Waiting for Cary Grant (4 page)

Donna never understood him. But she was sure they’d be together someday.

Mel had another call to make immediately.

“I’m going to be at the office awhile.” Mel’s chair squeaked in protest as he rocked back.

“Oh. Do you want me to help you with something?” Her voice quivered.

“I just need to do some more work. We’ll talk later.”

“Go Mel.”

“I’ll be home in a few hours. Why don’t you come over?”

“Okay,” she said.

That would give him plenty of time to get away from big Donna. He hated herding her out of the pen for the weekly feeding. But it was necessary. Donna was necessary. Mel was too afraid to take a case to trial. And he never knew when Safety Tire’s Executive Committee would cut expensive outside lawyers like Stanworth. He needed control of the claims department’s settlement power. So he hid behind big Donna’s skirts.

“I can’t wait to see you!”

“Me too.” Melvin hung up. Life was good.

H
e got to the restaurant to meet Donna looking forward to leaving so his evening could begin. He’d called the waiter to have a big plate of ribs ready at the table so he wouldn’t have to spend anytime waiting to order.

He’d spent fifteen minutes fidgeting, waiting for her to finish most of the ribs so he could get out of there. He wanted to herd her through desert so he could leave.

“Come on Donna, you can have dessert.”

“Melvin, I’m going to start a diet.”

“Right now? You look great. I love your nails.”

“Thanks. I just had them done.”

“I’ll split the chocolate mousse with you.”

“Okay.” She smiled. Sharing his spoon was always good for a cheap thrill.

Melvin signaled for the waiter. Anxious to leave, his nails tapped against the table as he looked longingly at the door. He thought Donna’s body was long past its best if used by date.

“If I wasn’t married, this wouldn’t be my first choice for dessert.”

“Why don’t you file?”

He shoved the plate across the table.

“Melvin, I’m sorry”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“I just. I’m sorry.” Donna said.

“Don’t worry about it.” He winked.

Donna’s body relaxed. She lived for these pseudo-dates. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made any effort to meet anyone. It was too scary. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable again. So she spent her time fantasizing that she was on the verge of having a wonderful relationship with Melvin. If only they could spend more time together, if only he would file for divorce, they could create an incredibly fulfilling life. Fantasy replaced reality. And she didn’t have to get dressed up for it. Besides, it was too scary out there with diseases and serial murderers and good old fashioned fear of vulnerability. The walls of obesity shielded for the price of isolation. She sighed, grabbed the last bite of chocolate mousse, and bloated to safety.

A
fter dinner, Donna nestled in bed with a pint of Haagen Dazs. Freezer burn had previously been a problem so she’d devised a method of wrapping a towel around the carton to protect her fingers and french manicure. She loved watching Court T.V. because watching lawyers made her feel close to Melvin.

If only they could see each other more. Things would work out. Life would be perfect.

“We’re a good team.” He had said. She had pleased him by revealing the names of a few more Safety Tire insured truckers with million dollar policies.

She reached in her purse for the matchbook she’d hurriedly grabbed as Melvin hastened her out the restaurant door. He’d seemed so eager to leave. Or maybe it was just her imagination. He worked too hard. He didn’t have enough fun. She rummaged among change and cookie crumbs trying to find the matchbook. Instead, she pulled out crumpled legal pad size paper with notes she’d scribbled out for Melvin.

What if he got mad at her? Any other claims adjuster would kill for a glance from him. She picked up the phone. At even the thought of dialing Melvin, her heart beat faster.

He was only five minutes away. She could just drive over. More than anything, she wanted romance again. She wanted to waken the deadened flesh around her heart. She imagined Melvin at home alone.

He just needed more encouragement from her. She put on the silky black nightgown she’d bought in a spurt of optimism at Victoria’s Secret. She thrust the scribbled notes back in her purse.

Now that she’d made the decision, she moved with a speed that belied her previous performance as a pizza delivery person. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been out after dark. She didn’t recognize the streets that had neighbored her own for a decade.

Melvin’s house emitted soft lights and low music, and she stood without knocking for several minutes. Images of Melvin moved through her mind slowly. She’d always wanted to be with him.

