Sleeping Beauty (33 page)

She turned away. She knew something about good-looking men who could be charming when it suited them.

When they were called, Dora and Anne stood before the judge beside Miller and Josh. Josh looked briefly at Dora,
his face a mask. Dora stared at the judge or vaguely across the courtroom. Anne heard Josh sigh; she could not tell if it was impatient or regretful.

“This is a motion to dismiss
Chatham versus Durant,”
said the bailiff, and the judge read the pleadings written separately by Anne and Miller. He flipped rapidly through the pages, humming in a low monotone and blinking rapidly as if amazed, though Anne knew he had seen so much in his time that it was unlikely anything dealing with divorce or separation would surprise him. More likely, he was blinking to keep awake.

The judge looked at Miller. “Counselor?”

“We ask that the pleading be stricken, Your Honor. It is without merit, false in its assumptions and conclusions. There is no cause of action; no prima facie case on the pleading.”

The judge skimmed Miller's pleading again. He asked a question about one of the statements, and Miller answered it rapidly, going through an argument Anne had heard before. Nothing new, she thought. That was always one of the saddest parts of couples breaking up: they always thought they were unique because their pain was so real, but to observers, the demands and complaints, the tensions, angers, and disappointments were so similar in couple after couple that after a while it was hard to believe that people hadn't learned from friends or parents or movies how to avoid making the same mistakes, sometimes two or even three times. But somehow they never did. Two hundred years earlier, Samuel Johnson had defined a second marriage as the triumph of hope over experience. And it's hardly a joke, Anne thought, and felt satisfied again with the solitary structure of her own life, with its peaceful silences and rhythms that depended on no one but herself.

The judge turned to her. “What is Miss Chatham asking for?”

Anne stated again what was in her pleading. “We are asking that the contract between Dora Chatham and Josh Durant be fulfilled, Your Honor. It is a matter of performance: there was a verbal contract between Miss Chatham
and Mr. Durant, for which she gave him consideration, and he has not performed it. Since there has been no performance of the contract, we are seeking payment for what was promised and not fulfilled.”

The judge nodded. “And are there facts?”

“There are. Promises and declarations made before witnesses, as well as financial arrangements and living arrangements that implied or directly stated the intention of permanence and marriage.”

The judge was leafing through the pleadings again, humming again, still blinking. Now and then he rubbed the side of his nose. “Well, counselors, I think we have a cause of action here; I think it should go to trial. Let's set it for September fifteenth, one month from now; that gives everybody a chance to do a little thinking, maybe a little talking, before the last door gets closed. If anything changes in your battle formations, I'll be pleased to hear about it.”

“What did all that mean?” Dora asked as they turned away. “Was he being cute?”

“No.” Anne led Dora out of the courtroom. “He was hoping we'd have the good sense to work out a settlement.”

“Why should we? We can't lose. The only thing that other lawyer had to say was that I'm a liar. I'm not a liar. Josh knows that. He liked that about me. He told me once he could always count on my honesty even when he couldn't—” She broke off and looked at her watch. “What time is it? It felt like we were in there forever.”

“When he couldn't what?” Anne asked.

“Nothing.”

“When he couldn't
what?”
They were in the corridor outside the courtroom, almost empty now, and she had stopped walking, forcing Dora to stop with her.

Dora shrugged. “Count on me. He didn't think I was always there for him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know, listening to him go on and on about ancient cultures or digging up a tomb or something, or telling him how wonderful he was. He always wanted me to prop him up.”

“Always?”

“Always. He was impossible.”

“But arrogant.”

“Yes. I told you.”

“It doesn't sound arrogant to me to need propping up.”

“Well, it was.
He
was. Are you trying to confuse me? He's arrogant and mean and he wants to be told how wonderful he is. And I did, but it never was enough for him. He likes women to make him feel important . . . well, of course all men do, but Josh is the worst. He's always had women, you know; before me there were lots of them, good-looking ones, he likes really gorgeous women. Are we going to stand here all day? I'd like to go home.”

