That’s what I remembered, all of it came flooding back, and in a minute it was inside me, filling me up, suffusing me with good feeling.
He was right about one thing. I loved him still.
If I could think back.
And the lights were off.
9
The office wall was crowded with diplomas and certificates and the slick desktop reflected the squat and omnipotent silhouette of a unique breed of high roller: the managing partner of a law firm. I’d first met Ed “Mack” Macklin when I was a young associate and he had kissed off the last firm that wouldn’t ante up every time he sneezed. Mack became my mentor, although I never realized before this moment how much he resembled Edward G. Robinson. But maybe that was because I was feeling like the Cincinnati Kid.
“Why are you getting out of the Sullivan case?” Mack said, relaxed in his cushy leather chair. His office was the largest in the firm, and well-appointed. An expensive leather couch and chairs clustered around a glass coffee table; a wall-length English credenza held some neat files and an expensive, albeit untouched, laptop computer. The virgin laptop was the hottest power prop, signifying that Mack had the juice to make the firm buy him a toy and also that he was too important to play with it. You had no power if you actually used your PowerBook.
“The Sullivan case is over. The plaintiff is dead.”
“The judge called me last night, Rita. He was very disappointed. Said he expects us to stand behind him if he’s charged with murder.”
“Judge Hamilton called you at home?” Fiske was making all the right moves, and I was the sacrificial pawn. “What time did he call?”
“What’s the difference? He’s a friend.”
“Of yours? Since when?”
“Since last night.” Mack laughed abruptly. “Judge Hamilton is one of the most prominent members of the federal bench. He wasn’t happy that our firm would leave him in the lurch.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I’m not happy when he’s not happy. I’m not happy when any federal judge is unhappy, especially in our district. Don’t you want to make me happy?” He spoke in the subdued tone of someone who expected an affirmative answer.
“No.”
“You wound me.”
“You’ll get over it, too.”
Mack gazed past me through one of three large, smoked-glass windows, which overlooked the offices of the law firm he had just left. He’d demanded this view because he wanted his old firm to see him making money for someone else. “So,” he said, “I told the judge that he could rest assured that Averback, Shore amp; Macklin was his counsel at the beginning and we were going to remain his counsel to the end. Got it?”
“What’s this? Muscle?”
He smiled, not unpleasantly. “I’m flexing. You like?”
“Be still my heart.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” He grinned like he wasn’t kidding. I felt my temper rise.
“Not exactly, Mack. It’s my practice. I’ll run it the way I want.”
“The judge is a client of this firm.”
“No, the judge is a client of mine. He didn’t hire the firm, he hired me. I was his lawyer, now I’m not. As of today.”
He eased back into his desk chair. The gesture looked like resignation, but I knew better. Mack always recoiled before he struck, like a cobra. “You’re right, Rita. It’s your practice. You can run it any way you like. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you know the Committee was delighted when the Hamilton matter came to you.”
“I remember.” A collective rubbing of soft, pasty hands.
“I don’t have to tell you how disappointed they’d be if I had to report on your withdrawal.”
I was breaking hearts everywhere. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“You know, the Committee has been discussing the possibility of a midcourse correction in the partnership contracts. Were you aware of that?”
Firm politics was not my strong suit. The courtroom was where the action was, not the conference room. “Midcourse correction?”
“A couple of us have noted that the current distributions aren’t adequately reflecting our contributions.”
“You mean you’re not making enough money, Mack?”
“In a word? Absofuckinglutely.”
We both laughed, without mirth.
“It would affect all of our contracts,” he said. “But your name was the only one from your class that came up for an increase. I could make it happen, Rita. You stand to skip two classes. Serious money.”
A lawyer’s trick; whenever possible, wave a check. Since I grew up without money, I was almost impervious to this temptation. Almost. “You mean if I drop Judge Hamilton, I can kiss my raise good-bye?”
“In a word?”
Prick. “Very funny.”
“Look, Rita, this whole situation is in your control. As I said, I can’t make you do anything.”
“Fine. No raise. I’m happy with my draw now.”
Mack made a sturdy tent with his fingers. “Well, then, consider that your partnership draw may not stay as high as it is. If there’s a midcourse correction, some of us will go up. But some will go down.”
My mouth tasted bitter. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. If I don’t represent the judge, my draw will go down? In a word?”
He opened his hands. “I don’t control the Committee.”
“Who are you kidding, Mack? They don’t take a dump without asking you.”
“Rita-”
It pissed me off. “What you’re saying is if I give up the representation, the Committee will recut the pie. And after they get done with my piece, I’ll have to put the ice cream on the side. Think I’ll be able to balance even a spoonful on my sliver?”
“You’re overreacting. The whole thing is in your control.”
“Then why am I feeling so controlled?”
“I have no idea. Big piece or little piece? The choice is up to you.”
I folded my arms, looking no tougher than a petulant teenager. “Okay, I’m dieting.”
He rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling lights, discreetly recessed. After a minute he said, “You’re being stubborn about this and I’m entitled to know why.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Look, this isn’t a game. This is serious.”
“Games are serious, Mack. You know that.” Mack played big-time blackjack in Atlantic City and Vegas, to stay in shape for managing my law firm.
“Rita, this is a terrible decision you’re making. The judge is your client, he needs you now. You’re a terrific lawyer, a creative lawyer. That result last week at City Hall-”
“Oh, are you kissing my ass now? Because I like it a little to the left.”
A buzzer sounded on the phone and Mack snatched up the receiver. “What? Send him in.” The receiver clattered to the hook and he eased back again. “I called in reinforcements.”
“Who?”
The door opened and in came a gray Armani suit, a silk paisley tie that ended in a knifepoint, and blue-black hair pulled back into a short ponytail, of all things. It was Jake Tobin, firm womanizer. His dark eyes looked faintly amused.
“You know Jake, don’t you?” Mack said.
“Only by reputation.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tobin said with an easy laugh, then closed the door behind him.
Mack said, “I asked Jake to join us because he’s done extensive criminal work. He was a public defender before he joined us. Right, Jake?”
“For fifteen years,” Tobin said. He leaned against the credenza and glanced enviously at the PowerBook. I was guessing he knew how to use it.
Mack said, “Jake, I was just telling Rita here that you’ve tried a lot of murder cases.”
“About fifty jury trials, give or take some major scum. Most of them got out of jail free.”