Bennie tagged along like a fifth wheel, telling herself not to worry. St. Amien was coming home with her because she was a maverick and didn’t call him Bob. Also he loved French manicures and didn’t know she was flat broke. She checked her cell phone. No green flashing. The kids still hadn’t found Alice. Damn! Shit! Fuck! She got it out of her system and concentrated on introducing herself to Herman Mayer.
“Pleased to meet you,” Mayer said, shaking Bennie’s hand. He was tall, about St. Amien’s age and of average build in a brownish Brooks Brothers suit. His light brown eyes matched almost exactly the tortoiseshell of his horn-rimmed glasses, and his smile seemed a little stiff. He struck Bennie as being as plain and no-nonsense as St. Amien was classy and full of nonsense. “I understand that you are representing Robert St. Amien,” Mayer said.
“I am.”
“Then we shall be seeing quite a lot of each other. Robert and I are for many years in this business. We were both greatly wronged by these actions of the trade association.”
“Trade associations sometimes get out of line, and they need a reminder now and then,” Bennie said, guarded. She had to assume that anything she said would go straight back to Linette.
“Bill feels very optimistic about our chances of an early settlement, perhaps this month, in the neighborhood of fifty million. My wife, who is my adviser in all things, disagrees with him. But she is unfortunately in Germany. We make our home in Osnabrück.”
“I see.”
“She prefers it, and I can commute easily, twice a month.” Mayer’s eyes narrowed and his tone lowered. He inclined his head toward Bennie. “I was wondering what you thought about that. If you agreed with this assessment.”
“If I agree? With Bill or your wife?” Bennie asked, stalling. Clearly, Mayer wasn’t one of Linette’s apostles. It would be another lovely aspect of this case; while the lawyers tried to steal each other’s clients, the clients went lawyer shopping. This lawsuit was a singles bar where everybody had their eyes on the door. A class action, but nobody was showing any class.
“You aren’t sure you agree,” Mayer said matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t say that.” Bennie hated people putting words in her mouth. “I’d love to talk to Bill more about that, and I will. That’s the purpose of this meeting, I believe.” She didn’t contradict Linette, because she was trying to be a good team player. Not that it came naturally to her. There was a reason she rowed a single scull.
“I quite understand,” Mayer said, an edge to his tone. If he wanted dirt, he wasn’t getting it. He straightened up, and Bennie shifted her attention to Bill. He had finished introducing St. Amien to everyone as his new girlfriend and was cuddling him into a chair to his right, at the head of the conference table. If Bennie didn’t watch out, he’d go for second base.
“It was great meeting you, Herman,” she said, excusing herself, and made her way to the head of the table. Lawyers jumped for the seats as if they were playing musical chairs, and St. Amien was signaling her to the empty seat next to him. She wedged her way over, checking her cell phone on the fly. No message.
“Thanks, Bob,” she whispered, leaning over, and he smiled in response as Linette stood up, towering over the head of the table.
“Friends, Romans, Irishmen,” he began, and everybody around the table laughed heartily as they settled down and pulled shiny pens and fresh legal pads from their briefcases.
Bennie did the same, as did the men sitting opposite her, big guns in the class-action bar. Mick Brenstein, in his neat little glasses and precisely knotted rep tie. Zander Kerpov, pale and gaunt, whose sunken eyes expressed all the warmth of Ivan Lendl or Dostoyevsky at his most playful. Next to him was José Quinones, a short man with dark skin, an easy smile, and a thick pinky ring in the shape of a horseshoe. Math anxiety prevented Bennie from totaling their yearly incomes and assets. Hers, she knew with ease. And still no messages.
“This is the first day of the rest of your litigation,” Linette continued, pausing for laughter, “and I hope we will finish it by the end of this month!” He beamed with pride and burst into sudden applause. Everybody around the table clapped, too, and Bennie joined in. Why, she didn’t know. Because they were gonna get rich quick? Because the home team was gonna beat State? Those who didn’t matter enough to get seats at the table were relegated to clapping from their seats along the wall, and Linette was careful to make eye contact with them as he spoke.
“Last week we filed a complaint in federal district court, and you are being provided with a copy right now.” He gestured to a male associate who had materialized from behind the lox and was distributing copies around the table. “It states, in relevant part, that as a class we are a hundred strong-and growing!”
More applause.
“That we are all brothers-and sisters-here, and we all share common questions of law and fact.”
Applause again.
“And that this action can and should be maintained as a class, and that my client is fully ready, willing, and able to represent the class as a whole.”
Applause, except for St. Amien and Bennie. She didn’t want to stop Linette now, in front of everyone, and nothing he had said fixed the determination of who would be lead plaintiff, or lead lawyer. The choice would be something she, Bill, and the big guns would hammer out in private, and the court would have to approve. The three guns would vote with their pal, and the contest would be between Linette and Bennie. For now, she held her applause, and her fire.
“Friends, I know we haven’t officially determined the class representative so soon,” Linette said, pointedly looking at Bennie, “and that is something ultimately for the court to decide. Today, I wanted to bring all of us here, so we can meet each other as friends and break bread together. On another day, we can move on to a discussion of the facts of the case, and the statements the defendant made at the trade association meeting, which gave rise to the wrong committed against all of you. And finally, we will need to determine and quantify the damages you all suffered as a result of the trade association’s grossly illegal and unfair acts.”
Heads nodded around the table, since everybody’s hands were tired from applauding.
“And we will establish a timetable for this litigation, which, as you know, will be managed more efficiently than most small countries.” Linette paused for laughter. “We need a government, and, as usual, at the head will be lead counsel and an executive committee. Reporting to them, as always, will be the briefing committee, the motions committee, the discovery committee, the experts committee…”
Bennie stifled a laugh when she realized he wasn’t kidding. Was this how class actions ran? She usually tried cases herself or with an associate, sitting second chair. She would have to play well with others. The kids still hadn’t called.
“… the exhibits committee, the damages committee, the fees committee, and although we won’t need it, the appellate committee. We will work together to divide and conquer. That’s the best way I know to assure a swift, certain, and very healthy settlement.”
More heads nodding. From across the table, Quinones interjected, “It worked like a charm in Bronson Mechanics.”
Next to him, Brenstein added, “Also Anderson-Wells. The proverbial well-oiled machine.”
Bennie had no idea what they were talking about and assumed the references were the names of cases they’d worked together. She had expected the class-action bar would be clubby, but this was the Mob. She wondered why she didn’t recognize any of the case names, at least from her legal research, and realized that none of the cases had made it to the federal reporters. They’d all settled before they got to court. Bennie looked around the table with new eyes. These were trial lawyers who never tried cases. They might have all the money, but they missed all the fun.