“Boy, good news travels fast. And don’t call me that.”
Lauren rolled her eyes until they landed on him. Allan folded his hands and propped his elbows on the table. His cuffs were monogrammed white-on-white, the initials repeated on the pocket of his shirt to catch the eye no matter where it roamed over him. Sometimes she hated him because he was cold to the core; sometimes frightening warmth toward him enveloped her completely. But that frigidity kept her from him and him from being lovable. Sometimes it kept Allan from being likable. That coolness, though, was always interesting to other women who couldn’t resist trying to melt his icy charm. What a waste of time.
“It’s just gossip, Lauren.” He pronounced each syllable of her name, chastened but unrepentant. “A nervous breakdown on the bench is kind of exciting. I heard Judge Lee actually took one of the marshal’s guns and tried to use it on George Stewart.”
“That’s stupid rotten gossip, Allan, and it wasn’t a breakdown. Lee was in shock. He was outraged. He just reacted.” Lauren looked away. Allan’s hand rested on the back of her chair. Lauren reached for the water. He touched her neck and she brushed his fingers away. “Don’t tease. And stop looking at me like that,” she said. “It was awful. Why is it you think everything is just a lark? What happened to Judge Lee isn’t funny. His wife’s in critical condition at St John’s Hospital. Shot in the head and for what? Her car. That’s disgusting. And it wasn’t exciting when George Stewart started in either. He’s scary, Allan, and if you don’t start acknowledging that there are real people involved in everything that happens around here then I think you are one very sick puppy.”
“Wilson, Wilson, what have you done to our little Lauren? She’s beginning to sound like you. Right, wrong; black, white. You’ll never survive in this business.” He nudged her and dipped his head. She turned hers away. He lowered his head further until she almost smiled. “Lighten up, Lauren. I was just kidding. I feel for Lee, but you have to admit hysteria doesn’t do much for the resume.”
“People don’t think about their resume when someone they love is endangered or hurt. You don’t know what it feels like to lose control or to have something horrible happen because you couldn’t do anything, or didn’t do anything, or did the wrong thing. Your problem is there’s no one more important to you, than you.”
Lauren’s voice caught. Surprised at herself for becoming so emotional, a wide-eyed Lauren pulled her head back. In the silence that followed she bore Wilson Caufeld’s wordless empathy, Allan Lassiter’s pitying look. Finally, Wilson ran interference.
“Stop baiting her, Allan. No more bickering, Lauren. We all feel for Judge Lee. If we don’t, then we are not fit for our work. Knowing the history between us, I suggest we are ever careful of what we say, especially to one another. Today I want you both to be wonderful and attentive. I want to look at you and be proud.” From the credenza he took a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket. “We have more festive things to discuss.”
With that the cork went flying. Allan reached up and tried to catch it but missed. Lauren squealed and pounded the table, face bright, her expression animated.
“Judge, are you getting married?”
“Absurd. I’ll have no romantic talk in my chambers.”
“He’s retiring,” Allan hooted, raising the glass Wilson had just filled and taking a drink as soon as his guess was made. “You’re retiring, aren’t you Wilson? Come work for me. My talent, your name, we’ll make a triple fortune. It will be like old times.”
“Put that glass down,” Wilson admonished, hiding his delight. “I have something to say. There’s a toast. Show some manners.”
“Okay. If I can’t have you, I want your secretary when you retire.” Allan laughed. Wilson cracked a smile, his eyes sparkled.
“A fate worse than death for any woman. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Besides, Barbara’s coming with me, hopefully.”
“Oh, my lord,” Lauren howled again. “He’s marrying Barbara!”
“Enough. You’re both children, teasing about things like that. I’m just happy Barbara’s gone to lunch, so she can’t hear what you’re saying.” He pulled back his chair then changed his mind. He cleared his throat. “I suppose something like this is better said standing. If I thought it would help, I’d put my robes on and hold you both in contempt. That would put you in the proper mood. Now, glasses at the ready.”
