A Girl's Best Friend

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “So that’s good news, right? I mean, beside the fact that you were wrong. We didn’t go forward with it, so no harm, no foul.”

  “Except to say that my law firm and I are parting ways. Lemur will be by this afternoon to be introduced to you. He’s taking on your case. Your father will have one Lemur, and you’ll have the other at your disposal.”

  My smile disappears. “What does that mean exactly? Is there a reason you’re just now relating that you’re not my lawyer anymore? What are you even doing here?”

  “I was fired, but quite frankly, I don’t know if your father had anything to do with it. So I’m here until I’ve been dismissed by you. I’d been in a little heat after the secretary-stripper fiasco anyway. When I broke the engagement, she filed a sexual harassment suit that made it hard on the firm.”

  I feel the cool air hit my tongue as my mouth dangles open.

  “I made a mistake on your case, and they claim it was that of an amateur, and therefore not only will I not be promoted to partner, but I’ll be finding out what it means to collect unemployment for a while.”

  “Why are you here again?” I can’t believe someone would be here when they had just been fired.

  “Because I said that I would be. I didn’t want you to open the door to Lemur’s stark face and think your lawsuit was in the toilet. They’re right, and they’ll handle the case with perfection. I just didn’t want you to think I’d abandoned you, Morgan. You’re entitled to select your own lawyer, and quite frankly, I’m here hopeful you’ve made your choice, and you’re satisfied with it.”

  “I don’t want Lemur and Lemur. They sound like an exhibit at the San Francisco Zoo, not a set of lawyers.”

  “They’re the best, Morgan. Your dad is a big client, and they won’t let him falter.” George stands up, and I’m face to face with those abs again–well, really just his business shirt, but my imagination flourishes. What is wrong with me? “That’s not true. I’m the best.”

  He starts to pack away the papers. I stand up and meet those forested eyes as he dons his matching jacket.

  I want to say a million things. I thought George was a part of my life for the next year at least, and now he’s telling me that I have to make the choice. Haven’t I made nothing but wrong choices? And my history wasn’t even as salacious as a stripper and a sexual harassment suit. I’m just too afraid to make this decision on my own. It’s too big. It means too much, and trusting this man . . . this man who showed up at my doorstep when he knew he wasn’t really retained by me. . . . It sends chills up my spine.

  “Will you come to the indictment hearings tomorrow? I’m not ready to make a choice. I’ll pay you to be there. I don’t know how, but as a consultant. My father won’t be there. I just want to know someone’s on my side. Lemur and Lemur can’t say anything about my hiring a consultant as well as them.”

  “I wish I could Morgan, but you have to hire me on your own or this is considered stealing a client. I can’t be with you tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lemur is your attorney now. Any witnesses won’t be allowed to have an attorney present, so it’s a small group. Maybe about twenty people on the jury and the FBI witnesses. It will be over before you know it, and I just think you’re not guilty, so you’re better off facing the jury than forfeiting your rights. The grand jury will have to approve any charges. Since the prosecutor has already charged you, tomorrow is a preliminary hearing. Lemur will get the opportunity to defend you.” He slides the last folder into the briefcase. “Don’t leave the apartment today. Lemur should be here soon.” I nod, my eyes closing, and I feel his palm come to my cheek. I put my hand over it, holding it there briefly. All I have to say is that he’s hired, yet I can’t get my mouth to form the words.

  “Thanks for all your work.”

  George’s phone rings, and he answers it immediately after seeing the number. His expression immediately changes. “I have to go.” He runs from the apartment.

  I walk into my bedroom and slam the door. Just once in my life, I want to meet someone who doesn’t turn his back on me and leave me to face the consequences alone. I suppose that’s entirely too much to expect from a lawyer.

  chapter 32

  Hi, Daddy.” I see my dad lying in the hospital bed, and my first thought is how strong and perfectly normal he looks. But as he speaks it’s a different story.

