Attorney-Client Privilege

by Pamela Samuels Young

“Then don’t answer your phone,” Phillip pleaded.

  It took another five minutes of begging before Harold agreed to go along. Phillip just prayed he didn’t change his mind. That would buy him a few weeks.

  Phillip was up and pacing again. Now he had to figure out what he was going to do about his second, much bigger problem. If the police got a sample of his DNA, there was a good possibility it would match what they’d found underneath Judi’s fingernails. He stared into the dresser mirror, still pissed at what Judi had done to his face. As soon as he got some money he was going to get a chemical peel to make sure there was no permanent scarring.

  It was stupid of him to have claimed that the scratches came from a tree branch, but he hadn’t been able to think up a better cover story on the spur of the moment. If he had admitted that he and Judi had fought that night, he’d probably be in jail right now.

  Phillip collapsed onto the bed. All this worrying wasn’t doing him any good. What he needed to do was relax. Shutting his eyes, he started doing the deep-breathing exercises he’d learned in acting class. He could actually feel his pulse slow to a trot.

  A hot shower was what he really needed. He entered the bathroom, pulling his T-shirt over his head as he walked. Just as he reached for the nozzle to turn on the shower, he caught a glimpse of his torso in the mirror on the opposite wall. A brilliant idea began to slowly percolate.

  Closing the toilet lid, he sat down as his mind began to whirl as fast as the blades of a fan. Yes, he thought, exhaling with relief. It would definitely work. He’d just come up with the perfect explanation for why his DNA would be underneath Judi’s fingernails.

  He laughed a loud, hearty laugh. He couldn’t wait to screw with those obnoxious cops.

  Glancing around the bathroom, he spotted exactly what he needed to carry out his plan. Picking up the metal soap dish, he ran his fingers along the sides, delighting at its jagged edges.

  Yes, Phillip thought. Problem solved.

  CHAPTER 10

  Girlie pulled her silver blue Jag to a stop in front of the Anaheim Crest Country Club. She clipped her Ray-Bans to the sun visor as a parking attendant dashed over to open her car door.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Cortez.”

  “Hello, Jeffrey.”

  Girlie always remembered the names of the insignificant people who serviced her. It made them feel better about their menial jobs. Jeffrey’s over-anxious grin confirmed that.

  She swung her legs out of the car in a careful, dainty move. As she glided into the lobby of the club, she enjoyed the appreciative stares. The breast implants she’d purchased two years out of law school had been one of her wisest investments. On top of that God had blessed her with stunning physical attributes. Her fabulous legs topped the list.

  Girlie was not looking forward to this meeting with the CEO and general counsel of Big Buy. The milquetoast GC was tolerable enough, but the CEO was a high-caliber bitch.

  A hostess showed Girlie into a small, private dining room that overlooked the city’s skyline. The CEO and general counsel were sitting in club chairs, sipping wine. Their meal was laid out on a table set with china and sterling silver.

  “I have some good news,” CEO Rita Kimble-Richards announced, once the hostess had left. “One of the plaintiffs, Judi Irving, is no longer with us.”

  Girlie froze. “You fired her?”

  The CEO smiled and took a sip of wine. “Nope. She’s dead.”

  That news was a shock, but Girlie was more taken aback by Rita’s apparent pleasure in it.

  “Please forgive my sister-in-law’s lack of tact.” Evelyn Kimble, the general counsel, was always quick to correct the CEO’s foibles.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Rita said dismissively.

  The CEO was well past fifty, but her botoxed lips, tightened eyes and over-tanned skin, made her look like an aging freak. Girlie couldn’t understand why someone with her money couldn’t find a better plastic surgeon.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She was attacked during a break-in at her home on Monday,” the general counsel volunteered.

  Though close in age to the CEO, the prim and professional Evelyn was hot enough to pass for forty. Even Girlie admired her taut body, creamy skin and thick blonde hair.

  Vernetta obviously hadn’t known about the break-in when she was acting so giddy outside the courtroom.

