She made an assessment of the damages as she went along. The place was in the height of neglect, a sign which she attempted to ignore as she set about straightening it. It needed things, that was apparent, and more attention than she could give it at the moment, as preoccupied as she was and–dare she think it?–as depressed as she was feeling. The best she had to offer it for the time being was some organization.
She applied herself to that task, by evening having made enough progress to call it a day. By then there were a only few piles left in the hallway, personal items that didn’t belong to either her or Helaine. These had clearly outlived their usefulness, she admitted without remorse, and she threw them into the trash along with the entire contents of the refrigerator.
She had come across very few of Helaine’s things. That didn’t surprise her too much. It had been a long time since the woman had actually lived there. She dwelt on that for the very first time as she wondered what she was supposed to do with them.
Her memory of the events that led up to Helaine moving out lay shrouded in dusty cobwebs she wasn’t too anxious to disturb. There was a cedar closet in the back room, she remembered instead, that Helaine had once used for storage. She could stash the stuff in there for safekeeping, get it out of her sight until she could stand to see them again.
It was in the closet that Sharon Chambers had her breakdown. It happened in the darkness when her hand brushed against something soft and sleek, a sensation she recognized immediately.
She had worn that coat the day she had met Helaine Kristenson. A floor-length mink. Helaine had worn it, too, with nothing on underneath. That was the first time Sharon had made love to her. Seven years ago.
That’s like a lifetime when you’re only thirty. She pulled the string on the overhead light and stared at it in disbelief. It hung like a dark ghost in the corner, as shiny as the day Helaine had bought it, as perfect as that perfect first night when she had lay her down in it. Here in the waterfront flat. Where Helaine had lived.
Where they both had lived till…oh yes, she remembered it now and felt it in her heart.
In her heart there was a tearing sensation. That had to be her heart, she thought, or perhaps even her stomach. There was a taste in her mouth. Old blood. Bitter. No, it wasn’t her stomach. It was her heart. She had the sense that it was being ripped from where it belonged. It felt pulled like a muscle. She had pulled a muscle once on the runway. The heart is a muscle that has to be exercised. That’s what Dr. Kristenson used to say. Or what? Was she dying? There was a hard lump in her throat. She put her hand to her chest and with the other gripped the fur coat by the collar. She could picture the woman in it. The creamy soft flesh, the beautiful body. This was the precious skin she had left behind. She was gone. The pain was moving up into her jaws. She felt them trembling uncontrollably and she knew she was going to cry. The empty coat hanging there like brand new. She had left Helaine here beside it, but she was gone. If she cried it would ruin her eyes, not just her makeup. Her eyes. Her eyes. She could remember that night so vividly. Those green eyes. How could this coat be so precious? How could it be of so little value to Helaine that she would leave it, leave it hanging like a spirit from the past for her to find? There were tears now, hot as blood. That’s what Sharon believed they were. Must be her blood she tasted in her mouth, must be her blood running out of her eyes, must be her blood gushing down her face onto her clothes and dampening the coat she clung to like a child.
Must be all of her blood, judging from how much of it there was. And from the terrible pain in her heart.
_____
It wasn’t because he was a fan of the super-model that prompted Robert Keagan to keep a Sharon Chambers scrapbook. And it wasn’t because he was sentimental.
He added the recent headliner concerning the resolution of the LA county affair and thumbed through the prior entries with a scowl. Indiscretion. The woman had made a career of it. He closed the book with a thud and put it back on the shelf with his other reference guides. Now she expected to collect fringe benefits.
If necessary, he would present the file to Helaine and force her to pen her thoughts in it. Submit the tragic
“diary” to the jury. Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen: one broken heart. She’d have to go along with it.
He had allowed two weeks to pass without notifying the prosecuting attorneys that he would be the attorney of record for the defendant. Let the bad guys sweat it, he reasoned. No use in the good guys coming off panicked, even if they were. Besides, he was in no rush to join the issue, knowing from years of experience that there were hungry reporters hiding under their rocks, eagerly waiting to sink their teeth into the doctor’s official response to Ms. Chambers’ tasty allegations. It would be a feeding frenzy. Intermeddlers.