  “Princess,” he moans. I reach over the bed and kiss his forehead.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask him, careful to not show any sign of emotion other than the crisp kiss he requires.

  “I thought you were warned not to come here.” His full voice is back intact now, and I stand back.

  “You’re my father. I’m not going to let a lawyer tell me I can’t see my father.”

  “I hired us the best firm in the business. You’re going to do what they tell you. Now go on, get out of here. If George told you, that’s good enough for Lemur and Lemur.”

  I stand up straighter. “No, I’m not going.”

  “Morgan Malliard, this is not a joke.”

  “Am I laughing?”

  “You need to go home and be with Gwen. She has the designers coming over, and I’m sure she’d like your input on the changes.”

  I’m sure she would. “Daddy, there won’t be any changes. The lawyers said the penthouse will be up for collateral if these indictments come down. We’re not going to be able to do anything to the house. And we can’t buy anything else and move, so we should brace for some harsh treatment by the coop board. George quit, you know. The Heffers, or whatever they’re called, are handling the case.”

  “That’s true about the co-op. I’ll tell Gwen when she visits. I had that kid fired. Do you know he was trying to get you to turn on your father?”

  I literally start to tremble when he tells me this. I’m looking at this man who is a total stranger to me. He’s lying there in the hospital bed, and I see just another patient. I’m trying to remember to breathe. My father is drowning under a sea of his own dishonesty, and rather than setting me free, he’s pushing me under to get himself air.

  Narcissistic, selfish, greedy monster who cares only for his own image.

  “I am made in Christ’s image. Not yours,” I say, practically spitting the words through my clenched mouth. Not probably the best way to use Scripture, but I’m struggling here. “You‘re the one who fired George?”

  “He’s just a kid. Thinks we’re better on our own, but that isn’t the case. They’re more likely to go after one of us that way.”

  “You think they’ll go after me?” I ask.

  “Morgan, we don’t want them going after either one of us. One for all, and all for one.”

  “A cord of three strands isn’t quickly broken,” I say, quoting Ecclesiastes.

  “Right. Right.”

  “The third strand being God, of course.”

  “No, no,” he holds up a palm. “I am not getting into the religious discussion again. You believe whatever you want, I won’t bother you, but you leave me out of it.”

  “If only you’d been so kind to me.” It’s the first time I can remember ever really attacking my father and it leaves a sick feeling in my stomach.

  He wrinkles his forehead, “What?”

  “I am not your property, Dad. I never was, and as for this lawsuit? I’ll give away whatever I have to give to make it right with the government, but I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of. I won’t turn on you, Dad, but I won’t take the blame either.”

  “You’re not going to have to give anything back. It’s mine, Morgan. I earned it fair and square.”

  “It’s yours? Or it’s ours?”

  “Ours. You know what I meant.”

  I look into his eyes—the dark, empty eyes of a caged animal—and I wonder how I ever thought this man cared about me. Just like Andy, I only saw what I wanted to see, and my troubles started long before a fake Christian rock star. They were all about the fantasy of crea
ting a father who actually loved me.

  Parents love their children. It’s just the way it is. Unless those parents love something far more deeply. Sometimes it’s drugs. Sometimes it’s another woman, or money or power. But sometimes, parents love themselves so much they are absolutely incapable of seeing people as anything more than an extension of themselves—a rung on the ladder to lift them ever higher on their own great throne.

  My expression falters, and I think about the words my mother wrote to me: “Get an education. Make your own money. Don’t let them break you.”

  “You haven’t broken me,” I say to my father.

  “That’s right. We Malliards get right back on the horse.”

  “And we get thrown, yet again.”

  I go to the nearby sink, and I wet my hands, applying soap and lathering my fingers full of antiseptic bubbles. I manage to pull off the precious blue diamond ring, and I set it on the sink while I dry my hands, and then the ring. I approach my father’s bed, and my heart is in my throat as I think about life as I know it being over. The money being such a very small part of it.

  I hold out the ring to him.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks gruffly.

