Sun filling the sky waked her to find a note on a yellow legal pad that he was off to an appointment with the firm's psychiatric counselor, God only knew the purpose of that, to prepare his court appearance? and which one, his or the firm's? to actually tend to the splintered inner shell of the man himself or merely blur it further, codeine, Darvon, Valium crowding her cosmetics off the shelf over the bathroom basin where the mirror snared her startled glance as someone passing in the street might have caught her eye to pause, as she did now, for closer scrutiny bent in a frown, dissembled in a smile provoking some remembered warmth of trust revoked too late in that blasted instant of recognition by the abrupt awareness of memory itself as the dissembler of some past betrayal that had turned it sour as she seized the familiar green capped clarifying lotion from among the alien crowd of pacifiers on the shelf there and a cotton ball to wipe it on, rescued the gold capped masque adoucissant applied en couche mince sur le visage et le cou avoiding the tour des yeux and too impatient to laissez agir fifteen minutes, retirer à l'eau tiède and dropping the face cloth for a silver capped clinging, creamy makeup base to conceal shadows, flaws and fine lines, a superb shield against the elements touched up with a whitener on the lids and stroke of the eyebrow pencil God knows who you might run into in the street in this smart part of town simply walking out to do the marketing and stop at the cleaners if just then the phone hadn't rung and of course it was — Oscar? Well who else would it be at this ungodly hour, you… all right noon, it's noon! I told you I was exhausted didn't I? that I can't help it about the dog, didn't I? She said she'd send a car out for it and… well if you've given it some boiled chicken and locked it down in the laundry what are you calling me for, if you just want to complain about these pains there's nothing I… Well what about Harry, my God he's got other things on his mind besides your appeal Oscar, he's… No, this morning's paper? Why would they put his picture in the entertainment section, if they think being in court over a car accident's a joke they… all right goodbye, I'll look for it now… and she found it, pictured here with senior partner William C G Peyton III neatly folded beside an empty coffee cup.
Final arguments have been scheduled in Federal appeals court in the longstanding Î7OO million damage suit brought by the Episcopal Church against Pepsico Inc., the multibillion dollar international purveyor of soft drinks and recreation snack foods. The charges allege trademark infringement and other related matters falling within the purview of the Lanham Act, as well as libelous intent to disparage and make a mockery of plaintiffs good name. Following dismissal of the charges in Federal district court six years ago, the plaintiffs appealed and after a succession of law firms have retained Goldfarb Goldfarb & Mintz doubling the amount of damages sought in the original complaint. 'We regard the charges as frivolous in whole and in part,' said Harry Lutz of the blue ribbon firm Swyne & Dour retained as leading counsel by the defendants among the seventeen law firms involved in the dispute. 'Given a fair and thorough airing in court we are confident of the outcome,' Mr Lutz said. According to sources close to both parties, legal costs have already soared beyond the $33 million mark.
— It's the wear and tear, she'd repeat later, — not just on you Harry. I mean the wear and tear on all of us. Think about it.
— Think about it! See it right there in the paper don't you? how much is at stake here? Finally getting it cleared up and…
— My God I know what's at stake here, your bonus a senior partnership another million dollars for good old Bill Peyton and a nervous breakdown for all the rest of us? This fine psychiatric counselor they're sending you to, did it ever occur to him that this car accident might have been trying to tell you something?
— Well of course, stress, the whole damn thing he sees it all the time, he…
— Harry?
— That's his whole practice, lawyers under stress billing twenty five hundred hours a year it comes with the territory, as many quit practicing a year as kids entering lawschool and cases like this, a car accident like…
— Harry! I'm not talking about your car accident I'm talking about the rest of us! Does the firm plan to send us all for psychiatric counseling? or up to that rest farm where they get you off the bottle? Look at Oscar, isn't his case as important to him as your billion dollar client's is to them? Have you found out what in God's name is going on there?
— Look, Christina. Look, four hundred and twenty lawyers in the firm, a hundred partners, you think this is the only case we're handling? The court heard Oscar's appeal that's all I know, Bill Peyton's so damn busy on this case in the papers I don't even know who made the arguments, tried to reach Sam must have been somebody on his staff who handled Oscar's end but they said Sam's just gone trout fishing in Norway nobody there seemed to know a damn thing about it can't rush it Christina, can't rush the system, if he'd taken that settlement we'd all be…
— My God don't you dare start that again! Where are you going now?
— Getting a drink.
— Trout fishing in Norway. You can get me one too.
— Everything so damn complicated wherever you look, point's not that anything that can go wrong will go wrong he said, tipping the bottle generously over two glasses, — wonder that even the smallest damn thing goes right at all.
And surely enough, from one remote pinpoint on the globe to this one, among millions of doors to this very door in fact, in a negligible matter of days an array of trucks and airplanes stretching from Ultima Thule, of conveyor belts and sorters, diligent hands and trudging feet brought a picture postcard aptly captioned Ørret fiske i Surnadal, Norge, at a cost of a mere four kroner, little more than the price of the newspaper that same morning at that same door bringing
Tatamount, Va. An unusual development has surfaced in the troubled saga of the notorious outdoor sculpture known as Cyclone Seven towering over this sleepy rural hamlet where it has been engulfed in controversy since its unveiling. It first caught the public eye with the accidental entrapment of a small dog in its serrated steel cavities, leading to a confrontation by the Village in an effort to free the puppy and the sculptor's fierce defense of its artistic integrity. Following tumultuous demonstrations by partisans of both sides climaxed by the dog's death when the structure was struck by lightning, the Village won a court order demanding its removal, against the sculptor's claims citing its site specific status. The matter is again before the courts where each side has reversed its position.
The sculptor, Mr R Szyrk of New York, now demands the Village pursue its mandated course permitting the structure's removal, claiming his constitutional right to its eventual disposition as embodying a protected statement under the First Amendment. Pending the outcome of its petition for Landmark status the Village has refused removal or altering of the unique creation which has 'put Tatamount on the map' bringing substantial tourist revenues and jobs to this chronically depressed area where unemployment runs thirty nine percent among whites and double that for blacks, with a twenty six percent overall literacy rate.