Dutifully, Lauren and Allan did as he instructed, giggling until the portly man in the light gray suit lowered his eyes. Wilson Caufeld was choosing just the right words to match the moment. His every utterance changed a future. In his career he had sentenced men to death and men to life, he exonerated and condemned. Seldom were his thoughts directed inward, nor did he speak of loneliness, or confusion or how heavily his judgments weighed on his heart. Allan and Lauren remained still. When Wilson spoke, it was with regard for them before a word about himself.
“I don’t often tell you how proud I am of the both of you. I assume you know that I hold you dear.” He looked at each of them in turn then let his gaze rest on Allan. “Allan, for many years I wasn’t sure if I would find you on the right, or the wrong, side of the law. You are a talented young man who can make anyone believe anything. Your charm could have been your undoing; instead, it was the key to your fortune. Thankfully, you have a good mind to go along with the rest of your nonsense. Your clients pay you handsomely for it. When I first saw you during that moot court session in your law school years, I thought you were a boy who would be disbarred soon after you passed it—if, indeed, you passed it. But then, when it was all over, you thanked me for teaching you a bit of humility. It took a man of character to do that. You have done well, and you have turned tides that I know often felt overwhelming. I am proud to know you, Allan, prouder still to have had a hand in growing you to such an excellent attorney.”
Allan raised his glass in gratitude. Lauren looked to see if that lovely speech had brought tears to his eyes. Before she could decide if it had, Wilson was talking to her.
“Lauren, I have known you even longer than Allan. You are as dear to me as if you were my own daughter. I watched you grow up. After your mother’s death, I was honored to be the one you turned to, not just for professional advice, but for solace and friendship. I was terrified when a young girl looked to me for guidance. Thankfully, I seemed to have found a few meager words that helped you become the lady—or should I say, woman—you are today. In all honesty, though, I believe you have become what you are through your own will and fortitude and intelligence. Your future is as bright as Allan’s. You will never get rich representing the People as I have, but you will always make a difference. That dedication to seek out what is right is in your blood. You have the determination to overcome all obstacles. I only wish that there will be no more in your life that must be faced with the courage you’ve already shown.”
Wilson Caufeld ran a hand over his gray hair, tightly waved and slicked down with pomade against his head. The color of his eyes had faded over the years, yet the passion he felt for his young friends shined bright through, of all things, tears. Lauren steeled herself. In her heart of hearts there was no sense of foreboding. But perhaps this wasn’t good news at all. He was speaking of their singular futures. He was speaking as if he were saying goodbye and Lauren wasn’t sure she could bear that. Not again. Especially not him.
“And so, because you are the children of my heart, the apple of my professional eye, my family, I want to share with you the news I received this morning before you read it in the paper. Allan,” he raised his glass, “Lauren,” he tipped it her way. “I have been nominated to the Supreme Court. With God’s help I will be confirmed, in due course, to sit on the highest court of this great land.”
3
The law, like any business, is sensitive to the winds of fortune. The degree of its sensitivity depends on whose fortune is blowing in that wind and whether the gale forces predicted will actually materialize. In the case
of Wilson Caufeld, Federal District Judge, and newly nominated to the Supreme Court, those winds blew hard and fast throughout Los Angeles.
Those who did not know the judge barely swayed with the effect of the news, but acknowledged his nomination seemed well deserved.
Those who knew him, even marginally, reeled with the report. Stories were told of personal bondings in which Caufeld’s affection for the storyteller grew in proportion to the number of times the tale was told. Dreams of grandeur blossomed in the minds of all who hoped to sit on the coattails Wilson was barely aware he was trailing. The judge, reserved though he had been all his career, would remember them all they were sure, even if they had been third seat on a trial that lasted less than a week in Caufeld’s Los Angeles courtroom.
