The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  “Jerry? Mark. Listen, you’re relieved as of now.” Mark listened for a minute or two. “No. You’re right. Wait until the day watch arrives and tell them the same thing. They’re relieved the minute they get there. The old man doesn’t want us there anyway so we might as well save the taxpayers a few bucks. As of now, Wilson Caufeld is on his own. He can call the marshals if he starts feeling scared.” Mark Jackson disconnected and leaned over the bed. “I wish I could do more, buddy. Sure do wish I could do more.”

  From the Federal Courthouse in downtown Los Angeles it’s a short hop to the charming town of South Pasadena. To get there, you drive the oldest leg of a freeway system that crisscrosses Southern California. You drive by Chinatown and Dodger Stadium then past the sign pointing the way to the Los Angeles Police Academy. That’s where the Pasadena Freeway becomes two in-need-of-repair lanes in either direction. The off-ramps demand a certain daring-do to negotiate. It’s not a ride to take drunk. Just when you think the curves will never end, you see a hill with a sign scripted in flowers or stone. It comes up so fast you can’t tell what the town council had in mind when it came to gracing the entry to South Pasadena, as it is affectionately called. Not that it matters. Once you take the Orange Grove off ramp, make a left, a right, and then a quick left you will forget that little sign and slow the car to admire the charming neighborhoods ribboned with classic California bungalows. You’d probably pull over to admire the one that belongs to Edie Williams because it is a showplace.

  The privileged few to visit Edie’s house inevitably come away impressed at how impeccably it is kept, how astonishingly feminine the trappings. The postage-stamp lawn, front and back, is green year-round, the flower beds are cut to precision and always blooming with the season’s best. The crowning glory of her castle was the hydrangea bushes with their antique pink floral pompoms. Edie would tell you that the bushes were planted by the original owner in the early twenties. She looks at the flowers when she says this, so a visitor won’t see how proud she is to be the caretaker of plants that survived so much. The calla lilies are a bit younger, but not by much, and equally treasured. Edie’s house is pink stucco with white wood trim and a front door that is as close to black as burgundy lacquer can get. She loves her house, but she loves it most when Allan is there. He doesn’t come often yet she keeps the special coffee he likes so much on hand for when he does.

  She was thinking about that coffee when the soft morning light came through the old multi-paned windows and cast shadows on the wall over the top of the walnut highboy. A lone hydrangea blossom rested in the crystal vase on the dressing table. It was a Martha Stewartesque still life and, lying in her bed, Edie was impressed by the perfect moment. From the Camille-like wilting of dying petals to the tortoise shell brush still kissed with pale face powder that lay beside the vase, to the sound of the birds in the tree outside her window and the man sleeping beside her, every detail of that instant was as flawless as any Edie had ever had.

  But perfection was a thing with a life span as lovely and fleeting as her treasured flowers. Perfection only lasted as long as no one else knew about it. The second someone did, they spoiled it all. Abram had proved her theory when he diluted her involvement in the perfect case. Allan diluted the impeccability of their lovemaking when he gave affection so minimally as to be almost imperceptible. Lauren disturbed the superiority of Edie’s cross examinations because everyone believed Edie to be second seat

  So, in order to survive, Edie redefined the concept of perfection. She felt superior knowing that she was the power behind the strategy Lauren would present in court. Edie had mastery over her relationship with Allan because she understood he was needy when he, himself, did not. Abram? He would not be the U.S. Attorney forever. One day, she would take his job and do it better.

  She lay quietly thinking of all this, watching the shadows move, knowing she should have been up and on her way to work already. But Caufeld was still silent, and rumor had it he was struggling with his decision, so Edie knew there would be no surprises waiting at the office that might need her attention. But there was a surprise right there beside her. He had appeared on her doorstep the night before, drunk as a skunk. That was new. That was a curiosity. She took him in, took him to bed. He passed out before she could get him coffee so Edie undressed Allan and slept with him and now left him as she threw her covers off and got out of bed. Standing naked in the golden light, she leaned over the bed and used one hand to touch Allan’s hair.

