought, looking up at his bemused eyes.

Too late, she realized that the other lawyers in the room were silent and gaping, open-mouthed at her.

“Harlan, have you met Stephanie St. Claire?” asked one of the old guys. She hoped her cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt. No one ever caught her like that.

“Good to see you Stephanie. Is Melvin here too?”

“No. Just me. Ready for punishment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m defending against you. Shouldn’t I be ready for punishment?”

He smiled. “I think you can handle it.”

He liked playing with her. Stephanie was still young enough to be a fun opponent. By fifty, corporate lawyers left a trail of alcoholism like menstruating giraffes.

Harlan shook the hand of the deponent, Greg Fallon, a seasoned cop who eyed him with guarded disdain.

“You’ve had your deposition taken before?” Harlan asked.

“Yes,” Fallon replied in a monotone. He’d been in more depositions than some lawyers. The girl looked cute. She had that eager look of someone just out of law school.

Taylor Stanworth, outside attorney for Safety Tire, admired his reflection in the coffee pot at the center of the conference table. He leaned over and whispered to Stephanie: “I’m with Winthrop and Adams. One of the outside law firms that works for Safety Tire.” He winked at her. “I don’t usually handle these types of cases. I put together mergers and acquisitions”.

That established, he settled back in his chair, flung one Ferragamo tousled loafer over the side, and opened his Wall Street Journal.

Greg Fallon looked annoyed. In his twenty-five years as a cop, which included ten years investigating auto fatalities, Fallon still had not found a reason to like lawyers. It didn’t look like Taylor Stanworth was going to give him one.

“Sir, you’ve investigated other accidents involving multipiece wheels?” Harlan asked.

“Several. I specialize in auto fatalities.”

“Move to strike last statement as non-responsive.” Stanworth peered over his Wall Street Journal.

“How many involved catastrophic separation of wheel pieces?”

“All of them.”

“Including this case?”

“Absolutely. The left front multipiece wheel explosively separated, blowing the tire out onto the highway, and causing complete loss of steering control.”

Harlan looked angry. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, Stephanie could see the muscles in his arm flex as he wrote notes.

“Could you estimate when the wheel separated?”

“Judging from the skid marks, it happened after the truck was rear ended by vehicle one. The skid marks indicate that the tire blew off after the initial collision. Not that the rear end collision caused the separation. Multipiece wheels are dangerously unpredictable. A locking ring gets old, splits off and the metal flies apart. Auto repair workers have been brain damaged, disfigured and killed just mounting the damn things.”

“Objection. Lack of foundation as to when the skid marks appeared. They could have been there for a year.” Taylor interjected.

“Counsel, if I want to take your deposition, I’ll notice it,” Harlan said.

Taylor pursed his lips and picked up Investor’s Business Daily.

“How old was this multipiece wheel?”

“About fifteen years. Safety Tire manufactured this model back in—”

“—Objection! Assumes facts not in evidence! No one’s established this is a Safety Tire wheel.”

Stephanie knew that despite its corrosion, the wheel bore the faint traces of Safety Tire’s logo. What a misnomer. Fallon said that he’d interviewed auto shop workers who’d sworn they’d told the trucker to replace his old wheels.

The trucker refused. It was too much money. Harlan moved swiftly to conclude the deposition. Safety Tire took a few punches. But Harlan still wanted a knock out.

“L
ana, I just got a call from Debbie Slade. You’re interfering with their lawsuit. You were rude to their lawyer. What are you doing?” The school principal spoke quick and furiously.

Lana sunk in her chair like a pupil being reprimanded. “The lawyer just barged into my office—”

“—YOUR OFFICE? Are you paying rent here, Lana?”

“No. But I’m a therapist. My job is to help Kathy.”

“Well, my job is to keep this school running. And you know how this school keeps running, Lana?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

“By payment of tuition, Lana. And you know who pays tuition, Lana? Parents, aunts and uncles, guardians, whoever. And that tuition pays your salary and mine. So, if Debbie Slade wants the anti-Christ to appear at your therapy sessions, you will agree.”

“What about helping Kathy?” Lana asked.

“Oh, please. You’re not going to be able to help much now. The damage is done. But look at the bright side. As long as there are kids here that need counseling, you’ll have a job.”

“I’m trying to do my job.”

“Keep trying.”

“You want to keep Debbie and Rick Slade happy.”

“Right.”

“Debbie and Rick Slade want to keep their lawyer happy.”

“Right.”

She found Kathy on the steps by herself.