Sensor lights announced her presence on the freezing porch. Trembling, she drew her coat closer and rang the bell. The bold nerve that had accompanied her so far chose that moment to leave. More lights came on in the house. Deciding to follow her nerve, and pick up some more ice cream on the way, she turned to go.

“Donna? Is that you?”

“No. It’s not me. Oh my God, Melvin.” One hand brushed the top of her hair. Clad only in a red velvet robe, he looked even better than she imagined.

“You dropped something.” He pointed next to her matted slippers. Her purse lay on the ground. Bending to pick it up, she brushed against his hairy feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I forgot to give you my notes and stuff. I’m sorry.” Like a stray animal, she moved cautiously into the foyer.

“Donna, I was just getting ready for bed.”

“I’m sorry. So was I. Maybe we could do it together.” Her heart pounded faster. She felt wobbly.

“No!”

The revulsion on his face hit like a blow to the kneecaps. She moved backwards, holding her hands out, as if she could ward off the words. But she’d already been wounded.

She looked out the front window. “I was just teasing,” she said quietly.

“I know. Sure. You have a great sense of humor, Donna,” Melvin said as a clock ticked from another room.

Why hadn’t she heard the hollow intonation of his flattery before? It sliced mercilessly against the fragile walls of her self esteem.

Donna rubbed her arms.

“I have to go home. I have plans. I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”

“I have everything I need.” He rubbed his hands together.

“Who’s there?” A familiar voice asked.

“Uno momento!” Melvin shouted.

“My cleaning lady doesn’t speak English.” He explained as he gave Donna an encouraging push out the door.

Stubbing a toe, she strangled a cry as he slammed her out. The sensor light exposed her humiliation to any curious neighbors while she stared at a small Toyota on the driveway.

Getting up, she ignored the warm liquid coagulating around her toe. She had to look in the car. She pressed against the glass, straining to see inside the dark interior. Copies of letters and pleadings lay across the floor, fallen out of an expando file.

She looked back at the house. The interior lights had been dimmed again. Avoiding any sensors, she crept around low bushes until she came to a window. An errant opening between two blinds offered a painfully complete view.

Melvin ripped at a lithe woman’s t-shirt. She tilted her head back, lost in a smiling profile. Melvin grabbed at her breasts. Limber legs rose to clasp his waist.

Donna realized she was banging her head against the window when the screams started. She still couldn’t stop.

“DONNA! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Melvin pounded back against the glass. Donna watched as the glass shattered in protest against their surreal morse code.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” He repeated.

Donna never answered.

H
arlan watched girls in plaid skirts and white cotton blouses traversing across Kathy’s campus. They were cute. On the brink of womanhood, they made him feel excited and uncomfortable at the same time.

The gentility of it all seemed like something from another age. He felt like a gentleman caller as he walked into the oak lobby. Black and white photos of past and present students hung on the walls. A dour woman sat at the reception desk.

“I’m looking for Kathy Slade.”

“Is she a student?”

“Yes. She’s a seventh grader.”

“Are you a relative?” The aging receptionist asked as she looked down at the students’ sign out log where St. Francis theoretically kept track of where each student was on campus.

“No. She doesn’t have too many of those these days. I’m her lawyer.”

“She’s at the stables.”

Harlan ran out to the stables. The campus was huge. This place would keep him in shape.

“Who’s your favorite horse?” Harlan asked Kathy as he watched her carefully braid the mane of a pretty chestnut mare.

“I don’t know. Maybe Wendy.” Kathy shrugged.

“Who do you ride in the rodeo?”

“I don’t do the rodeo anymore.”

“What? A talented horse-girl like you?” He ran his fingers through an errant curl.

She smiled for the first time that day. “I’m good at barrel racing. I liked that part.”

“Uh oh. So there’s a part you don’t like. Do you know that you can tell your lawyer anything you want and he’s not allowed to tell anyone else?”

“Yeah. But it’s not important. You don’t want to hear it.”

“If it’s important to you, I want to hear it. I don’t like the Winner’s Circle. When they take the pictures.” Her little voice broke.

