“Yes, I did, but not well. Wasn’t she chosen to represent SCAD at a show in New York last spring? It was quite an honor.”
“Yes, that was Whitney,” beamed Wilbert.
He and Jennifer then engaged in small talk about SCAD as Denis stood and listened.
At the first break in their conversation, Denis touched Jennifer’s elbow and said, “I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten you a drink or a bite to eat. Let’s see what is still available.”
Of course, everything was still available: hot crab canapés, she-crab soup, lumpfin crab cakes, barbequed shrimp, roasted peppers and sherry-glazed sweet potatoes, oysters on the half-shell, and salads of all kinds. And, of course, there at the end of the line was the ubiquitous standing rib roast of beef. It was Savannah cuisine at its finest.
Jennifer took a plate, added a few shrimp and some spinach salad, and quickly moved to the rib roast, which was presided over by a smiling black chef with a sharp carving knife. Denis was just behind her with his plate.
“Give her your most special cut, Hughie,” said Denis.
“Is that because she’s your most special, Mr. Nolan?” teased the chef with a grin.
“Of course, Hughie.”
Jennifer hoped she was not blushing. She was appreciative of the attention, since she knew no one else at the party, but it made her uncomfortable. She looked around. There must have been fifty to sixty guests, and not one appeared to be a student. She recognized only a few faces—young faculty members that she had seen on the campus but had never met.
“Would you like to eat on the patio?” asked Denis.
Jennifer nodded and followed Denis outside. There was a phenomenal view of the ocean, a hundred yards or so away. The sun had already set, but there were still streaks of light reflecting on the incoming waves. It was a beautiful, balmy evening. They found a vacant table, and Denis pulled out a chair for Jennifer. Most of the guests were eating at tables inside or were enjoying conversation and drinks in the large ballroom. The patio dance floor was vacant; the band had taken a break.
“I’ll get us a drink from the bar,” said Denis. “What would you like?”
“Just water, thank you.”
“No, I mean from the bar. I’ll have someone bring us a drink. Anything—the bar is well stocked.”
“Thanks, but water is fine.”
“I ordered a case of Cullen’s 2002 Chardonnay especially for tonight. I think you would like it.”
“Sound’s wonderful, but no thanks.”
Denis got up and went inside. He was back quickly. And almost as soon, a waiter appeared with a glass of water, two wine glasses, and a bottle of Cullen’s 2002 Chardonnay.
“In case you change your mind,” said Denis, as he moved one of the wine glasses directly in front of Jennifer.
Jennifer was mildly annoyed. She had not had any problem making up her mind. But it was a beautiful evening, and she wanted to enjoy it. She still wondered why she had been invited to this “September Evening on the Beach.” She was the only student there. And he was her professor. He was the host, with dozens of guests, but he was devoting all of his time to her. She was slowly realizing that this was an unannounced “date.” The realization was both disquieting and exciting. She knew that most colleges had rules prohibiting a professor from dating a student, but whatever the rule, it was Denis’s problem, not hers. It must be OK, or he would not have been so open in front of Vice Dean Bechtel and Professor Hoffman. While she did not find him physically attractive, he was charming and lavish in his attention. She would just enjoy the evening.
Denis steered the conversation to her undergrad years. He asked about her studies, interests, hobbies, and family. There was no mention of her law classes or her witness role in the upcoming trial competition. It was an easy conversation. It was all about her. But occasionally, her thoughts returned to Scott. She wondered if he was still occupied.
Jennifer’s glass of wine went untouched. They finished their meal, and Denis suggested they go inside. There, Denis introduced her to more of the guests. Many were his father’s business associates and their wives. One guest she met was Jacqueline Hinesley, a Savannah Law graduate. Jennifer thought she had heard the name before but could not recall where. They had a short conversation about her practice in Brunswick, Georgia.
It was nearing ten o’clock, and a couple approached Denis to say goodnight. Denis walked with them to the front door, and as they departed, Denis saw a man just starting up the steps.
“Come on in, Max. I had about given up on you.”
