Blame it on Paris

by Lise McClendon

  “I called about Reece. His friend, Dewey Framingham, contacted me and read me his letter from prison.”

  A long pause. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s a sticky situation, I realize. I don’t want to interfere. I have a few contacts in France. Legal ones.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “My ex-husband was Tom Ramey and—“

  “That’s enough, Miss Bennett.” His voice was harsh now, all the friendly lilt gone. “You and Dewey and my ex can wring your hands and weep and wail all you want over poor little Reece. But don’t involve me in your charity work.”

  Nine

  So Harlan Pugh was aware that Tom Ramey was the real father of his son. That appeared to be the message, Francie thought as she drove home. No wonder he wasn’t helping Reece with his legal problems. Maybe the affair had come out and that’s why they divorced. Or Harlan had somehow realized that he wasn’t the boy’s biological father. She’d heard of that happening in medical emergencies, blood tests and so on. What a shock.

  There was no Greg Leonard lurking in the parking lot tonight, nor suspicious calls on her phone. In fact no one had called her all week. No sisters, nobody. She was feeling a little lonely, pouring out her six ounces of wine, all by herself, when she remembered she had a date tomorrow. It was a lunch date, nothing too grand, but it would be nice to have something to mold the day around.

  Her date was a man she’d met at a bar association meeting. After the continuing education portion there was a social hour. Lawyers loved social hours. The lawyer was from a small town in the middle of the state somewhere but he’d called her that he was passing through on Saturday and asked her to lunch.

  He was not her type. A little short, a little boring: the story of her dating life. She needed to meet non-lawyers. But she dressed carefully in jeans and a pressed white shirt the next day and drove to the bistro in downtown Greenwich he’d picked out. As she waited for him, fiddling with her phone, she texted Stasia and Elise to see if one of them was up for a movie tonight. Somebody had to be available. Or, hell, she’d go by herself. It wouldn’t kill her.

  “Francie?”

  Her head popped up and she smiled. “Hi, Ed.” She rose halfway out of her chair and stuck out her hand. “Good to see you again.”

  He wasn’t bad looking, with a trim beard and short blond hair. He looked Australian or something, like a surfer. “It’s Edward actually.”

  “Sorry. Edward.” She smiled. Really?

  Not an auspicious start. Francie felt a chill off him, like he was using her to make someone jealous. Which was crazy, right? Lunch was pleasant enough. Bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches and sweet potato fries. Francie thought she would die of boredom before they finished. Somehow she did not. But she did not cry when he said he had to run. “Big meeting in the city.”

  “Good for you. Go!”

  “I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Sure!” She gave him her sexiest smile. In her dating experience, ‘I’ll call you’ was the equivalent of ‘nice knowin’ ya, ba-bye.’

  She watched him drive off in a big dark blue SUV, the kind that would be impossible to park in the city. She ordered herself a glass of white wine. The bistro was quiet and cozy, with a fire in the hearth and black-and-white floor tiles that reminded her of France. She was dreaming about Merle’s cozy little stone cottage, wondering what her sister was doing in the Dordogne right now, when her phone pinged. Expecting one of her sisters to reply about the movie she was surprised to see Claudia Pugh’s name on the screen. “Can you stop by this afternoon?” she asked.

  What was this about? Well, she’d gotten nowhere with Harlan, another try at Claudia wouldn’t hurt. She took a sip of wine, and a breath, and texted back.

  Francie took her time driving to Claudia Pugh’s house. She didn’t actually like being summoned on the spur of the moment as if she had nothing to do, she thought, winding through the forested hills. But did she have anything to do? She wasn’t going to join a gym like Elise. She’d spent her whole life avoiding physical exercise.

  She was contemplating the fact that she probably would have to start doing some maintenance work if she wanted to stay on the dating market when she saw the ‘Pending’ sign on the real estate placard in front of Claudia’s. So the open house must have gone well. Good for her.

  As she parked in the drive it occurred to Francie that this was an odd social call. The woman basically threw her out last weekend.