Behind them, Miller and Josh came out of the courtroom. Miller paused as they walked by. “Shall we meet in your office?” he asked Anne.

“Fine,” she said. “Monday morning at nine?”

“We'll be there.” He smiled. “With cool tempers and warm hearts. At least we'll try. We're all civilized people, Anne, and you're as smart as they come; couldn't you work on the whole picture, not be so hell-bent on getting blood?”

Anne looked past Miller, at Josh, who stood beside a tall window, gazing at the plaza below. His profile was harsh in the sunlight. “A whole picture means two people, Fritz, and everything they ever meant to each other. He may be able to wipe it out because of a whim, but Dora can't; she's more steadfast than that, more serious. She believed him, she believed
in
him; she put her future in his hands, and one day he opened his hands and spilled it out and told her there was no future for them together, and there never had been. He seems to have done that without a qualm, but that's impossible for Dora. You're asking her to be as callous as he is, to walk away from a tender relationship, and its hopes and dreams, without a single backward glance. She can't do that. And in all fairness, she shouldn't.”

Anne was aware that Josh had turned from the window to watch her. She met his eyes, and was stunned by the deep sadness in them that seemed to alter his whole appearance. His face no longer looked harsh; he looked older than he had
in the courtroom, more drawn, and almost in despair. Anne frowned, trying to understand what she saw, but Miller was talking to her and she turned back to him.

“You're terrific, Anne.” He was nodding slowly, his lower lip thrust out. “That is one terrific opening statement. How could a judge hear that and not think Josh is a lousy bastard who ought to pay through the nose for what he did?”

Anne smiled at him and Miller thought he saw an impish gleam in her eye—though it must be a mistake, he thought, since no one had ever seen the cool, aloof Anne Garnett look even remotely impish. “I thought you'd like a preview,” she said, “instead of waiting for the trial. It might make a difference in the discovery session on Monday.”

He chuckled. “Possibly. But you know, Anne, all those golden words aren't anywhere near the whole picture; it's like a mirror in a fun house where everything's—”

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Dora asked again. “I have a lot to do.”

“So do we all,” said Miller promptly. “I apologize for holding you up, Miss Chatham. We'll see you Monday morning, Anne, in your office.”

As Miller walked away, Anne glanced again at Josh. He was writing in a small notebook, and followed Miller, still writing. His stride was long and assured. He did not look up.

“Son of a bitch,” said Dora. It was not clear whom she meant, and Anne did not ask. They walked down the corridor in silence. “What's a discovery session?” she asked a few minutes later as they got into Anne's car.

“A meeting where each side discovers what information the other side has, and how it will be used.”

“You mean you give it all away before the trial?”

“I mean we go through all the facts and the evidence. It doesn't favor one side or the other; discovery helps both sides.”

“And it's in your office,” Dora said after a moment. “That's good. They know they have to come to us.”

“It doesn't mean that at all.” Anne glanced behind her, then merged with the traffic on the freeway. “The husband and his attorney almost always go to the office of the wife's
attorney, and we've just gone on that way even when there isn't a husband and wife. It's some kind of archaic courtesy that doesn't have much meaning anymore, but still, it lingers.”

“Probably because they know this isn't an ordinary case,” Dora said, as if Anne had not spoken. “I mean, this would make the evening news if the networks ever get hold of it. Which they won't; I mean, who would tell them? Josh doesn't like publicity, and my father would die if it got on television. He's totally terrified of
anybody
getting hold of it. Do you remember him? He told me he hardly remembers you. I suppose he didn't pay much attention; Mother said he didn't like kids. I was the only one he liked. You'll have to meet him sometime; he's really very sweet when he wants to be. All wrapped up in himself, but men are like that; you just have to push the right buttons so they show you their best side. I can do that with him; we get along better than my mother and me. He likes that, you know; if you ask me, he really worked at making me like him better than her. The funny thing is, I don't, really; I like them the same; it's just easier to be with him because he doesn't tell me what to do and Mother keeps pouring out advice. I liked his second wife, but she split right after the election. I suppose he wanted her to stick around till he was elected. He's really crazy about being in the Senate; which is why he's so uptight about this lawsuit. He wanted me to drop it, you know. I felt bad in a way; poor Daddy, I never heard him try so hard to get his way. He told me to fire you and come to Washington and play hostess at his parties. I may do that anyway, after we win; it's a great place to be. He'll still want me; he really likes having me around.”