“I had about given up on me, too. Fly through Atlanta and no telling when or where you arrive. Damn planes are late, coming and going. Wouldn’t serve my second martini—air disturbance, they claimed. Hell, what did they expect, we’re in an airplane! Lost my luggage. Supposed to deliver it to the Hilton tonight, but who knows about those clowns. If I knew a good lawyer, I’d sue their asses off.”
He laughed, stepped inside and gave Denis a firm handshake. He surveyed the twelve-foot ceilings and the large rooms. “Nice hut,” he said.
“I want you to meet someone,” said Denis.
He and Gordon walked over to where Jennifer was standing alone.
“Max, this is Jennifer Stone, law student at Savannah Law. Jennifer, Mr. Gordon is an attorney helping me with a matter I have before the city.”
Jennifer was startled to see Max Gordon standing before her. He looked larger, more imposing, than the short man she had watched on TV Wednesday night. It took her a moment to recover. “Yes, of course, I’ve heard a lot about Mr. Gordon. But I did not know he was your attorney.”
“That’s only half of it, Jennifer. Young Denis here is my attorney.”
Denis could see the confusion in Jennifer’s eyes. “Mr. Gordon—Max—is helping me with a problem I have with the city. He’s not only the best trial lawyer in the country, he’s the best in dealing with bureaucracy. Agree, Max?”
“Of course, I agree. And the most successful, intelligent, richest, and modest.” Gordon turned directly to Jennifer. “How well do you know this guy?”
“He’s one of my professors.”
“What subject?”
“Property.”
“Too bad. He doesn’t know a damn thing about property law. I had to save his ass from going to the slammer for a botched real estate deal in Chicago. Should have let him go to jail. The world would be a better place.” Gordon gave Denis a slap on the chest with the back of his hand and let out a loud laugh.
“Now Max, you know that wasn’t me. But you did save my partner.”
“Yeah, and your partner was a crook—dipping into the trust account. The world would indeed be a better place without his type. But that’s the kind of guys I deal with. I get an acquittal and I’m immediately sorry. But right now, I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten since this morning. Anything left, Denis?”
“We’ll find something, Max. Follow me.”
After Gordon filled two plates, Denis escorted him and Jennifer to a table and waved one of the red-vested bartenders over. Gordon ordered a vodka martini on the rocks.
“How about you, Jennifer?” said Denis.
“I’m fine,” replied Jennifer.
“Bring a bottle of Pinot Noir—Jayson Sonoma Coast— and three glasses,” said Denis, despite the fact that the bottle of Chardonnay had not been touched.
Some of the guests had departed, and many were now on the patio listening to the small band. The martini and wine arrived promptly. Denis poured wine from the bottle of Pinot Noir into Jennifer’s glass without comment. She watched as he poured. She said nothing to Denis but turned to look at Gordon.
“I’m curious. You said that Professor Nolan....” She corrected herself. “Denis is your attorney. What do you mean?”
Denis spoke first. “I’ve agreed to be local counsel on a criminal case that Max is defending beginning Monday. Maybe you saw the case involving Senator Harrison’s son in the newspaper?”
“
Yes, I did. I also saw Mr. Gordon discussing it on TV Wednesday night. You’ll be assisting Mr. Gordon in trying that case?”
“No, Max won’t let me get my hands on any part of the case, will you, Max?”
“Hell, no. I’m not going to let a paper-shuffling, real estate lawyer screw up my case. I’m going to pay you... no, Senator Harrison is going to pay you, to just sit there. You’ve got only one thing I need—a Georgia license. I’m going to rent it for a week. You don’t even have to take notes. Just stay awake and out of the way. But you, Jennifer, if you can cut a few classes, you might want to come down and see the show. You’ll see some things they don’t teach you in law school.”
“You won’t have to cut my Property class. This afternoon, I posted a ‘Class Canceled Notice’ for all my classes next week.”
“I’ll try to make it. It sounds exciting,” said Jennifer. She did not mention that she had another reason for wanting to attend the trial.
