Primary Justice

32

BEN HAD TO CONCEDE that Derek’s home could not be faulted for failing to reflect the personality of the owner. The house itself, a huge rectangular, white-brick affair that might have passed for a mausoleum, towered in the foreground. The cabana beside the Olympic-size swimming pool, also in white brick, looked like a miniature of the house.

The highlight of the patio area, however, was the pool itself. On the bottom of the pool, shimmering beneath the surface, was a mermaid, her head in the deep end, her tail in the shallow. The mermaid was not merely painted on; she was sculpted, in three-dimensional splendor. Best of all, the mermaid was painted with anatomical accuracy and detail. Each green scale on her tail could be discerned; the pink nipples on her ample breasts were visible from any point in the backyard. The voluptuous sea maiden seemed to rise from the surface of the pool and beckon the innocent to a watery doom.

As if this wasn’t enough, a clear acrylic screen was built into the wall of the deep end of the pool. From a staircase outside, guests could descend into a sunken room and, without getting a toenail wet, observe the merlady and her court. The potential uses of this architectural wonder staggered Ben’s imagination.

Ben was trapped in a conversational clique with Derek and Sanguine. Derek seemed perfectly at home; had he moved back in? Maybe Louise had gone somewhere else—home to Mother, perhaps. Derek was talking about himself, Sanguine was listening, and Ben was bored. Tidwell was also there, but he wasn’t saying much. He seemed to be out of sorts. In fact, he had yet to tell a single lawyer joke. Perhaps, Ben hypothesized, he’s concerned that the presence of in-house counsel will diminish his influence with his boss.

“Speak into my good ear,” Derek said, amid a chain of reminiscences about an antitrust case Derek had litigated for Sanguine several months before. “I don’t like to admit it, but I might as well tell you, Joe, I’ve got some hearing loss in my right ear. When I was in the Coast Guard, I spent a miserable winter night doing swimming drills on Chesapeake Bay. The wind was so cold it could freeze your eardrum shut. Total aural paralysis. My poor ear has never recovered.” Out of Derek’s eyesight, Sanguine winked at Ben.

“That explains a lot of the things I’ve heard you say in oral argument,” Sanguine said to Derek. “I’ve always suspected you couldn’t hear the judge’s questions.”

Derek took a sip from his martini. “Remember the oral argument in Charleston?” he said. “The personal jurisdiction question?”

A misty-eyed expression crossed Sanguine’s face. “That was a classic. Were you in on that, Tidwell?”

“No, sir,” he said politely. He smoothed the few hairs stretched across his bald head. “I was checking out a potential location for the Phoenix franchise that week.”

“Well, you missed a classic,” Sanguine continued. “This poor legal assistant kept trying to pass Dick a note while he was speaking, but he didn’t notice her, and she kept whispering and pssting till finally the judge himself rose from the bench and told Dick to turn around and take the damn note!”

Derek and Sanguine laughed heartily. Ben did the best he could.

“She was a cute little redheaded number,” Sanguine said after he calmed down. “What was her name again?”

“Christina,” Derek said, smiling. “Christina McCord or McLaine or something like that.”

Ben considered correcting him, then thought better of it.

“We ought to work with her again, Dick,” Sanguine said, winking. He nudged Derek with his elbow. Derek’s drink spilled onto his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I liked her.”

Derek countersmirked. “Would you like that, Joe? I think I could make her available to you. If you catch my meaning.”

This was more than Ben felt able to hear. Boring nostalgia trips and macho posturing he could handle, but he drew the line at snide remarks about a woman who was currently performing a hellatious task for him as a personal favor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need a fresh drink.”

“Sure, kid,” Derek said, still ha-haing to himself.” Drink up. This is your night.”

Ben walked toward the bar table. The whole party gave him the creeps. Especially Derek. Derek has been nothing but antagonistic and arrogant since the day I came to the firm, Ben thought, but today, he’s hosting a party in my honor. Not forty-eight hours ago, Sanguine was hostile, suspicious, and barely civil to me, but today, we’re old drinking buddies.

Marianne and Greg were standing in the bar line chatting. Greg saw Ben approaching, threw his arm around Ben, and squeezed his neck tightly in the crook of his arm. “My old buddy!” he screamed. “Ben! How’s it going, big guy?”

Ben wasn’t sure if Greg was drunk or if this was just his boisterous way of maintaining his status as the prince of party animals. “I’m fine, Greg. Nice coat, by the way.”

