Larger Than Lyfe

by Cynthia Diane Thornton

  “Shit!” Mars snapped under his breath as he looked through the peephole.

  Wearing black Sean John sweatpants and no shirt, he reluctantly opened the door. He still wore the amazing tan that he’d acquired in Negril. That suntan made Portia fuming mad all over again as she whisked past Mars through his foyer and into the condo’s huge living room that she had decorated.

  She sat down on the leather sectional, crossed her long legs, and came right to the point. She pulled a copy of Entertainment Weekly from her bag and dropped it on the glass cocktail table in front of Mars.

  “Do you care to explain this?” Portia asked succinctly.

  Mars stared down at the photograph of Keshari and him. The passion between the two of them was practically tangible on the page. The icy silence coming from Portia as she awaited his explanation seemed to stretch on and on. Mars really owed her no explanation, but he tried to piece together the right words to say to her nevertheless.

  “Portia…look. I hope that you didn’t show up here at my apartment on some sort of jealous tirade. I thought that we had a clear understanding that the two of us are not exclusive. If memory stands correct, it was your idea.”

  Portia was speechless, even though she’d spent the entire day composing in her mind, frame by frame, precisely how she planned to curse Mars out once she saw him that evening.

  Not exclusive? Not exclusive?! she thought now. Was that the best shit that a high-powered attorney could come up with to defend himself?!

  “Not exclusive” was what Mars’s mouth said now, but mixed signals were what he’d been serving up to her for nearly two years. When the two of them were seeing each other on a regular basis during the periods when she was in L.A. for a long stretch of time working on a project, Mars was fucking her every other day AND night, then spending the night at her loft a couple of nights every week…EXCLUSIVELY.

  When Mars needed a shoulder of support and a listening ear to hear him vent his frustrations about the rigors of his very demanding job and how “ruthless” the “back-stabbers” in the industry could be, she’d been there practically like a wife would be, providing him countless words of encouragement and advice, even in instances where she didn’t quite agree with him; and she’d done this…EXCLUSIVELY.

  What was she?! Some whore to him?! She was good enough for regular fucking, but not quite good enough for a committed, monogamous relationship?!

  “I can’t see you anymore,” Mars said.

  The words went straight through Portia’s heart like hot daggers. All Portia could see as she sat there, literally choked up on her hurt and anger, were the many nights when she had stood in her kitchen playing the domestic role, cooked extravagant meals and fed this man, massaged his back, listened to his thoughts and dreams while she shared her own thoughts and dreams with him, bathed him, coddled him, brought him chicken soup when he was sick with the flu, showered him with gifts of thousands of dollars’ worth of rare, African art, sucked his dick and fucked him in every way and in every place imaginable only to be cast aside as if she were so totally…expendable. She had damned near given her soul to this man and had been patiently waiting for him to overcome his obvious fear of a more committed relationship with her, and now he was giving her the kiss-off for this little, Tracey Edmonds-looking bitch?! What the fuck?!

  “Is…is this more than a fling?” was all Portia could muster.

  What seemed like an interminable silence passed before Mars answered.

  “I’m in love with her,” Mars said quietly, shattering Portia’s entire world.

  A single tear rolled down Portia’s cheek and Mars reached out compassionately to wipe it away. Portia smacked his hand away before he could touch her.

  It wasn’t that Mars didn’t care about Portia. He did. Portia was a stunning, vivacious, talented, intelligent, amazing woman. She simply wasn’t the woman for him. Ideally, Mars wanted to hold her and reassure her that he would be there for her if she ever needed him. They’d had some good times together and he wanted them to part as friends. But, realistically, Mars knew Portia well enough to know that he would have to make a clean break with her with no future contact whatsoever. There was no middle ground for the two of them and he did not want to inadvertently give Portia some glimmer of hope that there was still a chance for them.

  Portia stood up bravely and tucked her Christian Dior clutch under her arm.

  “Mars, baby, I wish you the best…of everything,” she said as she turned to leave. “Goodbye.”

