Primary Justice

9

RAVEN, TUCKER & TUBB THREW only two formal bashes a year, the summer cotillion and the obligatory Christmas party, so when those occasions rolled around, Raven could afford to go all out. In fact, according to Ben’s sources, the parties could actually turn a profit, not merely by boosting the self-image of the shareholders, but also by reaping benefits from selected clients who enjoyed a night of high-class revelry. Raven’s bashes had become so elaborate and costly (and well covered in the newspapers), particularly for a big-small city such as Tulsa, that an invitation had become a prestige item. And the only way for a non-Raven attorney—who wasn’t married to or sleeping with a Raven attorney—to get an invitation was to be a client. It was a surprisingly effective incentive.

The ballroom at the Excelsior was enormous. Yet, by congregating all the dining tables in one quarter of the room and reserving a spacious area for dancing, the room was made to feel more festive and intimate. There were also separate smaller rooms adjacent to the ballroom containing pool tables, card tables, and similar amusements for small groups.

The band was an exercise in acoustical compromise, intermixing big-band melodies with Muzaked versions of popular rock songs. The dance floor was almost empty this early in the evening, with never more than ten couples, mostly elder shareholders who had nothing to lose by embarrassing themselves. Shareholders, Ben observed, tended to take the floor with someone else’s wife, or some female associate normally only seen in a gray suit with a scarf bow tie.

After dinner, the plates were cleared, and approximately five hundred people began milling about, trying to shake the right hands, flirt with the right wives and flatter the right egos.

Ben was sitting at a large round table With the other new associates, including Alvin, Greg, and Marianne, all in formal dress. He had hoped the new associates would be distributed throughout the room so he could meet some new people, but instead they were all seated at the same table. As Alvin pointed out, there was no margin for the shareholders in taking the time to learn all the new names, at least not until they had a better idea of who would be staying and who would not.

The only non-new associate at the table was Tom Melton, a gregarious fifth-year associate assigned to supervise and assimilate the incoming class. Tom, Ben thought, was the sort of person who made partying and flattery seem like professional skills. His ability to tell boisterous, bawdy, often self-deprecating jokes was matched only by his ability to butter up shareholders and shamelessly bolster their sense of self-importance. Probably on the partnership track, too.

The male associates at the table were talking sports-predictions of success and failure, with reenacted instant replays. Ben was reminded of the crucial importance of a superficial knowledge of sports for male bonding and camaraderie. When Ben was interviewing, he always made a point of memorizing the day’s sports headlines so that he could drop names into the conversation at strategic points, usually in sentences that began “How ’bout them …” Tonight, he was unprepared.

And there were other problems as well.

“You and I seem to be the only ones here without dates,” Ben said to Alvin. “Of course, I just moved to Tulsa last Saturday. What’s your excuse?”

“I find it easier to function at these formal exercises in social foreplay when I don’t have to worry about whether my date has her head in the punchbowl.”

“I see. Want to shoot some pool?”

“No. I find that the bullets tend to deflect off the surface of the water.”

Oh, it’s going to be one of those conversations, is it? “Excuse me,” Ben said. “I mean, would you like to play a game of billiards?” He turned toward Marianne. “Boy, a minor imprecision, and this guy jumps all over you.”

“Actually, I never jump all over anyone,” Alvin replied.

“Really,” Ben said. “Must be hell on your sex life.”

“Actually, I don’t have a sex life. I’m celibate.”

There was a hush at the table. “Sorry to hear that,” Ben offered.

“No, no, no,” Alvin said. “It’s by choice. I swore an oath of celibacy some time ago. I prefer it this way.”

“I see. That must be … trying.”

“Not at all. I prefer it. Never had it, don’t miss it.”

“Ah.” Ben nodded his head.

Greg decided to join the fun. “Well, better stay away from Raven’s new wife, then,” he advised Alvin. “You may not have any choice.” Several of the men at the table laughed in a knowing fashion.

“Raven has a new wife?” Ben asked Alvin quietly.

“Boy, you don’t keep up at all, do you, Kincaid? How are you ever going to make it in the murky world of firm politics?” He shook his head with disgust. “Yes, Raven has a new wife. His sixth.”

“Have you met her?”

“Not personally. But I’ve heard about her. They say she’s considerably younger than he is.”

“She could hardly be much older.”

“Good point. They also say she’s on the prowl.”

“On the prowl?”

“You heard me. On the prowl. And she likes young associates.”

“Get real.”

“That’s the word on the street. I suppose a woman in her position would come to appreciate anything young, don’t you?” The men all laughed boisterously.

“Kincaid,” Greg said, “you’re single, decent-looking, as far as I know, heterosexual—and not celibate. This could be a tremendous opportunity for you.” He smiled his perfect smile, but it was more like a leer this time.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Greg frowned. “C’mon; Ben, it’s a career move.” He jabbed his elbow into Ben’s ribs. “Close your eyes and think of England.”