They were insatiable. Robert had decided not to delve too deeply with Helaine about that phase of litigation.
He didn’t want to trouble her with its inevitability.
His first priority had been to pinpoint and quash all the peek-a-boo crap taking place on the sidelines and get some eyes of his own watching the streets. And while he felt like a cad doing it, nevertheless, he felt obliged to assign some peepers to the newlyweds as well, mostly because he hated surprises. Word now was that the coast was clear and all’s quiet on the waterfront. While waiting on that determination he had used his time to compile a shopping list of do’s and don’ts. Every one of those items had to be crossed off before he would consider himself ready to spar with Sharon’s attorneys. It was a long list, most everything on it routine.
_____
Hollisen, Hollisen and Goetz. All dead, but still raising hell in the legal world. And representing super-model Sharon Chambers. Willard Hathaway Esq., chief counsel for the plaintiff.
“Hi, Willie, Robert Keagan here, Chambers V. Kristenson et al. What? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Nah, I haven’t had time to go through it all. Need more time to respond. I know, but I’m busy. No, not really, Willie. Oh, I’m sure she is. What? Nope, don’t know who Jane Doe is–probably a figment of the plaintiff’s imagination judging by this work of fiction I got in front of me. Yes, I really believe that. Pure fiction, as difficult reading as Mein Kempf, Willie. No, I truly doubt that. Uh, it’s neither love nor war, I can assure you.
What I think? It’s pathetic is what it is. Well, you don’t have to say you agree with me, we’re both reasonable men. Huh? That she knows her very well? We neither admit nor deny that. I think we have a bad line. No, we neither admit nor deny that, too. No, I’m not calling her a liar. Yes, generally. It’s all specious, Willie. Ten more days. No, five’s not enough, I just got it this morning. At first blush? Well, it fails to state a cause of action for starters. Mm-hmm. Lack of jurisdiction, no merit, the works. Oh, I disagree. Yah, delusional and incoherent. We just can’t make any sense of it, Willie. What? Oh, you wrote it? Well, what do you want from me? The substance? Yeah, we understand the substance. Clever but bald, Willie. So? So? And your client is no Snow White, I’m sure you know. Nah, you can’t say that, wait till the jury sees my client. What do you mean by that? That’s a bald-faced lie and you know it. Of course. Why don’t you ask her about Italy? Oh, really? And what about the stuff going down in LA? Is that ancient history, too? Yah! I think it’s all relevant and I’m sure the jury will, too. Hmm? Infidelity? That’s very funny, Willie. You hear me laughing, right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, still laughing and that’s what the whole wide world will be doing when they hear about this.
What, gave her permission? I doubt my client would do that. Yeeaauh…also a bit too kinky to be believed.
She did? Gave her permission? I said, I don’t think so. Well, like I said before, delusional. What? Well, that’s going to be hard for your client to prove. No, I’m not saying that at all. Judging from all this, looks like you’ve got a psychopath on your hands. Yeah, I really do. Well, you say loose cannon and I say psychopath, let’s call the whole thing off. No, I wouldn’t expect that you would. The po
int? Actually I was just calling for more time to answer and to tell you to stop following my client. Oh, c’mon Willie…what about the photograph? Yeah, we did. I think it’s unethical. For real? Well, then who did? Okay, so then I’ll have to put it this way: If ANYONE bothers my client, her friends, family, colleagues, associates, employees, agents, representatives, or subsidiaries thereof…we’ll throw their asses in jail quicker than you can say but. Good, I’m glad to hear it. Oh, is that right? You better watch her then. Sure. Understandable, but it can’t happen again or I’ll move for an order of protection and run straight to the six o’clock news with it. Who? I’ve already said I don’t know the woman. Theory? Probably passed in front of the lens by accident. No. Sorry. I don’t know that, either. I’m sorry if you don’t, it saddens me to think you don’t find me credible anymore. A friend of my client? Well, you’ll have to ask that when the time comes, because as far as I know she doesn’t know her.
