by Mae Wood
“You know it, Cal. Thanks.” Marisa sat down at the bar and opened up the manila folder Jane had placed on her desk. She scanned the print outs. Most were pictures and she didn’t linger on them, but shuffled them to the bottom of the stack.
Cal dropped the drink off and motioned toward her reading. “Work?,” he asked, trying to get a better view of Marisa’s file.
Marisa didn’t look up from the papers. “Kind of. Just trying to catch up on a few things I didn’t have time for today. Thanks for the beer.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” said Cal and he lumbered down the bar to attend to another thirsty patron.
From the bits and pieces Jane had pulled, Marisa was able to cobble together that Trip was quite a piece of work. Following in his family’s path, he’d gone to boarding school in New England, Andover, specifically, followed by college at Brown. His name was connected to a handful of business ventures that seemed to be short lived. A handcrafted canoe company in Maine, a Vespa dealership in Fresno, an organic mushroom farm in Pennsylvania. It was apparent to Marisa that Branco money seeded Trip’s companies and kept them afloat until he grew bored or more likely, failed, and then he moved on to a new glorified hobby.
He’d gone to school for his combined law degree and MBA at the University of Arkansas. Arkansas is a solid school, but an odd choice for someone with Trip’s Brahmin upbringing. A public education for a Brannon? Something didn’t add up in that move for Marisa.
Looks like he’d returned to Memphis about five years ago and has been doing something vague at Branco since then. Jane hadn’t turned up any arrest records or lawsuits he’d been involved with. Marisa considered that a positive. So, he was a trust fund kid, but at least he’d made it well into his thirties without being caught in a drug bust or drunk driving.
Marisa had worked her way to the bottom of the pile and the recent photographs. She looked more closely this time at the photos Jane had printed for her. Trip smartly dressed at party after party each time with a different svelte woman on his arm. She absent mindedly ran her index finger over a picture of him at a benefit for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital last year. God, he is handsome. Debonair. The word jumped into her head. That was Trip in a tuxedo, looking through the camera to the person on the other side, his blue eyes flashing and a slight smile gracing his lush lips – debonair and absolutely spellbinding.
Chapter Six
Marisa found herself sitting at the Branco Building across a polished wooden conference table from John. These details of the meeting were customary, but everything else about the meeting felt very odd and made her uncomfortable. Instead of him quizzing her about the status of any number of lawsuits her firm was handling for Branco around the country, Marisa was going to spend the morning asking John very personal questions about his relationship with his assistant of twenty years, Susan.
“Thanks for making time for me. I need you to be completely honest with me. You know I’m Branco’s lawyer and what we say is privileged and confidential. I need to hear it all – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the embarrassing. I know Susan as your assistant. Can you give me a little background on her?”
“Sure,” said John, nodding. “It won’t be pretty, I’m afraid. Susan’s worked for me for years. She actually followed me from private practice to Branco, so I think it’s been just over twenty years that she’s worked for me. I’ll admit that we had an affair many years ago, but I didn’t do any of those things she says I did. Our personal relationship a long time ago and we’ve been purely professional since then.”
“Oh, you started without me,” said Trip, as he strolled into the room and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I didn’t realize you were coming,” responded Marisa, slightly confused by Trip’s arrival. She ignored the bad “that’s what she said” joke she had unintentionally set up for John, though she had no doubt that John had caught it. It was one of his favorite retorts. But John didn’t take the tasty bait. He didn’t even acknowledge Trip’s arrival. He kept focused stoically on Marisa. “John had just started to tell me about Susan. Pull up a chair. John, we shouldn’t be interrupted again. Please continue.”
“Like I was saying, Susan Norton and I had an affair about a dozen years ago. It lasted about six months and she went back to her husband. She kept working for me. I don’t understand why she’d make up these stories now. We’d gotten past the affair.”
“John, I know you said it isn’t true, but I need to ask you about the specific things she’s alleging happened. Okay?”
“Shoot.”
“Did you make a sex tape with her?”
John shifted in his seat. “Yes.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“No.”
“What’s on the tape?”
“You want details?”
“Yes. I don’t want to be caught off guard.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Marisa saw Trip squirm in his chair.
“Okay. The first time we made a tape, it was her idea. Neither of us even had a video recorder. Remember, this was about a dozen years ago. Before iPhones. So, I went to Best Buy and bought one. We made our first tape that same day at my house. We probably made four or five tapes. I kept them, but after we broke up, I tossed them and even threw out the camera.”
“Do you think Susan may have copies?”
“She may. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about those tapes in years. It’s been over between us for a long time.”
“If she has these tapes, can you tell us what we’re going to see? Her bound? Whippings?”
Trip’s eyes got big and he looked at Marisa, but didn’t make a single sound. He was clearly surprised by the ground they were covering in this meeting.
