Dirty Blonde

CHAPTER 17

Cate had come across it last night, drafting her opinion. She went over to her briefcase, opened it up, and unpacked it on the couch, taking out the three transcripts from the most important days of trial. She shuffled the thick green-bound transcripts and found the day Simone had taken the stand. She opened the transcript and flipped through. Where had she seen that reference? She’d thought it was just a throwaway at the time, but now it was looming large. She turned the pages, searching. 146. 147. 148.

There. Simone on direct examination:

A: For example, I could make this lawsuit into a TV series. Write a spin-off from Attorneys@Law. Call it Judges@Court. And it could star a blond female judge who looked a lot like you, Judge Fante. Charismatic, attention-getting. The most alive person in the room. What do you think?

THE COURT: Great idea, I’d love it. Get Charlize Theron, for me.

A: Done.

Cate closed the transcript, angered. What if Simone hadn’t been kidding? What if he really was making a new TV show, with a woman judge as its lead? What if he’d been having her followed for research? It fit the photos, too. The questions led to more questions. Did he start having her followed, then found out what she did at night, or vice versa? Could he really have turned her sex life into a TV show? Could he still, through his production company?

Cate shuddered at the thought. If he did, every judge on the court would know it was really her, and so would every litigant, witness, and juror who came before her. Her old partners at Beecker, and her clients, CEOs and VPs of Fortune 500 companies. They’d all speculate. Gossip. Whisper.

No. Cate wouldn’t have it, she couldn’t. She went back to the table, picked up the phone, and called information for the Four Seasons, then punched the number in and got through to the front desk. “May I speak to Micah Gilbert, please? I believe she was with the Arthur Simone group.”

“Please hold while I check the number,” the operator said, then came back on. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gilbert was never a guest.”

Damn. “Thank you.” Cate hung up, on fire. Gilbert hadn’t testified at the trial, but she had undoubtedly been deposed during discovery. But deps weren’t required to be filed with the court. She knew nothing about the Simone organization. She went back to her desk and logged onto her computer, clicked through to google.com and plugged in “Micah Gilbert” and “Arthur Simone.” Three zillion entries came up in a list, dominated by Attorneys@Law. She clicked the URL and the screen changed to a simple white page with a black border, which read: WE MOURN THE PASSING OF OUR CREATOR, MENTOR, AND DEAR FRIEND, ARTHUR G. SIMONE.

Before Cate’s disappointment had a chance to set in, the tribute dissolved, revealing the slick home page for Attorneys@Law, with gritty photos of the fictional lawyers and a lineup of standard webpage buttons. Cate clicked ABOUT US and two addresses appeared on the screen, one in the coveted 90210 zip code listing. After CREATOR, Arthur Simone, came EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS, CO-EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS, SUPERVISING PRODUCERS and the like. After that there was one name next to an address in the less-than-coveted 19006 zip code. Philadelphia. Attorneys@Law evidently had offices in town, and the PRODUCTION ASSISTANT, PHILLY was Micah Gilbert.

Bingo! Cate passed the mouse over Gilbert’s name, and another page popped up, with a large photo of the lovely Micah in a tight black pantsuit, next to a short biography, which Cate read:

Micah joined the posse two years ago and before Micah joined us, she worked forever-okay, only five years but that’s like twenty in publicist years-as a liaison slash consultant for the Philadelphia Film Office. Micah is all about Philly and her city savvy helps make Attorneys@Law rock on Sunday nights! Micah works way too hard, so she can be reached anytime at our Philly office.

Cate picked up the phone and pressed in the number.

After two rings, a woman picked up. “Attorneys@Law.”

“Micah?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, wrong number.” Cate pressed the hook to hang up, feeling her juices start to flow. She hit the intercom button, and Emily answered. “Can you please come in?” Cate hung up, then went back to the table, grabbed Simone’s chronology, and stuffed it in her purse. Then she called out, “Come in, Emily!”

The door opened. “Hi, Judge.”

