Gail noticed the receptionist at the door and motioned her in. "She's going to need arthroscopic surgery and rehab. The career she's had for twenty years is over."
Lynn had some checks to be signed. She stood by the desk, waiting for Gail to finish.
"Let me know soon, because I'm prepared to file the complaint. . . . Great. Talk to you then." Gail swiveled her chair to hang up the phone. "Thank God. I think we're going to get a settlement in Zimmerman."
"Congratulations."
"Let's see. If they give us a hundred . . ." Gail studied a printout of costs she had advanced in the case. "One third, plus I get all this back . . . That's about thirty-eight thousand dollars. You know what, Lynn? I used to turn up my nose at personal injury cases. That was before I had my own office." Gail uncapped her pen. "Now I just ask if there's insurance." When Lynn looked at her sideways, Gail said, "That was a joke. Honest."
"Oh."
Lynn Dobbert did not have the sparkle of Gail's full-time secretary, Miriam Ruiz, but she worked hard and rarely complained. Business had picked up enough to require another person to help out, but for every settled case, and every paid bill for services rendered, just as much seemed to go out.
The checks were drawn on the office account of Gail A. Connor, Attorney at Law, P.A. A check for malpractice insurance, another for dues to the Florida Bar. Then a payment on the leased computer equipment. Medical insurance. Rent and parking. Lynn drew each aside and placed it precisely on top of the one preceding. Gail did not usually interrupt her work to sign checks, but Miriam had sternly told her that they had to go out today, because most were overdue. A settlement payment had been three weeks late in arriving, and the funds wouldn't be available until Wednesday. Gail did not like kiting checks, but June so far had been a lousy month. The judge's ruling in the Sweet case had not helped. If Zimmerman came in, she would be all right—for a while.
The intercom buzzed, and Gail reached to pick it up. Miriam told her that Charlie Jenkins was on the line.
"Who? Oh, yes!" Gail swung around and pressed the right button. "Mr. Jenkins, I'm glad you called back. Do you remember me? I live on Clematis Street in the Grove, and you fixed my sink last week, and a toilet before that. . . . Well, I've got another emergency. There's no power in the kitchen. Did you say you do electric repairs?"
He assured her that he did everything.
Charlie Jenkins, a heavyset man with a short black beard, had been driving by in his van about a month ago and noticed the condition of Gail's house. He'd told her he was working up the street for the Cabreras. I do it all—carpentry, electric, plumbing. Gail had fibbed, telling him that she was dealing with a contractor, but Jenkins had taken a card out of his shirt pocket, assuring her he could do it for less, whatever it was. He had smiled, showing his dimples. Besides, I speak English. Gail had tossed the card into a drawer and forgotten about it until one Sunday morning when she couldn't find a licensed plumber to unclog a toilet for a reasonable amount of money. Just this morning she had left messages with two electricians about the kitchen problem, but neither had called her back. So she called Jenkins.
"Breaker box? . . . No, it has fuses, and they all looked fine to me. . . . Yes, I know we should redo everything, but right now I just need a refrigerator and lights in the kitchen. . . . Five o'clock, that's the earliest I could be home. . . . All right, see you then. Thanks."
She hung up and reached for the next check. "Poor Karen went downstairs for some milk last night, and zzzzt!"
"You should be careful with electricity," Lynn said. "Tom tried to put an extra outlet in the boys' room and shocked the heck out of himself."
Gail smiled. "I'll be careful." The intercom buzzed. "Yes, Miriam?"
Jamie Sweet was returning her call. Line two.
"Thanks, I'll take it." Gail told Lynn to have a seat for a minute. "Jamie, this is Gail."
She explained that she had talked to Anthony Quintana over the weekend. "Anthony said not to talk to Harry yet. First he wants to work out a plea with the prosecutors. I think he's being a little too cautious, but Harry is his client, and it's his call. Don't worry. There's still time."
Gail heard a child's muffled squeal of laughter, then Jamie yelling. "Ricky, you put that down! Excuse me, Gail." Ricky was three, the youngest. Gail heard a talk show in the background, and Jamie's voice over it. "You stay right there till I get off the phone." Then footsteps. Slightly winded, Jamie said, "I'm sorry, you were saying about Harry ..."