“No, no. No spankings, no whips. She wasn’t into that. She liked being tied up though. We did that a lot. We were mainly into food and toys.”
“Food?” Trip finally spoke, his voice slightly wavering.
“Yes, food,” said John as he stared down Trip with a look fueled by testosterone. “You want to know? I’d call her my Susan Sundae, cover her with whipped cream and chocolate sauce and lick it all off. Then I’d eat the cherry that I’d placed in her pussy. You asked.”
Trip’s handsome face turned red and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Ah, thought Marisa, someone is embarrassed. She could vaguely remember at the beginning of her career defending sexual harassment suits when such disclosures would make her uncomfortable. Now such facts were her stock and trade. As she thought about Trip’s embarrassment, her mind drifted. What would it be like to have Trip Brannon lick whipped cream off my breasts? Would he be delicate or rough? Either way, she found the idea intriguing and knew she was getting turned on. I’ve got to stop this. I’ve got to stay focused.
“Okay, let’s talk about her allegations. She said that you wouldn’t permit her to wear panties at work?”
John let out a puff of steam. “Again, that is something that happened while we were having the affair and it was her idea, not mine. I never asked her to do that. The first time I knew about it, I was working at my desk while she was putting away some files in my credenza. I looked up to see what she was doing, and she had her skirt hiked up to show off the fact that she’s not wearing anything underneath it. She was holding some files in her hands and trying to pretend that it was just a regular work day. She liked to surprise me with her body in the office.”
“When did this happen?,” asked Marisa.
“All of this I’m telling you about happened back during our affair. I’m not sure of the dates, but it was when she was separated from her husband.”
“Is there anything else I need to know about her not wearing panties at the office?”
“Need to know? No, and I guess you could have gone your whole life without needing to know about my having sex with Susan, but here we are,” said John, waiving his hands around in frustration.
“Okay, let’s talk about her other a
llegations. Again, I need to know if any of this happened. And if it did, when it happened and what the circumstances were. Sex at the office?”
“Only during our affair and only twice that I can recall. It was just too risky that we’d get caught.”
“She’s made a very specific allegation about oral sex during telephone conference calls.”
“Never happened,” declared John, cutting off Marisa’s inquiry.
“Okay, tell me about the tattoo. I never envisioned Susan with a tattoo, but you never know about people.”
“Clearly,” muttered John. “As for the tattoo, she wanted one for her birthday one year after our affair had ended. Maybe when she turned forty-five? I don’t remember exactly how old she was. I was worried she’d get drunk and end up in some horrible place and get a disease, so that is what I gave her for her birthday. That is public knowledge. I did some research and got her a gift card for a clean place out in Germantown. Yes, a Germantown tattoo parlor. She made a big deal about it to other folks in the office. She really seemed to like it. I don’t even know if she went through with it. To be perfectly clear, this was after our affair. I think it was within the last three years, but I can’t be certain.”
“Thanks for being upfront with me. Do you know why Susan might be dredging up old business now? Anything that has changed in her life recently?”
“The husband that she’d briefly separated from when we’d had our affair – they got divorced about six months ago. I don’t know the details. We’ve gone back to being an attorney and an assistant. We aren’t involved in each other’s personal lives at all anymore. It was how we were able to move on after the affair. I don’t know why she’s claiming this happened now.”
“Thanks, John. If you think of anything else we need to know, please give me a call. We’re going to do some digging and try to figure out what is going on,” said Marisa. She closed her notebook and stood to leave.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry if this shocked you. I know it shocked him,” said John, a smug grin appearing on his face as he nodded his head in Trip’s direction. Trip sat his in his seat, visibly dazed by the conversation that had just occurred in a Branco conference room.
“Don’t sweat it. You didn’t shock me. I’ve heard much worse. I’ll take care of him. Trip, let’s go get you a coffee,” said Marisa over her shoulder as she walked out the door.
Trip and Marisa settled down in a quiet corner of a coffee shop a few blocks from the Branco Building. Marisa stirred the straw in her iced skim latte and looked at Trip. “Recovered yet?”
“Yes. Is this a normal day for you?,” asked Trip blowing the steam off of his Earl Grey tea.
“Yes and no. I mean, every case is different, but not every case has such graphic allegations, and the fact that I’ve worked with John my entire career makes this unusual. What I find most curious about this case is that Susan seems to be dragging up and embellishing ancient history. I’m going to have to gather a lot of information from Branco, and I’ll need help getting that. How involved do you want to be?”
“With you? As involved as you’ll let me.”
God, this man can make me think things, thought Marisa. “With the lawsuit,” she clarified, intentionally ignoring his implication. “Do you want weekly reports or do you want to get your hands dirty?” Marisa slapped her hands over her mouth. Why does everything I say around this man come across as sexual?
