McPhee rose to his feet. “Mr. Schultz, let me see if I understand in plain English what you appear to be saying. You seem to be saying that when people meet each other in person they tend to like each other, correct?” Schultz gave a cautious assent. “And since the object of these meetings was to get hired for work, one assumes that the parties in question were putting their best foot forward, so to speak.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Schultz said.
“Meaning the Álfar weren’t going to be rude or unpleasant.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And people when they go to job interviews they tend to dress well, and look their best—”
“Is there a question in this, or is Mr. McPhee simply offering us pointers for our next interview?” LeBlanc asked.
The older attorney inclined his head toward LeBlanc with courtly dignity. “I’m always happy to be of service, Ms LeBlanc.”
“Is there a point to this?” David asked.
“Yes, sir. Indeed there is. The conclusion Ms. LeBlanc seems to be wishing the arbitrators to reach is that the Álfar are using their god-given natural talents to achieve their ends, namely, a job. Is that correct, Ms. LeBlanc?”
“Yes, they’re using unnatural abilities.”
“Mr. Sullivan, I should like to call Missy Able as a rebuttal witnesses to Mr. Schultz.”
That got a big reaction from the room. Missy came half out of her chair, face reddening. LeBlanc hurried over to talk with her. Despite being the person who had brought the lawsuit initially, the actress seemed deeply shaken at being singled out.
“Mr. Sullivan, Ms Able is a plaintiff in this action,” LeBlanc argued.
“I see no reason why she can’t be questioned, assuming the same right is extended to the defendants. Ms. Gabaldon?”
“We have no objection if counsel wishes to question Palendar or any other Álfar actor.”
“Very well,” David said. “Mr. McPhee, you may question Ms. Able.”
“I don’t want to!” Missy said.
“And bluntly, Ms. Able, that’s too bad. You brought this lawsuit. Presumably you feel strongly enough to defend your position. Now, you can either submit to questioning or I may be forced to decide this case right now in favor of the defendants.”
There was more hurried conversation between Missy and LeBlanc, then Missy reluctantly took the chair indicated by McPhee.
“Now, Ms. Able, or may I call you Missy? My boys and I just loved you in Rednecks. My eldest son had your poster in his bedroom.” He beamed down at the woman and got a reluctant smile.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Now, Missy, what is your profession?”
“You know that.”
“I know, but humor me.”
“I’m an actress.”
“An actress. That’s a tough job, isn’t it?”
“Tougher now,” she snapped back.
“Yes, well, putting that aside for right now—it’s a tough job because so much of it hinges on things like how you look, your height, and so forth, things you really can’t change”
“Yeah.”
“So I presume that when you go in to read for a part or audition for a director you try to find out everything about the role and try to bring yourself in line with that character. Dress like that character. Or put on extra-high high heels. Maybe even dye your hair. You ever been known to do that?”
“A few times.”
“And sometimes people are inclined to take more permanent measures, aren’t they?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Well, you had breast augmentation when you were nineteen years old, didn’t you?”
“That’s … that’s … none of your business.”
McPhee lifted up a Xeroxed page. “You talk about it in this article you gave to Rolling Stone about how you credited those…” He perched reading glasses on his nose and read, his voice supplying the quote marks. “‘Those tits really did the trick for me. I’m sure they’re why I got the part of Crissy on Rednecks.’”
“Okay, maybe I did say that, but I was twenty, and you say stupid things when you’re twenty.”
“But you did have breast augmentation surgery, yes?”
“Okay, yes!”
“And seven years ago, according to sources, you had a face lift.”
I didn’t like Missy Able and she had overtly threatened me, but McPhee’s pointed questions were flaying her in front of us, and I found myself writhing in sympathy for the woman.
“What if I did?”
“You’re fortunate that you were able to have the financial wherewithal to afford these procedures.”
“I suppose I was.”
“But I’m sure there were many actresses who didn’t have your resources and were unable to afford similar procedures.”
“I guess.”
“Do they have a right to sue you because you had an advantage over them in auditions?”
Missy goggled at him. McPhee turned his back on her and addressed David and me. “I have nothing further.”
“I, however, have a question for you, Mr. McPhee,” David said, stopping the lawyer before he could resume his seat.
“Of course.”
“So your contention is that it is completely fair for the Álfar to use abilities that might surpass those of humans in an effort to win parts?”
“Yes, sir, that is exactly what I am saying.”
“It’s an interesting argument.”
We were in David’s office. The parties to the arbitration had left, and we were indulging in a postmortem. David sat at his desk, buffing his nails, an oddly dandyish behavior and a side of him I hadn’t seen before. I stood at the UV-treated window watching the traffic in the street below. I was listening, but with only half my attention. There was something about the day’s testimony that was teasing at the back of my mind and refusing to come into focus.
I turned my back on the view and faced him. “It’s the old meritocracy versus affirmative action argument.” I said.
“It going to be a constant tension in a society that has any desire to be fair.” He reacted to my expression. “What?”
“That is a very curious attitude for a vampire. You guys are all about the rule of the elites.”
“Maybe Roosevelt affected me more than I knew.”
“Which one?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Both,” was the bland response. Which was a new data point but didn’t really take me any closer to knowing when David had been turned. “Truth is, you have to be careful. Elites can ossify. It’s not that much of a problem among my kind. We don’t hand down power to children.”
“When you turn someone, they’re like your child.”
“True, but we pick them based on merit, not on the luck of the genetic draw.”
“Bringing us back to that whole meritocracy thing,” I said. “The truth is that affirmative action is an imperfect solution to the problem. We can’t make everybody equal. We can make sure there aren’t artificial obstacles placed in the way of people, but genetics are a bitch. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but I love music. Doesn’t mean I should get to sing at the Met.”
“And it’s human, and probably Álfar, nature to try and use every advantage.”
“And launch a thousand industries—hair dye, face cream, diet books.”
“So, where is the line? When does an advantage become an unfair advantage?” David asked. He threw aside the nail buffer and ran a hand across his face, his fingers seeming to linger on the scars. “Everyone screams about drug use in professional sports and seems to think the modern home run stats have been ruined by steroids. ‘The Babe didn’t take no stinkin’ steroids.’ But players in the modern era receive vaccinations, have a better diet, take vitamins. They’re stronger, taller, faster than players back in the day. Does that mean that every modern statistic is suspect?”