Anne drove into the garage in her building. Her knuckles were white from gripping the wheel. “I'm going up to my office,” she said. Her voice was perfectly steady. “I want to meet with you tomorrow; we have to talk about Monday morning.”

“What
about
publicity?” Dora asked. “Will there be any?”

“Not from my office. I can't control what the other side
does, or what the press picks up; there are reporters who spend all their time checking out divorces and separations, looking for stories.” They walked from the car to the elevator. “If we do go to court, we'll ask that the hearing be in the judge's chambers, instead of open court; that keeps it quiet. And after that we'll ask the judge to impound the file; that sends it to the warehouse and it can't be gotten out without a court order. The same when they prove it up—when the history of the settlement is written, describing how it was arrived at, without coercion and so on—we'll ask that that be impounded as well.”

“Then no one will ever see it. I'll tell my father. It'll make him feel better.”

“That isn't what I said. Anyone can get a court order to see the files, one person at a time. And there's still the trial. The judge may not agree to hold it in his chambers. Then it would be open to the public. That doesn't mean that reporters will be there, but it's a real possibility.”

Dora shrugged. “Whatever. The senator is a big man these days; he'll survive.”

Anne walked rapidly toward a bank of elevators. “My secretary will let you know what time tomorrow.”

I should never have taken this case, she thought as the elevator doors closed. It was asking for trouble. She thought back to the conversation in Tamarack, how Dora had begged her, how her need had overcome Anne's reluctance. And she remembered being intrigued by the case; the law dealing with people living together was still being created. But she knew it was not that simple; there was a darker reason for her agreeing to do it. Somehow, in some confused way, she had seen this case as a way to triumph over Vince. She, not Vince, was the one who could help Dora. She, not Vince, was the one in whom Dora would confide, the one in whom Dora would put her trust.

But it was not a triumph. Anne had known that the minute Dora began talking about Vince. All the old feelings had come rushing back. The sound of his name could do that to her, after all these years. He could still defeat her.

But she would win for his daughter. It was more important
than ever, now, that she win Dora's lawsuit. This was her turf, the neutral territory where she proved her worth to herself and others. On her own turf, she would be triumphant. Monday, she thought. We can win in discovery. We don't have to wait a month; we don't have to go to trial. We can force them to a settlement now.

She saw in her mind the sadness in Josh Durant's eyes. If he's unhappy enough, she thought coldly, he'll be glad to get it over with.

*   *   *

She contemplated him when he walked into her office with Fritz Miller on Monday morning. He was handsomer than she had remembered; probably the softer lighting in her office, she thought. But his face gave nothing away. “Josh Durant, Anne Garnett,” said Miller. They shook hands across her desk. His palm was hard; his fingers and Anne's met with equal strength.

A court reporter sat unobtrusively in a corner. Josh greeted Dora. She nodded and sat in an armchair at a corner of Anne's desk, her chin up, looking out the window. Miller pulled out a chair for Josh at the other corner, and took a chair for himself precisely between them. Balancing his briefcase on his lap, he opened it and pulled out packets of papers, stacking them on the desk. “We have here, as you requested, Josh Durant's tax returns for the past three years, his bank statements with canceled checks for those years, stock certificates, leases, deeds, and insurance policies. His accountant and investment counselor can be made available if you wish to question them.”