Ben half smiled. “I’ll give it some consideration.” He craned his neck around, looking for an avenue of escape from this conversation. Immediately behind him, he saw his old pal, Richard Derek.

“Good evening, Mr. Derek,” Ben said, rising to his feet. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh …” Derek sniffed. “Trying to. I’ve got this damn cough and”—he inhaled deeply—“sinus congestion. Flu, probably. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had pneumonia.”

Somehow, neither would I, Ben thought.

Derek turned toward a diminutive blonde in a floor-length sky-blue gown. “Have you got those cough drops, Louise? Oh, Kincaid, this is my wife.”

Like soldiers at inspection, every male associate sitting at the table rose to his feet. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Derek,” Ben said.

“Oh, call me Louise.” She smiled weakly and nodded her head. She was a slight woman, and somehow, standing next to Derek, she seemed even slighter. “Dick, I don’t know where the cough drops are.”

“Figures.” He cleared his throat, loudly enough to attract attention at the next table. Ben noticed that Derek didn’t even look at his wife when he was ostensibly speaking to her. “Well, glad you could make it tonight, Kincaid. By the way, you did a decent job summarizing your two new cases. Didn’t miss too much. I look forward to reading your brief on the trade dress injunction.” He Sniffed again, then turned away, departing with his wife for cough drops unknown.

Cozy little marriage, Ben thought. He sat back in his chair, only to find every associate’s eye fixed upon him. Receiving public accolades from shareholders, however minor, was probably not the way to endear oneself to one’s fellow associates. He stood again and pushed his chair away from the banquet table.

Greg sidled up next to him and whispered in his ear. “Psst, Kincaid.” He gave Ben a conspiratorial look. “Let’s break into the good stuff.”

Ben looked back at him blankly. “The good stuff?”

“You know. Booze.”

“Greg, there are open bars all over this place.”

“Yeah, but not the good stuff. Courvoisier. Dom Pérignon.”

“I understood that was strictly for the senior shareholders to dispense to megafees-paying clients.”

Greg smiled his trademark smile. “I found the cabinet where it’s kept. In the adjoining room.”

“I’m sure it’s locked.”

Greg wiggled his fingers in the air. “There was never a liquor cabinet I couldn’t break into. These fingers can open any lock, crack any security system.” He jabbed Ben in the ribs. “And they say you don’t learn anything in a fraternity.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so, Greg. I’d like to wait until my second week at least before I get caught confiscating firm assets.”

“C’mon, Kincaid, don’t be a wimp.”

“No.” He turned away from Greg and found himself standing face-to-face with Mr. Raven. Raven was peering into a short piece of paper held close to his nose.

“Let’s see,” the elderly man said. “Are you Amberson?”

Ben swallowed. Didn’t Raven recognize him from the incident in the stairwell?

“Er … no, sir.”

“Hager?”

“No, sir.”

Raven continued his microscopic scrutiny of the paper. “Well, I give up then. Who are you?”

“Kincaid, sir. Benjamin Kincaid.”

“Ahh, Kincaid!” he exclaimed. He took a pencil from his jacket and drew a line through one name on his list. “Good. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

Ben stared at the old man. Was this some sort of bizarre test, or did he really not remember? Ben decided to play along.

“It’s a true honor to meet you, sir.”

Raven nodded and returned his gaze to his list. “All right,” he said, “who’s Amberson?” He moved around the new associates’ table in search of the other names on his list.

“Well, if he won’t introduce me, I’ll have to do it myself.”

Ben looked away from the table and saw a thin, black-haired woman in an exquisite décolleté black gown. It was trashy, but an expensive, tasteful sort of trashy. Black mesh at top and bottom, covering her figure just enough in strategically chosen places.

“I’m Raven’s new wife, Mona. And you’re …?”

“Ben Kincaid,” he said, suddenly flustered. He realized he’d been caught staring. He offered her his hand.

Standing closer to her, Ben saw that Alvin was right. She was nowhere near Raven’s age—late thirties, maybe. He wondered how much of the rest of Alvin’s information about this woman was accurate.

“Ben. Very nice to meet you.” She took his hand and held it tightly between both of hers. Her fingernails were painted black. She made eye contact and smiled. The smile seemed to answer most of Ben’s questions.

The band returned from their break and began plugging in their instruments for the next dance. Mr. Raven bowed gallantly beside Marianne.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked. Marianne laughed, adjusted her glasses, and let him lead her to the dance floor.

“That husband of mine,” Mona said dryly. “Always on the make. Well, I guess that leaves you and me, Benjy.” She linked her arm through Ben’s and before he knew what was happening, he was being hauled toward the dance floor. Ben realized any protest was probably futile.

