by Julie Hyzy
Annie sighed, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. But that’s not the real reason. He’s just . . . I don’t know. Used to have dreams. But didn’t really want to work for them, I guess.” She tried to come across light-hearted, but the arrest still irked her. “Turned into this low-life . . .”
“Sometimes they do that. Happens a lot.”
Annie pointed to the south wall. “This one too?”
Gina nodded, “All of ‘em. Let’s crowd the room with pictures so that maybe I can lose the two of them in here.” When she laughed, it took years off her face and Annie wondered just how old she was.
“This is a big project, you know.”
“Yeah, I figured. Hey, you got a lawyer?”
Annie, scribbling down numbers, gave Gina a look of utter frustration. “That’s another thing. I had one. But I’d leave a message and it would take two weeks and five more phone calls before he’d return the call. I’m going to have to find a new one soon.”
“You know . . .” Gina said, tapping one starred, navy fingernail against her teeth. “Maybe we could work out somethin’. My husband’s a lawyer, handles lotsa stuff, divorces too. Maybe he could do that for you and you could paint the walls for us? Whaddya think of that?”
She finished her cigarette, taking it down all the way to the filter before she was through. Flicking it out the window with her right hand, she pulled a breath spray from a pocket with her left, in a smooth, practiced motion.
Annie opened her mouth, but no words came out. She thought about the intimidating man downstairs. Mr. DeChristopher as her lawyer? “I don’t know . . .”
But Gina was excited now. She shot two blasts of Binaca into her open mouth. “Come on down,” she said. “I’ll ask him.”
Before she could say another word, Gina was out the door. Annie felt as though things were moving too quickly, but Gina had made it down the stairs to tap at the door of the den just as Annie cleared the last step. She watched the woman poke her head in, leaving her back end hang outside the heavy oak door. Leaning back out to the hall, she wiggled her fingers, gesturing Annie forward.
“. . . needs a lawyer . . .” Annie heard her say through the opening. “Yeah, just a divorce. No . . . maybe you could? Yeah . . . what’s that word you always use? Por Bueno?” She giggled, then looked out toward Annie. “Pro bono . . . I always forget that.”
Annie put a restraining hand on Gina’s arm, but she waved it away. Feeling ridiculous standing in the hall, as though waiting for some great beneficence to be bestowed on her, Annie moved toward the kitchen to collect her purse and portfolio.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow with a price, okay?” she said, making her way to the front door.
Gina caught her on her way out, her high heels pattering again as she scurried over. “Nah. If you’re free, just start tomorrow, like maybe ten o’clock? It’ll all work out. Dickie says he’ll think about handlin’ your stuff for you. Ain’t that great?”
* * * * *
“Who’re the people in the picture with you?”
Sam looked up from the paperwork on his desk when Annie spoke. He’d had the ragtime music silenced in his office so that unless he concentrated on the music wafting in through the open door, he wouldn’t be able to discern the song playing. Helped him concentrate. Her question broke the stillness of the room.
Standing in the doorway, Annie looked tired. He worried about her, thought that she pushed herself too hard, and had suggested more than once that she take the project slower. He wasn’t in any rush to have it done. To be honest, he wasn’t in any rush to have her gone.
She’d been here since nine o’clock and he knew she wouldn’t stay late tonight since she had a new project starting in the morning. It was almost ten-thirty and she’d brought her supplies back to the office and was starting to pack it in for the day. He’d been surprised at how much she’d accomplished this past week. At the rate she was going, she’d be finished by the end of the month. Probably sooner.
Last week the wall had been a collection of scattered ideas and themes. Colors here, pencil sketches there. Tonight, for the first time, the painting had come together as a whole, the promise of what was yet to come, taking shape.
“Which picture?” he asked, realizing how foolish he sounded, there being only one picture in the room.
She gestured with her chin, “That one.”
Sam placed his hands on his desk and half-swiveled his chair to look at the photograph behind him. It gave him a couple of extra seconds to pull his thoughts together. The gold-toned frame weighed heavy in his hand, heavier than he remembered.
