Legal Artistry

by Andrew Grey

  "Let me do some research first, and we'll see from there,” Gerald cautioned, although he found Dieter's energy and excitement enthralling, and he found himself wanting to help him more and more with each passing minute.

  "I really want to help."

  Gerald stopped at the front door of the restaurant. “I know you do, but if this case seems viable, it could be years of fighting before anything concrete happens. Are you prepared for that?” Gerald watched Dieter's eyes and knew he hadn't thought of that, or of all the obstacles that were going to be thrown in the way. “Don't worry about it right now,” Gerald reassured him as he opened the door to the restaurant.

  The hostess greeted them before showing them to an out-of-the-way table. “Why don't you tell me some of the family stories?” Gerald said once they were seated.

  Dieter launched into the story of his grandmother and her father's flight out of Austria just ahead of the Nazi occupation. “The only reason I have the photographs at all is because Gram's father was interested in photography, and when he fled, he took some of the pictures he couldn't bear to leave behind. Gram said he always lamented that he had to leave behind the portrait of his wife, and she told me that the woman in blue was the love of her father's life and he was never the same after she died,” Dieter told him proudly. “Gram always said I reminded her of him."

  The server took their drink orders, and they looked over the menus and ordered once the server returned with their drinks.

  "Would you tell me what you know about your great-grandparents?” Gerald asked once the server had left. He was curious about the story, and he realized with a bit of a start that he loved the sound of Dieter's voice. It was almost musical, and the way his eyes lit up when he became excited about something was infectious.

  "Well, I can try,” Dieter answered, and Gerald saw the way the tip of Dieter's tongue licked his bottom lip. The man was adorable when he was nervous. Gerald blinked a few times and made himself stop those thoughts. He was with a client, and he wasn't here on a date or to seduce the kid; he was here to have dinner and get as much information as he could to help with the potential case. He had to keep his mind on the prize and away from his libido. Gerald waited quietly while Dieter took a sip of water.

  "Some of what I know came from Gram, and some from Internet research,” Dieter explained. “My great-grandmother, Anna, was some sort of socialite, while my great-grandfather, Joseph, owned factories in and around Vienna. They were very wealthy, and I was even able to find out where they lived and found a picture of the outside of the house on the Internet. It's still there.” Dieter became more animated and Gerald smiled at Dieter's happiness. “As I said, Anna was a real socialite, and they were both patrons of the arts. Anna became the center of a group of artists, and through them she met August Pirktl. My artist friend Mark told me that Pirktl was already famous at the time, and it appears that he and Anna became friends and she asked him to paint her portrait for her husband's birthday. At first it seems he refused, but eventually she convinced him, and she sat for him. The result was to be The Woman in Blue, which, also according to Mark, was a departure in style for Pirktl and the beginning of a whole new artistic style—in addition to being very beautiful.” Dieter paused when the server returned and placed their plates in front of them. They began to eat, and Dieter continued talking between bites.

  "Anna gave the painting to Joseph for his birthday, and shortly after, according to Gram's stories, Anna became pregnant and had Gram. She told me that the house was an amazing place to grow up in when her mother was alive. Gram said she remembered a lot of music, dancing, and balls when she was young.” Dieter smiled, and Gerald's mind flashed for a second on what Dieter might look like dancing, his lithe little body gyrating to the music.

  "Jesus,” Gerald said under his breath as he adjusted things under the table. He really needed to get laid if he was fantasizing about his clients. Maybe this dinner invitation hadn't been such a good idea after all.

  "All that changed once Anna died. Gram told me once that her father retreated and became very quiet and....” Dieter gazed across the table at him as he thought. “Gloomy was the word I think Gram used once. She said he set up her mother's room like some sort of shrine and moved the painting in there."

  "Your grandmother seems to have told you quite a bit,” Gerald commented after swallowing a bite of his pesto pasta.

