Waiting for Cary Grant

by Mary Matthews

  “What does that mean?” She asked.

  “Lana, it looks like we’re going to have to get along. I’m not the bad guy. Why do you work here? Are you training to be a school mistress. Head matron? What do they call it?” He asked.

  “Oh, please.” She brushed back her hair. Was she starting to seem sexless? “I think the term is principal, Harlan. Forget about mistress.”

  “Why do you have such an aversion to men?”

  “To men? Did you ever think it might be personal?”

  For once, Harlan Michaels was speechless.

  “I don’t want Kathy exploited for a lawsuit. She’s been through enough trauma for a lifetime. And she’s only eleven,” Lana said.

  “Lana, we both want to help Kathy.” He offered his most flattering smile.

  “Don’t speak to me in that patronizing tone.” She replied.

  “I’m not patronizing you. I’m fighting for Kathy too.”

  “What’s this case about? Besides money for you?” Lana asked.

  “Safety Tire’s a parasite. We’re all the hosts. We’re all getting sick.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Multipiece wheels should have been off the road years ago. Safety Tire knew about the explosive separations in the seventies. Tire repair workers have been decapitated by the force of wheel parts separating out during servicing.”

  She winced. “I remember seeing something about it on the Internet. I thought the National Highway Traffic Safety Association dropped their investigation of Safety Tire’s multipiece wheels. They didn’t order a recall.”

  “And that means nothing’s wrong?”

  “Well, I’m not that naive.”

  “That’s good, Lana. They conservatively calculated the cost of a recall at one hundred fifty million dollars. A huge amount of money even for a corporation like Safety Tire. But the National Highway Traffic Safety Association had already realized that the accidents were only beginning. The rate of failure seems to be a function of the age of the wheel, maintenance, and to some extent, chance. Catastrophic wheel failures increase with the erosion of parts over time.

  The locking ring that holds the rim base and wheel corrodes and causes an explosive separation. It’s completely unpredictable when it will happen.

  So the National Highway Traffic Safety Association notified the company that shamelessly calls itself Safety Tire that the multipiece wheel investigation has become a top priority. And it’s an election year.

  So Safety Tire Executives start to sweat. Even a consumer notification program will cost several million dollars. Their stock’s inflated.”

  “So they didn’t do anything?” Lana asked.

  “They did something. Just not the right thing. At the time, their European suppliers were paying substantial kickbacks. Safety Tire had been funneling the money through European bank accounts to avoid American taxes.

  This bastion of patriotism suddenly feels an urge to contribute to the reelection campaign of a politician. Overnight, money empties out of the European bank accounts.

  The head of the National Highway Traffic Safety Association’s investigation, an eminent engineer from M.I.T., is immediately transferred to an obscure position in the midwest. He’s replaced by someone who doesn’t know anything about product defects. The investigation closes without a consumer notification or recall.”

  “And they got away with it?”

  “Not completely. Irregularities showed up in the campaign contributions. Executives were subpoenaed to testify before Congress. The Chairman of the Board had a substantial memory deficit. He didn’t recall any government investigation pertaining to Safety Tire. At the time of the campaign contribution, with which he unintentionally, of course, violated Federal Election Laws, he was unaware of any material problems Safety Tire faced with any branch of the Federal Government.”

  “So how did they explain the campaign contributions?”

  “Altruistic concern for the welfare of the country.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I wish. I’ll be deposing one of these expatriates in Provence next week. He’s had a home there for years.”

  “So how soon after they manufactured the multipiece wheel did they discover how dangerous it was?”

  “What makes you think they found out after?”

  “They knew before?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  He nodded. “I can’t go into it with you now.”

  “Harlan, if what you’re saying is true—“

  “—Of course it’s true.” Harlan snapped. No one ever questioned him.

