Reilly 04 - Breach of Promise (22 page)

“Paul,” she said, walking out the door, “quit attacking my motives. I’m an advocate for this woman in a legal case. She has every right to decent, thoughtful representation. She has every right to present her claim in court.”

“Decent and thoughtful, huh?” he said, stomping after her to the front door. He followed her all the way out to the parking lot. “If that’s the way you see yourself, why are you so touchy the instant I disagree with you? Huh? Tell me that. You’re usually so levelheaded.”

She climbed into the Bronco and turned on the headlights and wipers. Snow began to settle on his hair. “Okay, then I’ll tell you why,” he said. “There’s too much money here. It’s twisting you up. It’s coming between us. You’re being a hypocrite, and you’re letting all those dollar bills blow over your eyes and make you blind.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said. As she drove away, she watched him in her rearview mirror, standing with his hands in his pockets, letting the snow pile onto his shoulders, still as a snowman.

Later, buried in the warm nest of her down comforter, her anger dissipated and her humor returned. Why, I’ll be damned, she thought. She and Paul were no different than the shadow jurors. Their emotional loyalty lay with their own sex, and that was that. She didn’t like the thought that followed, that Genevieve could easily have predicted their argument, right down to Paul’s descent into name-calling there at the end.

“Lots of lawyers have intuitive theories about jury selection,” Genevieve said. She had organized a meeting to discuss the shadow jury’s recommendations. It was late Saturday morning, and after changing the timetable to suit him, even Winston agreed to attend. They had so much to do before May that they had begun keeping long hours at the office. He let everyone know that one thing he would not do was neglect his exercise. Here he was in Tahoe and he intended to enjoy it, get out there and run in the morning even in the dead of winter, and when the weather nicened up, do some boating and swimming.

Beyond the picture window in the office across from Nina’s where Winston and Genevieve had moved in, the winter sun glared off wet new snow. Icicles twinkled on treetops, melting.

Winston smothered a yawn, and looked at his watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can we speed things up here? I’ve got a few things to do today.” He wore sweats, and his pet radio, a compact, enigmatic-looking black box the size of a thick wallet, lay on the table in front of him. His hair glistened, still dewy from the shower he had taken after his run.

“As I was saying. Clarence Darrow thought about culture and religions when he looked for friendly jurors. For example, he liked the Irish for the defense, and excused Scandinavians whenever he could. He thought they had altogether too much admiration for the law. The San Francisco attorney Mel Belli had a whole system worked out for himself. He divided people up by their occupations. For the defense, he’d pick a waiter over a salesperson, or a doctor over a secretary.”

“But not us,” Winston said. “We don’t do intuitive anymore.”

Genevieve went on as if he hadn’t spoken. Gone today was the country-fried humor and the ole girl persona. Though the Southern accent didn’t change, when she talked about her area of expertise, it toned down considerably. Genevieve even looked a little nervous. Today was her day to show she was worth the money Nina had been paying her. At two hundred an hour, her billings this month had been horrendous.

“Of course, everyone’s got funny ideas about race,” Genevieve went on. “Conventional wisdom has always held that African Americans will vote for the plaintiff if it’s a civil case, and vote for the defendant if it’s criminal. Asian Americans are said to be easily persuaded by the majority on a jury, and Hispanics tend to be passive.”

“Not everyone,” said Winston. “I know better.”

“Will you kindly let me finish?” asked Genevieve.

“C’mon, Winston, quit teasing. Give her a break,” Nina said. Winston folded his arms in front of him and leaned back in his chair.

“Males favor women, females favor handsome young men. Females tend not to look kindly upon other females,” Genevieve continued firmly. “Conventional wisdom.”

“Bosh,” said Winston. “Fairy tales. You know what Alexander Pope said about your precious jurors? ’Witches hang that jurymen may dine.’ Now that’s the truth. That’s the reality.”

“I agree,” said Genevieve.

“You agree?” asked Winston.

