Reef Dance

by John Decure

  Jimmy Nicholsen sat a few feet to Jackie’s left, arms folded, studying Jackie’s tight jeans, snakeskin cowboy boots and permanent tan as if he were viewing a freak. Jackie took notice and stared back menacingly until Nicholsen turned away.

  “All right,” I whispered to Sue Ellen, who had also seen Jackie. “Time to rock ’n’ roll.”

  Lily Elmore took a deeply sympathetic turn in her questioning of Kitty Danforth, emphasizing the love that had developed between the Danforths and Nathan. “Whatever happens here,” Kitty said, tearful again, “Corwin and I know in our hearts that we are Nathan’s true parents, his real parents.” She stared hard at Sue Ellen. “I’ll always be his mother.”

  Sue Ellen sat rigid in the chair next to mine, her fists balled tightly in her lap. “Don’t let her get to you,” I said. “We know the truth.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Jackie. He was slumped casually along the back, his right knee bent, a boot heel riding up the wall. Like saving my ass at trial was a routine part of his day. Would Rosemary Egan give me enough to convince Foley?

  It was time to find out.

  Nineteen

  We pushed into the interview room without speaking and closed the door. “You brought Egan?” I asked Jackie. He nodded. “She’s here?”

  He buffed his fingernails on his shirt. “You need me, I won’t let you down,” he said. “Don’t forget that. I delivered for you, man.”

  “Good. Bring her here. I’ve only got five minutes to talk to her before Foley reconvenes.”

  Jackie hustled back out to the waiting area, leaving me alone. I sat back and closed my eyes, angling for a moment of relaxation. I pictured a cool green wave spilling over a lonely sandbar, its cresting hook blown back in a rooster-tail plume by a warm desert offshore. An old trick, but it failed to work this time, for all my imagination could muster was Belinda jumping to her feet to object, a grumbling Foley, Ty Randall swinging on me. I thought about the county’s witnesses so far, wondered if I was winning this case. I closed my eyes, tired of thinking.

  Someone rapped on the door; it was Nelson Gilbride, alone.

  “Sorry, this room’s occupied,” I said.

  “A moment of your time is all I ask,” he said.

  “Can’t spare it now, Mr. Gilbride.” I started to close the door.

  “Hold it!” he said, wedging himself into the doorjamb. “You remember our conversation the first day we met, don’t you?” I didn’t respond. “We can still work this out, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Not on your life. My client wants her son back.”

  “Talk to her.”

  “Already have. Tell your clients they can keep their money. It’s not going to happen.”

  “You’re losing this trial. Sue Ellen Randall is a thief. The judge saw what she did to spirit away the other child right out from under our noses. She’ll turn around and peddle Nathan to another unsuspecting couple and wind up in jail.”

  “I don’t agree with your assessment,” I said. “Excuse me, but I’m busy.”

  Gilbride stamped and half-started to speak a few times, apparently flabbergasted at the quick death his proposal had met. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “Have you even thought—”

  “About the best interest of the child?” I said. Gilbride said nothing. “Yes, I have. Know what? It gave me a headache, not unlike the one you’re giving me now.”

  “You’re a foolish young man!” he said.

  I started to close the door on him. “Better than being a foolish old man.”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve! Huh-ho.” His laugh sounded false. “I’ll take care of you! Tomorrow morning I’m going to pay a visit to the presiding judge down here.”

  “You aren’t going to do a damn thing, Mr. Gilbride,” I said. I was in no mood to hear his hollow threats. He’d burned Sue Ellen in the adoption, savaged me on TV with Holly Dupree. “The Randalls were also your clients in the adoption. You never told them you were against them, never let them know you were working behind their backs. You deceived them. The State Bar would call that an act of moral turpitude.”

  “Oh would they?”

  “I checked,” I said, bluffing. “You had one hell of a conflict of interest going there, too.”