  "Only because I asked her,” Dieter said. “She never volunteered any information about that time. I think it was too painful for her.” Gerald saw some of the fire dim in Dieter's eyes. “I only ever saw Gram cry one time after my parents’ funeral, and that was when she was looking at the pictures in her photo album. She didn't know I saw her, because I was supposed to be in bed."

  "It sounds like you were a bit of a scamp as a kid,” Gerald said, imagining Dieter as a wide-eyed child.

  "I don't think I ever was,” Dieter countered thoughtfully. “Looking back, I'd say I had a sheltered childhood.” A look of pain crossed his face, and Dieter set down his fork. “In a way, I was very lucky. My parents died when I was four, and I came to live with Gram. I know now that I wasn't loved as a child—I was adored. Gram and Auntie Kate poured love, attention, and affection on me for as long as I could remember. Once, when she was looking through her photo album, I asked Gram if it was her most precious possession, and she said it wasn't, that I was.” Dieter became quiet and seemed to draw inward a little before picking up his fork again. “Where was I?” he asked, taking another bite of his lasagna. “Oh, yeah. Gram said that after her mother died, her father turned her mother's room into a shrine. Gram said that she snuck in there once and her father punished her for it, but the room looked the same. Nothing had changed."

  Gerald found himself enthralled with the story and with the storyteller, and he continued eating, watching Dieter as he continued between almost genteel bites of his dinner. “What happened before the war?"

  "Gram was ten when her mother died, and I can only imagine that the house was quiet and lonely for her. In what must have been 1938, two years after Anna died, Joseph packed what he could, and according to Gram, she and her father slipped out of Vienna just ahead of the Nazis. Gram said that the day after they passed into Switzerland, the Germans closed the border. They took only what they could carry in one of the cars. Unfortunately, Gram said her father lamented the fact that he couldn't take his wife's portrait until the day he died."

  "But why would he leave? He was Austrian and probably would have been safe if he'd have played along the way so many did."

  "Gram said he had factories that the Germans would want, and her father was afraid they would hurt them, because her father was no Nazi.” Dieter sighed softly. “That's what she told me, but I heard her talking to Auntie Kate once, and Gram said that she always suspected that her father was at least part Jewish. She was never sure and thought that the traditions had possibly been lost with Gram's grandparents."

  "That would make a lot of sense and account for his actions, because it wouldn't have mattered if the family was practicing or not—if he had Jewish blood, he would likely have been persecuted.” Gerald tried to sound dispassionate, but he was finding it difficult. The story was so moving, and Dieter incredibly engaging. “It sounds like your great-grandfather was a smart cookie."

  "I'd like to think so,” Dieter said with a smile. “He and Gram made it to Switzerland and spent the war there. He was able to take what portable wealth he could, and Gram said they lived simply. Growing up she'd had servants and governesses, but once they fled, they had to learn to do for themselves. They made it through the war, but according to Gram, her father never really recovered from the loss of her mother, and he died in Switzerland a few years after the war ended. After that, Gram came to this country.” Dieter finished his dinner and rested his fork gently against the edge of the plate, wiping his fingers on the napkin that lay in his lap. “I've sort of monopolized the conversation,” Dieter commented, as though he'd don
e something wrong. “Do you have family in town?"

  Gerald snickered slightly. “Oh yes. My father is a lawyer in private practice in Mequon, along with two of my brothers."

  "So the law is sort of a family business,” Dieter said with a hint of mirth.

  "You could say that. They're very successful, and my father wanted me to join their firm, but I wanted to make it on my own. I'm the youngest of five. One of my sisters is a doctor, and the other is a concert pianist.” Gerald couldn't help laughing. “She's very talented, but a bit of a disappointment to my folks, but I think she's the bravest of us all. She had the guts to go out and do what she really loved regardless of everyone's opinion, and I admire her for that."

  "Do you wish you'd done that?” Dieter asked him as their eyes met briefly, and Gerald felt a surge of desire that he worked to quash.

