"He won't be back. I told him if he came back, I'd shoot his sorry ass."
"I'm leaving right now," Gail said. She stuffed more files into her briefcase and grabbed her purse. Hurrying down the hall she glanced at her watch: 4:15. She would make a call to the day camp for Karen to take the bus. The bus would drop her off around five-thirty. Gail doubted she could make it home by then, but Karen had a key and knew to stay inside. At six-thirty Anthony would arrive to take them for a short visit with his grandfather; then they would go to dinner. That meant that Gail could not afford much time at Jamie's house. She would get her calmed down, maybe have a neighbor come over, then leave.
Miriam was at the copy machine. Lynn was working at the desk behind the frosted window that opened onto the waiting room. When they looked around, Gail told them what had happened.
She was almost out the door when she remembered the repairman. "Damn." She came back to ask for a volunteer. "He'll be there at five, and I can't cancel it."
There was a quick discussion, a comparison of schedules, a shuffling of afternoon activities, kids, husbands. Lynn agreed to go, using Miriam's key to Gail's house.
Gail said, "I'll pay him when I get there, between five-thirty and six. And if you'd keep an eye on Karen too?"
Lynn stood up, nervously clasping her hands. "Be careful, Gail. What if Wendell comes back? What if he's carrying a gun?"
"I'll shoot him with Jamie's."
SEVEN
Wendell Sweet had struck his wife across the face, and her upper lip was swollen. She had bruises on her arms and a bump on her head where he had pushed her against the wall of their bedroom. They had gone in there for privacy, leaving the children in the playroom downstairs.
Gently probing her fingers through Jamie Sweet's thick red hair, Gail found the bump. Jamie had insisted she was fine, but Gail had to be sure. Jamie had also insisted that she didn't want to make a police report. Gail was mystified by this, wanting Jamie to be as angry as she was. It was as though Wendell had come in there and sucked all the air out of the room, leaving Jamie dizzy and weak.
Head bowed, she sat on a satin-covered ottoman in a bedroom overdone to the point of kitsch with gilded furniture, swagged drapes, and tasseled pillows. A gold-framed print of Monet's Water Lilies, in purple, occupied the space over a puffy white sofa. A pair of small chandeliers hung on either side of the canopied king-size bed. The gold silk comforter had fallen to the floor, and the air was heavy with the conflicting aromas of unlaundered sheets and perfumed candles burned to puddles of wax. The carpet was littered with toys and children's picture books. Jamie had fired the housekeeper, trying to save money.
"I'm fine," Jamie said again. She moved away from Gail's hand and smoothed her hair. Her blue eyes were puffy from crying and blotchy with mascara. She took another sip of tea. Gail left hers where it was on the dresser, too watery and already cold.
Frustrated, Gail said, "You are not fine. The man just beat you up! I should file a motion for contempt of court."
"This is my decision!"
"Don't be afraid of Wendell. He needs to be put in jail."
"No. I don't want my kids knowing—" Her voice caught. "Knowing the police came to get their daddy."
"But Jamie, isn't it better to show them that the law won't let him get away with—"
"Don't tell me what's better! My own father was in jail. I know how it feels." Jamie lifted her hands. "I'm sorry. Gail, I'm sorry. I'm not thinkin' straight right now."
Gail paced slowly across carpet so thick it nearly snagged her heels. She kept her eyes on Jamie, wondering how to make her listen. It would do no good to say, I told you not to let him in. "The judge has to approve a settlement. He won't let Wendell dictate the terms."
"What if I keep pushin', Gail? He could say screw you and leave the country. Then what would I do? The mortgage on this house is almost five thousand dollars a month. I'm so far behind now they're gonna put me out in the street."
"I won't let that happen, I promise. Wendell isn't going to get away with this. Without you he'd still be an oil rigger. You worked double shifts as a waitress to put him through college, and now it's his turn to take care of you. He is legally obligated, and you shouldn't feel the least bit guilty."
"Wendell says he doesn't have enough to keep me and the kids in the house, livin' so high, like we been doing."
"He is lying to you."