“So what are you working on, Ben?”

“Oh, several projects for Richard Derek—”

“Derek? Oh, poor boy.” She looked nostalgically at Derek, who was standing at the opposite side of the room. “Nice enough in the looks department, but he couldn’t sustain, if you know what I mean.”

Ben hoped he didn’t.

“Just do what he says and try not to laugh when he tells you about his old polo injury. You’ll do okay. Got any oil-and-gas work?”

“Ahh, not yet. I’m working on a domestic matter for Joseph Sanguine—”

“Really? Have you met him?”

Ben shook his head no.

“He’s here, you know. I’ll introduce you.” She waved her free hand in the air. “Joey! Yoo-hoo, Joey! Over here!”

Ben’s face reddened. He wanted to meet Sanguine, but he had hoped for a more respectable introduction.

After a moment, a tall, distinguished-looking man with a full head of gray and black hair and a thick mustache walked toward the yoo-hooing Mona. He had a dark, rugged face that bespoke many hours exposed to the sun. Native American descent, Ben guessed, at least in part.

Sanguine’s lips turned up slightly when he saw Mona. “Mona! Good to see you again. Where’s Arthur?”

She poked Sanguine in the side. “Oh, you know how he is. He’s got some nymphet on the dance floor. You look awfully good tonight, Joey.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Joey, I want you to meet a new Raven associate. He’s working for you.”

Ben stepped forward and extended his hand. “Benjamin Kincaid, sir.”

They shook hands. Ben felt an inexplicable shiver run up his arm. This was a man with presence. A presence that he wore like an overcoat and that seemed just as tangible.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sanguine said. “I always like to know who Raven’s got working for me. They’ve got so damn many lawyers doing so damn many things, I can’t possibly keep track of them all. What are you working on, son?”

Ben hesitated. “Well … I’m working on the adoption matter for Bertha Adams, the woman whose husband …” He trailed off.

“Yes,” Sanguine said. “Very much a tragedy. Jonathan had been with the company for a long time, even before I bought it. He seemed like … part of the furniture to me.” He paused. “You never know just how much you depend on someone until you lose him. I hope there won’t be any problem helping that sweet lady adopt that child. I want us to do anything we can to help her.”

“In that regard, Mr. Sanguine,” Ben said slowly, “I’d like to speak to you at your convenience. You and perhaps some of the other Sanguine employees who knew Mr. Adams.”

Sanguine’s brow wrinkled. “Really? I can’t imagine what help I could be.” He scrutinized Ben’s face. “Still, if you think it will assist you, fine. Come up to my office Monday morning.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

Mona decided to reassert her dominance of the conversation. “Enough, enough. You two are starting to talk about business. Ben has promised me a dance. At the very least.”

Sanguine looked at Ben with an arched eyebrow. Ben tried his best to communicate his denial nonverbally. Mona’s arm again clamped down on his.

The band was in full swing now. They were playing a Bruce Springsteen tune, but making it sound like a Lawrence Welk standard. Ben and Mona reached the dance floor and began to sway roughly in time to the music. Ben was not much of a dancer, and given that he had worked at Raven for less than a week and had no idea what shareholder might be watching him, he decided to play it low-key.

Mona, he discovered to his dismay, was from the full-body, free-spirit school that perceived dancing as a tribal rite of foreplay. She wriggled, she squirmed, she heaved. When they were close, Ben heard strange guttural noises emanating from between her teeth. And stealing occasional furtive glances over her shoulder, Ben saw that many eyes in the ballroom were understandably fixed upon Mona. And, by association, Ben.

And then, just when Ben thought he had reached the apex of embarrassment, matters got worse. The band finished the Springsteen and began another song. A slow dance.

“Well, thanks,” Ben said, edging away. “I enjoyed the dance.”

Mona seized his hand. “You’re not slipping away yet, my sweet young thing. Come cuddle with Mona.”

Ben felt his face burning. He was finished. He knew it. Might as well get the résumés back in the mail. He extended his arms to hold her in the traditional waltz posture, but she insisted upon the full-body press more popular in junior high schools. Blissfully, the lights dimmed.

Ben tried to keep in step with the music, but he found Mona was more interested in groping than dancing. He felt her hot breath in his ear.

“Let’s do something crazy,” she whispered, breathing hard.

“Like what?” he responded, wishing he hadn’t.

“Don’t play games with me, Kincaid. You’ve been teasing me all night long. You don’t give a girl a chance, do you?” She leaned forward and nibbled on his ear.

“Stop that!” Ben said. He looked around quickly to see if anybody was watching. “You could get me fired.”

“You could get me fired up.” She blew into his ear.