“This was taken about five years ago. See, I had more hair.” Holding the picture up, he attempted levity.
Annie moved closer to look at it. She smiled at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Actually, I have. Since this picture was taken,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. That is, if you want to hear the story.” He caught the attentive blue stare in Annie’s eyes. “It’s not a happy one,” he said.
Chapter Eight
Gina DeChristopher opened the door, a black cordless phone pressed to her ear. She greeted Annie, mouthing a silent “Hi!” and with an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows. Looking out onto the driveway, she furrowed her brow and pantomimed driving a car, with a questioning look on her face. Annie pointed down the block, to the same spot she’d parked in before. She wasn’t about to park on the driveway. Gina shook her head and wagged a finger.
Motioning expansively for her to come in, she said, “Yeah,” into the phone several times in rapid succession. Still using amplified movements, she nodded to Annie, and rolled her eyes, pointing to the phone.
“I got one, Dory. Hell, I probably have a couple. I’ll bring it with me. I’ll see you in about a half hour. The boys are looking forward to it. Yeah.” Gina moved her head back and forth in a manner that suggested amused impatience, while she and Annie stood facing each other in the foyer. “Okay, yeah. Bye.”
Hitting the “off” button on the phone, Gina gave a dramatic sigh, then shouted up the stairs, “Kevin! Drew! You wanna go to playgroup you better get your little butts down here on the double!” Tugging her bright pink T-shirt so that it almost met the top of her white shorts, she shook her head.
“You’re going out? I’m sorry, I guess I misunderstood,” Annie said, shifting her tackle box of supplies from one hand to the other. “I thought I was going to start today.”
“Yeah, sure. But I was thinkin’ that it might not be a bad idea to have the two little guys out of your hair while you worked, you know?” Gina yelled up the stairs again before moving into the kitchen. “Here,” she said, opening a drawer to the built-in desk along the wall, “you can have this.”
Annie took the key. “Are you sure?”
Gina slammed the drawer shut with her hip. “Yeah, but do me a favor, okay? Just always ring the bell a coupla times or somethin’ before you use it. I talked Dickie into making all the locks have the same key, ‘cuz I just hate the noise they make when they jingle in my purse, so that one opens both locks on the front door. He don’t like me giving out keys to people, but I know you’re the trustworthy type. So, he don’t have to know.”
Annie, relieved to know that the kids wouldn’t be around while she was painting, thanked her. “Is your husband home?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t.
“Nah. He’s downtown, I think. Sometimes he comes home for a while. If he does, don’t worry. He won’t mind you being here.” She gestured for Annie to follow her back by the front door. Opening a panel, she pointed to the touchpad within. “If the burglar alarm is on, this here green button will be lit. You gotta press the numbers 4-3-3-8-3-1 and then ‘enter’ within sixty seconds of when you open the front door, otherwise it sets off. Can you remember that?”
“Sure.” Annie repeated the number to herself.
“If you forget, I have them written on a piece of paper in that drawer where I
got the key from. But you only got sixty seconds, so don’t be too slow. The cops’ll come. We’ve had that happen. And it’s real embarrassing.
“Reset it when you come in, too, just press the numbers again, then this ‘set’ button. That way he’ll think I let you in and he won’t worry. As long as you don’t tell him I gave you the key, okay?”
“Not a problem. I brought my lunch and some bottled water; is it okay if I keep it in your fridge?”
“Oh, hon,” Gina said, dismay evident in her voice, “you just tell me what you like and I’ll stock up for ya. You don’t need to be bringin’ your own food.” She turned toward the stairs, catching herself on the fourth step. “Oh by the way, Dickie says no problem on the divorce thing. He’s gonna handle it. Says that it’s really no big deal for him.”
“Really, Gina.” Annie started to protest.
“Quit shakin’ your head. We ain’t takin’ no for an answer anyway, so you just do what you do, and let him do what he does, okay?”