  Claudia was dressed in jeans and a red turtleneck. She opened the door wide and waved Francie in.

  “I’m sorry for the last minute summons,” Claudia said, echoing Francie’s thoughts. “I wanted to apologize for last week.”

  Francie slipped off her coat. “No problem. I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Come in. I have some tea in the kitchen.”

  The kitchen was cluttered this time— a tea pot on the island with cups, a fruit bowl with apples, paper napkins strewn. Claudia fussed with the tea, poured them both cups, and settled them at the kitchen table. She looked different, less tense, wearing bright pink lipstick, eyes less steely.

  After they’d both had a sip of tea, Claudia set down her cup. “I’ve sold the house, Ms. Bennett.”

  “I saw the ‘pending’ sign. Congrats.”

  “It’s more than pending. An all-cash deal. Not as much money as I hoped but nearly. And we close in a few weeks.” She smiled triumphantly.

  “That’s great. Where will you go?”

  “I inherited a little house from my mother. About forty miles away. It’s been just sitting there while I tried to figure out what to do. But now I know.”

  “You’ll move all your stuff?” She had a lot of furniture.

  She shook her head. “I sold about half of it to the buyer. Some dot-com guy without a mattress to his name.”

  “I’m thrilled for you, Claudia.” Francie sipped her tea. Had she been summoned to get this news?

  Claudia suddenly threw her head back and laughed in a forced, odd way. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I buried the lead, or whatever they say. I have the money now. I can help with Reece’s defense.”

  “Oh. Oh, that’s great.” Francie gave a little frown. “I thought you were done with him.”

  “This house has been hanging over me so long. Forgive me. It all felt so hopeless. I couldn’t think of anything else, not even Reece. I feel differently now. He shouldn’t stay in that terrible prison. He should get out on bail at least.”

  “I agree.”

  “So, please. Try to find a French lawyer for him, if you can. I called Dewey today too but he hasn’t got back to me yet. Maybe between the two of you you can find someone in Paris.”

  Francie left the house a little whiplashed by Claudia’s changeable moods. The woman had given her a big hug at the door, her face glowing in a strange way as if they were old friends, joined in this fight for Reece.

  Her phone was ringing as she opened the door to her apartment. Her stomach jumped a little. She rarely got calls on her landline anymore— did anyone? Was it something about the Greg Leonard ‘situation?’ Brenda with an update? Breathlessly she ran for the phone on her kitchen counter.

  “Francie! I tried your cell but you didn’t pick up!”

  She sighed in relief. It was one of her sisters. “Merle. So good to hear from you. I was thinking about you a little while ago, how you must be all snug and cozy in the Dordogne.”

  “More like cold and shivering. I still only have those little space heaters. It’s freezing. It even snowed this week.”

  “Poor Merle. Is Pascal there at least?”

  “Yes, when he’s not chasing down bad guys.” She went on to discuss Pascal’s health, a hot topic after his kidnapping last fall. He’d regained his strength but she was still worried about him.

  “You’ll always be worried about him, Merle. That’s what you do.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’m a worrier. Tristan is doing well in college though, and he sends me emails all t
he time. So many I now am concerned he doesn’t have enough friends!”

  “Let me know if you want me to check up on him. It’s not like I have anything else going on. My weekends are thrilling.”

  “Oh, come on. No dates?”

  Francie described the lunch date with Edward-not-Ed and they laughed and gossiped for awhile. She made a decision not to talk about the problems at work. Maybe they’d blow over, she mused again, knowing she was lying to herself. But still, it was possible that Greg would see his way to dropping the allegations.

  Merle was waxing on about France, the beautiful Dordogne, and springtime in the vineyards. “You should come over and see me this spring sometime. Get your fromage on.”

  There had been talk of a cheese import business but Francie had lost her enthusiasm for it. She did love cheese however. She promised to see if she could get away around Easter. She loved it that her sister had a house in France she could visit whenever she wanted. Hell, maybe Pascal had a friend.