  “I’d like to get this case resolved as soon as possible,” Rita said, taking another sip of wine. “Only the black and the Mexican are left. Offer them peanuts and get it over with.”

  The CEO’s crass comment caused Evelyn’s cheeks to color with embarrassment. “From what I saw of Vernetta Henderson during that trial you just had, she’s not going to take peanuts to drop the case.”

  This was only Girlie’s second case for Big Buy and she was still learning the quirks of her new clients—an important element in maintaining a successful lawyer-client relationship. She had quickly picked up on the unspoken hostility between the two women.

  Decades earlier, Rita had been a secretary with the company. Once Big Buy founder Harlan Kimble laid eyes on her, Rita had become his lover and soon thereafter, his wife. She’d gained control of the company five years ago, after he died unexpectedly from a heart attack.

  “I’m sure I can get it resolved,” Girlie promised.

  “Just make it happen sooner rather than later,” Rita ordered.

  “You seem unusually concerned about this case,” Girlie said. “Is there anything I need to know?”

  Rita reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass.

  “I’ve been chosen Woman of the Year by the Anaheim Rotary Club. My general counsel is a woman. In light of our positions of power in the company, an allegation that we’re discriminating against women would be extremely embarrassing. For both of us.”

  What should have been embarrassing was the company’s deplorable record when it came to promoting women. Despite a sprinkling of female floor supervisors, Big Buy’s management was overwhelmingly white and male. Rita wasn’t smart enough to recognize the existence of a glass ceiling at her stores. Nor did she even care. The sexist culture at Big Buy had been firmly entrenched by Harlan Kimble, a crusty Neanderthal who didn’t think women had the hutzpah to manage a retail operation. When Harlan had passed on the company to his wife, he had assumed she would tap one of his vice presidents to step in as CEO.

  During her first two years at the helm, Rita had nearly run the company into the ground. But by year three, Big Buy’s profits had started to rise and had been on an upward track ever since.

  “We also can’t risk this case turning into a class action,” Rita said. “Plaintiffs’ attorneys are out there trolling for companies like us to sue.”

  Girlie glanced at Evelyn who did not meet her eyes. The CEO was not telling the whole truth about why this case was so high on her radar. But Girlie always did her homework. She knew exactly why Rita wanted the case to disappear as soon as possible and it had nothing to do with her precious reputation.

  “If you’re that concerned about getting rid of it,” Girlie said, “I suggest we throw some real money at the plaintiffs.”

  “I’m not sure we should offer significant money this early on,” Evelyn said, finally sounding like a real general counsel. “If we do, every woman in the company will be lining up with their hands out.”

  The general counsel had little legal experience outside of Big Buy. Harlan Kimble had hired his sister as general counsel just three years out of law school. Nepotism at its finest. They’d been very close, up until the time he’d married Rita.

  “We can open with a nuisance-value settlement offer,” Girlie said. “If they reject it, I’ll take their depositions for several days and hit them with boatloads of discovery. I’ll make it so tough that they’ll want out of the case just to get me off their backs.”

  Girlie smiled at the thought of all the hoops she planned to have Vernetta and her clients jump throu
gh.

  “I like it,” Rita said. “But I want this case resolved in weeks, not months. And do everything you can to keep it out of the media.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Girlie repositioned herself on the couch. “I doubt that a two-plaintiff discrimination case would be of much interest to the media.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention something else.” There was a phony casualness in Rita’s tone. “One of our regional managers says there’s a rumor that Judi Irving had some documents with damaging information about the company.”

  “What kind of information?” Girlie asked.

  “No one knows for sure, but according to the gossip making its way around the store, they may have been financial records.”

  “Who has the documents now?”

  “Who knows?” Rita said. “Ironically, Judi Irving’s live-in boyfriend appears in one of our TV spots. I would think he has them. If they even exist.”