“I want my family to be like it was before the accident.” Kathy said quietly.

“I know.”

“It’s so weird here. I’ve never been in boarding school before. Sometimes I dream I’m at home. Everyone’s still alive. I hate it when I wake up here.” She whispered.

“I don’t have a lot of family either, Kathy. My friends are like my family.” Lana said.

“Where’s your Mom and Dad?” Kathy asked.

“They’re divorced. And they live in different parts of the county. I see my Mom a lot but not my Dad.” Lana said.

“Do you have brothers?”

“Two. They’re busy with work and families of their own. When you grow up, you split apart. But you’re always together. In memories.”

“I have memories.” Kathy said.

“Then you’re always with your family. As long as you remember them, you never really lose them.”

T
hey’d finished another deposition. Stephanie wished Mel would give her some guidance in the Safety Tire case. At the rate things were going, she’d probably only need to know a couple questions for the rest of her career. Do you have a coupon for that? Do you want fries with that?”

Harlan Michaels was blinking at a copy of the family’s medical bills.

“I think I need new glasses,” he said.

“From looking at the bill?”

“From paying the bills in this case. But I’m a gambler.”

“You take a chance on every case? You never know if you’ll get paid? I don’t know how you do it.”

“Even when you don’t win, you know you’ve done the right thing. And plaintiff lawyers age better than corporate lawyers. But you’re too young to worry about that, Stephanie. You’re smart, cute and twenty-five. Why do you want to be a corporate lawyer? You could be fighting for justice.”

“Oh come on, Harlan. Most people want something for nothing.” She felt nervous.

“All your energy, why give it to Safety Tire?” He wanted to tell her that Mel Seams and Safety Tire didn’t give a shit about her but there was something child-like about her. It seemed too cruel. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Stephanie,” He leaned forward and wondered why he even cared, “You’re twenty-five and a lawyer, with your whole life ahead of you, why give it to a corporation? Don’t you want to look back at the end of your long life and say, ‘I took the risk. I did what was worthwhile?”’

D
onna Mosscato glared at her computer screen. She must have put the wrong contact lens in each eye. One eye was even more near-sighted than the other. And it was a real strain to even hold on to the damn things with the hangover she’d had this morning. She’d have to stay away from the 1.5 liter size bottles for awhile.

She reached for her third doughnut. Her stomach was growing at its usual yearly pace and spreading across her thighs. She’d just celebrated her twenty year anniversary in Safety Tire’s in-house claims adjusting division. After graduating from high school, and a brief stint delivering pizza, she became a claims adjuster.

Free from the pressure of completing delivery in a half hour, she settled into her new job. Unfettered by any employee training, she made her own decisions. Safety Tire hadn’t changed in twenty years. Donna Mosscato had changed. At a pace of five pounds per year of claims adjusting, she’d managed to pack an additional one-hundred pounds on her petite frame.

As superintendent of claims for the trucking division, Donna Mosscato felt infused by self-importance. She held the checkbook. And best of all, she thought as she turned over her keyboard and looked at the photo taped underneath it, Safety Tire had led Donna to the lawyer of her dreams: Melvin Seams. She spent the whole week looking forward to the forty-five minute lunch they shared each Friday. She knew they’d be married someday. If only he’d file against the bitch who’d never deserved him. In the confidences they shared, over lunch, he’d revealed his secret. He was celibate. Although separated from his wife, who resided in another state, he explained that he couldn’t be with another woman because he felt married. If only circumstances were different, he’d added, looking sideways at Donna between gulps of beer.

He had kissed her once. He’d brushed his lips against hers for a millisecond.

She stroked the photo. She’d ripped it off of his personnel application. No one would ever know. And the company owed her. Everyone owed her.

She got up to leave. She had a hand massage once a week. She closed her eyes while the young manicurist smoothed lotion over her open palms. She couldn’t understand the language the manicurists spoke to each other. But instead of feeling isolated, she enjoyed the respite from listening.

“Do you want a French manicure again?”

“Yes. Please.” Donna opened her eyes and watched the dark haired slender girl who held her hands. She felt a pang of yearning to be twenty. Time seemed to be going by in a funnel, with opportunities narrowing and constricting and passing on to something or someone else.

Melvin provided a transitory pleasure. If only he wasn’t faithful to that ridiculous creature he married. Bitch didn’t deserve him.

Her phone rang. Mel’s picture and number were on screen. She felt her heart beat more quickly.

“I’ll see you soon. Gotta go,” he said, and hung up.