  Another Saturday evening stretched ahead of her. Her sisters weren’t available for fun. She remembered Elise was out of town on a business trip. And Stasia texted back that she was going to a party, sorry. Well, Francie would just run a hot bath, light some candles, and read a book. It actually sounded fabulous and just the thing after this crazy week.

  She was undressing when her cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Miss Bennett, it’s me, Dewey. Mrs. Pugh said to call you.”

  Francie sat on the edge of her bed, pulling on her robe. “Yes, I saw her this afternoon. She’s flush now.”

  “Yeah, she sold her house. She seems pretty happy about that.”

  “I guess she was having some financial problems. Since the divorce. Oh, and I spoke to Harlan Pugh too. He said, and I quote, to not include him in our charity work.”

  “Really? Gee. I never really knew him.”

  “A tough customer.”

  “That kind of explains why he and Reece didn’t get along. So what’s next?”

  “I’ll ask around, see if I can find a recommendation on a criminal lawyer in Paris.”

  Dewey sighed. “I was trying to figure it out and I got totally freaked by the language thing. Do you speak French?”

  “Only a little. But I have a sister in France. She can help.”

  “I wish I had a brother or sister. I’m like Reece, an only child. But then it was so hard for them to have Reece, and expensive. They probably decided one and done.”

  “It is expensive to have a child.”

  “Yeah, especially the way they did it. I guess they tried for years before they gave up. That’s what Reece said.”

  Francie frowned. Before Claudia gave up and had a fling with Tom? “So Reece was a surprise?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, before they gave up and went to the sperm bank. Reece said that was super expensive. What’s it called? IV something? They put it all in a petri dish, stir, and hope for the best. Kinda freaky to think you started that way.”

  She blinked. “Sperm bank?”

  “That’s how Claudia got Reece, through the sperm bank. You know, like the lesbians do it?” Francie was silent, taking in this new information. Meanwhile Dewey rattled on. “There’s no man in that equation, you know? So off to the sperm bank they go.”

  “Dewey. Wait a second. Are you saying that Tom Ramey was—“

  “A donor. To the sperm bank. That’s how they had Reece. I’ve never done it myself but I guess it pays pretty well.”

  “So there was no affair?”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Tom and Claudia. They had a … relationship?”

  “They did? Who told you that?”

  Francie gulped. “No one. I— I leapt to conclusions where I shouldn’t have. Silly me.”

  “You know about sperm banks, right? Because if you wanted kids, like Tom said in that letter, you could actually still have a kid with Tom. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Francie stifled a startled gasp. The thought of it made her blink hard. She turned the subject back to finding a French lawyer then hung up, promising to keep Dewey up-to-date on her progress. Then she held her head in her hands.

  Tom was a sperm donor. He’d fathered Reece through a sperm bank, not an extramarital affair. Of course he had.

  What an idiot.

  Ten

  Monday morning looked a little brighter. Finding out her ex was not as big a dirt-bag as she suspected lifted Francie’s mood. Tom had been a jerk, a lying, womanizing drunk, but at least he hadn’t had an affair with Claudia Pugh or broken up their marriage. Small favors.

  At Ward & Bailee Esq., the fate of Joshua Ward was still a hot topic. He remained in the hospital and his condition was guarded. No one knew exactly what was going on so they tried to skirt the subject. It came up anyway. Still, they were learning to live with the uncertainty, and the idea that Joshua Ward might never come back.

  Alice was back to her eccentric outfits and had added purple to her pink hair. Everyone had settled into their new assignments. Francie had taken on the prenup contract that Mr. Ward was drafting and looking forward to having that off her desk very soon. Prenups invariably screwed wives out of their due, in her opinion, but she couldn’t help brides who agreed to them. She wasn’t a marriage counselor.

  Then Brenda McFall showed up in her doorway, rapping softly on the door.

  “Good morning, Francie. That meeting from last week can’t be delayed any longer. Greg is in this morning, no depos until tomorrow. So let’s do it. Ten o’clock, in the conference room.”

