I shot a look at Ellis, who shrugged and said, “His nickname, not mine.”
“Dr. Sven Morigi,” I said to Jordy.
“That’s what I said: Dirtbag Slime Mold Rug Guy.” Jordy exchanged a grin with Ellis. “Something’s not legit with him.”
“I appreciate your concern, but he’s a very well-respected bio engineer.”
“Yeah, that’s what the internets say, but they’re whack, like they say there’s no Sasquatch, when he lives just outside Duluth.”
I didn’t disagree, because I’d spent a really nice Thanksgiving at Sas’s wonderful lakefront home.
Jordy tossed his paper cup into a trash bin and said, “If you lift the top layer off Slime Mold Rug Guy and look beneath, it’s all wonky.”
“Jordy,” I said. “Please don’t tell me that Ellis has you hacking into sites to discredit my client. Dr. Morigi’s credentials are unassailable.”
“I haven’t done a thing,” Ellis said. “Jordy acted on his own.”
“Like I believe that,” I said, trying to smeer.
“Big E didn’t ask me to check, Jenny, and you’re right that this stuff is unsailable—it would sink like a bag of rocks. You gotta watch your back with Dirtbag Slime Mold Rug Guy.”
I glared at Ellis, then moved out of the way for the nurse, who was the same guy who’d let Shulky take Jordy to the roof.
The nurse skillfully removed Jordy’s IV and said, “He’s doing great this week. You can use the community room. No one’s there now.”
Jordy wanted to walk, but Ellis said, “Save your energy for the ladies, dude,” and helped him into a wheelchair.
As we made our way down the hall, Jordy said, “Tanya’s into smart guys. She dated a guy at Columbia so she could sit in on his classes. She wants to be an astrophysicist and she made me cupcakes for Valentine’s Day. She’s pretty and she likes to laugh.”
“She sounds great,” I said.
The community room had one low light on. The windows outside showed the sparkling skyline. I loved the Manhattan skyline even better when it was real and not a projected image in my underground bunker.
Ellis said, “Okay, I’ll see you later, Jordy.”
“E, you said you’d teach me to dance, and I need you to help me back to my room later.”
“I thought Jenny was going to teach you. Just don’t count on her to show for follow-up lessons.”
I stared so hard at the side of Ellis’s head that I thought he should feel my anger burrowing like a weevil through his brain. “I’m extremely reliable, Jordy. I can provide references. But someone has to actually be interested enough to call me, or I won’t know that he, um, needs a dance lesson.”
Ellis’s rough voice was cold. “What if someone wanted a dance lesson but was unable to call? A concerned teacher would try to find out why a student was absent.”
Jordy made a face. “Why do adults always talk in code? Yo, dying kid here! Am I going to have to call the Make-A-Wish Foundation because you two have issues?”
Ellis and I broke off our staring contest and looked at Jordy, who said, “You guys have to show me how it’s done, so, Big E, slow-dance with Jenny so I can watch your feet and stuff.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t want to dance with me,” Ellis said flatly.
“Why not? You’re acting like a complete dick, but I know you’re not a douche.”
I started laughing, and Ellis slowly smiled and said, “Jenny might disagree.”
He’d called me Jenny again!
Jordy was scrolling through his playlist. “I’m finding the right song. My uncle gave me this playlist of old-school stuff. Go ahead.”
Ellis breathed out loudly through his nose, an exasperated sound, and held out his arms. I stepped to him and put my hand in his large one, sending a current through me. My heart thumped faster when he placed his other hand on my back.
Jordy clicked on the music, and we heard the tinkly intro of a cover to “The Closer I Get to You.” I felt like I was in a motel lounge.
Ellis took a step to one side and I followed him, robotically.
My voice was pitched too high when I said, “The basic two-step is very easy, Jordy. Step together, step.” I could feel the heat from Ellis’s hand on my back. I smelled his woodsy aftershave. I saw his dark eyes shining in the dim room.
Then I heard a squeaking sound and began to turn, but Ellis kept hold of me.