"This is such a big place. It wears me out. I got clothes in that closet there I never put on."
Gail could see their reflections in the wall of mirrored closet doors, one woman pacing, one slumped with her head in her hands. She went over and knelt beside Jamie and said quietly, "Okay. You feel overwhelmed right now. Maybe you should look for another place. No pool to take care of, a little less yard. But you'll want a good neighborhood for the kids."
With a wobbly smile Jamie lifted her head. Her eyes glistened with tears. "You want to hear something funny? When me and Wendell were talking—before we started fighting—he said he still loves me."
Gail took her hand. "It's not love to hurt someone. A man who hits you in the face does not love you."
"He used to. I used to love him too." Her voice was husky with emotion. "How do people stop loving each other? Was it real to begin with?"
Shaking her head, Gail said, "I don't know. People change."
Jamie focused on something across the room and quickly wiped her eyes. Gail turned to see a small face at the door. She rose to her feet.
"Hey, honey. Come here, baby." A little girl came shyly in, turning sideways as if that would keep her out of Gail's line of vision. "This is my friend Gail. She won't bite."
The girl climbed onto Jamie's lap and rested her head on her bosom. The tip of her forefinger was in her mouth, and her mouth had a rim of red liquid, as if she had been drinking Kool-Aid. Her hands and knees were dirty. Gail knew that she was five years old, the middle child. She had black hair, like her father.
Gail smiled at her. "Hi. You must be Becky."
"Aren't you going to say hi, precious?"
"No."
Jamie gently untangled the curls in Becky's hair. "Sometimes I think of going back home. A small town would be better for the kids. I never liked Miami much. It's too hot. I get so tired of hearing Spanish. I'm sorry to say that, because I know you're engaged to a Cuban man. I got to know him when he came into Harry's office. Did I tell you? He's a good-looking guy, always so polite to me." Jamie continued to stroke her daughter's hair. "You're lucky, to get divorced and have a man like that waiting for you. And you have your career. Look at me. I dropped out of high school. You know, I used to be pretty. Men would fight over me." She laughed. "I'm not so pretty now."
Gail said, "You are. You have to believe in yourself, Jamie."
The look that Jamie gave her was quick and sharp. What do you know about pain?
The grandfather clock in the hall announced the hour with five melodious notes. So little time left, Gail thought. She had come in here with her sword drawn, ready to defend her client, but had wound up slogging through a swamp of lethargy and despair, dragging Jamie behind her like dead weight. Gail was frustrated by Jamie's ambivalence, and by her own inability to break through it.
Gail smiled at the girl, then said, "I wonder if Becky would like to go play for a while longer?"
"Sure. Becky, honey? Would you see if Ricky's still taking his nap? Then you and Bobby can watch a video. Go on." The girl burrowed her face between Jamie's breasts. "Mommy's got to talk to the lady right now. Please? I'll come see you in a little bit."
"I don't want to!"
"Don't you make me count to three."
With a glare toward the intruder, Becky slid off her mother's lap and ran into the hall. Gail got up to make sure the girl had gone, but she left the door open in case of a noise from below signaling disaster. She looked back across the room. Jamie was standing by her dresser, arranging bottles of perfume. The surface of the dresser was almost completel
y hidden by a silk robe, a stack of CDs, toy trucks, empty glasses and cups.
"You know what Wendell said? He said ... if I let him come back, we might could work it out." "Oh, Jamie."
"My daddy was an alcoholic. My mama threw him out when I was twelve years old. We didn't see him much after that. Seven of us kids. He wanted to come back, but she never would let him. I had one brother go to prison and the other two don't amount to nothing, and only the youngest girl made anything of herself."
"All this because your father wasn't there?" Gail came closer and gestured toward Jamie's image in the minor. "Look at that cut on your mouth. What does that tell Becky about what a father should be? What's she going to learn about the relationship of a husband and wife?"
When Jamie dropped her gaze and began to straighten the disarrayed clothes on the dresser, Gail knew that she had lost her.
Then the doorbell rang, distant chimes from the foyer. Jamie crossed the bedroom and pulled back the curtain. In the circular driveway Gail saw her own car and behind it a shiny red Lincoln. "Who is that?"