  “Both couples waived any conflicts of interest when they signed on with me. It’s in the retainer agreement.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” I said. “You studied for the bar exam sometime around the turn of the century.” His face reddened. “The rules of ethics have changed a bit over the years, Mr. Gilbride. You have to disclose any actual conflict that arises when it arises, in writing. Gotta get your client’s consent to keep working for them, in writing.”

  “Fine, so there’s no problem,” he said, his eyes darting.

  “You never told Ty and Sue Ellen that you were working against them because you didn’t trust them. Problem is, how could they waive that conflict when they didn’t even know it existed?” He stared back, temporarily mute. “The Randalls go to the Bar with a transcript of Lois Nettleson’s testimony, I don’t know . . .” I said. “I think they have a legitimate complaint. Have you got an associate who can fill in on your cases while you’re suspended?”

  “Ho, you think you can . . .” He jabbed a finger at me, off stride.

  “You’re spanked,” I said. “Tell you what, though. You stop trying to give me the official hose job every time I’m not looking, I’ll gladly leave well enough alone.”

  Jackie pushed in behind Gilbride. “Howzit, chief?” he said to me.

  “Otherwise we’ll both go down swinging,” I said to Gilbride, “guaranteed. What do you say?”

  “You’ve got one hell of a nerve,” Gilbride said.

  “Say, what I miss?” Jackie said, his face lighting up.

  “Nothing, Jack,” I said. “He was just leaving. Give it some thought, sir,” I told Gilbride, opening the door.

  “Don’t put yourself ahead of this case,” Gilbride said with some finality. “I came to you with that little boy in mind. He’s all I’m thinking of.”

  Jackie studied Gilbride’s face closely. “Hey, man,” he said, as if deeply disturbed, “wait just a minute!”

  “Who, who is this?” Gilbride said, backing away from Jackie’s eye-popping scrutiny.

  “Thinking of little boys? Aw, Christ!” Jackie shouted. “Knew it!” He turned to me. “He’s one of those molesters you represent, J., isn’t he?”

  I shrugged. Jackie had seen Gilbride on TV with Holly. I was pretty sure he recognized him now, but the panic on Gilbride’s face was a sweet sight to behold.

  “Whaa? Leave me alone!” Gilbride said.

  People were filing by the door to head back into court, and several slowed to peer in at the scene we were making. “Molester, really? Which one, the old guy?” someone commented from the hallway. Gilbride looked positively stricken.

  “Chester the Molester, eh?” Jackie said, bearing down.

  “You’d better go,” I told Gilbride.

  “Gladly!” Gilbride said. “Let me out.”

  I told Jackie to step aside, and Gilbride slithered out the door, his face drained of color. “I’m fuckin’ watching you, Chess,” Jackie told him as he passed.

  “Leave him alone,” I said. Gilbride was a little old for Jackie’s scabrous brand of humor. I didn’t need a heart attack victim on my conscience.

  He turned back to me when Gilbride was gone. “Hey man, how come the guy in the cop uniform kept giving me the stink-eye in the courtroom?”

  “Don’t be offended. The proceedings are confidential.”

  “You mean I can’t watch you? Can’t we say I’m your assistant?”

  “You’re not a lawyer. I could try to get you in, I guess, but there’s no room and I’ve got no time.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  It was true, but I had no spare time to squabble over admitting him as a spectator. “Sorry. Nothing personal, just the rules. So where’s the nurse?”

 
; “Ladies room. She’ll be right here. Said it couldn’t wait.” He shrugged.

  The bailiff poked his head into the room. “Mr. Shepard, judge is ready,” he said.

  I closed the door again. Damn. My key rebuttal witness and I’d have to take a run at her cold on the witness stand. “Tell me, man,” I said, “is she ready?”

  Jackie smiled like a jungle cat. I was lucky to have him here, by my side, bringing in a key witness at the end of a trial. My best friend, he was. I felt a renewed sense of self-confidence, one I knew I entirely owed to his presence, his aura. His sense of stoke.

  “Hang on to your hat,” he said, “cause she’s going to blow them away.”

  I eased back into my chair at counsel table, Foley regarding me with a slight nod. Kitty Danforth had retaken the witness stand. None of the gallery watchers had left, nor had Jimmy Nicholsen and his cronies budged from their corner behind Shelly.