  The door closed and Mars found himself dumbfounded but thankful that the whole situation was over and that there had not been an ugly scene. The collected and dignified way that Portia had reacted was not what he’d expected. Drama was much more her style. Drama was what she had initially planned on bringing him that evening and something in his gut told him that things were not over. Mars visualized Portia slipping into his condominium’s subterranean garage in the middle of the night while he was out of town and leaving deep, ugly key gouges down the full length of his $140,000 Mercedes, and then flattening its tires as repayment for him breaking things off with her. Several nasty scenarios came to mind that were much more in character for the many-times-driven-to-melodrama Portia that Mars knew than the woman who had so graciously left his apartment.

  As Portia slid behind the wheel of her Range Rover and drove away, she solemnly vowed to herself that she would make Mars Buchanan sincerely regret the day that he and Keshari Mitchell had ever gotten together.

  Richard Tresvant’s murder trial was well into its third week and the media and the public in Los Angeles were still clamoring for the details of the “reputed gangster charged with the first-degree murder of the high-profile corporate attorney” as much as they had been on day one of the trial. News networks like CNN and CSPAN continued their coverage of the sensational, Los Angeles trial and legal experts on truTV discussed daily the trial’s likely outcome and the sordid history of organized crime in Los Angeles all the way back to the Prohibition Era.

  The prosecution still had the floor and continued questioning its witnesses. Currently on the witness stand was the head of security for the office building where Phinnaeus Bernard III had worked and was murdered.

  “Mr. Kowalski, how long have you been director of security for Helzberg Properties?” Steve Cooley, the district attorney, asked.

  “Seven years,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “And on the night of March 11, 2005, were you on duty?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were your scheduled work hours on that date?”

  “From 10 a.m. until 10 p.m.,” Stephen Kowalski responded.

  “And were there any other security officers on duty with you during this time frame?” the district attorney questioned.

  “Yes, there were four other officers on duty with me, each of them working eight-hour shifts.”

  “Did you know the victim, Phinnaeus Bernard III, sir?”

  “Personally, no,” Stephen Kowalski said, “but I was aware that he was a partner at the firm on the thirty-fifth floor. I saw him in passing almost every day.”

  “Did you see Mr. Bernard on March 11, 2005, the day of his murder?”

  “Yes,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “When did you see him?”

  “Around lunchtime,” Stephen Kowalski said. “He was accompanied by the defendant, Mr. Tresvant.”

  “And have you ever seen the defendant, Richard Tresvant, at the building before March 11, 2005?”

  “Yes,” Stephen Kowalski said.

  “Lunchtime is probably one of the busiest times of the day at a high-rise the size of 300 South Grand. There is likely to be a tremendous amount of foot traffic during that time. Why would it register in your memory having seen Phinnaeus Bernard and the defendant, Richard Tresvant, during lunchtime, during such a busy time of the day?”

  “Because they were arguing, sir.”

  “Do you know what they were arguing about?”


  “No, sir,” Stephen Kowalski responded.

  “Did you see Mr. Bernard when he returned from lunch?”

  “No,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “But you know that he did return from lunch?”

  “Yes,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “How do you know?”

  “He signed security’s after-hours log later that same evening,” Stephen Kowalski said.

  “So, security maintains a log book in the main lobby to keep a record of all those entering and exiting the building, both before and after regular business hours. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Stephen Kowalski said.

  Steve Cooley removed from a large, plastic evidence bag the log book that had been present in the main lobby on the night of the murder.

  “This is People’s exhibit ten,” the district attorney stated.

  He opened the log book in front of Stephen Kowalski and flipped to the last pages, locating the entry where Phinnaeus Bernard had signed out for the very last time.

  “On the night of March 11, 2005, the night of Phinnaeus Bernard’s murder, at what time did Mr. Bernard sign the log book prior to leaving for the night?”

  “Nine forty-seven p.m., sir,” Stephen Kowalski stated, looking down at the page.

  “Was Mr. Bernard accompanied by anyone when he was leaving?”