“You better get there early,” said Gordon. “There’s going to be a crowd. My cases always bring out a crowd—and the media. They all want a show, and they’ll get one.”
“Like the Patty Hearst case,” said Denis. “That was Max’s first case—the California trial of the century, until the O. J. Simpson spectacle. Now, I should go see how my guests and my band are doing. Max, take care of my date. And tell her about the Hearst trial.” Denis walked out to the patio.
“How long have you and Denis been dating?” Gordon asked as soon as Denis left.
Jennifer had been taken by surprise by Denis’s statement, “Take care of my date.” So he did consider this a date. How strange. When she received the invitation, she had no reason to consider it a date. She carefully considered how to respond to the question. It would surely embarrass Denis if she said this was not a date.
“This is our first date.” She hoped that would end the matter. It didn’t.
“I’m glad to see Denis dating. I knew him for almost two years in Chicago, and I don’t recall him dating anyone there. And I’ve seen him off and on since he moved back to Savannah and never heard him mention any lady friends. I know his dad would be happy. He bought a big part of Bonaventure Cemetery for his wife and himself—and what he also hoped would be the final resting place for Denis’s family. He told me....”
Jennifer broke in. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. “So you knew his dad? I understand he was quite a successful business man.”
“Yes, got to know him quite well. After his wife died, he planned a big monument on the Bonaventure plot.”
Her interruption did not work. She hoped the conversation would shift away from dating and cemeteries, but Gordon proceeded undeterred.
“It was going to be a memorial to her and the whole family. Had a big-name architectural firm design it but couldn’t get approval from the cemetery authorities to start construction. On Denis’s recommendation, Howard hired me to take it to court, if necessary. I spent a lot of time with Howard, and we had a lot of discussions about Denis. He was concerned that Denis would never have a family. Denis was their only child. Really disturbed him and his wife that Denis never brought any lady friends home.”
Jennifer could not believe this conversation. Were there not ethical rules about a lawyer revealing client conversations—personal and family secrets? And even if not unethical in a legal sense, where was his common decency and propriety? Discussing Denis’s dating habits in Chicago was downright tactless and crude. She wondered how someone so lacking in social graces could be so successful in the courtroom. Her life was now focused on becoming a trial lawyer, but if this is the character of a successful trial lawyer, maybe she should reconsider. She attempted once again to change the focus of the conversation.
“Tell me about the Patty Hearst case. Denis said that was your first case.”
“Denis is obsessed with the Patty Hearst case. But that’s another story.”
“Well, I’m not obsessed with it, but I am interested in it. I visited Hearst Castle one summer with my mom and dad. I learned quiet a bit about William Randolph Hearst and his family but not much about his granddaughter, Patty. I knew she had been kidnapped and later tried and convicted for joining in with the kidnappers in a bank robbery, but I didn’t know any of the details. I thought I might learn something when I visited Hearst Castle, but there was nothing written about it in the tour literature, and nothing was said about it by the tour guides. I always wondered about her trial. So tell me about it.”
“Denis is correct that the Patty Hearst trial was my first case. But I was only on the periphery. F. Lee Bailey was the lead trial attorney, and he had his own permanent team. I was involved with him, if you can call it that, only for that one trial as a research assistant. That was in 1976. I had just graduated from law school. I didn’t sit at counsel table, but I had a reserved seat in a row just behind it. When they needed quick research on an issue, they would hand me, or some other research flunky, a note, and off we would go.”
“How did you get that job, research assistant for F. Lee Bailey?”
“Personally asked for it... a couple weeks before the trial. Just walked up and told him I was a recent law school graduate, a hell of a good researcher, and would work on the case for free, and full time. All I asked was to be in the courtroom to observe when the court was in session.”
“You just walked up to F. Lee Bailey and said that? And the job was yours?”
“Actually, I said it to Albert Johnson, his associate. I rarely saw Bailey except in the courtroom. He was spending a lot of time flying off in his plane to Reno when he wasn’t in trial. I got my research assignments from Johnson. And he got me on the payroll after he saw some of my research. And why not? I was damn good, and it was not money from his pocket. Patty’s dad gave them a healthy budget.”