The nurse was taking Jordy out of the room in his wheelchair. “Sorry, the doctor dropped by for his rounds and wants to check Jordy’s vitals. I’ll bring him right back.”
Ellis took another few steps and I followed him. “Jenny, I think we’ve been conned by a teenager.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like Amber and thinks I should be with someone taller.”
We kept dancing awkwardly, and I said, “Why doesn’t he like Amber?”
“She’s not exactly cuddly [significant pause] obviously. Why don’t you like her?”
“You’re assuming that I don’t. Do you think he’s coming back?”
“No idea. This song is awful.”
“The song you sang the other day was awful,” I said and felt the tension in his body. And that’s when the music player made a clicking sound, and then we heard the plaintive notes of an oboe.
I yanked back, but Ellis held on tight and pulled me close. “He’s not coming back,” I said, panicked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ellis said as the music swelled and Karen Carpenter’s pure contralto sang out the words that I’d cried to for months: “I fell in love with you before the second show…”
I hid my face against his shoulder so he wouldn’t see my anguish.
“You said you loved me, Gin.”
“You never called me!” My voice was muffled by his shirt. “We promised to call each other, and I called you and left a message, but you never called me. I waited and you never ever called.” I tried to stop the tears, but the music took me straight back to those lonely nights.
“Oh, babe,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you’d called and I didn’t have your number. The guys pranked me by stealing my phone, dunking it in liquid nitrogen, and then using it to skeet shoot.”
A puzzle piece fell into place. “That’s what ‘Forged by Fire’ meant about mischief pulling.”
He laid his head against mine, and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “Yes. I wrote all those songs for you because it was the only way I knew to find you. I looked for you at every show. I trolled fan sites hoping to see your name, and I checked the band’s mail compulsively. I roamed the halls of USC’s law school asking people if they knew Genevieve, until campus security told me not to come back.”
“UCLA. Jennifer.”
“You should have corrected me then.”
“I thought it was your East Coast accent, and most of the time you didn’t say my name. You said… other things.”
“Why didn’t you get in touch when you heard the songs, your songs?”
“I thought they were just songs. I thought Gin was anyone, any girl.”
He pulled back to look me in my face. My glasses were steamed up and smeared from my tears, and he took them off and set them on a ledge. “But, Gin, songs are everything. You weren’t any girl. You were the girl. You were everything.”
“I didn’t know…. I thought I was a weekend hookup.”
“No, you were the one who told me I was cataclysmic. You were the one who told me that I made others understand the excitement of science. It’s because of you that I didn’t go into high-tech law and started Manic Quantum Mechanics. You were the one who inspired my music. You’re the one, Gin, you’re the one.”
“You said you didn’t care anymore.”
“I lied. I care. I can’t stop caring.” He pulled me close again. “And now it’s too late.”
“Because you’re engaged to Amber.”
“Yes. I gave up hoping for you,” he said, and his hand dropped lower on
my back and he pulled me tighter to him.
My sexual brain was thinking: I want to bang him harder than the porch door.
My logical brain was thinking: Why is he telling me this at the very time that I’m leading the lawsuit against his pal and former drummer?
My ethical brain was thinking: It’s entirely wrong to rub up against an engaged man.
Logic won out, and I stepped away just as the song ended. “Ellis, I find it reprehensible that you’re using our past to manipulate me on the ReplaceMax case.” I grabbed my smeared glasses and put them on, which made everything blurrier, a metaphor for my situation.
“Are you that cynical?” he said angrily. “Of course you are. I can’t believe I was falling for your sweet lost nerd act again. Because if Quinty put you as lead on the case, it means you’re even harder and tougher than Amber, but at least Amber takes ownership of her ambition.”
“That sounds like love to me!” It didn’t make any sense, but I wasn’t in a courtroom, so it didn’t have to. “I hope you two have a wonderful life together in your stupid brownstone with your perfect kids, Tripper and Emily! Oh, and if you need a rhyme, I’ve got one for you that goes with bad luck! And my name is Jen. It’s always been Jen, and you might hear more clearly if your head wasn’t stuck so far up your ass.”