  "That's the ironic thing—I did, sort of,” Gerald explained as he tried to keep his thoughts on the conversation. “I love being a lawyer, and I like to think I'm quite a good one, or at least I will be. But I know I disappointed my father when I went out on my own rather than joining the family firm. Though I may eventually join them, I wanted to make it on my own first."

  "That's very admirable. Plenty of people would have taken the easy way,” Dieter told him, his eyes twinkling. “Although I've heard that working with family can be difficult, so maybe by going out on your own, you did take the easy way out.” Dieter grinned teasingly, and Gerald laughed along with him. He'd often wondered that same thing himself.

  The server came and asked if they'd like anything else before depositing the check on the table. Gerald reached for it just before Dieter did. “This is on me,” Gerald told his companion, but Dieter shook his head, reaching for the check again, and when Gerald pulled it away again, Dieter acquiesced with a thank-you and a smile. Gerald placed his credit card with the check, and their server retrieved it. “I'll do some research and get back to you late next week,” Gerald told Dieter, slightly relieved as he steered the conversation back to business, even as he felt disappointed that their time together was ending. He'd liked spending time with Dieter. Checking his watch, he found it almost impossible to believe that they'd been eating and talking for two hours.

  "Okay. I'd really appreciate that.” Dieter's gaze wandered around the restaurant, and Gerald knew he'd made him uncomfortable when he'd switched the conversation abruptly onto business, but Gerald knew he was becoming too friendly and familiar with a client, and that was not a good thing. It was okay to have friends as clients, under the right circumstances, but being attracted to a client the way he was attracted to Dieter was not particularly ethical, to Gerald's way of thinking. Thankfully, the server brought the slip quickly, and Gerald signed it before getting up to leave.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Gerald wondered just what he should say. He was rarely at a loss for words, but the way he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Dieter frightened him a little. “Thank you for joining me for dinner,” Gerald said, extending his hand.

  Dieter took it. “No, thank you. It was good to get better acquainted,” Dieter told him formally before releasing his hand. “Have a good night,” Dieter added before walking down the sidewalk. Gerald turned before walking back toward the office where his car was parked in the underground garage.

  Chirping open the doors as he approached, Gerald climbed into his car and headed for the exit, swiping his parking pass through the gate before turning onto the street. Gerald took the turn toward the freeway before turning once again, making his way toward Walker's Point and the clubby area of town. His attraction to Dieter had unsettled him a little. Figuring he just needed to get laid, he decided that maybe a visit to one of the clubs and a quick romp with a hot blond would take the edge off. “Christ,” Gerald muttered to himself. He had to get Dieter and his blond hair and deep blue eyes out of his system.

  Parking near one of the bars, Gerald took off his jacket and tie, laying them on the backseat before loosening his collar and getting out of the car. Normally when he came to the bars, he went to Triangle, but today he wanted something younger and maybe with more energy—it was Friday night, after all. Walking the block to Second Street, Gerald could feel the pulse of the music from Dance All Night almost before he could hear it. Approaching the front, he saw guys entering the dance club as well as a couple leaving, their arms around each other's waists. Pulling open the black door, Gerald paid the cover to the bouncer near the door before entering the building, which pulsed with music, conversation, and enough sexual energy to send a zing of anticipation down his spine.

  Gerald made his way into the already crowded club. It was still early, but that didn't seem to matter tonight. The low lighting and crowd of people seemed to reduce almost everyone except the bartenders to mere shadows of themselves. Making his way to the bar, Gerald ordered a beer and looked around at the men gathered in small groups throughout the bar area. No one seemed to notice him, which he pretty much expected. He wasn't dressed to capture anyone's attention. The men around him all looked like hip fashion plates with their strategically ripped jeans and skintight shirts—that is, those of them who were actually wearing shirts at all. Paying for the beer when it arrived, Gerald gulped it down in a matter of minutes before ordering another. Paying for it, he thanked and tipped the bartender before taking his beer toward a table that had miraculously opened up, reaching it just before a group of young club boys in see-through shirts. Sitting down, Gerald ignored the boys’ comments and looks as he continued scanning the crowd. The dance floor was empty, but the flickering lights were still going full blast, lending an almost surreal aura to the rituals going on in the rest of the club.