"Yes. That I'm going to have to wait a week or so to talk to him."
"That's okay." A sigh came over the line. "I don't know if we ought to bother Harry. I don't know."
Gail heard the audience on the television laugh, then applaud. "Jamie?"
"I'm here. Wendell came by yesterday with the child support."
"The restraining order says he's supposed to mail it, not bring it in person." Gail added. "I hope he didn't cause any trouble."
"No, he didn't give me any trouble at all, just played with the kids. He fixed the tree house. They got all hot and sweaty, and Becky sprayed him with the hose, and they were laughin' and carryin' on. Then Bobby comes in and says, Mommy, can Daddy stay for lunch?"
Gail laughed in disbelief. "Jamie, you do not allow an estranged husband to hang out at your house."
"But he was being good, and the kids wanted him to stay. Gail, I swear, he was like the old Wendell again."
"The old Wendell used to beat you up."
"Well... we talked about that. He cried. I couldn't believe it. I cried too, Gail. He said he missed me and the kids so much—"
"Jamie, stop. Don't you see what he's doing? We busted his chops in court on Friday, and now he's trying to save himself. He has not, I guarantee you, miraculously repented."
"But he's not all bad. If he was, I wouldn't have stayed with him."
"You stayed with him because you have three children and no education. Wendell Sweet is a manipulative S.O.B." She heard only the catchy jingle of an ad for canned tuna. "Don't fall for it. We've already proved he lied to the IRS. He's afraid of what else we'll find—the cash that he didn't report. He's afraid he'll have to pay you and the kids a fair share of it."
Jamie Sweet started to cry.
"Oh, Jamie. I'm sorry. Let's see what Harry tells us, okay? And we'll go through Wendell's documents. When he comes for the kids, don't let him spend more than a minute. Just hi, Wendell, here are the kids, be sure to bring them back on time. The best thing is to have a friend there when he comes by. If he has any comments, he can call his lawyer, and his lawyer will call me. It has to be that way. Jamie?"
Her voice was so tight it came out as a squeak. "I'm so tired of this I could die."
"I know. I've been through a divorce myself, and it's hard. You've got to be brave. If you let him come back, it's going to be even worse. Come on, Jamie. Don't give up now. You're going to be just fine."
Gail murmured more assurances, and finally Jamie promised to tell Wendell that her lawyer had ordered her not to talk to him. Gail hung up. "Some clients," she said. "You just feel like screaming at them. Wake up!"
"She wants to take him back?" Lynn stood up from one of the chairs opposite Gail's desk.
Gail turned around to her computer. "No. What Jamie Sweet wants is for this to be over, and in the past that's how she made problems go away. She did what he told her." The Sweet file came up on the monitor. Gail typed a short memo, then hit the code for phone conf w/client. Two-tenths of an hour. It would show up on the next bill. "Fat chance I collect any of this," she muttered.
"If they do get back together," Lynn said, "I bet he won't pay the attorney's fees. You'll have to sue him."
"Afraid so. I've got over twenty thousand dollars in this. Wendell thinks a hundred bucks is too much to pay. People have no idea how hard they make us work, then they complain about the fees." She made a pistol of her thumb and forefinger. "Stay away from my client, you varmint, my rent is overdue." Gail looked at Lynn. "That w
as another joke."
"I figured that." Lynn passed her the last check, waited till she signed it, then stacked them all neatly together. Her nails were short and unpolished, her hands adorned only by a wedding band and an inexpensive watch. She wore plain slacks and pullovers to work, and blond hair hung straight around her face. Her only makeup was a touch of color on high, almost Slavic cheekbones. Two months ago, when Miriam had met her in the cafeteria, Lynn had been working for a temp agency, and Gail had needed some extra help. The extra wages were starting to bite.
Lynn asked, "Gail? If it's no trouble, could I come in Thursday instead of Friday? Tommy's camp counselor said they need some parents to go along on a field trip to MetroZoo."
"Check the schedule," Gail said. "It should be all right." Lynn worked three days, but occasionally traded them around if something came up. That would not have been permitted at Hartwell Black and Robineau, where schedules were maintained and rules were enforced, lest the staff become spoiled.