My anger and pain impelled me forward, and I ran for miles before descending to the tunnels of the subway. I couldn’t remember ever yelling at anyone like that. I couldn’t remember ever being that angry and not shifting into She-Hulk.
I really need to have some sessions with Rene, if only because I need to tell someone how much I hate hate hate Ellis Tesla.
WORDS AND PHRASES LEGALLY DEFINED
MAY 9
I’ve gone over the next day, May 3, a kazillion times. I’d spent the night tossing and turning, and resisting the urge to transform into She-Hulk, find Ellis, and beat him to a pulp. But I always tell clients, “Impulsive action is motivated by emotion, not reason, and the momentary satisfaction soon wears off, while more judicious behavior will have long-term benefits.” I kickboxed the punching bag until my arms and legs were shaking, which made me tired, but no less angry.
I fell into bed and had finally gone to sleep when my alarm went off.
My limbs felt heavy as I showered, dressed, and brushed my hair. I had dark shadows under my eyes, which reminded me of how Mavis’s eyes looked when I first met her. I should have visited Mavis last night instead of being ensnared in drama with horrible hateful Ellis.
I had a few spare minutes before I had to go to the courthouse, so I called the hospice. “Mavis Bertoli’s room, please.”
I heard the other end of the line click-click, and then a woman said dully, “This is Bobbie Bertoli.”
“Hi, Mrs. Bertoli. This is Jennifer Walters. I wanted to say hello to Mavis because I won’t be able to come to story time today.”
I heard a deep intake of air. A few seconds later, she said, “Mavis slipped into a coma a few hours ago. She’s not going to make it out.” Then there was another intake of air and a sob. “My poor baby’s battle is almost over.”
Then she hung up.
I bent over and gasped. I heard myself say, “I thought I had time.”
I don’t remember going to the courthouse. I just remember standing at the front of the witness box, and Max Kirsch was on the stand. That’s how insanely confident he and Ellis were that I had no chance of winning the case—there was no way Missy Christoph would have let him take the stand if he hadn’t insisted—and I wanted to wipe the self-righteous expression right off Max’s face. I would prove to Ellis that he was wrong… about everything.
I remember holding up an eight-by-ten of Mavis playing by a duck pond and asking: “Mr. Kirsch, were you aware that Mavis Bertoli, an eight-year-old recipient of a ReplaceMax heart, went into a coma this morning and is not expected to survive?” I remember the silence in the room, and how I felt hot tears running down my face and how I didn’t care that everyone saw me weeping.
My blood rushed through my veins, and Shulky raged inside me, wanted to get out and break things, hurt people, but I pressed her back down, and attacked the defendant with questions and facts, spitting them out so fast he didn’t have time to answer, reciting dates, test results, analysis from the AMA, doctors’ reports…
I was aware of Max dropping his head in his hands and sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” and then the judge slammed his hammer down and said, “I’m calling a recess. Counsel, chambers please,” and Genoa came to me and took me by the arm. I tasted the salt of my tears on my lips. My glasses were fogged and shapes moved in front of me and conversation sounded as if I was overhearing it through a wall and I was really all by myself in a room, alone and unable to help anyone, let alone Mavis.
I remember feeling numb as I watched Missy confer with Max and then come forward and say, “My client would like to settle for the full amount of your suit.”
I remember the blinding lights of cameras, and reporters shouting questions. I moved through them without speaking. I stepped away from Sven, who tried to embrace me before he was pulled away by Amber and back toward the reporters.
I remember walking by Ellis. Our eyes met, and I thought for one second that he understood my deep sorrow, but I also saw the fury in his expression.
I walked to the closest secret passageway and descended into my underground lair.
I routed my calls to Ruth and put my aPhone under a sofa cushion so I wouldn’t see it. I didn’t turn on the television or my computer. Food tasted like sawdust, and the artificial light in the room hurt my eyes. I changed the setting to dusk and let it remain there.
At some point, I called Quinty and asked for a leave of absence.