  “Give it to your fiancée. I understand she doesn’t have a ring yet.”

  “I was going to give it to her Saturday night at the club, so everyone could see it.” He starts to get excited, thinking about the spectacle. “The women at the club will turn green when they see what I’ve got in store for Gwen, and if at least 25 percent of the men there on Saturday night aren’t in my store by Monday, I wish them the best going home to their wives.”

  I keep holding up the ring, but he’s pushing it back towards me. “Take it, Dad.”

  “I can’t take it Morgan. I’m in a hospital.”

  “I’ll give it to a nurse then. I’ll bet one of them would enjoy it.” I start to turn from the room.

  “You can’t give it to a nurse. It belongs to the store. We can’t just write off that kind of money.” He starts to get agitated, and I worry I’ve upset him too much. I grab the ring in my hand.

  “See you at home, Dad.”

  “Yeah, yeah. And don’t go acting crazy because you think the sky is falling. I know the tax laws like the back of my hand. The back of my hand!”

  He’s still shouting it at me as I leave the room.

  When I’m able to notice my surroundings again, I’m face to face with the hospital white board, with patients’ names scrawled haphazardly in the lines. I stare at it absently, until. . . . My focus hones in on the name “George Gentry” and my heart begins to pound. I look up the room number—248—and I start to walk down the hallway, feeling the wall as I take in each room number.

  252

  250

  248

  The door is closed when I get there, and I wonder what possible excuse I might come up with if I walk into this room and discover an old man who may or may not be George Gentry’s father. He did get an urgent phone call. What if it was about something bad and George’s father is in serious condition, like my own father?

  After a few paces back and forth outside the doorway, I close my eyes, whisper a short prayer, and knock on the door.

  “George!” I say, seeing my former lawyer hugging a child, who seems about four, with wispy blond hair, cherub cheeks tinged with color, clear blue eyes, and the unmistakable expression of Down’s Syndrome. His eyes are red from crying, and he takes sharp intakes of breath and cuddles closer to George.

  “You came to see your father,” George accuses.

  I just nod.

  “I knew you would. You don’t seem the type to take direction very well.” To my surprise, he smiles.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, certain it’s none of my business.

  “My son had a little accident.”

  “Your son?” I feel myself swallow hard at the thought that George Gentry surprised me yet again. There are a thousand questions racing through my mind, not the least of which is “Huh?” But I see from the steel in George’s eye as he watches my reaction that now is not the time. So I just take a breath and nod. A son, I say over and over again in my mind. He has a son.

  George loosens a bit and smiles down at his boy, who’s still holding on tightly. “This is George Gentry the fifth, so if you think my mother isn’t very creative, you’re really going to have an issue with me.”

  “Is he all right? What happened to him?”

  “He’s a bit clumsy sometimes, and he took a little tumble. His bones are fragile, so they brought him here as a precaution, but he’s just scared. He is a trooper, aren’t you, Georgie?”

  The little boy nods, and the sight of the two so obviously in awe of one another makes my heart leap.

  “He’s in daycare?” I ask, wondering how on earth George manages a career and his son.

  George looks down. “My mom watches him during the day. She went to get some coffee. You just missed her. I think Georgie gave her the scare of her life today. No more jumping off the landing, right?”

  I come closer to little Georgie, and take in his sweet expression and babylike features. “He’s gorgeous.” I allow my hand to touch his cheek, and I’m rewarded with a toothy grin. “Just like his father.”

  “You see what I mean about being an optimist? Sometimes, our biggest mistakes give us our greatest rewards.”

  “The fiancée?”

  He nods and stands up, lifting Georgie onto a table. “They’re just about to check us out of here. You up for some dinner?”

  “Me?” I put my hand on my chest.

  “The four of us: Georgie, my mom, and me and you, of course. We’d love to have you if you aren’t too busy, and now that I’m not your lawyer, you can get that good meal you’ve been craving.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “We’ll celebrate me losing my job.”