  “It’s not just about her stutter, Harlan. It’s grief counseling. I’m trying to get her through it. She’s eleven and on the brink of adolescence and all that means. By stuttering, she may even be asking for attention. But then she’s not sure what to do with it when she gets it.”

  “Sounds like a lot of girls I know.” Harlan winked.

  Lana decided that comment was better left unexplored. “I’m working on building her trust. With you here, it could break down. Or worse.”

  “What do you mean or worse?” No one had the nerve to speak to him like this.

  “Transference. She’ll see us as parent figures. You’re already going after the wheel company that destroyed her family. You’re already looking like the good guy. To her.” Lana emphasized.

  “I’m not going to play Mommy and Daddy with you, Lana.”

  “I’m talking about perception—”

  “—I’m a trial lawyer. Don’t tell me about perception.”

  “You can’t hook her and then just write her off. She’s a child. Not a disposable blonde.”

  Harlan wondered if she’d seen him with one of his girlfriends. Where did women learn this stuff? He felt a tinge of paranoia. Then he looked down at Lana’s golden highlights.

  “Oh, I get it. You’re a blonde. But not disposable?”

  “That’s right. And neither is Kathy. Goodbye.”

  Chapter Five

  On the way home, Lana kept thinking about Harlan. She didn’t want to run into a nosy neighbor. She moved furtively towards her little house.

  She made it through the door undetected and sighed with relief. Then she answered the threatening meows of two oversized male cats.

  Open that can now, her tabby commanded. She checked her Blackberry. An email confirmed her latest Cary Grant order from Netflix. She was just two Fancy Feast can openings away from relaxing with Cary Grant and a glass of wine.

  “Moxie, you’re not starving.” She affectionately reminded all twenty pounds of him. But you don’t joke with a cat who wants to be fed. Unless you want an unpleasant surprise or two or three later.

  When they stopped howling and started eating, she crawled under her comforter, reached for the remote and her worship began. The credits rolled out his name and his visage filled the screen. She’d picked out her favorite tonight. Every Girl Should Be Married. It was the perfect movie. Cary Grant starring with one of his real life wives, Betsy Drake.

  Drake’s character exuded the immensely positive and unwavering belief that if she only marries Cary Grant, the whole world will come into balance and everything will be right. Cary Grant plays a baby pediatrician-which she enthusiastically proclaims is the most wonderful thing a man can be! Her assurance that marrying him will bring the whole universe into balance is unhindered by the cynics—including him—she encounters along the way.

  More than anything, Lana wanted to live in a world where love conquers all, the good guys win and there’s a happy ending. Counseling traumatized kids came with vicarious sadness. And she had no ready explanation for Kathy. The defective wheel shouldn’t have been on the truck. The truck shouldn’t have hit her family.

  She adored Cary Grant movies because love and hope flourished and usually culminated in an engagement ring.

  In Every Girl Should Be Married, love triumphed and Cary wanted to be caught e
ven though he didn’t realize it till the end.

  She remembered Harlan Michaels. She thought his picture should be in the dictionary next to arrogance. Why didn’t they make them like Cary Grant anymore?

  Chapter Six

  Stephanie had made plans to see Lyla, her best friend and only balm to the insanity of her current litigation schedule.

  “This table is reserved.” The waitress snapped when Lyla and Stephanie pulled out chairs at the best table adjacent to the dance floor after picking up drinks.

  “Reserved for us,” Lyla said.

  “No. Reserved for people who paid for dinner,” the waitress snapped.

  “People will buy us dinner,” Lyla sat down.

  “Most lawyers wouldn’t pull you back from a speeding truck. They’d push you in front of the truck and take the case. Stephanie, sit down and drink,” Lyla commanded.

  “I think he did it instinctively.” Stephanie sipped her champagne.

  “Can’t you drink a Cranberry Cosmo like everyone else?”

  “I’m an old fashioned girl. I like champagne.”

  “There’s something about him.” Stephanie thought about telling Lyla about feeling Harlan’s pounding heart. The feel of his fear. She changed her mind. It seemed too private.