  “Do you want to wake up?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. Edie smiled. He wasn’t running out, and he hadn’t snapped at her. It was almost perfect, but she wouldn’t know that until she knew what had put him in such a horrid state the night before. Then, when she had that information, Edie would decide if she felt privileged or used. She touched his hair once more and left him to wake on his own.

  Her dressing gown was aqua, a stunning find at a small store that sold old clothes. The proprietress didn’t know the difference between used and vintage, so Edie got it for a song. She swore she could feel the woman, as tall as she, who had first owned this satin gown with the lace-trimmed train. Edie wrapped the belt as she went wondering what kind of man that woman had left sleeping in her bed so many years ago. In the kitchen she put on the favored coffee and reached for her cigarettes. She was half-way through the first of each when Allan came in.

  “I don’t like it when you leave before I do,” he grumbled.

  “I don’t have the leisure you do. People notice if I don’t get to work until noon.” Edie looked him over. Pity he’d slipped into the underwear she had lovingly removed the night before.

  “I may not even have to bother getting up soon. I can just stay here all day doing nothing.”

  Edie cocked her head. She took a drag from her cigarette and looked closely at Allan as he poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned his rear against the cranberry tile of the kitchen counter. He held the coffee and looked into the cup. Edie watched, trying not to appear meddlesome. She’d seen people act like this before, people who had things to tell. Usually they were criminals ready to confess to a crime. But this was Allan, and confession was not a concept he grasped easily. More important, if he had something to tell, why tell her when Lauren Kingsley and Wilson Caufeld, ever excellent and pure, shone in Allan’s universe?

  “I’m all ears, Allan,” Edie said carefully.

  He put his free hand to his face and rubbed. He closed his eyes. He breathed deep.

  “I feel miserable, Edie. I thought I could hold my liquor.” He laughed and it was at himself. Edie could hardly believe her ears. “Ever trust anyone completely, Edie?”

  “No, I never have,” she said before adding, “I guess that’s why I can be trusted. I know how it should be done.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette in the apple-shaped ashtray on the table and shook back her hair. It was just long enough to graze the edge of her neck. Finally, she screwed up her courage and looked him straight in the eye. Allan was looking right back at her, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  “You know what, Edie? You’re right. I do trust you more than anyone on this earth. I thought it was Wilson I trusted most, but it isn’t.”

  “Lauren?” Edie asked quietly, not unaware that a bomb had just burst right there in her kitchen, but too shell-shocked to assess the damage—or opportunity—yet.

  “Lauren,” Allan shrugged. “How can you trust someone who doesn’t have time to be anyone’s best friend?”

  “I have time, if the friend is worthwhile.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you threw me out after last night. I wouldn’t blame you at all, so you better rethink what you’re saying because this ship is sinkin’, babe. So you can just shove me overboard if you want. Everyone else has a sword at my back.”

  “Ships don’t have to sink. There’s always a way to plug a hole, or bail the thing, Allan.” Edie rose. She shimmered in her aqua satin gown. The world she
was moving through was changing as she got closer to Allan. Finally, she felt powerful and connected to him. Edie took Allan’s cup and set it aside. Her fingertips touched him first before her palms brushed against his face.

  “I never realized you were an optimist, Edie.”

  “I’m a realist, Allan, and I’m telling you there’s nothing that can’t be fixed. You just need the right person to help you when the problem’s big. You came here because you know that I’m the right person.”

  Allan eyed her, up and down. He seemed to dissect her, trying to find out what made her tick. Edie didn’t shrink from his scrutiny. This was what she’d been waiting for and she knew she’d pass muster. She smiled.

  “God, Edie, I’m glad you’re here.” He took her in his arms and held her almost tenderly. “I’m in trouble. I’m in very, very big trouble.”

  Edie didn’t move. She lay in his arms, afraid to break the spell by putting her own around him. He put his chin on the top of her head and started to talk.