There were the gossips, too, who speculated regarding the nature of Wilson’s nomination. Many a brow was raised when considering that Wilson Caufeld was no longer young. He may not sit the court through two presidential terms, so why appoint him? No arguments were pending that might require the weight of a conservative vote thus creating a political victory for the president who appointed him. No African-American groups pushed an agenda. If anything, a woman would have held the president in better stead. The gossips contemplated many a scenario over an equal number of beers and scotches. Finally, only one conclusion could be reached: Wilson Caufeld was a merit appointee, an anomaly in this day of calculated moves and minimized risks.
But there was an exclusive and knowledgeable group who understood his nomination thoroughly. They knew Wilson Caufeld was long overdue for such a singular honor. These were the ones who looked to the judge’s future with an understanding that theirs would be inexorably linked. Though sincerely exuberant at Wilson’s good fortune, they couldn’t help but consider the personal ramifications of what was happening to Wilson Caufeld.
Allan knew that his considerable influence would grow in exponential proportion to the judge’s good fortune if he used their relationship right. With each step Wilson took, Allan would be there beside him. He imagined himself holding the Bible upon which Wilson would pledge himself to his lifelong task. When that fabled first Monday in October came around, Allan would have free access to the most powerful chamber in the country and, with that, would come unbridled influence. Prominent on the West Coast, Allan couldn’t help but see himself distinguished throughout the country thanks to Wilson Caufeld and his fate.
Lauren Kingsley looked at Wilson Caufeld and saw her mother’s friend, and, on some level, the father she had never known. Overjoyed at Wilson’s success, she indulged herself in those selfish moments and felt the pride of knowing that, while others would fear, revere and possibly revile Wilson Caufeld, she would always share his devotion, his counsel and his joy. She, Lauren Kingsley, would be privy to history and she was awestruck and humbled that he had chosen to care about her. She looked forward with excitement to the days to come as she hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time. Even more amazing, Lauren Kingsley found herself speechless as she considered what the future held for all of them.
Those who practiced before Wilson Caufeld walked on eggshells, waiting for any sign that his judicial nature had changed. When it did not, they wished him the best of luck and it was business as usual. Nominations, after all, were fraught with peril and Caufeld, while nominated, might never be confirmed. So they treated the judge as always but added a little more weight to the deferential spin of their argument.
For Abram Schuster, the ramifications of Wilson Caufeld’s nomination were a bit more personal than even Allan or Lauren’s. Wilson Caufeld’s move would leave an opening on the Federal District bench and Abram wanted to fill it. Calls had been made putting people on notice. His good friend, the Democratic Senator from California, had already written a letter of nomination to be presented to the President of the United States as soon as Caufeld was confirmed. The lieutenant governor, two state senators and a gentleman in private practice who had, at one time, served as assistant attorney general of the United States, had letters of recommendations for Abram in their files. A president of the right party was in the White House for a second term and Abram’s checkbook reflected that proper donations had been made at the proper time. His long tenure as U.S. Attorney had been spotty with victories but, thankfully, the victories were showy and press-worthy. He could point to his curriculum vitae with pride.
Bottom line, Abram Schuster wanted Wilson Caufeld to be confirmed in the worst way. It would take awhile for Wilson’s confirmation and, in the meantime, Abram was determined to add one more star to his resume. He wanted the Stewarts convicted.
So Abram Schuster walked the gray-carpeted halls of the U.S. Attorney’s Office to a meeting that would be the first move in accomplishing that objective. His step was light but brisk and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the small smile of delight he’d worn since planning his strategy. When he opened the door to his office, Edie Williams and Lauren Kingsley knew that they were dealing with a happy man who would let nothing mar that happiness.
“Ladies, I’m delighted you could join me.”
Edie murmured a hello. Lauren smiled back and Abram admired the expression. She looked like a woman on the edge of another time, running around in suits and silk ties before it was acceptable, her face still cameo perfect. Her hair was almost red gold in the morning light. Very nice. He headed to his desk, stopping only long enough to rearrange some of his soldiers. When he was done, the little iron men stood aggressively facing the enemy instead of eyeing one another across the field.
“English wool, Lauren?” he asked when he was finished. “There’s nothing like it for the fall of a jacket. You have a fine tailor.”