  “And my last night of true freedom.”

  I slide my father’s ring back on my right hand so I don’t lose it, and then I ask if I can pick up Georgie from the table.

  “What do you think, big man? You want to see Miss Morgan?” He warns me, “He’s getting heavy to hold.”

  Georgie grins widely, and I pick him up, “I can handle it. All that time at Square One wasn’t for nothing.” I stare into the most beautiful, innocent blue eyes I have ever seen. I feel my eyes prick with tears as I think about his purity, and the depth of love George so obviously has for him.

  “He likes you.”

  “I bet he’s like his dad, and probably sees the best in most people.”

  George’s mother comes back into the room, blowing on her steaming hot cup of coffee. She looks like George, with dark brown hair tinged with gray and dark brown eyes. She pauses in surprise when she sees me, but when she notes my emotion, she smiles warmly.

  “He’s just like his daddy. Goes straight for the pretty girls, don’t you, Georgie?”

  “Mom, this is Morgan Malliard.”

  “The lawsuit girl?”

  The fiancée girl, the spinster of death, the daughter of denial, the ice princess . . . take your pick. I just nod and she does the strangest thing—she grabs a lock of my hair.

  “You’re much prettier in person. The papers don’t do you justice.”

  I just laugh.

  “I loved that wedding gown. You have to tell your best friend she’s a heck of a designer.”

  “She is, isn’t she?”

  “You hear my son got fired today?”

  I nod.

  “Did you have anything to do with that?” She narrows her gaze.

  “Probably. I sort of attract trouble like a lint roller.”

  Mrs. Gentry puts her arm around me. “Good, then we’ll get along just fine, honey.”

  George takes his son from me and sets him on the table, tying his shoes. The act is so simplistic, yet so beautiful all at once. When he’s finished, I reach out my hand to him, saying with my eyes how hopeful I am. Laying
out the fleece, and wondering if he’s been feeling the same thing as me. He clasps my hand tightly, and we look into one another’s eyes. This time, it’s not my imagination.

  The three of us walk out of the room, following his mother. I don’t take my eyes off of George, and I think to myself, sometimes our biggest mistakes give us our greatest reward.

  chapter 33

  You know that I’m unemployed, and I live with my mother.” George’s words make me laugh out loud, and his mother purses her lips.

  We’re at Denny’s. Fine dining and Georgie are not a good match, but he’s partial to the chicken dinosaurs with a side of ketchup, and I can’t say there’s anywhere I’d rather be at the moment. Tomorrow holds so much trepidation for me, and being in the mundane environment of Denny’s makes me forget I’m special. Either as a former diamond heiress or a possible grand-jury defendant. Tonight, I’m just Morgan Malliard eating a Swiss-mushroom burger at Denny’s.

  “You think unemployment scares me? Hah! As long as you’ve got under two wives, I think we should talk.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Mrs. Gentry says calmly. “You two think this is funny?”

  George and I meet each other’s smiles and laugh all over again. “Hmm. No job, living with his mama. You sound just like one of my former fiancés.” I shrug. “Is there a problem? Of course, you do realize that I’m under federal investigation, and am facing twenty-eight years in jail for wire fraud and illegal offshore accounting?” I raise an eyebrow.

  His mother is shaking her head, “Could we eat our dinner without this? You’re both giving me indigestion.”

  Georgie is happily marching his dinosaurs across the plate, then biting their heads off with vigor, leaving little headless chicken nuggets askew.

  “I’m sorry.” I breathe in deeply. “I’m just nervous, I suppose. Hearing your name associated with the term grand jury is a little daunting.”

  She puts her hand on mine, “I’m sure it is, honey.”

  No one knows what will happen tomorrow. I know my father’s lawyers won’t allow me to separate myself from him and the charges, for fear he’ll be sent up the river for a long time, and I just don’t think I could do it anyway. I don’t care how my father has always treated me, he doesn’t deserve to be abandoned.