Why is it, Annie thought after Gina left, that every time I think I get control of my life, someone steps in and tries to take it over for me?
Annie sat on the floor in the center of the playroom and pulled out the preliminary sketches she’d come up with late yesterday. Her mind couldn’t concentrate on the dinosaurs. Having Richard DeChristopher as a lawyer had its appeal. But this wasn’t the way normal people went about finding legal representation. It felt odd. And yet, the idea of not having to incur attorney fees was tempting. So was the idea of having such a daunting advocate. She recalled feeling uncomfortable just being in the same room with him, and that had been when he was being friendly. Gary’d take one look at this guy and give up the fight. In a heartbeat.
Annie smiled.
* * * * *
A door slam on the first floor brought Annie out of her concentration. Stepping back, she assessed her progress, glanced at her watch, and did a so-so movement with her head. It was only after noon. Gina said she’d be out till four, at least.
While she’d originally planned to consult the boys about what they wanted on their walls, Gina thought it better to surprise them. As a result, all the toys had been placed in the basement and the boys weren’t allowed up here until the project was finished. Gina had promised to try and keep them out of Annie’s way as much as possible, while she was working. Otherwise the room stayed locked.
Scratching her forehead, Annie thought about her next move. Hunger pains shot through her stomach—quick and insistent. It was time for lunch.
Richard DeChristopher’s voice boomed from the second floor den as Annie made her way down the stairs. Happy to not have to pass the open door, she made her way down, grabbed her lunch, and scurried back up the stairs, hoping to avoid him on the way up, too. Listening to her uneven breaths as she rounded the final stairwell, she shook her head. This was going to be her lawyer? A man so intimidating that she raced past his door, heart beating like a trip-hammer?
Back in the playroom, Annie realized that she had nowhere to sit. In her eagerness to provide Annie with easy access to all the walls, Gina had arranged to have all the furniture in the room removed. The stairs would have to do. Sitting on the second step from the top, directly outside the room’s door, Annie pulled her lunch out of her bag. As she curled her hand around the roast beef sandwich, she realized what a loud noise paper bags make when they crinkle when the rest of the house is silent.
Mr. DeChristopher’s voice droned low-tone assents. She could hear his irritation grow as the repeated word, “Yes,” moved from an absent mutter to an imperative hiss. Taking a bite of the sandwich, she wiped mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth and tried to picture who was incurring his wrath at the other end of the phone line.
Immediately, Pete’s face came to mind and Annie had to cover her mouth from allowing a giggle to escape. Unlikely. Mr. DeChristopher didn’t strike her as the type to deal with such a low-life. Still, she knew it had to be a guy. DeChristopher apparently liked to come across as gentlemanly and deferential in front of women, but she sensed that his view of the fair sex was just that. Look nice and stay outta my way.
“When can you get it here?” His voice held a sharpness that carried all the way up the stairs and she could picture his face as he spoke. Annie bet that the person on the other end was Timothy, the guy who’d accompanied Gina to the ice cream parlour. And that he’d just “acquired” some piece of evidence key to a trial DeChristopher was handling. No, she thought, better yet . . . DeChristopher had something on someone else and was going to blackmail him, and the thing, whatever it was, had gotten into Timothy’s possession in some nefarious way.
Snaking her hand back into the bag, Annie reached for her stash of Oreos. Almost felt like she was starting an addiction to them. Too bad she didn’t have any milk. She leaned back, resting her elbows on the landing above her. Taking a bite of the first one, she laughed at herself. Quite the imagination. All those Nancy Drew books she read as a girl were having an effect on her brain.
“Did I hire you to be an art critic?” His harsh voice rasped.
Annie winced as he slammed the phone down, swearing. Sounds of touch-tones made their way up the stairs as he dialed a number. Out of the area, Annie thought, ten digits. She waited to move till she heard him talking again.