She laughed, amused by Abram Schuster’s pretensions but never fooled into thinking that’s all there was to him. Smart cookie, her mother had called her. Her mother was right. She was smart enough to know when it was time to lift her feet.
“Off the rack. Domestic. Glad you like it. I know the fashion is three-button these days, but I still like a double-breasted cut.” Always one observation too many. She bit her tongue when she saw him bored.
“I agree wholeheartedly. Well, I admire the buyer’s taste then. And yours, naturally.” He sat in his chair, throwing off the last. It was a compliment on her clothing and nothing more. Abram’s sexual etiquette had never been questioned by anyone in the office. Men and women were treated alike by the U.S. Attorney. All were admired, or subtly derided, for style or talent. It was as simple as that. Lauren’s suit was forgotten, and Abram looked at the lay of the land. The troops were wary, but not divided, on the real field of battle.
“Edie, why don’t you join us here?”
She unfolded her long body from the low couch. He didn’t comment on her dress. She was not the kind of woman who wore a dress well and he would not be the one to tell her so. As she settled herself beside Lauren, Abram put his hands together and looked pleased.
“Better. Now that I’ve got you both in front of me, we’ll get to it. This is a good news/bad news situation, ladies. The bad news is that Judge Lee will not be returning to the bench for an unspecified amount of time.”
“Damn,” Edie breathed. “The momentum is now. We can’t have the Stewart trial continued indefinitely while he takes care of family problems.”
There was a silence as they all considered whether or not a woman, shot in the face for her car, qualified as a ‘family problem’. Abram decided when they were finished with that. It hadn’t been given more than a minute.
“Oh, Edie,” Abram noted, “you were optimistic to think he could ever come back after what he said in that courtroom. No, I think when Mrs. Lee recovers, she will find her husband has quietly retired.” Enough said about Lee. He was history. “However, the wheel, as the federal government is so fond of calling our simplistic, yet effective, way of assigning cases, has already been turned. The computer kicked out the next name on the list and the Stewarts have been reassigned.” Abram lifted his chin
slightly, looking at the women from beneath his silver lashes. The right corner of his mouth tipped up slightly and Lauren leaned forward to hear. He looked at Edie when he gave the news. “Wilson Caufeld will be seeing this through.”
“Oh my God,” Edie breathed. “We don’t stand a chance on the stop.”
“It will only be tougher to convince him because he understands the law so well,” Lauren muttered, defending what they considered Caufeld’s intractability. She would have taken Edie to task for her comment, but Abram was talking. She made a wise choice and listened.
“Wilson Caufeld is a special friend of yours, who is at a very special time of his life, is he not, Lauren?”
“You know I clerked for Judge Caufeld,” Lauren answered cautiously. Abram looked at her as if waiting to see if he would have to explain chapter and verse.
Lauren cocked her head, raised her hands, and popped the arms of her chair lightly until she realized how juvenile she must look. She grimaced at Abram and took a deep breath before pushing herself to the edge of the chair.
“Well, I guess that’s that. I think I can get the motion files together within twenty-four hours, the case files by Friday. I’m sorry about this. I was looking forward to the trial. I certainly do understand the conflict, though.”
Abram motioned her down and waved away her resignation. He looked disappointed in her, but not for long. “Lauren, Lauren, of course you’ll be in court tomorrow. Judge Caufeld wants to continue the motions in the morning. He’s on the fast track with this.”
“But I clerked...”
Abram batted his eyes at her ignorance. “If every former clerk had to recuse themselves from practicing in front of their judge, then I’m afraid the courts would be busy playing musical chairs. Unless, of course, you’re worried that Judge Caufeld will be prejudiced by your involvement?”
Lauren lowered herself slowly, concentrating on the glimmer in Abram’s eye, and that telltale pacing of his words. Beside her, Edie was tense and silent. Now there was more to Edie’s concern than Wilson Caufeld’s reputation as a stickler for the letter of the law. Something was up.
The Mentor Page 5