She’s not a liar, Willie. Yah! Oh, I object! Yah! Look here, your client has a criminal record, now. Well, we’re very concerned about that. No, no, no, I’m just saying keep her away from mine. Oh, yes I do. Very good cause for concern and you know it. Well, that’s fine and we send our thank yous in advance. Yup. No problem. Uum…I don’t think so. I think we’ve covered just about everything. Yeah? Oh, don’t worry, Willie.
Sure. Sure. Yep, you’ll be hearing from us. What? You betcha. And say hi to Martha. Very well, thank you.
Oh, not too bad, busy these days, never see you at the club anymore. Just Thursdays? I guess that explains it.
Sounds it, like two ships that cross in the night. Yep. I sure will. Hey…thanks for the ten days. (click)
“Sonofabitch,” Willard Hathaway muttered under his breath. He choked off the team’s laughter with a virulent expression. Ms. Chambers had informed him Robert Keagan was a close friend of Dr. Kristenson.
“She’s got that purebred pitbull defending her,” he announced, standing up and walking to the door. Keagan was bad luck. He hadn’t won a single case against him. “Someone get a hold of our talented client and tell her to call off her ball-breakers or he’ll have us all in the slammer by week’s end. Wouldn’t that be pretty?” he said to his shoes. He grasped the door handle like a grenade. “Try to impress upon Ms. Chambers that she is not a free agent in this matter,” he added, preparing to slam the door. Nobody dared to move while there was a chance he hadn’t finished speaking. “Do it now, I said!”
_____
Attorney Stanley Kandinsky is sharp. If compared to an animal, as people are wont to do sometimes, he looks just like a hawk. It’s his lean physique and chiseled features, the low hairline, the dark and permanently scrutinizing eyebrows, a pair of piercing and unblinking brown eyes, almost black really. He’s one of those people you can’t imagine sleeping. Not that he ever seems sleepless or tired, but rather that he doesn’t need to sleep at all. He is constantly alert.
They say “Stan can” when they recommend him to someone who needs something hushed up. They call him Mr. Hush-it-up. That’s what he does.
Robert Keagan says that Stanley Kandinsky is the most important lawyer who ever lived, next to Abraham Lincoln. Nobody really knows what he means by that, but everyone agrees that Stanley’s indispensable, whereas the same consensus, unfortunately, did not exist for Mr. Lincoln.
“Heads up, Stan.”
“I’ve already heard the buzz. Who’s Jane Doe?”
“Nah, skip that detail for now. But make a reservation for her just in case.”
“Important?”
“Yeeaaaauhh…yes.”
“Someone I know?”
“Mmmm-maybe.”
“Enough, Robert. You sound like you’re choking to death. When will I hear from her?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling. Very soon, I’d say.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. There’s no merit to the suit, from what I know.”
“None, across the board. It’s legalized blackmail. We’ll tag-team this like those other ones. I’ll speak to her father if necessary. That’ll guarantee it.”
“And that’s someone I know?”
“Afraid so. We’ll get to that when we have to.”
“You’ve piqued my interest now.”
“Good. There’s just one catch, Stan.”
“What could that be?”
“The gravamen. It’s not exactly about money.”
“Not about money? What then?”
“Erruhhh…some people like to call it love. I call it revenge.”
“That’s going to complicate things, I’m afraid.”
“Always does. Talk to you soon, Mr. Kandinsky.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Keagan. I hope you feel better.”
_____
“It’s Mr. Keagan, Dr. Kristenson. You want to take it in the office?”
“Yes. Switch it there, Jen.”
“Helaine?”
“Good afternoon, Robert. How are things going?”
“Going. Weekly update. It would appear that Sharon sent the photograph. So it’s not her lawyers tailing you. I’ve warned them to put an end to it anyway, so we’ll see. Being good?”
“This is unbearable. How much longer will it take?”
“When’s the last time you talked?”
“I don’t want to just talk.”
“When, Helaine?”
“Yesterday, briefly.”
“Is anyone following her, did she say?”
