Primary Justice

19

BEN DASHED INTO JUDGE Schmidt’s courtroom, briefcase in hand, coat slung over his arm. Christina was waiting for him at the plaintiff’s table …

“Where’s Derek?” she asked.

“You mean he’s not here yet?” Ben threw his briefcase and coat in a chair by the table.

“Don’t worry. He works well on his feet. Just get the script out.”

A tiny blonde in a plain red dress walked up to the table. Her hair was disarranged, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in several nights. Mascara had been applied to her eyes with an unsteady hand.

“Where is he?” the woman asked.

Ben looked up. “Mrs. Derek!” He corrected himself. “Louise.”

“Where is he?” she repeated.

“You mean Mr. Derek?” Ben exchanged a glance with Christina. “He’s not here yet. He’s still … not here yet.”

Louise released a short, bitter laugh. “He’s not at home. He hasn’t been home all night.”

“I see,” Ben said, nodding his head. He drummed his fingers on the table. What to say, what to say? “Can I … give Mr. Derek a message when he arrives?”

Louise was staring at Christina. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”

Christina pressed her hand against her chest. “Me? No, I’m not … I mean, I don’t know what you mean, but whatever you mean, it isn’t me.”

Louise repeated the bitter laugh. “I don’t suppose you’d admit it if you were. I couldn’t even expect him to commit adultery in an honorable fashion.”

She returned her gaze to Ben. “Yes, you can take a message. On one of those little pink sheets of paper. Check the box labeled no return call required. This is my message: don’t come home—we don’t want you.” She took a deep breath. “Ever.”

With that, she pivoted on her heels and marched out of the courtroom.

Ben pursed his lips and blew. “Whew. You get the feeling Derek has crossed the line once too often?”

Christina nodded. “Evidently. I don’t care much, though, for being linked with Derek. Particularly not as the homewrecking floozy. Next thing I know, I’ll be hauled into divorce court.”

Behind Ben, someone cleared his throat. “I have the exhibits Mr. Derek asked for.”

Ben looked up and saw Darryl Tidwell, Sanguine’s personal secretary. He was wearing a blue sports jacket and, beneath it, a pink cardigan sweater and darker pink tie.

“These are the photographs we took of the interior and exterior of this Eggs ‘N’ Such place.” Ben looked at each of the photographs as Tidwell handed them to him. “As you can see, their street sign is extremely similar to our Eggs ‘N’ Stuff logo—same colors, same font. Similar on the inside, too. Same decor, practically identical menu—the whole ball of wax.” He handed the entire packet to Ben. “I’d have gotten these to you sooner, but I was delayed.”

“I’ll see that Derek gets these.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Tidwell asked.

“He’s—” Ben began.

“—out for the moment,” Christina interceded. “He’ll be here any minute.”

“Oh,” Tidwell said. He ran his fingers through the thinning hair on either side of his bald head. “Say, Ben, do you know why they’re replacing laboratory rats with lawyers?”

Ben sighed. Remember: courtesy to the client. “No. Why?”

“Lawyers are more plentiful, and you don’t get so attached to them.” He laughed heartily. “Also there are some things a rat just won’t do.” He laughed even louder.

Ben tried to smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll find a seat. Sanguine wants me to give him a full report on the hearing.”

“Good plan.”

Tidwell turned and shuffled back to the courtroom gallery.

Christina glanced toward the door leading to the judge’s chambers. “There’s the bailiff. If Derek doesn’t show up in about two minutes, Ben, I’d say you’re about to give your first oral argument.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“All rise.”

The court bailiff stepped through the door and behind him, in a long black robe, was Judge Schmidt.

“You may be seated,” he intoned solemnly. Schmidt appeared to be in his early fifties. He had an orange-brown mustache the same color that his hair probably was back when he had hair.

“Stone Face is right,” Ben whispered to Christina as the bailiff began calling the docket. “What a humorless character.”

At that instant, Ben saw Derek sliding into the chair next to his at the plaintiff’s table. The hair on the right side of his head was sticking straight out and he wore a day’s growth of stubble. His clothes reeked of smoke. “So where’s the script?” he growled quietly.

“Right here.” Ben patted the papers on the table.

Derek glanced down. “Lots of highbrow literary allusions?”

“You bet.”

Derek quietly grunted his approval. He set his briefcase atop the table and raised the lid so as to cut off the judge’s view of his face.

Ben watched as Derek removed a plastic disposable razor from his briefcase and scraped it across his chin. That must sting, Ben thought, but Derek didn’t seem to notice. Derek licked his fingers, ran them through his hair twice and, after checking that no one was watching, discreetly positioned his toupee. As if by magic, every thing seemed to settle more or less into place. He removed two tablets from a smoked plastic pill bottle and popped them into his mouth. “Hangover remedy,” he murmured.

The bailiff finished calling the docket and formally announcing the appearances of the attorneys. He returned to the first case on the docket.

“Sanguine Enterprises vs. Martin Food Corp., doing business as Eggs ‘N’ Such, case number CJ-92-49235-S, is now called before this court. Are the parties present and ready?”

Attorneys on both sides announced that they were.

“Very well,” Judge Schmidt said in a heavy voice, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “Opening statements, please. And be brief,” he added wearily.

“Thank you, Your Honor!” Derek rose, buttoned the top button of his jacket, and strode to the podium. He seemed calm and self-assured, not remotely as if he had been up all night, had a hangover, and was about to deliver a speech he’d never seen before.

“Your Honor, the motion for injunctive relief before the court today presents only a single issue, but it is an issue of great importance both to Sanguine Enterprises and to the business world in general. The question presented to this court, simply stated, is this: has Martin Foods, through the Tulsa restaurant known as Eggs ‘N’ Such, so appropriated and infringed upon the trade dress of the national chain of restaurants known as Eggs ‘N’ Stuff as to demand immediate injunctive relief to prevent inevitable irreparable harm?”

The judge stared stonily at Derek, not as if he were an oral advocate, but as if he were an unusual kind of bug.

“In this case, Your Honor, the only possible answer to that question is: yes.”

Ben had to admire Derek. His delivery was very smooth. Although he had never laid eyes on the script before, he did not seem dependent on it or tied to it. He managed to both read and establish eye contact with the judge.

“In every respect, be it color, design, or decor, interior or exterior, Eggs ‘N’ Such has intentionally mimicked Eggs ‘N’ Stuff for the express purpose of creating confusion amongst the Eggs ‘N’ Stuff clientele and unfairly diverting Eggs ‘N’ Stuff business. In the words of the great French existentialist—” He paused.

Ben realized there was a problem.

“—Albert Camus—” Derek got it entirely wrong. He pronounced the t in Albert and read Camus as if it were came us.

And then a miracle happened. The great Stone Face cracked. Schmidt tossed his head against the back of his chair and began to laugh, a loud, staccato clucking sound that reverberated throughout the keenly acoustic courtroom.

The judge rubbed his hand against his forehead. “Came us,” he murmured quietly, and then he began to laugh again.

Derek tried to continue, but stopped, realizing the futility of proceeding until the court had had its little joke. He turned and stared frigidly at Ben.

Ben received the chilling glance. He noticed Tidwell writing furiously in his notepad. Ben returned his attention to the table, shuffled some papers, and began formulating his future response. Inevitably, this was going to turn out to be all his fault.