“We have to forget about conventional wisdom. People today are going to be influenced by culture, religion, TV, current events, and yes, even the state of their stomachs—our lives aren’t as narrow as they used to be. We’ll need to make our choices based on very pragmatic considerations. For example, here’s a simple recommendation for you from our panel, Nina. Lighten up.”

“You’re not the first to recommend it, but what exactly do you mean?” asked Nina.

“I’m talking about the color and style of your clothing. The big shoulders, the severe suits make you look authoritative, but they’d rather you persuaded them more softly. Go for something quite neutral with a hint of warmth. A taupey-peach. Pastels mixed with beiges. You need to emphasize the feminine in this trial. This is a case about a woman, don’t forget, and it’s classic in the sense that it’s a woman who’s getting shafted by a man.”

“Taupey-peach? You’ve got to be kidding,” Nina said.

“Other impressions were fairly uniform. They thought you seemed quite professional. They liked your manner, except that they find you too reserved.”

More smiling, Nina reminded herself, practicing.

Winston said, “What about me?”

“You know you’re good, Win. You started off well. They liked the simple statements of fact, and they liked it that you didn’t raise your voice or get emotional on them. But once you got past the essentials, I’m afraid you wandered too far afield and lost them.”

“Oh?”

“They didn’t want to hear in dollars and cents how much Lindy made, how much she should have made, how much they made when they started out, their current per annum income before taxes. What’s at stake is so ungodly huge, it doesn’t compute compared to ordinary experience. So we don’t talk about specific amounts. We just say, she ought to get half.”

“Don’t want them thinking about how much each one of the Markovs blows on car wax each month,” said Winston.

“That’s right,” said Genevieve, snapping open her briefcase. She handed out to each of them a report fastened inside transparent binding. “These are all my suggestions, based on telephone interviews, the demographics, the shadow jury comments, the focus groups, and so on.” At twenty-five pages long, it barely fit inside its binding. Winston picked it up and let his arm drop to his side heavily, pretending he couldn’t even hold it up.

“I’ve spoken with Lindy and told her to lose the beautiful clothes, let some of the gray show in her hair and not to be afraid to show her feelings on the stand,” Genevieve said. “This is no time for discretion.”

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s going to have a problem with discretion. The opposite, maybe,” said Winston.

“She needs to be warned about appearing bitter or vengeful. These are qualities our jurors derided. Andrea, playing Lindy, got a little too angry when she talked about Mike. The right mood seems to be wistful and sad for Lindy, whereas we need to be very matter-of-fact. We should be perceived as advocates who are just stating the bald facts, not too pushy, just cognizant of the weight of evidence we have that proves our case.

“Nina, when you talk with Lindy about her testimony, be sure you go over that with her. Make sure she knows how important it is to be consistent in the exact language about what was said, and make sure she uses the phrase ’expressly promised me,’ especially when it comes to that promise made in consideration stuff.

“Go over her deposition with her until she knows better than to contradict it. Our shadow felt that there were some contradictions in what Andrea said. I’ve made notes on those statements, and I know you’ll want to look them over with Lindy, so that we can be perfectly clear this time around.

“Oh, and I’m afraid the ’wedding vows’ they exchanged in lieu of a legal marriage made a poor impression. On the whole, our shadows didn’t feel it was important. We can’t ignore the fact that a religious juror might find it significant, but we should probably only touch on this event.

“Now, regarding the statement from Lindy that he repeatedly made her all those promises. The men found that humorous and pitiful, I’m sorry to say.”

“What about the women?” Nina asked.

“With the right approach, barring a hard-sell leader from the opposition, the women can be persuaded to stick with our side. One problem we’re left with is not to antagonize the men. We’ll talk more about that before the trial. Oh, and here’s another point suggested by one of the shadow jurors: We might hint that maybe Mike would have failed without Lindy. After all, before he met her, he wasn’t doing well at all.”

Nina said, “That’s good. I hadn’t thought of that. You’ve done a nice job, Genevieve. Let’s talk more after I get a chance to read the whole thing.”

“I second that motion. Hey, Genny,” Winston said. “We finished here for now? Want to see what’s lucky today at the craps table back at the hotel?” He said over his shoulder to Nina, “Can’t even get close on weekend nights. Too many people.”