"You'll have to bring the boys by sometime. I'd love to meet them."
"I should do that. They're a handful, though."
"Lynn, wait." She turned around at the door. "Have there been any strange phone calls lately, any hangups? People who call the office and don't leave a name?"
Her eyes widened. "No. Did you get a call like that?"
Gail shrugged. "Not here. I got a couple of crank calls at home." Last night she had seen it again: PAY PHONE on the caller-ID. She had not picked it up. She had ordered Karen not to answer the phone under any circumstances. Anthony had called once from his grandparents' house, and her mother had phoned. Otherwise the night had been quiet.
"What did they say?"
"Well . . . nothing worth repeating. I think it must have been kids. I suppose I should ignore it."
"Oh, don't do that. People are crazy, especially in Miami. Someone might be stalking you. Tom doesn't like me to go out after dark, and he's always checking to make sure the doors are locked. We had a woman in our neighborhood stabbed in her own house by a man who had followed her home. You should call the police."
Gail nodded. Whatever one might say, Lynn Dobbert had a disaster to top it. She went out with the checks she had brought in.
Tapping her pen on the desk, Gail looked again at the telephone, then dialed Jamie Sweet's number. An answering machine picked up, causing her a moment of cKstress before she said, "Hi, Jamie. This is Gail again. Just wanted to make sure you're all right. If you need to talk to me—anytime—please don't hesitate to call." After a second or two of searching her mind uselessly for a piece of memorable wisdom, Gail hung up. She laughed to herself, remembering Charlene Marks's advice about maintaining a safe emotional distance. Don't be their mother or their pal. Commercial litigation in the posh law firm downtown had not been nearly as messy.
She heard a click and looked around. Miriam had come in, closing the door behind her. She crossed the room, bouncy stride in high heels, curly hair swinging from a clip on top of her head. Bracelets jangled, and gold earrings spun. But something had ticked her off.
"¿Qué pasa?" Gail asked.
She was holding some papers, which fluttered as she extended her arm to show Gail. "Look at this. Look what she did. She put the South Miami Motors caption on an order for South Miami Hardware. And I just called the courier! This has to be filed at the courthouse this afternoon."
"Well, tell her to redo it."
"Why did you give it to Lynn?"
"You were out to lunch, Miriam, and it seemed simple enough."
"She hasn't learned the system yet," Miriam said. "She is so slow."
"Inexperienced, not slow."
The red-lipsticked mouth, which had opened to vent another complaint, released a long sigh instead. "You're right." Miriam was only twenty-two, but had been Gail's secretary for three years at Hartwell Black. Gail had wooed her away with equal benefits and a raise. Miriam was worth every dime, but she took her seniority seriously.
"Oh, somebody left a message." The pink slip of paper that Miriam quickly handed her said that Elena Godoy could meet her at Lola Benitez Couture on Saturday morning at ten o'clock. Please call.
Gail set the message beside her telephone. "Elena Pedrosa Godoy is Anthony's cousin. She wants to help me pick out a wedding dress."
Miriam grinned, buoyant as a teenager. "I can't wait to see it! What will it look like?"
"I don't qualify for white. Something pastel and ankle-length, I suppose. Karen's outfit will be harder. Will she even agree to wear a dress?"
"She's going to look so cute."
"My flower girl," Gail said. "One of Anthony's nephews will be the ring bearer."
"Who's going to carry the hadas?”
Gail repeated it slowly. "Addas?"
"Hadas. With a silent H. It's like . . . money. Little coins."
"I've never heard of that."
"Oh, yes! After the rings the groom gives the bride the hadas. She holds out her hands like this, and he opens the little box and takes out the coins, and he gives them to her. It's to signify, like, I'm going to take care of you forever. All my worldly goods are yours. It's a custom in Cuban weddings. Or any Spanish wedding, I guess."
Gail smiled. "That's very nice. I don't know if it's appropriate for Anthony and me, but it's nice. Good Lord. We should have chosen the words for the ceremony already, but we've been so busy! Maybe we'll just do the usual thing. What was yours like, Miriam?"