Harlan looked over at a classic profile of feminine beauty. Perfectly proportioned features and beautiful skin set off by startlingly red hair. She’d dressed meticulously. In knee socks and pleated skirt, with a matching barrette, she looked adorable. At eleven, Kathy already heeded an inherent sense of vanity. She knew better than to worry about being photogenic. It had to be something else.

“Do parents come for the Winner’s Circle pictures, Kathy?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.” She wiped away the tear that came down her cheek. “Uncle Rick was going to come. But something came up. He’s just really busy.”

“Can I come watch? I’d love to go to the rodeo. I’d love to get my picture taken with you.”

“You want to? Really?” He was so cute. He was to die for. She could put the picture by her bed. It would kill the older girls.

“Absolutely. Mindy seems like a nice horse.”

“You mean Wendy. She did the high jump yesterday.”

“Wendy. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. My Dad was never good with names either.”

Suddenly, Harlan felt old. He’d never imagined himself as a father figure before. He had a feeling that Kathy’s boarding school hadn’t changed much in one hundred fifty years.

Kathy gave Harlan instructions to Lana’s office on campus.

“Why are you here?” Lana stared accusingly at Harlan.

“We need to talk about Kathy’s deposition.”

“Are they going to yell a lot like the lawyers in the movies?” Kathy asked.

“If they do, I’ll yell back. Or I’ll beat them up for you. That’s a promise,” Harlan said.

“Kathy, let me show you a new game.” Lana gestured towards her laptop. Kathy turned reluctantly away from Harlan.

“A deposition! Of a child?! Are you kidding, Harlan?” She whispered.

“I know, Lana. But they want to see how traumatized she is by the loss of her family…” He looked away.

“Is there any question about that? Do the lawyers really believe—”

“—No. They’re buying time. Seeing how cute she would look to a jury. And they’re sizing me up. They’ll decide what it’s worth to shut me up. What they could lose at trial against me.”

“Billable hours. Are you paid by the hour, Harlan?” Lana asked.

“No.”

“How do you get paid?”

“Contingency. I get a part of whatever Kathy gets.”

“Oh.”

A barrier came across her eyes. Harlan wanted to get through it. He liked this woman.

“I’m here to protect her.” His dark eyes bore into Lana.

“Hi, Harlan.” Stephanie stood at the door. She hoped she sounded cool and confident. Harlan made her nervous.

“Nice to meet you, Kathy,” Stephanie said.

“How do you know my name?” Kathy asked.

“Harlan tells me you’re his favorite client.”

Kathy beamed at this news. Of course she had a crush on him.

“Think they can make a decent latte in this boarding school?” Taylor Stanworth sidled up to Stephanie.

“Don’t you travel with your espresso and cappuccino maker, Taylor?” Stephanie asked.

“Sure. When I’m in my limo. But I drove my Porsche today.”

“We’re intruding on their hospitality by having the deposition here. They run a boarding school. I can’t imagine they cater depositions too, Taylor,” Harlan said.

“And who is this pretty little girl?” Taylor Stanworth asked in the pseudo-sweet voice of someone who couldn’t stand children.

“Kathy Slade, meet Taylor Stanworth. He’s a lawyer who will be asking you questions today during the deposition. If he asks a question you don’t understand, tell him. He’ll either ask it differently or I will beat him up. Whatever you want.” Harlan joked.

Kathy giggled. This was definitely more interesting than her morning French class.

“We’re going to be spending the day together.” Taylor announced.

“Everything you say will be transcribed and put into booklet form. When you read the booklet, you can change your answers. But if you change your answers, lawyers can comment on it and your case could be hurt or you could be embarrassed.” Taylor’s voice took on a droning quality as he spoke.

Stephanie blinked to stay awake.

Her lower lip trembled. Harlan moved closer, his arm went around the arms of her chair, his leg went around the legs of her chair, his body seemed to encircle her. But Kathy remained stoic.

“Were your parents getting along?”

“OBJECTION!” Harlan’s body sprang out from his chair. “Calls for speculation. Calls for a conclusion. Counselor, what is the relevancy of this?” Harlan’s upper lip sneered and he leaned forward further, in the face of the trust fund baby who was beginning to look a little green around the gills.