  “I don’t recall, sir,” Stephen Kowalski stated.

  “Who signed the log book immediately prior to and immediately after Mr. Bernard signed out?”

  “A ‘Sylvia Hendershot’ signed the book at 8:27 p.m., almost an hour and a half prior to Mr. Bernard signing out,” Stephen Kowalski stated. “A ‘Mr. & Mrs. Harry Donnelly’ and a ‘Richard Driver’ all signed out at 10:03 p.m. after Mr. Bernard.”

  “So, per security’s log book,” the district attorney said, “it is safe to deduce that Phinnaeus Bernard was alone when he was leaving on the night of his murder. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct,” Stephen Kowalski replied.

  “Do security cameras capture people coming and going from the Helzberg property located at 300 South Grand?” the district attorney asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “On March 11, 2005, the day of Phinnaeus Bernard’s murder, did security cameras capture Phinnaeus Bernard III leaving his office for the day and heading to the underground garage where he parks?”

  “Most likely,” Stephen Kowalski responded, “but video footage for the date in question was stolen.”

  “Stolen?” the district attorney asked incredulously. “Please explain.”

  “On the night of the murder, LAPD detectives requested to view security camera footage for the entire day. The tapes for all sectors of the building for the entire day of March 11th were gone. Helzberg Properties also maintains a backup of the security’s daily video footage of all sectors of the office building in a password-protected computerized database. The footage for the entire day of March 11, 2005, had been wiped, apparently by some type of computer hacker.”

  “In your professional opinion,” the district attorney stated carefully, “do you believe that the theft of the videotape and hacking of security’s computer files were connected to the murder of Phinnaeus Bernard III?”

  “Yes,” Stephen Kowalski stated succinctly.

  “No further questions,” Steve Cooley said.

  “Mr. Steinberg, are you prepared for cross?” Judge Bartholomew asked.

  “Yes,” Ricky’s lead defense attorney said quickly, approaching the witness.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Kowalski, are there any entries in the security log on March 11, 2005, the date of Phinnaeus Bernard’s murder, containing my client’s, the defendant’s signature?”

  “No,” Stephen Kowalski answered.

  “Mr. Kowalski, did you see my client, Richard Tresvant, on the night of March 11, 2005, sir?”

  “I don’t recall, sir.”

  “But you can be quite certain that my client, Richard Tresvant, was not accompanying Phinnaeus Bernard as he left his place of business for the evening…immediately prior to his being murdered…per security’s after-hours log. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Stephen Kowalski responded.

  “Now, getting back to the theft of the video surveillance tapes from the security office,” Larry Steinberg continued. “Was there any evidence of forced entry into the security office where the tapes are maintained?”

  “No,” Stephen Kowalski answered, “which makes all of this all the more puzzling.”

  “So, the theft of the building’s security surveillance tapes could have been an inside job, correct?”

  Stephen Kowalski hesitated.

  “Since the office of the building and the security officers are the only ones who hold keys to the security office, is it plausible to say that someone employed by Helzberg Properties could have removed those tapes?”

  “Yes, it is plausible to say that,” Stephen Kowalski answered finally.

  “No further questions,” Larry Steinberg said, turning on his heel and heading back to the defense table.

  “Mrs. Hendershot, how long have you been employed by the firm of Carlyle, Brown, Von Klaus & Pennington?” the district attorney asked.

  “Six years,” Sylvia Hendershot responded.

  “And did you work as Phinnaeus Bernard’s legal secretary for the entire six years that you’ve been employed with the firm?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia Hendershot answered.

  “Would you say that you knew Mr. Bernard well?”

  “After six years working for him, yes,” Sylvia Hendershot said.

  “Both professionally and personally?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia Hendershot said.

  “Do you know the defendant, Mr. Richard Lawrence Tresvant?”

  “Personally, no,” Sylvia Hendershot responded, “but he is a client of the firm.”

  “How long has Mr. Tresvant been a client of Carlyle, Brown?”