“What, this old rag?” He flashed his lightweight cashmere jacket. “You like the way it hangs?”

“Well, I like it better than that white Brideshead Revisited number you wore the first day of work.”

“Yeah, I thought it was time for an image revamp. This makes me look more like a regular guy, don’t you think?”

“Greg … that’s cashmere.”

Greg glanced at his jacket. “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is. Hey, this is some party, isn’t it? I bet Marianne had no idea the perks would start perking this soon, huh?” He jabbed Marianne in the side. “And I guess we’ve got you to thank for this one, Ben-man!” He gave Ben another squeeze around the shoulders. “You’re some kind of animal, big guy.”

Ben nodded pleasantly.

“Hey,” Greg said, his eyes suddenly growing as wide as his smile. “Remember that time at the Bare Fax, you and me? Was that awesome or what?” Greg laughed heartily enough for both of them, which was fortunate, since Ben wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah, those were the days,” Ben said. He couldn’t believe they were reminiscing about an event from last week as if it were a golden memory from yesteryear.

Greg took a gin and tonic from the bartender. “Well, I better move on. More flesh to press and shareholders to impress.” He socked Ben on the side of his arm. “But I guess you know all about that, huh, big guy?” Greg turned away and blended into the crowd.

Ben and Marianne looked at one another. “What the hell was that all about?” Ben asked.

Marianne smiled thinly. “I think you just got promoted from fellow associate to big guy,” she answered. She took her rum and Coke from the bartender.

“I guess he heard the announcement about in-house counsel.”

“Apparently,” Marianne said. “Especially the part about how you’d be assigning Sanguine work to attorneys of your choice.”

“Really?” Ben responded. “I didn’t know that.” Marianne stared at him. “Talk about the way of the world. If you’re a woman, you can bust your butt your whole life and never get a decent job. If you’re a man, they fall into your lap so fast, you don’t even know what you’ve got.”

Ben took his Seven-Up from the bartender. He noticed that Marianne had changed her hairstyle. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

“I guess that’s intended to make you look more professional?” Ben asked.

“What? Oh, the hairdo. Yeah, well …”

“At least you’re not still worrying about your name,” Ben said.

“I’m not,” Marianne said, “but that reminds me. Have you met my date?” Ben shook his head. “He’s around here somewhere. Tall, good-looking fellow. Thick mustache. His name is Kevin. Actually, his full name is Charles Kevin Bryant. He’s an architect. But I can’t decide whether I should introduce him as Kevin or Charles. You know, to make the right impression.” She reflected for a moment. “Maybe C. Kevin.”

C. Kevin? Ben tried to keep a straight face. C. Kevin walk. C. Kevin run. “Not very conversational, is it?”

“I suppose not. But Kevin sounds so little-kiddish. I want people to understand that he, too, is a young professional. I don’t want anybody to get the idea that I’m going out with a bum.” She took a drink from her rum and Coke. “What do you think, Ben? I trust your judgment. I want to do the right thing.”

“I’m sure you will,” he murmured.

Marianne adjusted her glasses and peered over Ben’s shoulder. “Oh my God, Ben,” she said slowly. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Ben turned to look in the same general direction as Marianne. Alvin was just arriving—and Alvin had brought a date.

Ben started to look away, but before he could, Alvin caught his eye. He started walking in Ben’s direction.

“I suppose you know who she is,” Ben said under his breath.

“Do I look like a hermit?” Marianne responded. “Of course I know.”

Alvin walked up to Ben, all smiles, and thrust his hand forward. “Shake, partner.” Marianne received the same jovial treatment. “I’d like you both to meet my fiancée, Candy Cordell. Candy, this is Ben Kincaid and Marianne Gunnerson.”

It was her, all right. As little attention as Ben had managed to pay to her face on that fateful night, he nonetheless recognized the multitalented dancer-waitress from the Bare Fax. Her red hair was gathered up and separated into two pigtails, which seemed to remove at least five years from her age. The low lighting on the patio also seemed kinder to her than the harsh, no-secrets lighting of the Bare Fax. She was wearing blue jeans and a white blouse with a plunging neckline and small holes throughout. It was a blouse that would make her very popular with the men at the party and very unpopular with the women.

Ben yanked Alvin by the arm and pulled him aside. “What are you doing?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “This is professional suicide.”

Alvin looked at him gravely. “If she’s going to be my wife, Ben, and she is, they’re going to have to meet her sometime. Besides, they don’t have to know about … you know, the past.” the subject of their conversation interrupted them before Ben had a chance to rebut. “Oh, I remember you,” Candy squealed, as if finding a long-lost friend. “You were there in—”

“Yes, that was me all right,” Ben said, cutting her off. “What madcap days they were.”