  “Hottie at 12 o’clock.” Lyla said. At their bar, Lyla insisted on identifying the good looking men’s location by hours on the clock.

  Stephanie turned and looked at the hot young animal across the room. She nodded.

  Filled with good looking young men, and a friendly atmosphere, it was a restaurant where any woman who said she was alone by choice had credibility. Stephanie and Lyla liked to go there for credibility.

  “He’s intimidating. There’s something kind of hot about him though.”

  “Low levels of fear and excitement produce similar physiological responses. People become confused. You’re a little frightened by Harlan. He’s a successful lawyer.”

  “Are you saying that I don’t know the difference between scared and attracted?” Stephanie asked louder than she intended. Sometimes Lyla got on her nerves.

  All ten men at the counter leaned forward. One smiled at Stephanie.

  “No. Just that one can be similar to the other. Maybe you’re frightened but excited. Or excited but frightened. What’s that woman doing in here? She looks like a Victoria’s Secret Model.” Lyla sounded outraged.

  Stephanie followed the direction of Lyla’s head. Harlan Michaels sat with a big-breasted blonde.

  “That’s him. That’s Harlan Michaels.”

  “From the look of those fake nails and breast implants, he’s not practicing Environmental Law. HA!” Lyla said.

  “I just want to do a good job.” Stephanie crunched her napkin.

  “I know. But watch out for Harlan Michaels. He wants to win this lawsuit. And you’re getting in his way. Stay strong. Keep a waxed upper lip.”

  Stephanie remembered being pulled back against his taut body. If it hadn’t been for Harlan, she’d be splattered on the pavement now. She’d felt gratitude and irritation at the same time. Like everything about Harlan Michaels, her feelings about him were paradoxical.

  She had to be at a deposition with him tomorrow. For the first time in weeks, she pondered what to wear the next day. Should she go shopping? Did she have the right pumps? Some of Harlan’s shoes cost more than hers. How irritating.

  “Lyla,” Stephanie leaned over and whispered.

  “I have a thing for Harlan.” She clutched her cocktail napkin tightly.

  “Duh.” Lyla laughed.

  “He’s hot. And you distracted him from a disposable blond.” She lifted her glass up for a toast.

  Harlan walked over to their table.

  “Would you girls like a private jet or something? What can I buy you? Are you drinking champagne Stephanie?”

  “Why not?”

  “I like that. Classy and elegant. Like you.”

  “Who is sitting at the bar with you?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you she’s my sister?”

  “No.”

  “She’s my friend’s sister. And she’s leaving.” The woman waved goodbye at the door without coming over to introduce herself.

  “That’s how all my dates end,” Harlan joked.

  “Did you just come from your house?” Stephanie asked.

  “Good one. We’d reserved this table. I decided you were too cute to move.”

  Their eyes lingered for a second. The recognition of the same in the other.

  “I should interview your ex girlfriends,” Stephanie said. Lyla kicked her under the table.

  “They’re all dead. Dance with me.” Harlan took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

  Stephanie, undulating with Harlan, to the song, You Shook Me All Night Long, forgot he was an opponent. She never knew who kissed who first. She felt his heart beating again. And it wasn’t with fear.

  When they went back to the table, Harlan offered to get more champagne.

  “We won’t argue with that.” Lyla smiled.

  “Nice moves. I thought, Stephanie really knows how to dance. I should get her to teach me some of those moves.”

  “It was dark in the corner,” Stephanie said.

  “It wasn’t dark. Your eyes were closed. You idiot,” Lyla said.

  “There’s something about him.” Stephanie flipped her hair behind one ear.

  “You’re too funny. You act like Harlan being hot is some kind of secret you discovered. A blind woman would notice.”

  He came back with champagne.