  “Up until the murder, Mr. Tresvant was a client of the firm for about two years.”

  “So, the firm no longer represents Mr. Tresvant?”

  “No,” Sylvia Hendershot answered.

  “Did Phinnaeus Bernard personally handle Mr. Tresvant’s legal affairs for the entire time that Mr. Tresvant was a client of the firm?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia Hendershot replied. “If memory stands correct, a mutual friend of the late Mr. Bernard and Mr. Tresvant brought Mr. Tresvant to the firm.”

  “Do you know the name of this ‘mutual friend’?” the district attorney asked.

  “Yes. Walter Bumgaarten.”

  Rustling and a collective gasp went up in the courtroom. The Bumgaarten family was among the “Who’s Who” of Los Angeles’ old money and aristocracy. It seemed a most strange mix for anyone within that historically known family of bankers, real estate speculators and developers, and philanthropists to be associated in any way with the infamous Richard Tresvant.

  “Would you say that Phinnaeus Bernard and Richard Tresvant were friends?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia Hendershot responded. “They played golf together often. Phinnaeus…Mr. Bernard, had dinner at Mr. Tresvant’s home many times. Mr. Bernard was very intrigued by Mr. Tresvant. He said on more than one occasion that Mr. Tresvant was one of the ‘shrewdest businessmen he’d ever met in his life.’”

  “Was Mr. Bernard aware of Mr. Tresvant having involvement in any kind of illegal activity?”

  “I have no idea,” Sylvia Hendershot answered.

  “Were you aware of Richard Tresvant having involvement in any kind of illegal activity?”

  “Of course not,” Sylvia Hendershot responded quickly. “With the exception of Mr. Tresvant being a client of the firm, I had no knowledge of him whatsoever.”

  “On March 11, 2005, did Richard Tresvant visit or make any phone calls to Phinnaeus Bernard at the firm?”

  “Yes, he
did. Mr. Bernard had a lunch meeting with him that day. Mr. Tresvant called several times that morning and had to reschedule their eleven o’clock meeting for later in the day.”

  “Did he state why he needed to reschedule?” the district attorney asked.

  “He said that his prior meeting was running longer than he’d expected.”

  “When Mr. Tresvant finally arrived at the firm, how long was he there?”

  “Just a few minutes. Mr. Von Klaus, one of the senior partners, stopped and chatted with them for a few minutes. Then the two of them, Mr. Bernard and Mr. Tresvant, left.”

  “Do you know where the two had lunch?”

  “At the Jonathan Club,” Sylvia Hendershot said. “I reserved a table for the two of them there the day before.”

  “Do you know how long the two of them were gone?”

  “Not exactly,” Sylvia Hendershot said, “but it would be safe to estimate it to be about three hours. Mr. Tresvant arrived after one. I went to lunch myself soon thereafter. I returned and Mr. Bernard was not back. He did return shortly before 5 p.m. He closed himself away in his office and was on the phone until I left around 8:30 p.m. that night.”

  “Did Mr. Tresvant come back to the office with Mr. Bernard when he returned from lunch?”

  “No,” Sylvia Hendershot answered.

  “Did you see Richard Tresvant again at all that day?”

  “No,” Sylvia Hendershot said.

  “Mr. Stephen Kowalski, head of security at the office building, stated that Mr. Bernard and Mr. Tresvant were arguing as they were leaving for lunch. Do you have any idea what they could have been arguing about?”

  “Objection, Your Honor! The district attorney’s question calls for speculation,” Larry Steinberg hopped up and bellowed from the defense table.

  “Mr. Cooley,” Judge Bartholomew said, “you’ll need to rephrase your question or it will be stricken from the record.”

  “Did Mr. Bernard seem upset or angry in any way when he returned from lunch?”

  “Objection, Your Honor! Still calls for speculation!” Larry Steinberg argued.

  “Overruled,” Judge Bartholomew responded.

  The district attorney repeated the question. “Did Mr. Bernard seem upset or angry in any way when he returned from lunch?”