  By the time he finished, Allan had run the gamut from rage to near-tears of self-pity. Allan’s story made him wander from her, arms flailing, hands reaching as if there was something important that was just out of his grasp. Finally, he sat in solitary misery and that was when Edie Williams knew this was an opportunity that would not come again. She considered what he told her. The historical circumstance was fascinating, the current situation amazing and the problem one that seemed almost impossible to overcome.

  But when Edie knelt at Allan Lassiter’s feet, she knew only one thing for sure. She knew that, between the two of them, they would figure this out or kill themselves trying. Nothing mattered except Allan’s survival. If Edie ensured that, they would be bound forever no matter what happened.

  “Hi.”

  Lauren smiled as she stuck her head through the door. Barbara returned the smile and waved Lauren in even though she was on the phone. Lauren closed the door behind her and sat while she waited for the conversation to end.

  “Yes. I’ll tell him. I apologize again. No, he’s feeling fine. Yes, I’ll definitely call if anything changes. Thank you for being so understanding. I’m sure the judge will appreciate it. Yes. Of course. Goodbye.” Finally, the phone was hung up and Barbara collapsed in her chair, worn out She pursed her lips and puffed and tried to smile. The result wasn’t quite reassuring. “I don’t think I can handle another one of those calls.”

  “It didn’t sound pleasant,” Lauren commented, happy to bear the small talk to find out why she’d been summoned.

  Barbara gave her a sidelong glance and picked up a pencil. It was red. She opened her calendar and drew a large X through one of the little date blocks.

  “I probably shouldn’t have called you. The judge would have my head if he knew I was doing this, but I’m kind of at my wits’ end.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “This has nothing to do with the Stewart trial, Lauren. You know I’d never compromise you, or him, in any way on that. But something’s happened. Two days ago, everything was fine. Now I’ve got instructions to cancel everything. I mean everything.” She flipped the calendar. It was filled with big red X’s. “The dinner at Loyola Law School. He adores that school and was so looking forward to getting the award from the Alumni Association. Now he doesn’t want to go. He told me to make up any excuse. Lunch with Judge Weems. Canceled. The Women’s Defense Lawyers Luncheon. Canceled.” Barbara looked up. Lauren raised a brow. “Take your pick. Every single appointment has been canceled, personal and professional.”

  “Look, Barb, we’re heading to the wire here on the Stewart thing. Maybe he just needed to be alone while he figured this one out.” Lauren couldn’t catch the fever. “You’ve got to admit it’s not exactly your run of the mill decision. Have you seen the papers today? The Independent Militia has been flooding the clerk’s office with paperwork. I’m beginning to think they’ve got five hundred members stashed away somewhere churning out liens and complaints. Eric Weitman and Joe Knapp are holding daily press conferences and they’ve got George Stewart all spit and polished like he’s a Cub Scout leader. The judge is probably just feeling the pressure. I am, and all I have to do is wait.” Lauren winked. “Besides, the P and A’s I gave him are stunning. He’s probably drafting his opinion to include kudos for the most brilliant attorney on the face of the earth.” Barbara didn’t laugh. Lauren took her cue. “You’re worried.”

  “I’m worried,” the secretary admitted. “I don’t know if I really should be, but, Lauren, there is something in his voice that just doesn’t sound right. It’s like he’s just given up. He sounds awful, kind of like he’s lost his best friend. He hasn’t called the president’s appointment secretary back either. They’re trying to schedule the hearings. I keep passing the message along and the judge never calls.”

  “That’s not good.” Lauren bit her lip.

  She sat back and considered the situation with one foot crossed over her knee. She touched the slender heel of her pant boot. The thought that she should have bought into the chunky heel craze crossed her mind and made her smile. Nothing like finding the mundane or the insane interesting; it kept you from thinking about something serious. It was the laundry when her mother died, shoe heels for Wilson. It seemed appropriately balanced. Shoe heels were not as dire as laundry, Wilson’s sudden solitude was nothing compared to her mother’s suicide.

  “Well, did he go to the doctor? Could it be something like that?”

