Sometimes she would recite the names and attributes of her former beaus by creating a song to the tune of "Do-Re-Mi."
"Jack, a jerk, a cheapskate jerk. Dick, a drop of worthless scum. ."
When she could no longer remember the names of all the men she'd slept with by counting on her fingers, Jackie peeled off her Jimmy Choos and computed on her toes. When she'd run out of toes, she created a spreadsheet on her computer.
"Do you think Steve will like the place?" Jackie asked, fingering a button on her silk and cashmere cardigan, which was purposely one size too small.
"Doubt it. He hates elevators."
"So why are we here?"
"It's a partnership." Victoria looked to the north where the drawbridge began to open on the Venetian Causeway, a sailboat with a tall mast waiting to pass through. "He doesn't get to choose where we live."
"Ooh. Assertiveness raises its well-coifed head."
"I mean, why should Steve call all the shots?"
"You go, girl."
"If we're going to move in together, shouldn't I have equal say?"
"If?"
"What?"
"Vic-a-licious. You just said 'if' you move in together. I think you have cold feet and sweaty palms."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're a commitment phobe."
"That's absurd. I'm committed to Steve."
"How many men have you lived with?"
"You know the answer. None."
Jackie belted out a laugh that made her breasts jiggle underneath the Calvin Klein cardigan. "I've lived with three in one year."
"You call that commitment?"
"I call it courage. Tori, you're a scaredy-cat."
"Am not."
"Are too. You love Steve. You have from the day you met him."
"I hated him the day I met him."
"Same difference."
"Sometimes, Jackie, you're as exasperating as Steve is."
"Really? Well, if you ever dump that bad boy into the recycling bin, have him page me."
Jackie laughed again, Victoria joining in. A moment later, Steve came through the open door and onto the balcony. "What's so funny?"
"Men," the women said simultaneously.
Jackie looped an arm around Steve's elbow. "Have you seen the master bath? The Jacuzzi? The marble floors?"
"All I've seen are the damn elevators. You have to take one from the parking garage and another from the lobby."
"But did you check out the pool?" Victoria chimed in. "Bobby will love it. You know how swimming soothes him."
"Swimming with dolphins soothes him. I didn't see any in the shallow end."
"C'mon, handsome," Jackie said. "Keep an open mind."
"There's no land. No grass." Steve gestured toward the ground, forty-one floors below. "It's all concrete down there. Where am I going to play catch with Bobby? And what's with that sign on the seawall? No Fishing?"
"You hate fishing," Victoria said.
"I hate rules. I love fishing. I come from a long line of anglers."
"You come from a long line of liars."
"Shows what you know. My zayde Abe Solomon caught a record herring off Savannah."
"There are no herring off Savannah."
"Grandpop Abe must have caught them all."
"Don't be difficult," Jackie intervened. She put both hands on her hips in a motion that pushed her breasts higher. "Steve, you have a few things going for you in the husband sweepstakes. You're single, straight, and self-supporting. But frankly, I've pulled your credit report, and you're not exactly Donald Trump."
"I'll dye my hair orange if that'll help."
"You drive a ratty old car, you dress like a Jimmy Buffet roadie, and except for what I've been told are your talents in the bedroom-"
"Jackie!" Victoria blushed.
"You're not all that great a prize," Jackie continued, "and my best bud deserves the best. So why not just chill and let Tori choose a place to live?"
"Hey, I get a vote here, Jack-o," Steve said.
She dismissed the notion with a wave of her fingernails, painted the pinkish color called "Italian Love Affair." "I've seen your house, Steve. You obviously have no sense of design or style."
"You mean I have no pretensions like those trust-fund boys you run around with."
"Stop it, you two," Victoria ordered. "Steve, don't be mean to Jackie."
"Me? She's the one who wishes you'd married Bigby."
"True," Jackie admitted. "But I told her to keep you on the side." She gestured toward the interior of the apartment. "Now, why don't we look at the master suite?"
"I hate this place," Steve said.
Sounding like a child, Victoria thought. A petulant child.
"I'm wasting my time here," Jackie said. "Toodles." She waved and headed back through the balcony door.
Victoria gave Steve one of her piercing looks.
"What? What'd I do, besides tell the truth?" he asked.
"You walked in throwing hand grenades. Why didn't you just call and say there's no way you'd live here?"
"I wasn't sure until the concierge spoke French to me."
"I'm serious, Steve. It's unfair to Jackie. She's doing us a favor."
"Not unless she kicks back half her commission." Steve took a deep breath. "Look, Vic. We need to talk."
"I know. You want a house with a yard and crabgrass."
"It's not that." He cast a long look toward the sailboats, as if he wanted to be on one. "I need to tell you about Kreeger."
"You do?" She didn't even try to hide her surprise.
"This morning, I wasn't entirely truthful with you. Now I want to tell you everything."
"You do?" Sounding as skeptical as she felt.
"I've been too closed off. I'm going to share more of myself."
She studied him a moment. "Are you gaming me?"
"Jeez, when did you get so cynical?"
"When you taught me that everybody lies under oath."
"Look, I'm not saying I'm gonna become Mr. Sensitive. I'm as scared as the next guy to show weakness, but what I did this morning wasn't fair. I answered your questions about Kreeger like I was before the Grand Jury. So I'm gonna tell you what happened with him and maybe use that to open up on other stuff, too."
She threw both arms around his neck and drew him close. "You're a wonderful man, Steve Solomon, you know that?"
"Before you make that final, you might want to hear me out."
SOLOMON'S LAWS
2. Thou shalt not screw thy own client. . unless thou hast a damn good reason.
Five
A pelican sat on a coral boulder, scratching its feathery belly with its beak. Steve and Victoria walked along Bayfront Drive, a wall of condos on one side, the flat, green water of Biscayne Bay on the other. Her sunglasses were perched on top her head and her long stride tugged her Sunny Choi pencil skirt tight at the hips. Steve didn't know Sunny Choi from chicken chow mein, but he'd started picking up slivers of fashion information by listening to Victoria's end of phone conversations with Jackie.
They headed in and out of shadows cast by the high-rises, the sun slanting toward the Everglades. In the light, Victoria's hair glowed with butterscotch highlights. In the shadows, her green eyes gave off their own light. She seemed happy, already forgiving Steve for being late, for being obstreperous, for being. . Steve.
"I did something in Kreeger's case I'd never done before and haven't since," he said. "And I'm not proud of it."
"Tell me. Tell me everything, Steve."
Her nurturing tone. That was it. Women were born nuturers. Cling to their warm bosoms, and everything will be all right. This would be easy. Victoria was, by nature, supportive and caring. And forgiving.