“Hey, girl. Close the door and come back here, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Emily swished into the room in her flowing black skirt and black Doc Marten boots and took a seat in the chair opposite the desk, looking nervous.

Cate began, “First off, I’m sorry I was so rude to you and Sam this morning. I lost control and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I think it’s nice that you care so much about Marz and Simone. It shows you have a good heart.” Emily smiled shyly, a dark maroon slash of lip gloss, and Cate felt touched.

“Thanks. Did you get my final opinion in Simone? I e-mailed it to you last night.”

“Yes, I just finished checking the cites.”

“Great, thanks. Please print me a copy and leave it on my desk. You did a great job on your draft, and I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks.”

“Now I have to ask you to do some extra research for me, on a different issue, and I need you to keep it to yourself. Don’t tell Sam.”

“I don’t really talk to Sam, anyway.”

“Or your clerk friends in the other chambers.”

Emily nodded gravely. “I don’t have any clerk friends in other chambers.”

Ouch. “Okay. As a hypothetical, let’s say that someone is being followed, without their knowledge, for a period of six months or so, in Philadelphia. Every movement followed, like surveillance. You need to plug into the harassment cases.”

Emily began taking notes.

“I think that’s legally actionable. I think the person being followed can get a restraining order. I also think it might be actionable criminally, under the new stalking laws, and I think there is some kind of tortious breach-of-privacy action that can be brought.” Cate was thinking out loud. “Something with major damages. Punitive damages.”

Emily kept writing.

“Also, if you have time, check into the false-light cases. I want to know if the whereabouts of a public official can be made into, let’s say, a movie. Or a TV show.”

Emily’s head snapped up, her lined eyes wide. “Are they making a TV show about you?”

So much for secrecy. “I don’t know, but I want to be ready. One last thing. Don’t do the research or the writing in chambers. Go to the library.”

“How about the downstairs library?” Emily meant the courthouse library that all the clerks used, and occasionally a judge or two.

“No. Get off the reservation. Go to Jenkins Law Library. Take your laptop. Got it?”

“Sure,” Emily said, her young face worried. She finally rested her ballpoint. “Are you okay, Judge?”

“Of course.” Cate flashed a convincing smile and stood up. “Now, let’s go!” She got up and Emily followed, and they walked together to the clerks’ office, where Sam was bent over his computer keyboard, his back to the door.

“Sam?” Cate said. He turned in his swivel chair, his expression cowed, still. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It was uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Judge.” Sam’s lower lip trembled, and for a minute he looked like he might cry. “I know I’ve been kind of a…disappointment to you.”

“No, you haven’t, Sam. Not at all.” Cate felt a twinge for the kid, but she didn’t have time for this now. “You and I, we’ll have to talk about this when I get back. I have an errand to run. Okay, pal?”

“Okay.” Sam managed a shaky smile, and Cate ducked out of the clerks’ office and headed for Val’s desk.

“Hey, lady,” Cate called out on the fly. “Please tell me my calendar’s clear this morning.”

“Let me see, Judge.” Val turned to her computer, which set her long amber earrings swinging. A beige pashmina draped around her shoulders, on top of a brown patterned dress. She hit a key on her keyboard and slid her eyes upward while she typed. “You didn’t have to say you were sorry, you know. You gotta teach ’em.”

“Nah, it was right.” Cate grabbed her trench coat from the rack and slid into it as Val frowned at her monitor screen.

“You have a pretrial motion at eleven-thirty. Schrader v. Ickles Industries.”

“Damn.” Cate had meant to read those papers, too. She’d never been so behind on her work. “Please call and cancel it. Tell the courtroom deputy and stenographer, too. I won’t be back until after lunch.” She leaned over the top of Val’s cubicle and lowered her voice. “Marz killed himself with the murder weapon.”

“So it’s over.”

“Yes.”

“Hallelujah. Where’re you going?”

“You don’t want to know.” Cate hurried for the door.