  Scanning the groups of men, he could easily pick out the posers, the ones that were there to be seen. They leaned against walls or in small groups, tight shirts straining over broad chests and thick arms. No one approached them except other guys that looked like them, because, after all, the muscle bunnies and gym rats only went for each other. It was as tight a clique as high school cheerleaders. There were also the club kids with their flamboyant outfits, the drag queens presiding over their courts, and of course the “regular guys” like Gerald who came just to have a night where they could be themselves around other guys. Sure, Gerald hoped he'd get lucky, but just unwinding and having some fun was the real order of the evening.

  "You here alone?” A deep, slightly slurred voice crooned into his ear, and Gerald turned to see a rather tall man dressed all in black standing next to him with a definitely hungry leer. Without waiting to be invited, he pulled out the other chair, straddling it backward, presumably to give Gerald a glance at the goods on offer. “I'm Stan,” he said, by way of introducing himself, “and you look like you could use a little company."

  Good grief. Gerald could not believe the guy had used a cheesy line like that on him. “Does that really work for you?"

  "What?” Stan asked, looking at himself and then around the room as though he was trying to figure out who Gerald was talking to.

  "That line. It's old and really lame,” Gerald replied, looking around himself to see if there was anyone he knew who could rescue him.

  Stan smiled, the expression on his face softening, and he suddenly looked younger. “It got you to talk to me, didn't it?"

  "I suppose it did,” Gerald admitted with a nod, thinking that Stan—he doubted it was his real name for some reason—wasn't that bad-looking.

  "Would you like another beer?” Stan asked him as he drained his own.

  "No thanks, I'm good,” Gerald replied, and Stan got up to go to the bar as the club suddenly became quiet, the pounding music that seemed to permeate the very walls of the building suddenly cutting out. “Gentlemen,” a disembodied voice said through the club's speaker system, “your DJ for the evening is Randy, in more ways than one, so give it up for him and Dance All Night!” The crowd gave a cheer as the music started again, and boys began to move toward the dance floor.

  "You wanna dance?
” Stan asked him as he returned carrying two beers, one of which was already nearly empty just from the trip across the bar. Stan emptied the glass before placing it and the full one on the table. Gerald shook his head and began looking around and through Stan, figuring he'd eventually take the hint. A song ended and another began, and Gerald's attention shifted to the dance floor. A single man stood in the center, his body flowing and gyrating to each and every beat. Slender arms, powerful legs, and narrow hips all moved in conjunction with every nuance in the music. Gerald could only see his back, but what a backside it was. Butt and hips rocking and swaying, Gerald's eyes mimicked his movements as the dancer simulated the hottest sex Gerald could have possibly imagined, and there was no one near him.

  A few guys approached and started to dance with him, but they quickly moved away when he paid them no mind whatsoever—he just kept dancing like he was lost in his own world. Gerald shifted in his chair, trying to get a better look at this gorgeous gazelle of a man, and as he glanced around, it looked like every guy in the club was trying to do the same thing, even the posers.

  "If you're interested in him, good luck!” Stan slurred from across the table, yet another empty beer glass in front of him.

  "Why?” Gerald asked without taking his eyes off the dancer, waiting for him to turn around. Gerald was already picturing the man's face, and he needed to see what he looked like.

  "He only dances. Never with anyone else, and he never goes home with anyone. He only dances, for hours on end,” Stan clarified, his eyes becoming glassy and unfocused. Lucky for Gerald, one of the bouncers saw him and made his way to the table and helped Stan away.