“Excuse me. Can I cut in?”

Ben jumped, startled. It was Derek again, with Sanguine hanging on his shoulder. They both looked hours drunker than they had when he left them a few minutes before.

Derek spotted Candy and leered at her in a not-very-subtle manner. Oh well, Ben thought, I suppose she’s accustomed to it.

“Introduce us to the young lady, Mr. Hager,” Derek said, grinning obscenely.

“With pleasure, sir,” Alvin said, rising to the occasion. Introductions were had all around. Alvin placed heavy emphasis on the words my fiancée.

Derek edged closer to Candy. “I hope you won’t think me sexist if I say, in all candor, that you are a beautiful woman.”

“Not at all. Call ’em like you see ’em, that’s what I always tell my customers.” She laughed boisterously.

Derek’s eyebrows arched. “What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ben covered his eyes and held his breath.

“Well, I’m going to college now,” she said.

Ben exhaled quietly.

“At least I am at the start of the fall semester. Alvin’s treat.” She slid her arm around his waist and squeezed. “He’s my little sugar daddy.”

“Is that right?” Derek said loudly. He seemed to find this very amusing.

Suddenly, music began to swell from the chain of speakers built into the outside walls. A Fifties rock ’n’ roll tune was starting. “Sounds like it’s time to boogie,” Derek said eagerly. “Anybody here dance?”

“I dance all the time,” Candy said.

“No!” Ben and Alvin shouted simultaneously.

“I mean,” Alvin added, “her first dance should be with her fiancée.”

“Quite right,” Ben seconded. “Quite right.”

Alvin took Candy’s hand and led her to the area reserved for dancing. Derek and Sanguine walked the other way. “Hell of a woman,” Ben heard Derek say as they walked away. “Didn’t think Hager had it in him. Knockers out to here.”

Ben heard a new voice behind him. “And just as the music begins, who do I find but my all-time favorite dancing partner.”

Ben swirled. As if the nightmare wasn’t bad enough already, there, standing behind him, was Mona Raven, hanging on the arm of her illustrious husband.

“Mona!” Ben cried, and he really felt like crying. She was dressed in casual chic, a gold lame blouse flowing seamlessly into a tight leather skirt. Unlike Candy, the low lighting did her no favors.

“I believe we’ve met,” Raven said, in his creaky, tremulous voice.

“Yes, of course we have. It was a pleasure,” Ben said, shaking hands. He wondered which meeting the old man remembered.

“And we’ve had the pleasure of a dance, as I recall,” Raven said, turning his attention to Marianne. Apparently his memory functioned best in relation to pretty younger women. “That was a tradition I think we should revive.” He offered Marianne his arm. Marianne smiled and walked to the dance floor with Raven.

Mona placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder and pressed close. “I thought you were very manly at the Red Parrot the other evening. Almost heroic.”

“Kind of you to say so.” Ben looked out the corners of his eyes to see who was watching.

“I want seconds,” she said. She contorted her mouth in strange undulating ovals and growled.

“Forget it, Mona. It just isn’t going to happen.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to tell Joseph about some of the nasty skeletons in his new in-house counsel’s closet.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “I’ve heard you and Sanguine have a few old bones rattling around, too.”

Mona drew back a step. “I don’t know what you’re implying.” Her smile faded. “I don’t think I like your new attitude, Benjy. I may have to have a little discussion with my husband. He always likes to know which associates are poking his wife.”

“Fine,” Ben said. He looked the woman straight in the eyes. She just didn’t scare him anymore. Somehow, he thought, after you’ve seen a woman in a faded jeans jacket hanging on the shoulder of a 250-pound biker, it’s hard to take her seriously. “You tell him what you want, and then I’ll tell him who I found slumming at the Red Parrot the other night.”

Mona laughed. “He’ll never believe you.”

“I have pictures.”

“You do not!”

“Don’t I, though? We undercover cops never leave home without our bow-tie cameras.”

Mona’s eyes fluttered. The energy seemed to drain out of her face. “It’s because I’m old, isn’t it?” Ben saw water forming into the wells of her eyes.

“No,” he said softly. He put his hand on her arm. “It’s not like that. It’s just not right for me.”

Before she had a chance to respond, a scream shot out from the area near the shallow end of the swimming pool.