  “Try to be more prompt, Mr. Shepard,” Foley said. The clock read ten-of-five.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “You may cross-examine the witness.”

  I stood up. “It’s late, Mrs. Danforth,” I said. “I don’t have many questions for you.”

  “Good,” she said with a nonplussed smile, setting off a ripple of laughter from the gallery.

  “But the questions I do have may be rather upsetting to you, so try to bear with me. I just want to get at the reason this adoption fell apart. Let’s talk about what happened at Woodside Hospital when Nathan was born. Let’s talk about what you did before he was born.”

  She shifted in her chair, checking on Foley. Instead of taking notes, he was staring right at her.

  “You remember the day Nathan was born?” I said.

  “Of course.”

  “May sixth of this year, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That was an important date for my client,” I said, standing behind Sue Ellen. “One I’m sure she’ll not soon forget. You know why that is, Mrs. Danforth?”

  “Well, she did give birth,” she offered. “Though to her it was just a business transaction.” Kitty waited for the titter to rise from the gallery, but it never came.

  “The childbirth didn’t go so well, did it?” I asked her.

  She studied the oversized diamond on her left ring finger. “No.”

  “She had to have her labor induced.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Right,” I said. “And she was in a lot of pain.”

  She tilted her head as if to show me she was unimpressed by my queries. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Oh, I think you would,” I said. “Isn’t it true that you were the one who insisted that Doctor Weinstein induce Sue Ellen’s labor on the sixth?”

  “No, that is not true.”

  “Isn’t it also true that you were the one who denied Sue Ellen an anesthetic, even though she was half out of her mind with pain?”

  “Absolutely not.” She paused and regarded Sue Ellen. “She was . . . exaggerating. The girl’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Oh, I see.” I nodded slowly. “So, you knew what she was feeling?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re right,” I conceded, “you didn’t say that. You didn’t know the pain she was having giving birth to that child, even though she was screaming most of the time. You were guessing that she was exaggerating, maybe even faking it.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time she’s faked something,” she said. This time she got a few chuckles from the gallery.

  “Or were you guessing at what she was feeling based on your own personal experience?” I asked.

  “What . . . do you mean by that?” Kitty said, instantly wounded.

  “You had a painful experience giving birth once yourself, didn’t you? A few years ago.” Kitty Danforth blinked and looked away. When she turned back to face me, her eyes were full of tears.

  “Objection!” Belinda said. “What’s the relevance of this?”

  “Bias, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Overruled.”

  “Your Honor!” Gilbride had jumped up from the gallery. “I must object to this line of questioning! It’s highly unfair for—”

  “Life is unfair, Mr. Gilbride,” Foley said. “I’ve made my ruling. Sanctions come next if you wish to interrupt any further.” He turned to the witness. “Please answer the question.”

  She pursed her lips and composed herself. “I’d been in labor before, yes.”

  “His name was Andrew,” I said. “He was stillborn.” A murmur rippled through the courtroom. “You had complications giving birth, a lot of pain, but you couldn’t have an epidural for some reason. They thought it might make matters worse. Isn’t that how it happened?”

  She regarded me with a quizzical expression. “I don’t know why you’re asking about this.”

  “You’ve never gotten over it, have you? The loss of Andrew.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me,” she said, wiping away a tear.

  “Objection!” Belinda shouted. She could see Kitty Danforth was in trouble. “How is this relevant to anything, Your Honor?” Foley paused to think.

  “I’ll show the relevance,” I told the judge. “I promise.”

  Foley overruled the objection. “Just keep it moving,” he directed me.

  “You forced Sue Ellen to have the baby on the sixth of May, didn’t you?” I said.

  Kitty Danforth sat up straighter. “I did not!”

  “She wanted you there, Nathan’s new mommy, to take him from her arms and hold him. You had to be at the hospital as part of the open adoption agreement, didn’t you?”

  “It was no real trouble.”

