He’s Catholic too.
28
Iplunge my hot face into a golden basin of cool water in the ladies’ room, half expecting to hear a hissing sound. Then I towel off and head back to the conference room to read over Hart’s notes. They’re bad, but I decide not to think about how very bad they are. I have to find out more about them and find out anything else he has. Fuck back, in overdrive.
I’m almost finished reading the stack of documents, which luckily contain no more surprises, when the telephone rings. It’s Miss Pershing. “Miss DiNunzio, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have this Lu Ann on the line again. She’s very anxious to talk to you. She says it’s about Mr. Hart’s deposition.”
Who can this be? I take the call. “This is Mary DiNunzio.”
“You’re the lawyer for Harbison’s, aren’t you, miss?” says a young woman. She sounds upset. “Because I heard you’re a lady lawyer, and I heard Henry’s getting his deposition today.”
“I represent the company, Lu Ann. Do you work for Harbison’s?”
“Let me just ask you is the judge there?”
“There’s no judge at a deposition, Lu Ann.”
“Who’s there? The jury?” Her voice grows tremulous. I can’t place her flat accent. Maybe it’s from Kensington, a working-class section of the city.
“No. Just relax, I think you’re confused. A deposition is between-”
“Did he say anything about me? ‘Cause if he does, you tell them I said it’s not true! If my Kevin hears it, if anybody on that jury says anything, or it gets in the newspapers, he’ll beat the shit out of me! Me and my kids both! So you just tell him that! If he loves me, you tell him to shut the fuck up!” The phone goes dead.
Stunned, I hang up the receiver. My conversation with Lu Ann is over, but my conversation with the devil is just beginning. I didn’t think I believed in the devil, but I can’t ignore the fact that I hear his hot whisper at my ear in the stillness of Conference Room C, on Lust.
So Hart’s been playing hide the kielbasa with a Polish girl from Kensington. Let the jury in on that, Mare, and you win.
I can’t. It wouldn’t even be admissible.
Then ask Hart about Lu Ann right now. Take him through her phone call, expose the little shit. He’ll pack up his lawsuit and go home. You can win this case today, Mary. It’s yours for the asking.
I can’t do that. It’s not fair. It has nothing to do with the case.
You can and you should. A quick victory would clinch your partnership, Mare. No more worrying, no more vote-counting, no more headaches. Relief from pain, isn’t that what you want? Peace. You could buy a house. Get your life back on track.
I can’t do it. His son is right here.
So what? You’re Harbison’s lawyer, you should be representing its interests, not Little Hank’s. You’re supposed to use every weapon in the arsenal to win, even the MAC-10s. Especially the MAC-10s.
I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
There’s no time to decide, because the door opens and the Harts enter. Though the elder Hart doesn’t smile, Hank’s spirits are high. Undoubtedly, he’d advised his father to take notes of his conversations with Stapleton and is expecting a settlement offer after the dep. He’s been planning this victory since his graduation and thinks that its sweet moment is at hand.
That’s what he thinks, whispers the devil.
I take my seat in front of the notes, and Pete comes in.
Congratulations on your partnership, Mary. It’s your choice.
Pete sits down behind the stenography machine. “You ready?”
I nod, but I’m not. I can’t decide what to do. I look down at the notes and ask a couple of stupid questions about them. All the time, the devil pours poison in my ear, tempting me, taunting me. I look at Hank, sitting so proudly at his father’s side. If I ask about Lu Ann, what will his cherubic face look like? What will happen at home that night, with his mother? And Lu Ann, will this Kevin-
Save it, Mary! You’ve represented worse. You’ve done worse. You and I know that, don’t we? Mary and Bobby, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love…
“Mr. Hart, were you ever rude to Harbison’s employees?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
See, he deserves it. Give it to him. Right between the legs.
“What part of the question didn’t you understand, Mr. Hart?”
“Any of it, Mrs. DiNunzio.”
“Then let me change it slightly. Have you ever been reprimanded by anyone at Harbison’s for being rude to its employees?”
“I have never been rude to anyone at Harbison’s.”
“That’s not my question, Mr. Hart. My question is, Have you ever been reprimanded by anyone at Harbison’s for being rude to its employees?”
“No.”
“Has anyone at Harbison’s ever told you that they thought you were rude to company employees?”
“Yes.”
God, I hate this man. I should do it, I should.
Sure you should. But will you?
“And who told you this?”
“Frank Stapleton.”
A break for me. If Hart admits that Stapleton talked to him about his rudeness, I can prove that Harbison’s had a business motive to demote him. That makes it a “mixed motive” case under the law-a tough defense for me to win, but it’s the best I’ve got.
Hank makes a note on his legal pad.
Just breathe the little slut’s name.
“How many times did Mr. Stapleton discuss this subject with you?”
“I wouldn’t call it a discussion. That would be making too much of it, and I’m not about to let you do that.”
“Fine. How many times did Mr. Stapleton make a statement to you about rudeness?”
“Only once.”
“Was anyone else present when he made this statement?”
“No.”
“Where did it take place?”
“On the golf course. Ninth hole.” At this he smirks.
Hank makes another notation.
“What did Mr. Stapleton say about the subject?”
“It was just a comment between friends. Former friends, I should say.”
“What did Mr. Stapleton say, Mr. Hart?”
“Just that sometimes I could be a little hard on the staff. That’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s all you can recall?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say in reply?”
“Nice drive.” Hart glances at Pete to see if he appreciates the joke. Pete’s face is stony.
“Mr. Hart, what did you say to Mr. Stapleton in reply?”
“Nothing. That was the end of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as God made little green apples.”
“Did you make any notes of any kind regarding this conversation?”
“On the golf course? With those sawed-off pencils?” Hart rolls his eyes.
“Anywhere at all.”
“Why would I? It wasn’t important enough.”
“Is that a no, Mr. Hart?”
“Yes, it’s a no, Mrs. DiNunzio.”
I need more detail to sell this to the jury. “Mr. Hart, was there a specific incident Mr. Stapleton referred to when he discussed this with you?”
“No.”
“Do you know what occasioned this discussion with you?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“I take it that’s a no, Mr. Hart?”
“You’re getting pretty good at this, Mrs. DiNunzio.”
How long are you going to eat his shit?
“Mr. Hart, did Mr. Stapleton refer to any employee in particular during this conversation?”
“Just the kitchen help.”
“Kitchen help?”
“The people who work in the company cafeteria. The Jell-O slingers in the hairnets.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Lu Ann, I think he said her name was.”
Whoa, baby. That’s a surprise.
Whoa, baby, is right, mocks the devil. He sounds less surprised.
Hank writes the name on his pad, then looks at me, expectantly, innocently, for the next question.
His father’s sneer betrays nothing as he awaits the next question.