"I wish I'd known you then. I'd have invited you!" Miriam leaned her little fanny on the edge of the desk. "We got married at Iglesia San Lázaro in Hialeah, and I had a long satin dress with a train, and Danny wore a white tuxedo. We had the hadas, and the lazo, and our mothers pinned the mantilla on our shoulders. Then we rode in a white limousine to the banquet hall. I should show you the video! All our friends and family were there, and we had a deejay and a mirrored ball in the ceiling!" She laughed. "The first dance was with my father. Papi couldn't stop smiling. Then he gave me to Danny, and we danced together. It was so perfect. We partied till one o'clock in the morning; then we drove to a hotel on Miami Beach."
With a giggle Miriam covered her mouth. "Oh, my God, Danny was so tired he fell asleep! We didn't. . . you know, make love till morning, but the sun was coming up over the ocean, and we heard the waves and the seagulls."
"It sounds perfect," Gail said.
"It was. You know we conceived Berto on our honeymoon? It was a total surprise. Danny says he wants to take me to Hawaii, we might have twins!" Miriam picked up the order that she had complained about earlier. "Well, I'd better redo this before the courier gets here." Hair bouncing on her back, Miriam vanished into the hall, her high heels clicking on the tiles, then diminishing.
Smiling, Gail watched her go. Miriam and Danny were blessed—unlike Wendell and Jamie Sweet, whose marriage had been cursed from the beginning. Since the failure of her own marriage, Gail had decided that there was nothing she could have done to save it, because the passion hadn't been there. They had not been lovers but two people occupying the same house. With Anthony . . . Gail closed her eyes and rested her chin on her fist. With Anthony no escape was possible. To leave him . . . She could not imagine it. Or that he would leave her. Never. She remembered his words, spoken with such infuriating assurance as he sat on the edge of the bed in the room at his grandfather's house. I would find some way to make you stay. Looking up at her with those dark eyes. She had laughed, but if he had reached for her, she would have made love to him all over again.
With a start, Gail noticed the clock. Three-thirty already, the afternoon almost gone.
Next. Letters from attorneys who had read the ad in the Business Review about the spare office. One was from a recent graduate studying for the bar, who wanted to work as a law clerk. Another from a man in his sixties who wanted to practice part-time. Most were articulate, with substantial resumes attached. And all—every one—were from lawyers who wanted to be hired. Paid. Put on salary. The ad had clearly sai
d, Office space to share. Desperation in the ranks, too many lawyers. Gail was grateful for her contacts. If her office went under, she could get a job. But it would be a job, not a business. It wouldn't be hers.
On the computer she quickly typed a form letter thanking the lawyers for their interest, etc., etc., with instructions for Miriam to customize it for each. The intercom signaled a call, and Gail picked it up without moving her eyes from the screen.
"Yes?"
Lynn told her that Mrs. Sweet was calling again.
If Gail had imagined that Jamie would listen to her advice when their last conversation ended, that mistake became quickly evident. Between sobs, Jamie told her that Wendell had just left. They'd gone upstairs to talk, hoping to settle things between them. Instead they had argued. He had said they wouldn't be going through this if Jamie hadn't been brainwashed by her lawyer. He had screamed at her for taking his children away, trying to ruin his life, stealing his money like the common slut she had been when he met her. She had screamed back at him to get out, and he had hit her.
"Oh, God. Jamie, are you all right?"
"My lip's busted, but it was my fault. I was yellin' at him, callin' him names."
"This isn't your fault! I want you to call the police. We're taking this to the judge."
"No, Gail! Please don't." "Jamie—"
"I can't—I can't do this anymore. If it wasn't for the kids, I'd kill myself, I swear I would." "Jamie, please—"
"Could you—Gail, I don't mean to be a bother— could you please come talk to me? Please." She sobbed. "I don't know what to do."
"Of course. Of course I will."
Gail scanned her desk, calculating what she could leave, what had to be taken with her. She flipped through her appointment book. A client was coming in. He could be rescheduled. As she stuffed files into her briefcase, followed by her laptop computer, she tucked the phone under her chin, speaking as calmly as she could. "Jamie, I don't want you to worry. I'll be right over. Do you have some tea? Good. Make us some tea, and we'll talk. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. If Wendell comes back, don't let him in."
Suspicion of Betrayal Page 8