“Please!” Ben pleaded. “You’re the senior partner’s wife. If anyone found out—”

“So don’t tell anyone. I think boys who kiss and tell are naughty.” She licked her lips suggestively. “I’m ready to go.”

“I can’t afford to lose my job the first week—”

“Well, that’s just what will happen, Benjy, if you don’t meet me in the hallway outside the ballroom in two minutes.” Her voice had a new edge to it. “Don’t forget, I talk with the boss on a regular basis. I can have you out of this firm in a heartbeat.” She stroked him under his chin and smiled. “And I’d hate to see that happen. Such a waste. So meet me in two minutes.”

Ben sputtered, “But what will I tell everyone?”

“Tell them you’re going out for fresh air.”

“Where will we go?”

Mona released him and stepped back. “Come on, Benjy, this is a hotel, after all. And bring me a glass of champagne.” She lifted the hem of her gown and ran quickly off the dance floor. Ben walked slowly in another direction, doing his best to look as if he had come with someone else.

Ben paced back and forth in the hallway with a glass of champagne in each hand. It had been five minutes. If she didn’t show up soon, he’d just leave and claim he thought he’d been stood up. But what if she told some lie about him to Raven? No, he needed to talk with her, to make her see the error of her ways. He was certain he could reason with her as one logical human being to another. He didn’t have anything personal against her; it was just an impossible proposition.

He heard a commotion at the other end of the hallway, by the escalators that led to the hotel lobby one floor up. Louise Derek was standing at the base of the up escalator, facing her husband, who was riding up. They were arguing with one another, in loud, strident voices.

“I’ve never even seen your goddamn cough drops!” Louise shrieked. For a petite woman, she could muster an extremely powerful voice.

“Sure,” Derek said, not even deigning to look at her. “Right. Then where are they?”

“How the hell should I know? Maybe you left them at your girlfriend’s place.”

Derek stepped off the up escalator and stepped onto the down. “Don’t start that again. Every time you get upset about something you fail back on—”

“Don’t tell me what to start up! I’ll start it up if I want to. You’re a walking viral infection! God knows what you’ve brought home to my bed!”

“Louise, that’s all in the past.”

“Sure, that’s your story. How the hell would I know?” Her face was becoming red and blotchy. “It’s not as if you’re ever home!”

Derek sighed, stepped off the down escalator, brushed past her, and rode back up again. “I work very hard—”

“At certain things, yes.”

Derek began to get angry. “Look, I do it for you. You and the kids.”

Louise laughed bitterly. “The hell you do. Look, Dick, if you’re doing it for me—don’t. I’d rather have a husband than a super-stud lawyer.” She laughed again. “The only person in your whole life you’ve ever done anything for is yourself. You’re the most goddamn selfish man ever!” Tears were beginning to stream from her eyes.

Derek started back down again on the other escalator. “You’re not being fair.”

“Who says I have to be fair? God knows you’ve never been fair, you egotistical son-of-a-bitch!” Derek stepped off the escalator and moved toward her. “And you keep your fucking hands off!” She wrapped her arms around herself and walked away.

Derek sighed, got back on the escalator, and rode all the way up. He strode into the lobby and disappeared.

Louise began walking toward Ben. Her face looked as if it had aged five years in five minutes.

Ben decided this would be an opportune moment to make himself scarce.

He turned left down a narrow hallway opposite the north side of the ballroom. Almost immediately, a door on the left opened and a familiar hand with long black fingernails reached out to him.

“Pssst. In here.” The hand gripped Ben’s wrist and gave him a tug. Champagne spilled on Ben’s tuxedo. The hand pulled him into a tiny dark room.

“What is this?” Ben asked.

“Janitorial closet,” she whispered. She took the champagne glasses away and yanked off his jacket.

“But I thought—”

“This is better,” she said. “More intimate. More dangerous.” She started untying his bow tie.

“Right,” Ben muttered. “Just what I was hoping for. More danger. Ow!” He banged his head on an overhead shelf. Shifting positions, he managed to rest himself against a dusty shelf loaded with cleaning fluids. “Not much room in here.”

“That’s right, Benjy, nowhere to go but into Mona. Come to Mama.”

Ben reached out into the darkness to stop whatever overture she was making, but his hand alighted on soft warm flesh that could be nothing other than a woman’s breast. With a sudden frisson of horror, Ben realized that she was not wearing any clothing.

Ben began to feel queasy. “Look, Mrs. Raven, let’s examine this rationally—”

“Examine this, you tease.” She bit down on his earlobe and pressed her hot naked body against his. “First you lure a girl into the janitor’s closet, then you play hard to get. You sexual sadist! Stop talking and get on with it.”

Ben felt a skilled hand systematically eliminating the pearl-studded buttons on his shirt. She was out of control, an unstoppable, elemental force of nature. He prayed that no one in the hotel got a sudden urge to do some dusting.