“She didn’t, no. I don’t think she would tell me anyway. Wouldn’t want to worry me, I suspect. I need to see her, Robert. What’s the point of all this if I lose the woman?”
“I don’t think you’re going to lose her. Of course, you might if Sharon smears her name all over the dailies. It’s going to be fine. Things are moving nicely. Trust me.”
“Robert…I already knew that Sharon had sent the photo.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I received one just like it a few days after you got yours. Half of one, I should say. The other half, the part with Lydia’s face, was ripped off. Gone.”
“Okay. Not good. You should have told me right away, but hopefully I’ve taken care of all that. If they can’t control their client they’ll drop suit. That’s the way it works. So, how’s the new place, got yourself settled in yet?”
“No, still living out of boxes. Piano’s in the hallway waiting for an inspiration. The bed’s together, though. Plenty of inspiration there.”
“Atta girl. We’ll send the bad guys an answer next week that would scare flies from carrion…sharks from chum…vultures from roadkill…shall I continue, or are you going to make your selection?”
“Do I have to?”
“Want to see the dinner menu, instead?”
“Is this really worth it, Robert? Hiding?”
“Helaine? You want this settled, right?”
“I want it to go away. I want…I know you know what I’m going to say so I won’t bother to be repetitive.”
“You need your batteries recharged, I know.”
“It feels like Sharon’s winning already. Got out of that other thing pretty easy. Community service?”
“Every dog has his day. She won’t win in the long run, I can assure you. Not if I can help it.”
There was nothing Helaine could think of to say to that.
“Beautiful weather for late September. Looking forward to the weekend. We’ll have some fun in the country, okay, Helaine? Just the three of us.”
_____
Dr. Kristenson gone. Lydia gone. Checkers gone–not that the waiter missed him. Harry scanned the room. Still plenty of others to serve.
_____
Work. Work. Work. And no play. Lydia was worried she was becoming a dull girl. She looked over her shoulder a lot these days and avoided her windows. She avoided being alone in the elevators. She avoided her father and his invitations to the club or for lunch at a nearby restaurant. She visited with Delilah but avoided her inquiries.
She avoided Frank’s Place like the plague and stayed away from all the other gin joints in town.
As agreed, she avoided seeing Helaine. She avoided calling Helaine. She avoided writing Helaine. She avoided thinking of Helaine. Of her eyes. Of her lips. Of her limbs. Of the scent of her hair. The feel of it on her skin. The feel of her body next to hers. The sound of her laughter. Her voice. Sharon.
_____
“You’re in love, I just know it.”
“Mom, why would you say that?”
“Because you never call otherwise.”
“That can’t be true. Is that true or are you just trying to make me feel guilty?”
“Why would I bother trying to do that, honey? Making you guilty has had no beneficial effect on my life. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing special. I just called to say hello to my dear sweet mom whom I miss and haven’t seen in ages and haven’t talked to in months and who I just felt terribly lonesome for. That is, if she doesn’t mind.” She listened to the long distance buzz on the line as her mother quietly digested the compliment. It seemed to be taking her an awfully long time to get it all down. A crackling noise filled the receiver, a scoff.
“No, really. Why are you calling?”
Lydia blew air back. “Okay, I’m in love, Marilyn.”
“There. You see how you are? So tell me about him.”
Lydia switched the phone to her other ear. “Uum…well…are you sitting down?”
_____
He didn’t give a rip if the Chambers witch fired him since he was going to terminate her case anyway. No, he had never noticed the blue-eyed woman before, no they had never been together on any other occasion, no he had not been able to learn the woman’s name. The model had howled at him like a demon from hell.
She was more than he had bargained for. And now word on the street was that someone important was hunting down the major asshole who had taken the pictures of Dr. Kristenson with her new lover. He didn’t know much but he knew he was the major asshole they were looking for. Trouble. Major trouble. He had recognized its face the moment it had first slinked into his office and should have taken heed. Thank goodness it had all been cash transactions. I’m out of here, Lawrence Taft, decided. He took the money and ran.
The Secret Keeping Page 24