“You’re a contagion! A goddamned bubonic plague!” It was Louise Derek, railing at her husband. What was she doing here? Her face looked tired and drawn, even worse than it had that morning in Judge Schmidt’s courtroom.

“I thought they split up,” Ben said staring at the feuding couple.

“They did,” Mona said as she watched the spectacle. “They got back together again. He begged her to let him come back. Think of the good times, think of the kids, all that rot. I told her not to go back, but …” Mona sighed. “After he tried to kill himself, she gave in.”

“What?”

“Ran a hose from the exhaust pipe on his Jaguar. Tried to asphyxiate himself. Had to be rushed to the hospital.”

“I heard he had an acute asthma attack.”

Mona looked at him and smiled. “My, you really are young, aren’t you?” She turned back to watch the Dereks. “I suppose she hasn’t made his life a picnic these past few years. It would be easy to feel sorry for him if he weren’t a totally selfish, unfaithful, egomaniacal son of a bitch.”

“You’re the Typhoid Mary of infidelity!” Louise screamed, easily loud enough for everyone at the party to hear. Her voice was a strange amalgam of shrieking and sobbing.

“Come on, honey,” Derek said. “You’re making a scene. Don’t get upset.” He reached out toward her.

“Don’t tell me not to get upset!” she said, slapping his hands away. “I have every right to get upset!” She took a giant step backward, which brought her to the edge of the shallow end of the pool.

“Get her away from the pool,” Ben said, not loudly enough. “Someone needs to get her away from the pool, before this tragedy turns to farce.”

“I want you out of the house!” Louise continued screaming. “I want you, and all your belongings, and every filthy microbe of your being out of my house!”

“Honey, be reasonable.” Again Derek reached out to her.

She swung wildly at his arms, missed, and slipped. She waved her arms in desperate circles, trying to regain her balance, but it was too late. With a loud shriek, she plummeted into the shallow end of the pool.

Ben hoped Derek would at least have the decorum not to laugh. He was seriously overestimating Derek’s powers of self-control. Derek virtually exploded with glee. “It’s too rich!” he said, between drunken laughs. “Too perfect.”

“Well, that’s the limit,” Mona muttered. She threw down her purse, stomped over to the swimming pool, and, with a single shove, pushed Derek into the pool. He screamed, then started splashing wildly.

Ben noticed several people looking anxiously toward the front gate. The show was over, he supposed, all but the mopping up of the blood. He decided it would be a good time to join the exodus.

As he headed toward his car, he saw a shadowy figure standing in the street, pacing back and forth beside the curb.

“Ben?” the figure asked. It was Brancusci.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“Looking for you. Your office told me where you were. Eventually. What a snotty secretary you have.” He stepped into the beam of the streetlight. “I’ve got all the papers you wanted together. They’re at my apartment now.”

Ben sighed. It had been an exhausting day. He couldn’t possibly focus on financial reports tonight. “I think tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

Brancusci’s brow creased. “I thought you said you were in a hurry? Besides, it isn’t just the financials. I figured out who—” He froze in the middle of the sentence.

“What? What is it?”

“My God,” Brancusci said, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know he’d be here.”

Ben turned and saw Mona walking out with a tall, good-looking fellow with a mustache. He realized it was Marianne’s date, the notorious C. Kevin. Poor Marianne—evidently, he wasn’t as professional as she thought. Or maybe he was.

“Did he see me?” Brancusci whispered. He ducked behind one of the cars parked on the street.

“Did who see you?” Ben asked. “C. Kevin?”

More people were coming through the gate. Brancusci began skittering away.

“Call me tomorrow,” Brancusci whispered. He disappeared into the darkness.

The guests were dispersing. After a few moments, Derek and his wife emerged from the front of the house. Ben ducked into his Honda.

Derek had both arms around his wife’s shoulders. He was patting her dry with a bath towel. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Ben heard him say, in a soft, purring tone. “I’ll try to be better. Let’s get you to the hospital and see about that nasty bump on your head.” He opened the passenger door of the Jaguar parked in the driveway, and she stepped inside. Derek crawled behind the wheel and drove the car down the street.

What an incredible night, Ben thought, driving away. His headlights flashed on the front porch, and Ben saw someone standing in a dark corner beside the door. He looked in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t see anyone. A trick of the light? If not, how long had the person been there? Is that who Brancusci saw?

He turned his car around and flashed his brights on the front of the house. There was no one there, now.

Ben made a U-turn and headed home. He rolled up the car window, trying to shake off a distinct chill.