  The meeting didn’t blindside her. If anything Francie was surprised by how resigned she was to it. No fluttering of nerves, nothing. She hadn’t had it on the front burner, but neither had she forgotten about it. She was actually looking forward to seeing how Greg Leonard was going to play this, when he had no real cards to play.

  At ten o’clock she made her way to the conference room. The door was still open and she left it that way, as Brenda hadn’t arrived yet. But several others sat around the table. Greg Leonard at one end with a stony expression, Toni Langhor from Human Resources, a female associate who looked bewildered, and a partner, Roger Scott. Francie cringed inwardly at the sight of Roger. A tall, thin, intense man in his fifties, he wore a perpetual scowl. Francie had never had a friendly relationship with him. She wasn’t sure anybody did. Would that help her now, or make his decision against her a given?

  Francie took a neutral seat, in the middle of one side of the table. She avoided looking at anyone directly, especially Greg. Brenda came in behind her and shut the door, taking a seat at the opposite end from Greg.

  Brenda cleared her throat, shuffling papers in front of her. “Thanks for being here, all of you. This is a preliminary conference on the human resources complaint received by me as managing partner of the firm. Mr. Leonard—“ she nodded to Greg— “has made allegations against Ms. Bennett. We will not be getting into the details of the complaint today. That will be investigated by the executive committee and whoever they see fit to assign it to, including Ms. Langhor.”

  The older woman paused then, staring at her papers as if looking for the next item on the agenda. She pushed up her glasses on her nose and frowned, but said nothing. Finally Toni Langhor said quietly, “Would you like me to take over, Ms. McFall?”

  Brenda looked up, staring hard at Toni, her mouth a grim line. She stood up. “I am going to recuse myself from all events related to this complaint. Ms. Bennett is a personal friend and I sponsored her promotion last year. So I believe you will have to take over, Mr. Scott.”

  She stepped out from her chair and around the table. She offered a sheaf of paperwork to Roger Scott who startled as she shoved them past his shoulder. Then she was gone.

  In the aftermath of Brenda’s departure a ripple of tension ran around the room, led by Roger Scott who squirmed and frowned. He blinked rapidly, staring at what Brenda had given him. Finally he croaked: “I am not prepared to continue with this tod
ay. But it’s my understanding that the procedure for sexual harassment complaints has been revised and approved by the executive committee recently.”

  “That is correct,” Toni said. She glanced at Francie who wiggled one eyebrow.

  “And could you tell all of us what the next step in the process is, Ms. Langhor?”

  “Of course.” Toni sat forward, glancing at Greg. “The complainant prepares a statement in writing, with specifics about what happened that he feels was a violation of office protocol and/or workplace culture.”

  Greg said, “I have it done. I’ll give you a copy, Mr. Scott.”

  “Everyone will need that, Greg,” Toni said. “Give me your original and I will distribute it. That’s the procedure.” He nodded.

  “Then what?” Roger asked.

  “Then we— the subcommittee for personnel— investigates the allegations.”

  “How long does that take?” the female associate asked.

  Toni shrugged. “It depends on the allegations. Certainly weeks.”

  Roger looked at Greg, then turned to examine Francie with his beady eyes. She met his stare. “Is there no chance this was all just a mistake? It could be a misunderstanding. Couldn’t it?”

  Everyone looked at Greg. He was wearing a navy suit today, with a white shirt and a red rep tie. He’d slicked back his hair, very Captain of Industry. He squared his shoulders and glared at Francie.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Francie sat in place, waiting for everyone to leave the conference room before she got up. She didn’t expect much from this meeting and she’d been right. Just a preliminary meet-and-greet for the two sides, a readying for the battle ahead but nothing more. She didn’t even know what Greg had said on his written statement. But it wouldn’t be long before she found out.

  Toni Langhor was an attractive young woman, about ten years younger than Francie. She had long black hair and startling blue eyes and an easy smile, a ‘people person’ who was energetic and efficient in her job as head of Human Resources for the firm. She had great social skills and the tact of a saint. She’d been on the job for five years and Francie had nothing but good things to say about her.