  When their glasses were full, he clinked his against Stephanie’s, “Here’s to being friendly opponents,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Stephanie remembered dancing with Harlan when she watched him climb out of his Range Rover the next day. She didn’t usually look at men’s suits very closely but there was something about the way the cloth draped his body that approached reverence. She admired the Italian cut splayed across his form. And the Hermes tie just sets it off, she thought, looking up at his bemused eyes.

  Too late, she realized that the other lawyers in the room were silent and gaping, open-mouthed at her.

  “Harlan, have you met Stephanie St. Claire?” asked one of the old guys. She hoped her cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt. No one ever caught her like that.

  “Good to see you Stephanie. Is Melvin here too?”

  “No. Just me. Ready for punishment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m defending against you. Shouldn’t I be ready for punishment?”

  He smiled. “I think you can handle it.”

  He liked playing with her. Stephanie was still young enough to be a fun opponent. By fifty, corporate lawyers left a trail of alcoholism like menstruating giraffes.

  Harlan shook the hand of the deponent, Greg Fallon, a seasoned cop who eyed him with guarded disdain.

  “You’ve had your deposition taken before?” Harlan asked.

  “Yes,” Fallon replied in a monotone. He’d been in more depositions than some lawyers. The girl looked cute. She had that eager look of someone just out of law school.

  Taylor Stanworth, outside attorney for Safety Tire, admired his reflection in the coffee pot at the center of the conference table. He leaned over and whispered to Stephanie: “I’m with Winthrop and Adams. One of the outside law firms that works for Safety Tire.” He winked at her. “I don’t usually handle these types of cases. I put together mergers and acquisitions”.

  That established, he settled back in his chair, flung one Ferragamo tousled loafer over the side, and opened his Wall Street Journal.

  Greg Fallon looked annoyed. In his twenty-five years as a cop, which included ten years investigating auto fatalities, Fallon still had not found a reason to like lawyers. It didn’t look like Taylor Stanworth was going to give him one.

  “Sir, you’ve investigated other accidents involving multipiece wheels?” Harlan aske
d.

  “Several. I specialize in auto fatalities.”

  “Move to strike last statement as non-responsive.” Stanworth peered over his Wall Street Journal.

  “How many involved catastrophic separation of wheel pieces?”

  “All of them.”

  “Including this case?”

  “Absolutely. The left front multipiece wheel explosively separated, blowing the tire out onto the highway, and causing complete loss of steering control.”

  Harlan looked angry. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, Stephanie could see the muscles in his arm flex as he wrote notes.

  “Could you estimate when the wheel separated?”

  “Judging from the skid marks, it happened after the truck was rear ended by vehicle one. The skid marks indicate that the tire blew off after the initial collision. Not that the rear end collision caused the separation. Multipiece wheels are dangerously unpredictable. A locking ring gets old, splits off and the metal flies apart. Auto repair workers have been brain damaged, disfigured and killed just mounting the damn things.”

  “Objection. Lack of foundation as to when the skid marks appeared. They could have been there for a year.” Taylor interjected.

  “Counsel, if I want to take your deposition, I’ll notice it,” Harlan said.

  Taylor pursed his lips and picked up Investor’s Business Daily.

  “How old was this multipiece wheel?”

  “About fifteen years. Safety Tire manufactured this model back in—”

  “—Objection! Assumes facts not in evidence! No one’s established this is a Safety Tire wheel.”

  Stephanie knew that despite its corrosion, the wheel bore the faint traces of Safety Tire’s logo. What a misnomer. Fallon said that he’d interviewed auto shop workers who’d sworn they’d told the trucker to replace his old wheels.

  The trucker refused. It was too much money. Harlan moved swiftly to conclude the deposition. Safety Tire took a few punches. But Harlan still wanted a knock out.

  Chapter Eight

  “Lana, I just got a call from Debbie Slade. You’re interfering with their lawsuit. You were rude to their lawyer. What are you doing?” The school principal spoke quick and furiously.