Genevieve said, “Give me ten minutes. I have to find something I stuck away somewhere under all the garbage on my desk.”

“I’ll wait, then.”

“You brought me over this morning. You better wait.” She went to her desk in the corner and sifted through the disorder.

“Well, I’d better go now if I’m going to catch Bob’s basketball game over at the school,” Nina said, checking her watch. “Bye.” She went out to the parking lot of the empty building and started feeling around in her purse. No keys. She must have left them on her desk. She walked rapidly back and down the long dark hallway to her office and found them. Now that she was here, she decided she might as well pick up Lindy’s deposition to take with her, but after a cursory search, she couldn’t find it. Maybe Winston had a copy she could borrow.

Without knocking on the door to his office, she opened it and looked inside. Letting out a yelp, she jumped backward.

Winston had Genevieve on the ground, her body pressed down on the rug below him. Her arms looped around his neck, and her skirt had worked its way up to the top of her thighs.

It was some kiss.

Nina watched Bob’s basketball game without seeing much. Her mind’s eye was stuck on the image of Winston and Genevieve on the rug. They had jumped up when she came in, offering a weak apology that had done nothing to ease the jolt they had given her. She hadn’t realized they were involved with each other—in that way. They weren’t kids! They should have known not to carry on at the office.

Blanching at the the piercing sound of squeaking shoes, she sat in the bleachers beside the other parents in the gym, shouting, whistling, and stomping when the others did. She had brought the team snack, and after they won their third victory in a row, the boys ran for her and she slapped the fruit drinks and miniature bagels she had picked up on the way into their clammy hands.

At home, Bob showered and changed. Nina picked up a friend of his and dropped them at the movies, then headed for Caesar’s and the long elevator ride to Paul’s digs on the tenth floor.

She knocked three times before getting an answer.

“Well, look who’s here,” said Paul.

No smile. No embrace.

He opened the door wide. He wore gray athletic shorts and he was drying his hair with a towel. Humid air from the shower floated into the hall.

“Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, beckoning. “Take a seat,” he said. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“That would be straight whiskey, then.”

“Fine.”

He poured her a glass from the pint bottle on the table and handed it over, then sat down across from her, wrapping the towel around his shoulders so he looked like a model in a men’s wear ad, right down to his trendily surly expression. He must have been working out on the Nautilus machines in the health club several floors down.

“I’m sorry,” said Nina.

“Are you,” said Paul.

“I don’t know why I’ve been in such a mood. In my own defense, I can only say I was insane.”

“The insanity defense never works in California. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“You have a right to your opinion of the case. I know you’ll do a good job for me either way.”

Paul took a longer drink than usual. She took that to mean he needed fortifying. He hadn’t forgiven her yet. “What’s bothering you?”

“Right now, your shirtless self. The smell of soap wafting off of your body. The tan line where your socks usually stop.”

The shadow of a smile flickered on his face. “Don’t stop there.”

“Can we start over, please?”

Paul gave his hair a final thoughtful ruffling with the towel, and she thought she could see satisfaction in his eyes. He was enjoying this uncustomarily abject attitude of hers.

Well, fine. He had a right. “I need you,” she said. “Not just for the investigation, but to talk to, Paul.”

“I ought to tape this,” Paul said, throwing his towel on the floor, and she could see from the diminished tension in his body he had eased up. “Then I’ll play it back next time you get going on me. You get so self-righteous. Because you’re invested in a cause, everybody close to you has to rally around to your side. Well, that’s not always going to happen. Some of us prefer to maintain some detachment.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you detached.”

“Ah ah ah,” Paul said, wagging his finger at her. “Don’t blow it now. Tell me some more about my tan line.” He looked down at his ankles and laid a dopey grin on her. She laughed.

“I’ve made my speech.”

“Okay, then,” Paul said. He got up and sat down beside her, on the bed. “Fill me in. How’s it going?”

“Well, I saw something this afternoon. Winston and Genevieve kissing in my offices.”