"Harry." With her forefingers Jamie wiped the mascara from under her eyes. "Oh Lord, I look like shit."
"Harry Lasko? Why is he here?"
"I left him a message about what Wendell did." As the doorbell sounded again, Jamie rushed out, and Gail followed her down the stairs. Bare feet pattering over the marble squares in the foyer, Jamie straightened the hem of her pink T-shirt over her jeans.
When she opened the door, the afternoon light flooded in, turning her hair to flame. A man's voice murmured, "Hey, baby doll."
"Harry, you didn't have to come."
"Of course I did. Let me look at you. Oohhh, that goddamn bastard." The words were barely audible. "Have you got company?"
"My lawyer. Come on in, you're lettin' the cold air out."
He came into the foyer, a tall, skinny, slightly stoop-shouldered man in a faded blue golf shirt and plaid shorts. The lenses in his sunglasses lightened to amber, revealing shaggy brows that sloped downward over inquisitive hazel eyes. His scalp gleamed through thinning white hair, and more white hair curled at the collar of his shirt. A gold chain sparkled on his neck.
"Gail Connor, Harry Lasko."
"How do you do?" Gail said, extending her hand.
His grin made deep creases in his cheeks. "Anthony Quintana said you were pretty. He lied. You're gorgeous."
"Harry's a big ole flirt." Jamie smiled up at him, then turned him by an elbow toward the living room. "Y'all come sit down."
Somewhat uncertainly Gail accompanied them, caught between the pressure of time and her raging curiosity about what Lasko might say. Gail still did not see anything wrong in talking to Lasko in advance of his sentencing agreement, but Anthony could be insufferably strict about his clients. She preferred to avoid the hassle of arguing about it.
Harry Lasko noticed the sofa cushions, which had been made into a fort. The carpet was littered with Legos, blocks, Barbie doll clothes, cookies. "Holy smokes. The Indians have raided the place. Did they tie up the maid in the closet?"
"I let her go." Jamie laughed. "Did you come to see me or my housekeeping?"
He studied her for a moment. Then he laughed and held his arms wide. "What the hell?"
"Right, What the hell.” Jamie's face disappeared for a second against his blue shirt. "I'm glad you're here."
"I'm a louse for not coming more often." Harry Lasko took Jamie's hand in both of his. "You're okay, sweetheart? I expected to see the cops in here."
Jamie said, "I didn't call them. Y'all want something to drink?"
"Why didn't you call the police?"
She raised a shoulder in a shrug. "I just didn't feel like it, and that's all the talkin' I'm gonna do about Wendell, or me, or my damned marriage."
Lasko looked at Gail, his angled brows sloping down even farther. "You didn't advise this, did you?"
Gail shook her head. "It's Jamie's decision." She left it at that. If Jamie didn't want to explain, her lawyer could not speak either. She glanced at her watch: 5:25. Karen would be home soon. Lynn was supervising the electrician. Anthony would be there at six-thirty. Gail decided not to cut it any closer.
With a smile she held out her hand. "Mr. Lasko, I hate to leave so soon, but I need to get home—"
"You don't have five minutes?" Harry Lasko gave her shoulder a pat. "I'm going to ask the bartender to fix me a drink. What about you?"
She wavered. He wanted to talk to her, she could feel it. "A few minutes. Nothing to drink for me, though."
"Vodka and tonic, sweetheart, easy on the ice." When Jamie had disappeared down the hall, Lasko said, "Let's take a walk. I need a smoke."
He led Gail to the family room, where sliding doors opened onto a terrace. Pulling back a panel, he let Gail go first. Ceiling fans whirled slowly in the shade of the roof overhang. The air was like a heated towel. Lasko scanned the backyard with its half acre of parched, weedy grass. Algae had invaded the pool. Apparently Jamie had let the pool man and the gardener go too.
Lasko took a gold lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his baggy plaid shorts. "I didn't know it was this bad. What's going on with her case?"
"I'll let Jamie discuss it with you, if she wants."
