"What's the big deal?" Kelly asked. "I mean, you knew she was a skank, right?"
Jake shook his head, numb, still trying to process this.
"So, are we going, or what?" Kelly said. "I want to get there early enough to watch everyone else come in."
"No," Jake said. "I need to go home."
Kelly looked at him like he was joking. "Are you serious?"
"I'm serious," he said. "Goodbye, Kelly."
He walked out the door and went back to his car, barely hearing her screams and curses from behind him.
Heritage, California
January 2, 1985
It was well past 9:00 PM and Pauline was sitting behind her desk on the sixteenth floor of the Markley Building. The ultra-modern, thirty-two story building was the tallest, most exclusive high rise in Heritage. Situated directly adjacent to the Sacramento River, its westward facing offices featured spectacular views of the waterfront. Pauline didn't have one of these offices. In fact, she had no view at all. Her office featured no windows and was less than two hundred square feet, but at least she had an office now. Eight months ago, after four years of ninety-hour weeks, the firm had rewarded her dedication by replacing her cubicle with four stationary walls and a door. She had her own paralegal now too, and a secretary she only had to share with three other lawyers.
She was tired and out of sorts. She was also depressed because she knew there was at least two more hours of work to do on the contract draft she was assigned before her boss would be mollified enough to not hold it against her that she was taking tomorrow off. That meant she would be in bed by midnight at the earliest and would have to get up at 5:30 in order to make her 7:20 flight to Los Angeles where she would represent her brother and his band before Judge Cranford at one o'clock.
And more than likely lose, a part of her brain insisted upon reminding her. You're busting your ass for nothing.
She sighed, taking a sip out of her eleventh cup of coffee of the day. That was too depressing of a thought to contemplate very deeply but she could hardly help herself. She had no experience with music contracts and would be going up against seasoned music industry lawyers defending the very livelihood of their clients. And if that wasn't bad enough, the judge who would be ruling in the matter was at best a crony of the lead counsel for the other side, at worst, owned lock, stock, and barrel by the other side.
The more she allowed this to command her attention, the less of the work she was actually being paid for was getting done and the longer she would have until bedtime which translated into less sleep before she would be facing her foes. But she was nothing if not dedicated to her work, even if it was work she was doing for free, and her determination remained strong. She would go in there tomorrow and do her very best and who knew? Maybe it wasn't really as bad as she thought. Maybe Cranford wasn't corrupt and didn't know the difference between good music and crappy music. Anything was possible, wasn't it?
A knock on the side of her office door pulled her from these thoughts. The door, as usual, was open and standing there, his suit jacket missing, his tie loosened and hanging free, was Steve Marshall, head of Standforth and Breckman's investigations department. Steve was forty-five years old and had worked as a Heritage County sheriff's deputy and an investigator for the Heritage County District Attorney's office before being lured into private practice six years before. He was clean-cut, always well groomed, very good at what he did, and had the major hots for Pauline. He was also very married — with kids and all — a factor that did not preclude Pauline from shamelessly flirting with him but did preclude the relationship from going any further. This was Pauline's decision, of course, not Steve's.
"Hey, beautiful," he haled. "Mind if I come in?"
"Sure," she said. "I'm not making much progress here anyway. What are you still doing here?" Unlike most of the junior lawyers, who could be found at their desks at any hour of any day or night, Steve was usually a strict nine to fiver.
"I was waiting for the office to empty enough so we could sneak up to Breckman's office and have a steamy sexual encounter on his desk."
She smiled. "I like the way you think. Why don't you run on up and get started without me? I'll be up in no time."
"Ahhh, the way you reject me," he said, taking a few steps into her office. "You'll be sorry some day."
"Will I?"
"You will. In fact, some day just might be today when I tell you why I really stayed late."
"Oh?"
"I've been doing some follow-up work on that little matter you had me check into for your brother. The Judge Cranford thing."
She was surprised. "You stayed four extra hours to follow up on something for me?" she asked.
He shrugged. "My actual workday today was taken up with actual firm business — strange but true — and I hate to leave loose strings dangling on anything, even if I was doing it under the table. That whole work ethic thing."
"And you want to get into my pants," she said, not unkindly.
"Well... yeah, there is that too." He grinned widely. "And what I discovered tonight in my sneaky, underhanded way just might get me there."
"What did you discover?" she asked, intrigued, catching a little of his enthusiasm.
He told her. She didn't let him into her pants — especially since she was wearing a dress — but she did give him a huge kiss right on his mouth.
The hearing convened fifteen minutes late in a mostly empty courtroom. Judge Cranford, a handsome man with neatly styled salt and pepper hair, resplendent in his black robe, sat on his elevated podium and declared the proceedings in progress. A court reporter sat before her machine just in front of him. A Los Angeles sheriff's deputy, serving as bailiff, stood in the corner. At the defendant's table sat Jake, Matt, and Bill, all of whom were decked out in their best suits. Pauline sat between Jake and Bill, dressed in a conservative business dress, her dark hair tied tightly into a bun. At the plaintiff's table sat four power-suited lawyers, Eric Frowley chief among them. No one who actually worked for National Records was present.
"It is my understanding," said Judge Cranford, "that National Records has filed suit against the musical band Intemperance charging breach of contract. Is that correct, counsel?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Frowley replied.
"And furthermore," His Honor continued, "since this lawsuit will take some time to work its way through the system and since National Records believes that Intemperance is engaging in a blatant and deliberate work slowdown in violation of their contract, you have requested this hearing that I might issue a court order demanding the band cease and desist in this illegal action and engage in a good faith effort to produce acceptable music."
"That is correct, Your Honor," Frowley agreed. "We will show that the band is currently and deliberately in flagrant violation of the contract and did not act in good faith, as required of them, when they produced and submitted a demo tape of music to National Records."
"Okay," Cranford said. "Good enough." He looked at the defendant's table. "Welcome to my courtroom, gentlemen. I trust you won't find it inappropriate if I tell you I have enjoyed the music you have recorded so far and I sincerely hope I can help alleviate this dispute so you can continue to produce such fine music in the future."
"Thank you, Your Honor," Jake said, "but there really is no dispute to mediate."
Cranford frowned a little but said nothing. He looked at Pauline. "Ms. Kingsley, let me take this opportunity to welcome you to Los Angeles. It's always nice to see fresh, young faces in my courtroom."
"Thank you, Your Honor," she replied.
"Any opening remarks before we get started?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Pauline said. "I'm afraid I must respectfully request that you recuse yourself from this case on grounds of conflict of interest."