  “Oh yes it was,” I said. “You had somewhere to be that weekend, a formal party at the White House, to be exact. You spent the whole week getting ready.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You told Doctor Weinstein to induce Sue Ellen’s labor on Monday because you had things to do. Your dress, shoes, hair, a tuxedo for your husband. Tell us what you wore to the ball, Mrs. Danforth. Did the president take special notice that night?”

  “I don’t need to listen to this!” she snapped. She eyed Gilbride in the gallery. “Do something, Nelson.”

  “Your Honor,” Gilbride said, “on behalf of my client I must object to this spurious line of questioning! It’s demeaning! Unnecessary! Totally irrelevant!” Corwin Danforth stood up next to Gilbride as if to show support.

  I started to talk, but Foley waved me off. “Five hundred dollars, Counselor,” he told Gilbride. “See my clerk before you leave today. And one more word,” he warned, “and I will have the bailiff remove you.”

  Gilbride swallowed and sat down. Foley gazed on Kitty Danforth, then nodded at me. “Next question.”

  “That ball was more important to you than the welfare of Sue Ellen Randall, wasn’t it?” I said.

  Kitty folded her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Saturday, May eleven,” I said. “You and your husband dined with the First Lady in the State Dining Room. The president dined in the Blue Room. Seemed like they both mingled a lot, though. What manners.” I took Bill Davenport’s picture album out of my briefcase. “You were there, weren’t you?”

  She eyed the book in my hand and began to shake, but recovered and composed herself. “Yes, we were there,” she said proudly. “What of it? I’ve done nothing wrong.” Her eyes searched for her husband’s approval. The onlookers rumbled behind me. Corwin Danforth sighed and stared at the carpet beneath his feet.

  Judge Foley rubbed his temples as if to signal the arrival of an even sharper migraine as Kitty left the stand. The courtroom went still. Foley surveyed the jam of onlookers with a look of contempt, as if they were buzzards to be shooed away.

  Belinda rested the county’s case. Foley asked me how many defense witnesses I planned on calling. Two, I told him.

 
“I wanted to finish this trial today, people,” Foley said in a gravelly voice, “but it’s late, and the county won’t pay my clerk and the court reporter overtime. Tomorrow, eight-thirty, we will proceed directly after I call the calendar.” He ordered everyone back and fled the bench.

  Sue Ellen and Ty left together, which I found to be encouraging. Perhaps he could protect her now that he was out on bail. I needed a break from my client.

  I sat in the back seat of my Jeep wagon and interviewed Rosemary Egan as Jackie drove her home. Everything Jackie promised she would say, she said. The White House ball, Kitty’s miscarriage, Sue Ellen’s hurried due date and excruciating labor pains. We dropped her off with a promise to pick her up at 7:30 the next morning, and made the long trek home with few words beyond a comment or two about what tape to play next in the stereo.

  Jane’s Addiction. Tom Petty. Nirvana. The miles rolled on, the music cranking twice as fast as the river of red lights before us. Things were still not right between Jackie and me. I no longer cared about my years-old promise to him, and he knew it. When this thing was over, I would find my mother.

  I let him borrow the car for the night. He had a hot one lined up with Nikki, the art student he’d hooked up with at Bardo’s gallery. She was cooking for two at her place. Jackie dropped me at the curb. I gave him a ten spot for a bottle of wine.

  “We bail at six-thirty tomorrow,” I told him through the car window.

  “Dawn patrol,” he said without looking. His wraparound shades were still parked on his head. “I’m on it.”

  I watched Jackie blow down Porpoise Way, the taillights flashing as he hung a right on Ocean and cut out of view. I must have walked right past the white BMW parked in front of my walk without even registering its presence, for when I saw Phoebe’s silhouette on my porch, I turned and inspected the street again.

  “Surprise,” she said.

  It was dark in front of my house. I never bother with the porch light on weeknights because I always enter through the alley and backyard. Perhaps the cover of night was a good thing, though, because when I looked at her, I could hardly see. I could only feel, and when she touched my face, my whole world felt warm.