“And they lost. Why do you think the defense lost the case?” Jennifer was pleased that the conversation had left Denis’s personal life and Bonaventure cemetery behind. She was beginning to enjoy the conversation.
“Several reasons, starting with the defense strategy.”
“Defense strategy? What was it?”
“Bailey’s theory was that Patty had been ‘brainwashed’ after she was abducted by the SLA—the Symbionese Liberation Army. He set out to prove she was suffering from ‘Stockholm syndrome’... that she was so utterly dependent on her captors, she became emotionally attached to them. Kind of like a helpless newborn baby becoming attached to its mother. Under this theory, Bailey would have to convince the jury that Patty was never a free agent, not even when she held that assault rifle while robbing a bank some two and a half months after she was kidnapped. Did you ever see that photo—Patty with that assault rifle slung over her shoulder inside the bank?”
“Yes. I recall a photo like that.”
“The prosecution had dozens of similar photos and videos to support their argument that she wasn’t brainwashed, including a video of her action during the bank robbery. And there was that message she sent describing one of her captors as ‘the gentlest, most beautiful man I’ve ever known.’ Hell, I didn’t see how those photos and videos proved anything. They cut both ways. But to prove his theory, Bailey had to put her on the witness stand and have her describe the abuse she suffered. That included sexual abuse. It was a humiliating experience, and the cross-exam made it worse. It was blistering. She took the fifth forty-two times. When a defendant gets on the stand and takes the fifth—bye-bye defendant.”
“What could the defense have done differently?”
“Plead guilty to some minor offense and get it over with. Patty Hearst had a lot of sympathy going for her before trial. After all, there was no question that she was forcefully kidnapped from her apartment. No question about that. She probably could have struck a deal without jail time. That would have been my advice, had they asked... but, of course, they didn’t. I was a lowly researcher, fresh out of law school. But if you go to trial, then you fight like a hungry bear and
stay on it twenty-four seven.”
“But that didn’t happen?”
“It did happen, but the hungry bear was the prosecutor, Browning. He left the courthouse each day to prepare for the next day’s trial. Bailey left each day for who knows where. Flying to Reno was a good bet. He gave a short, rambling closing argument to end it, and Patty didn’t have a chance. She always believed that his closing argument sealed her doom. When he got up to argue, his hands were shaking, and she suspected he had been drinking. Then, he spilled a glass of water on his crotch, and as he stood there facing the jury, it looked like he had peed in his pants. You think the jury could listen to anything he was saying with that view? She got seven years, commuted to twenty-two months by Jimmy Carter.”
“Did you work on her appeal?”
“Hell, no, and I didn’t ask. I just got out of town as fast as I could. That was a sorry-ass defense and a sorry-ass result, and I didn’t want to be associated with it any longer. Besides, I had a nice job offer waiting in Chicago. I needed to get there fast so I could start studying for the Illinois bar exam. I passed that one, first shot. Took Ohio next and, a year later, New York. Passed them on first try, too. Never took Georgia—that’s why I need Denis. I try cases all over the United States, mostly criminal cases. Last year the New York Times referred to me as ‘the most peripatetic trial lawyer in the country.’ Had to look it up. Thought they might be libeling me.”
Gordon stopped just long enough to laugh at his own joke.
“But they were right. Look at me... here I am in Savannah, getting ready for a trial on Monday that I had never heard of until last weekend when I was home in Chicago. Week after next, I’ll be in Miami for a weeklong cocaine trafficking case, and following that, I’ll be in Albany trying a... hell, I’m not sure what I’ve got in Albany. I think it’s some politician caught with kiddy-porn on his computer. It doesn’t matter—I try ’em all. I do all the work in the courtroom, but I’ve got a gaggle of assistants that get them ready. Got a team already on site in Miami. Flew another team down to Savannah on Wednesday for this one, which I’m going to enjoy. These small-town prosecutors don’t know what to expect when they hear I’m coming, and when they find out, it’s too late.”
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