  “No,” Barbara answered. She touched the calendar. “I can account for every minute until I left him that night.”

  “So, that was the day he got that stupid letter. I suppose I’d want to kind of lay low, too, if I were him.” Lauren tapped that shoe heel a couple of times. “You know, everybody’s antsy. Abram can hardly contain himself. He wants me to read tea leaves to figure out which way Wilson’s going to call this thing so he can ready an appropriate press release. Mark Jackson’s dropped off the face of the earth. Edie, well, Edie’s wound tighter than a spring. I know she’s worried.”

  “She must be because she’s not thinking straight. Edie’s been in here a couple of times.”

  “Looking for the judge? She never told me. I’m surprised she’d do that without me.”

  “It wasn’t official, if you can believe that.”

  “No kidding? Something personal?”

  Barbara shrugged, “She never said more than she’d check back when I told her he wasn’t available. Finally, I just told her he was home and I’d give him the message. She said fine and that’s the last I heard from her.”

  “Whatever, I’m sure she’d fill me in if it was something to do with the Stewarts.”

  “Right,” Barbara muttered, and Lauren tipped her head. Barbara turned big, innocent eyes up toward Lauren. “I mean right. I’m sure she would. Edie’s a professional all the way.”

  The two women paused, and then laughed. Lauren said, “You think she’s still stinging about the change of assignment.”

  “Oh, I would think so.”

  “Well, I give her a lot of credit then, because you’d never know it. She’s been working her tail off. She’s been holed up in her office with the door closed for a couple of days now.” Lauren stood up, still grinning. “Look, Wilson’s fine. We’re still on calendar for Monday. He’ll give us an answer and we’ll scramble to do whatever we’ve got to do.” Lauren’s voice softened. “You know, I’m not pleased about the roadblock he put in my way, but I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for anything. It takes a lot of guts to do what you think is right when the FBI is poking around and dissecting your life, newspapers are printing half-truths and pundits are taking potshots at you.” Lauren shook her head. “Let Wilson have some quiet time. The man is surrounded by agents sworn to protect him. If they do half as good a job protecting as they do harassing people, then we don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  With a rap on Barbara’s desk, she threw her a grin and headed out, pausing before she
closed the door behind her. Something bothered Lauren but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. In the hall she tugged on her jacket, feeling suddenly hot. Then she realized it wasn’t the hall, but Wilson’s office that had caused her to feel so odd. It had been cold as a morgue in there. Funny, she never remembered feeling cold in chambers before.

  Passing it off, Lauren closed the door and headed back upstairs. Monday would come soon enough, the motion would be ruled on, and the trial would proceed. Three weeks, tops, and they’d be sending the thing to the jury. In a month this would all be over and—win or lose—she’d be back in Wilson’s chambers having sandwiches brought in at the end of a long day while they waited for Allan to pop in with a kiss for her, a slap on the back for Wilson. All would be well. All was well now, really, and there was work to be done. Just in case, though, on the off chance that something was amiss, Lauren put in a call to Allan. She left a message for him while she went through her own.

  As she hung up the phone, Edie popped in with questions on the direct they intended for the clerk at the gas station where the Stewarts filled up the truck an hour before the bomb detonated. Lauren answered her. She almost asked what had taken her to Wilson Caufeld’s office, but Edie was gone fast. Knowing it was really none of her business, Lauren flipped through the little pink slips in her hand. Phil, one of her case agents, called to tell her to hightail it over to the Westwood offices because they had a woman who was positive she’d seen Henry Stewart in a house behind hers. Phil wanted her to bring a warrant. Lauren wanted to see the lady first. There was a report on George Stewart and the visits with his wife. She put that aside and sat down to sift through the rest.

  Right in the middle was the one that made her raise a brow. Allan had called. He wanted her to come to his place at seven. What a great coincidence. She’d definitely be there and get his take on Barbara’s concerns. Lauren set aside the pink slips and picked up a report that had been left in the middle of the desk. That’s when she saw her last message. Attached to a bag of M&Ms with nuts was a note: “I was here, where were you?”