"Discretion. A virtue in a lawyer." He lit his cigarette. A Rolex circled his wrist. The sunglasses had gone dark again, but he was watching her through them. He exhaled smoke. "I suppose you know about my situation?"
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I don't know the particulars. If discretion is a virtue, then Anthony Quintana is a saint."
"St. Anthony." Harry Lasko had a quick laugh that lingered in a smile. "I'm going to the federal slammer. The only question is, for how long? That's for Quintana to work out. Meanwhile, I'm closing out my business. I spend time with my family—my wife, my son and daughter. The grandkids. Terrific kids. They promise to write. How many people you know live in Florida, the grandkids are somewhere else? I have to look at it that way. I also have some friends. Jamie is one of them. I want to help if I can."
"I'm glad, because she needs your help right now," Gail said. The sky to the west looked bruised. The tops of the palm trees moved, though the plants at ground level were still. It would rain soon. The air was hot and heavy with humidity. Gail took off the butter yellow jacket that matched her dress and laid it over the arm of a porch chair.
Harry Lasko drew on his cigarette. "What a dumb kid. She never asks me for anything, never says she's in trouble. Listen, Gail. Do what you can for her. Jamie doesn't need to go through a divorce trial. A settlement's the only way to go. Quick, so it doesn't bleed too much."
"You should tell Wendell that," Gail said.
"Well, Wendell and I aren't talking. Jamie owes you twenty grand in fees. Is that right? I'm complaining. Lawyers are expensive, I should know. You want me to take care of it? I'm serious."
"No. When I said she could use your help, I didn't mean money. I'm fairly certain the judge will assess fees against Wendell."
This was odd, Gail thought. An arrest for money laundering usually resulted in the government's seizing everything the defendant owned, yet Harry Lasko had just offered her twenty thousand dollars. Obviously the government had missed something.
Cigarette smoke swirled away on the gathering breeze.
"Jamie said she met you on Bonaire."
"That's right," Lasko said. "One of my hotels was on Bonaire. Wendell and I had been friends for a while. We'd go deep-sea fishing, maybe do a little gambling in the casinos. So I invited him to bring the wife and kids down. Jamie and I, we really hit it off. Hell, we got up there on stage in the nightclub and did karaoke together. We had a blast. When Jamie and Wendell started having problems, she asked me if I needed anybody in my office here in Miami, and I said sure. She's a great gal. That accent! People— Latins—would come in and say, Where's she from? What'd she say?"
A bamboo wind chime suspended from a nearby shade tree swung around, cl
attering. Gail felt the pressure of time. "I should be going."
Lasko said, "Jamie called me over the weekend. You have some questions about Wendell's assets."
"And your lawyer doesn't want me to talk to you until he works out a deal with the prosecutors."
"Why?"
Gail hesitated, not wanting to sound critical of Anthony. "He's being careful."
"Careful? Jesus. He thinks he's my mother. Jamie says it would help her case if you could tell the judge that Wendell has money offshore."
"Mr. Lasko—"
"You're not talking to me, you're listening. And by the way, call me Harry. Wendell and I did some investing together. Some vacant land, some emeralds, nothing too complicated. About two years ago we acquired the Eagle Beach Casino on Aruba; then last summer we sold it to some investors from Venezuela. Wendell made about a million dollars on the deal. So don't let that snake say he can't support Jamie and the kids."
"Where's the money now?"
"My guess is Aruba, since it was handy, but you won't get any help from that end. Those bankers don't talk."
"Jamie doesn't know about this, does she?"
"Not from me. I never talked business with Jamie, even when she was working for the resort company. The feds questioned her, but she didn't know anything." He studied the end of his cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "And it's a good thing. Damn government would have screwed her over too."
Recalling something Anthony had told her, Gail said, "What else was Wendell involved in? Does he have friends in the cartel?"
The amber lenses of Harry's sunglasses did not completely hide his eyes, which studied Gail as if to judge her motive for asking. "If you move among people with money, in that part of the world, some of them will be in the business. You want to know if he made any money that way. I don't think so. It's a. very, high-risk profession for an American."
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