Art critic, huh? So much for the blackmailing theory. And yet, she thought as she cleaned up, there was something unsettling about him. Why else would she be dreaming up these elaborate crime-filled stories, with him as the mastermind? Something about him felt off-kilter. Leaning over the banister, she gauged her ability to sneak down the stairs again unnoticed. She had to go, badly. Every bedroom on the second level had a bath, but Annie didn’t feel comfortable using them. Like it would be an invasion of their inhabitants’ privacy.
“I hope to have it to you within the next ten days,” she heard him say. Then he started saying “Yes” again, but this time in a brisk, friendly tone.
This conversation sounded more civil. As if he’d been talking to an underling before, and now to his boss. Remembering that he ran his own law firm, Annie tried to imagine who would earn such deference. A client, maybe? That would be a nice thought.
“I know that,” he said, his voice a bit petulant, “but there are certain . . . protocols . . . that need to be followed in this situation. The extra precautions are imperative.” The grating in his voice became more pronounced as politeness began to wane.
Her foot reached the landing and she moved silently across the expanse to the other set of stairs.
“I will not compromise this venture. Not now, not after . . .”
Too late, Annie realized that he was a man who paced as he talked. Now he was in the den’s doorway, a look of fury on his face. She froze, her hand reaching for the downstairs banister as he stood stock still, the phone at his ear. Their eyes locked for a chilled moment and his features darkened. She could see a look of concentration pass over his face, almost as though he was replaying his conversation and determining how much she’d heard.
Nonchalance. That was what she needed now. To feign oblivion.
“Hi,” she mouthed, giving a little wave, hoping that the panic in her heart didn’t project through her eyes.
He glared at her for what seemed like an eternity, then stepped back into the room and slammed the door.
* * * * *
The door was still closed when Annie made her way back up the stairs. She’d planned on accomplishing a lot more this afternoon, but didn’t care for the uncomfortable feeling she was having, here alone in the house with him.
Get a grip, she told herself.
Looking around the pencil-scratched walls, she berated herself for her skittishness. So I overheard a conversation, she thought, let’s not make a federal case out of it. She was here on a professional basis. And she would behave accordingly.
Right.
Picking up her pencil and thumbnail sketch, Annie took a deep breath and went back to wor
k.
Gina had given Annie several of the boys’ favorite books, two of which lay open on the floor next to her. One of the things she’d requested was that the sky not be blue, but black, with stars and planets, since Kevin, the younger one, had recently developed an interest in space. A four-year-old studying astronomy. Seemed a bit far-fetched, but the client would get whatever she wanted.
Gina hadn’t provided a book on the solar system, but Annie knew Uncle Lou would have something on the subject. She’d have to remember to ask him about it. And she’d have to give some serious thought to this trade-for-services situation that the DeChristophers had come up with. It might just be better to be paid for her work and go out and find a new attorney on her own.
Annie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so intimidated by another person. He’d be a powerful advocate, no doubt. But could she deal with it? Pulling her hair back from her face with her left hand, and holding it on top of her head, she blew out a breath. Was nothing easy anymore?
“You’ve gotten much further into things than I’d expected.”
Mr. DeChristopher’s soft pronouncement made Annie jump.
He stood, like a pillar in the entire doorway, his hands behind his back. The sun poured in from the floor-to-ceiling mullioned window in the stairway behind him, putting him in silhouette. Annie couldn’t make out his facial expression, and his eyes were deep in shadow.
“Oh, hi,” she said, trying again for casualness, knowing her words came out a little too high-pitched to fool him. Her hand dropped and she fluffed her hair a bit; it was something to do. She cleared her throat and gestured to the wall, saying, “What do you think?”
He entered with a nod of thanks. As though he needed her invitation to come into the room.
He kept his hands behind his back and Annie noted the gold cufflinks that poked out from the charcoal gray sleeves of his suit jacket. Twin initials, “D” stood out on them, formed by tiny, individually set diamonds. Stepping back to give him a wide berth, she hit the corner, making a small thump. He didn’t turn, but continued to move farther down the wall, nodding, saying nothing.
