The words “papers” and “lawyers” struck a somewhat different chord than “menus” and “honeymoon,” she thought.
“What papers?”
“Why, the prenuptial agreement, of course,” Bruce Bigby said.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the Honorable Herbert T. Solomon?” Judge Althea Rolle said. “Even more distinguished and handsome than I recalled.”
“Kind of you to say so,” Herbert drawled, bowing slightly. “Pleasure to be here, Your Honor.” Yo Ah-nuh.
“Where you been keeping yourself, Judge?”
Zinkavich cleared his throat, the sound of a growling dog. “Your Honor, I object to your calling the witness ‘Judge.'”
“That so?” Judge Rolle said.
“The title is not appropriate for a jurist expelled from the bench. Further, I question the propriety of Ms. Lord even presenting Mister Solomon as a witness.”
“You do?”
“It's an obvious attempt to curry Your Honor's favor. There are two kinds of lawyers: those who know the law, and those who know the judge.”
“No, Z, there's a third kind. Those who don't know shit even when they've stepped in it. Judge Solomon is the most decent fellow ever to sit in the Eleventh Judicial Circuit and I'm gonna call him anything I want, and then I'm gonna listen to what he has to say.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Zinkavich said, meekly.
“And if I come down off the bench and give him a hug and a kiss, you're gonna keep that garbage dump of yours shut. Are we clear?”
“Crystal, ma'am,” Zinkavich said.
With a sweet smile, Judge Rolle turned to the witness. “Now, Judge Solomon, what have you been up to?”
“Some fishing, some reading, a lot of thinking,” Herbert said.
“Well, it agrees with you. Now, it would give me great pleasure to administer the oath to you myself.”
As Herbert Solomon swore to tell the truth, Victoria wondered who was more upset by his presence, Zinkavich or her pouting partner. Solomon had turned away from her in his chair, sitting corkscrew style, sulking. The big baby.
She was confident in her decision to call Herbert Solomon to testify. Strictly speaking, the ex-judge had little relevant information. But when she'd spoken to him on the phone, he'd revealed a deep respect for Steve and how he was nurturing Bobby. This was something worth conveying to the judge.
Hey, Solomon, I'm just following your instructions. “Know your audience.”
While thinking these thoughts, she forced herself to compartmentalize. She hadn't even looked at Bruce's seating charts, his musical selections… or his prenuptial agreement. What a nice little wedding surprise that was. All things considered, she would have preferred a heart-shaped, diamond-studded pendant.
“Ms. Lord,” the judge said.
“Yes, Your Honor?” Victoria responded.
“It's customary at this stage of the proceedings for the lawyer who calls a witness to ask a question or two.”
“Sorry, Judge.” Victoria got to her feet. “Please state your name and occupation for the record, sir.”
“Herbert Solomon. Recovering lawyer.” Re-koven loy-yuh.
That drew a chuckle from the judge, a scowl from Steve, and a little snort from Zinkavich.
Victoria needed the father to paint a portrait of his son. Who is this man? So she asked her questions, and Herbert told his stories, the mellifluous flow of his Savannah drawl as pleasant as a burbling brook.
Herbert talked about Steve and young Janice growing up in the old, rambling house on Pinetree Drive on Miami Beach. He credited Steve's mother, Eleanor, “God rest her soul,” for keeping the family together while he was busting his tail as a lawyer, making his name with pro bono work, then on to the bench, eventually becoming chief judge of the circuit, and the first name on the governor's short list for appointment to the Florida Supreme Court.
“That's when my troubles began,” Herbert said, “but we're not here to talk about me, except as it relates to Stephen.”
He said he regretted all the missed opportunities to spend time with both his children when they were young. Janice took some wrong turns early, running with a bad crowd, using drugs, while Stephen was a jock at Beach High.
“Ah was too in love with mah own ambitions to pay mah children much mind,” Herbert said. “Eleanor was sick for years, and there was only so much she could do. The kids grew up pretty much on their own. Ah remember one time ah rushed from court to Tropical Park for the state track meet. Got there too late, just missed Stephen winning the hundred meters. Ah hustled into the stands, and one of the bailiffs from downtown stopped me and said, ‘Judge, you must have some of them Negro Israelites in your blood, 'cause white boys don't run like that.' Later, ah told Stephen how ah watched him win, but he knew ah was fibbing.”
“Your Honor.” Zinkavich was on his feet. “This is heartwarming, but I object on grounds of relevance.”
“Sit down,” the judge ordered.
“When Stephen was in college, he started asking me questions about lawyering,” Herbert continued. “Just scratching and pecking, not saying what he meant. Eleanor was dying and ah was about to be indicted on false testimony. Ah didn't have the heart to fight, so ah quit the bench and resigned the Bar in return for them dropping the investigation. Stephen was tore up, maybe more than me. That boy never told me straight-out, but ah know the reason he went to law school was to clear mah name. He wanted to ride into court on a big ole white horse, prove ah was innocent. When ah wouldn't let him do it, he got angry at me, too.”
Steve squirmed in his chair, Victoria sneaking a peek at him. Painful memories were etched on his face.
“Stephen's got this deep resentment of injustice. Maybe he doesn't always follow every little rule the fat cats come up with, but on things that matter, mah son's got integrity. His principles are more important to him than money. And he's a fine role model for mah grandson.”
There was a catch in his throat as he continued. “A man can't help but compare himself to his own son. Me? Ah was caught up in mah own inflated self-importance. Lawyer of the Year? Like being the best rattlesnake in the Okefenokee.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Judge Rolle said. “You were widely admired. Still are, in my circle.”
“Ah'd lost mah way, Althea,” Herbert confided, dropping the formalities. “Ah never missed a Bar convention or a Chamber luncheon, and ah'd hang out at the Judiciary receptions till the last shrimp was gone from the bowl. Lord, how ah loved the applause, the slaps on the back, even those damn fool plaques they give you with the little gavels. Stephen doesn't give a rat's tuchis about those things. He'd rather spend time with a boy who needs him.”
Herbert Solomon turned in the witness chair and looked at Steve head-on. “Mah point is simply this: Ah admire Stephen so much for the man he's become. He puts Bobby first. Before his social life, before his career, before everything. Maybe ah was the better lawyer, but Stephen's the better man.”
It was an involuntary movement, what Victoria did then. Placing her hand on top of Steve's, letting her fingers lace through his. He tightened his hand into a fist, pulling Victoria's fingers tight between his, and they remained that way a long moment, his hand warm and firm beneath hers, the two hands wound so closely together as to nearly be one.
Fifty
BASEBALL AND BRIBERY
Steve carried the sleeping Bobby to the car, Herbert walking alongside. Victoria hung back a few steps, giving father and son a moment of privacy.
“You could stay with us tonight, not drive so far,” Steve said.
Herbert shook his head. “Ah'm a creature of habit. Need mah hammock on the back porch, mah laughing gulls singing to me.”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Not a damn thing. You teach Bobby to fish yet?”
“Thought that was your department, Dad.”