“Of course. You’ve earned it, Jennifer. Take a week or even two, and come back refreshed. I know this has been difficult for you.”
Eventually, I checked my messages. Bruce had called, so I sent him a text saying I’d contact him soon. Dahlia had left a dozen messages and told me she’d come whenever I needed her. Holden’s message said, “Congratulations, Jen, and I’m sorry about your little friend. Call me when you’re ready.”
I spent a day in bed with the blanket over my head. I spent the next several days working out. One night I shifted into Shulky, and she ran through the tunnels, pounding on the walls, and shouting her inchoate grief. She didn’t want to go to any parties.
I always tell my clients, “Think of your long-term plans. Don’t let one failure deter you from achieving your ultimate goals.” So I got up, took a shower, and got dressed. My ultimate goal was to help people, and I wouldn’t accomplish that by hiding in the dark.
When I walked into the QUIRC lobby, the receptionist grabbed the phone. Within seconds, all of the attorneys and staff were standing around and clapping. I gave one of those fake smiles that I used to use on Rene. Note to self: return Rene’s calls.
As I passed Fritz’s office, he said, “Great win, Jennifer!” and patted my back.
Fresh flowers were in my office. Donner was dressed in a wide-lapel suit with high-waisted bell-bottoms and an orange polyester shirt with a wide collar. His hair was picked out into a short Afro, and he was four inches taller in platform shoes. A sky-blue IBM Selectric typewriter had replaced the older one hooked to the computer.
He brought me a latte and asked, “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” Curiosity overcame my ennui, and I said, “Okay, I have to ask. Why did you skip ahead thirty years?”
He smiled slyly. “I keep slips of paper in a fish bowl at home. Every six months, I pick out one. Last week the paper said 1977. Genoa and I do the Hustle under a disco ball after dinner every night.”
Laughing felt great, as if a tight band around my lungs had been loosened.
I began going through my backlogged work. Dr. Stunning had called several times, and I was ready to call him back. Now I could appreciate him truly, because he wasn’t a major ja
ckass, nor was he a douche, nor had he lied to me or tried to manipulate me.
“Sven, hi, this is Jennifer. I apologize for being out of touch.”
“Don’t concern yourself. Quinty explained that you were taking a respite. I’m delighted you called, though. I’d really like you to accompany me to the International Bioethicists Gala tonight.”
“Oh.” I had somehow forgotten that we were celebrating a win.
“My dear, I think it will do you good to spend time with men and women who can comprehend the difficulty of upholding ethical standards in medicine. I know they would like to meet the woman who set an example for all bioengineering companies that greed at the expense of humanity will never be tolerated. Please say you’ll come.”
“Of course, I’ll come. I’ll meet you there. Tell me when and where.”
“Tamborlaine Towers at seven p.m., in the penthouse ballroom.”
A gala meant dressing up. Even though Sven had told me he came from humble beginnings, he seemed like the kind of cultured man who dated ladies who wore tiaras to soirees and jodhpurs to ride to hounds. I didn’t own any tiaras, but I did have access to a follicular genius.
After work, I went straight to Arrested Youth and looked through the front window at D chatting to a client as she removed the foil from a strand of hair and set her back under a dryer.
When I went in, Dahlia saw my reflection in her mirror, whirled around, and shrieked, “Jen!”
She hugged me so tight I said, “Let go—you’re going to squish the insides out of me like a Twinkie.”
“OMG, I was beginning to think I’d have to file a missing persons report!” She asked her manager to finish with the client and dragged me to the break room. “What is going on with you? Why have you gone AWOL and MIA?”
“I couldn’t cope with Mavis, the little girl’s, situation so I stayed in my underground lair, worked out, and ate cereal for every meal.”
“Did you watch sappy movies?”
“No, I watched a few shows with irate judges. No one was giving very good legal advice, but I really liked the way cases were wrapped up in twenty-minute segments. Also, I liked the dum-ta-dum music, which I wish we had in real trials.”
The She-Hulk Diaries Page 29