Trip grinned like a cat with yellow feathers sticking from its mouth. He was clearly pleased with himself for making Marisa so flustered. “I will say this lawsuit has definitely captured my attention, and I’m going to dig in with you.”
“Okay, I’m glad to have as much help as you’re willing to give me. Have you ever handled a lawsuit before?,” inquired Marisa. She was just as curious about what the answer would tell her about Trip’s life as she was about whether he’d actually prove helpful in defending this suit.
“Nope. That’s why we pay you the big bucks,” quipped Trip, giving her a smile that knocked her socks off. I seriously need a cold shower, reflected Marisa, taking a long slow sip of her iced latte. Or maybe to just get laid.
The conversation paused and Marisa sipped her drink again and looked out the window to the empty afternoon sidewalk that was nearly shimmering in the August heat.
“You seem distant. I must not hold your attention as much as I’d thought?” asked Trip.
“Oh, sorry. I was just beginning to put together our strategy.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking. I’m not a litigator, so please, go slow.”
You’re not really a lawyer or a businessman either, mused Marisa. You’re an utterly charming spoiled playboy who has come home to assume a cushy job at your family’s business. You’re about to find out just how un-cushy the world is.
“We need to do lots of investigating to help us prove that John’s being honest and that nothing has gone on between him and Susan in the past year or so. The law won’t let her complain about things from the distant past, so we need to focus on what we can prove now.
“For example, she clocks in and out for work right? She also has to badge in and out of the building and in and out of the attached parking garage. You can be in charge of speaking with payroll and building security to get those logs. We’ll also need to see if there is any video surveillance, and check both of their company email accounts to see if anything looks suspicious. Then, we’ll need to check her emails for any mentions of this lawsuit. Because that is all company property, we can dive right in. We’ll also need to interview the other assistants and folks whose offices are nearby to see if they saw or heard anything out of the ordinary with John and Susan’s interactions. You can help me on those fronts. I’ll start developing my list of questions to ask her at deposition when we get to that point.”
“Sounds like this is going to take a lot of work and time,” said Trip, leaning back in his chair and placing his empty mug on the table.
“It will. Lawsuits are a lot of work. I recognize that you’ve got lots of responsibilities,” said Marisa, not believing Trip had any responsibilities other than making time for rounds of golf. “You can do as little or as much with this as you want to. My job is to handle this.” Good girl, give him a way to have a graceful exit from his offer of help.
“I don’t like having to repeat myself, Marisa,” said Trip, placing his elbows on the table and moving his face toward Marisa until it completely filled her vision. “I want to be involved.”
Chapter Seven
Marisa immersed herself in witness interviews. Trip had gotten documents from the various departments within Branco and sent them to her office. A week had passed since she’d interviewed John and so far she had nada.
No other employees who worked in the area had ever seen anything other than professional behavior between John and Susan. If the affair really had ended around a dozen years ago, it made sense that a folks who started to work at Branco after that time would be clueless about their inappropriate office romance. However, the nothing she’d come up with didn’t contradict Susan’s tales of things only happening behind closed doors, after normal work hours, or out of the eyeshot of others.
Marisa had always found Branco’s tracking of its employees’ comings, goings, and doings at work a little creepy, but also immensely helpful in establishing facts for lawsuits. She hoped the records Trip had pulled would shed some light on Susan’s allegations.
From Susan’s time punches, it did look like she had occasional late nights at the office, but that alone wasn’t odd. The badge tracking reports showed that she and John generally left the building within thirty minutes of each other, but again, nothing about that was out of the ordinary for a busy attorney’s assistant. She was hoping for some clear evidence that Susan hadn’t had late nights at the office with John, but she clearly had. Twelve of them in the past year, to be precise, all ending no later than ten o’clock. The question was now what they were doing during those times.
John’s work life was filled with conference calls, so there was no way to verify or disprove Susan’s allegations that she had given John oral sex while he was on the phone from the documents alone. She’d have to revisit the telephone logs after she found out what days Susan alleged these sexual favors were given to see if she could establish whether or not John had conference calls that day. If there were such class, Marisa could look at his calendar to see if anyone had sat in his office with him during any of those calls rather than dialing in from elsewhere in the building. The only piece of gossip about the two was the tattoo. John was right. That was common knowledge that he’d “given” Susan a tattoo. Most folks on John’s floor, the fifteenth floor, relayed a version of this story. The tales varied from John going with Susan to get a tattoo, to them being out drinking one night and getting matching tattoos, to John buying a tattoo for Susan. Interestingly, no one reported having actually seen this fabled tattoo.
Until she took Susan’s deposition and asked her questions under oath about the allegations, Marisa was at a standstill. Tomorrow, Marisa would complete the preliminary report to Jimmy that would include John’s admission that he and Susan had a sexual relationship while they worked at Branco, but not include anything that would help get either John or Branco out of the hot water they were in. She needed to go for a run to clear her head.
