Solomon versus Lord

Forty-one
SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES

Steve and Victoria climbed the front steps of the Justice Building, just as the Voodoo Squad janitors finished their cleanup. The cakes, candles, and skulls-offerings to various Santeria gods from families of defendants-were tossed into garbage bags, and the accused were left to their fate before mere mortals: judges and jurors.

Katrina would be waiting in the lawyer-client lounge. Victoria hoped she had followed instructions on what to wear. They had spent several hours last night in Katrina's vast closet, Victoria spending a good deal of the time saying, “No.”

No to the one-button tuxedo in silk crepe de chine, with the plunging neckline.

No to the metallic cherry red crochet dress with the scoop neck.

No to the shimmering, beaded lace dress with the sheer top.

They had settled on a Carolina Herrera wool flannel skirt suit in pearl gray, a tasteful belt at the waist. Now, on the escalator headed to the courtroom, Victoria listened to Solomon lecture her on jury selection in that annoying, superior tone.

“Watch the body language. Try to figure who are leaders, who are followers.”

“I will.”

“Strike all unattractive women, they'll hate our client.”

“I know,” she said.

“The man who sits with his elbows in his lap is submissive. The guy who encroaches on the next juror's chair is dominant.”

“I know. I know.”

“See who's carrying hardcover books, who's carrying the Daily Racing Form.”

“Got it.”

“Strike anyone reading a book by Bill O'Reilly.”

“Why?”

“They're gonna be obnoxious know-it-alls.”

They got off on the second floor and took the escalator to the third floor. “Watch Marvin the Maven in the front row,” Steve said. “If he tugs an earlobe-”

“He wants me to steal second base?”

“He wants you to challenge the juror. Another thing: Let the panel know right away that our client's guilty of adultery.”

“I'll do it in opening statement.”

“Too late. Do it first thing in voir dire. I want to see their reactions, strike anyone who gets uptight.”

“If we make too big a deal out of it, it'll look like we're afraid-”

“Look, I don't have time for a tutorial here. Just do what I say.”

“I don't need a tutorial.”

Why's he lashing out like this? she wondered. Because she didn't leap into his arms today?

I should never have slept with him. I'm an idiot!

“I'm worried about the infidelity issue,” he said.

You too? she thought.

“We get some religious nuts on the jury, they'll hang her for screwing Manko, no matter what the evidence is on murder. Are you up to speed on cognitive dissonance theory?”

“I studied psychology at Princeton.”

“Congratulations. Do you know this corollary? If you can get people to publicly commit to positions they didn't previously agree with, they'll change their behavior to conform to their new commitments.”

“I've read all the studies.”

“Another thing, don't stand too close to the box. It's intimidating. Be relaxed. Walk back and forth if you want, but maintain eye contact. You're having a conversation with the jurors, not interrogating them.”

“Jesus, Steve, I know how to pick a jury.”

“But when you're cross-examining, stand sniper still. Let the witness squirm.”

“I know how to cross-examine, too.”

“If you'd listen, I could make a great lawyer out of you.”

“That again? You're so damned overbearing.”

“And you're just as frigid as the day we met.”

“What!”

“Rigid. I meant to say rigid.”

“Screw you, Solomon.”

“You already did, Lord.”

Damn him, the cheap-shot artist.

“I know you're angry,” she said, “but could you try to be an adult about this?”

“I'm not angry.”

Men are such babies. If he keeps this up, the next week will be hell.

“You wanted all-business,” he said. “You got it.”

Just like old times, she thought. She'd almost forgotten how caustic he could be. What had she been thinking the other night? Could she even imagine being involved with this petulant child? Nothing but bicker and banter, bicker and banter. She was certain she'd made the right decision. How could she have ever doubted that Bruce was the one for her?

Another correct decision: her delay in giving Solomon the news.

She'd said: “I'm tabling you.” As if Solomon were a motion taken under advisement. As if she hadn't made up her mind.

A little white lie.

Okay, maybe it's cruel, letting him hang on like that. But they had two cases to try, and this was no time to tell him to get lost.

She didn't know how he would handle it. What if he cracked?

When they reached the fourth floor, the corridor was clogged with reporters and photographers. The questions came fast.

“Any chance of a plea?”

“Will Katrina Barksdale testify?”

“Any surprise witnesses?”

Steve held up a hand to quiet them. “You know I try my cases in the courtroom, not in the media.”

“What kind of jury you looking for?” one of the TV guys asked.

“Same as always. Alert and smart.”

Right, Victoria thought. Alert enough to stay awake. Smart enough to memorize two words: “not guilty.”

“Got any aces up your sleeve?” the guy persisted.

“Don't need tricks when your client's one-hundred-percent innocent.”

Are any of us one-hundred-percent innocent? Not me, Victoria thought.

Steve kept gabbing as they hustled down the corridor to the courtroom. Blasting the state's case and singing hosannas to their client, Katrina Barksdale. The world's perfect wife, the real victim here. Blah, blah, blah.

Whistling past the graveyard, as her mother liked to say.

Where did that cockiness come from? How could he always be so sure of his footing when anyone else would be sinking in quicksand?

The Barksdale trial was supposed to lift him out of the low-rent district and launch her career. But what if Steve pulled one of his crazed stunts? It's one thing to be held in contempt in a talking cockatoo trial, but in this case, with the news media camped in the corridors, the slightest peccadillo would make headlines. What if the case turned out to be professional suicide?

Not to mention my personal life.

She'd made a horrific mistake, tumbling into the straw with Steve. Now it seemed he had the potential to lay waste to both her nascent career and her impending marriage.

No. I won't blame Steve for any of that. I can't. Any damage to me is purely self-inflicted.