  “I’ll dig around and see what I can find out,” Girlie said. “But I don’t want anyone from the company contacting the boyfriend about those documents. If they exist, I’ll find them. And make sure the management at the store is aware of the lawsuit.”

  The CEO ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “If either one of those women even blinks the wrong way, they’re out.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Girlie cautioned. “You’d just be handing them a retaliation claim. No one should take any kind of action against them without clearing it with me first.”

  Evelyn silently nodded her agreement.

  “I’ll work on getting the case resolved as soon as possible,” Girlie promised.

  And she would use whatever ammunition she could find to get the job done.

  CHAPTER 11

  My iPhone rang just as I pulled into a metered parking space in front of the Center for Justice on Crenshaw Boulevard. I glanced at the caller ID display and cringed.

  I let it ring two more times before finally picking up. “Hey, Lamarr.”

  His calls to me had practically reached stalker level.

  “‘Bout time you answer! I been callin’ you for two days.”

  “I had a lot of catch-up work to do on my other cases. What’s up?”

  “What’s up? You know what’s up. I need to know what’s going on with my appeal. I ain’t payin’ that trick no two-million dollars.”

  “Lamarr, I’ve already told you. I’ll put in a request for the trial transcripts. We have sixty days from the date of the court’s entry of judgment to—”

  “I don’t know what all that legal mumbo jumbo means and I don’t give a shit.” His deep voice was elevated. “I just wanna know how long it’s going to take before I get a new trial.”

  Finding some basis to appeal the verdict would not be difficult—an incorrect jury instruction, evidence that should have been excluded. But finding something significant enough to entitle Lamarr to a new trial was a longshot.

  “Even if we’re successful in getting a new trial,” I said, “it’s not going to happen overnight.”

  “If? I ain’t tryin’ to hear ‘bout no ifs. I’m getting a new trial. You can bet on that. That lyin’ bitch and her attorney are on TV every damn day calling me a rapist. If I can’t stop her legally, then I’ll do it my way.”

  I recognized the rage in Lamarr’s voice because I’d witnessed it before. We were in my office late one night going over his testimony. The longer we worked at it, the more frustrated he became at having to repeat the sequence of events over and over again. In a snap, he went from frustrated to nearly deranged, picking up my files and hurling them across the room.

  “You can’t go around saying stuff like that, Lamarr. I understand that you—”

  “You don’t understand shit!” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s trying to destroy everything I worked for. I didn’t rape that girl. She’s lyin’ on me!”

  I gave Lamarr a few seconds to compose himself before I spoke.

  “I do understand what you’re going through,” I said softly. “I’m not living it, but I understand it. I’ll be consulting with an appellate attorney to get your appeal filed. But it’s going to take some time. Until then, I need you to promise me that you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

  Lamarr did not say a word.

  “Did you hear me, Lamarr?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “Maybe you should get out of L.A. for a while.” Without your homies, I wanted to add. “Go visit your grandmother in Cleveland.”

  Lamarr’s mother died in a car accident his senior year of high school. He’d chosen Ohio State over UCLA just to be closer to his grandmother.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said after a long beat. “That’s probably what I need to do. I’m trying to keep my cool. But if one of those punks from TMZ sticks another microphone in my face, I’ma have to hurt somebody.”

  “Just do what I told you to do. Keep walking and don’t say a word.”

  I gave him a few more words of advice that I expected him to ignore, then hung up and rushed inside the Center for Justice.

  My excitement about suing Big Buy had waned after Olivia’s call telling me about Judi Irving’s death. Of the three plaintiffs, I’d spent the most time with Judi. I admired her passion to change things at Big Buy. It was hard to think of her dying in such a brutal way.

  Benjamin Cohen, the Executive Director of the Center, and my law school classmate, greeted me in a cramped waiting area. The Center provided free legal services to people who couldn’t otherwise afford it by relying on state grants and attorneys like me, who took on cases without a retainer.

  “Olivia and Ida are pretty freaked out,” Benjamin said, leading me back to the Center’s only conference room. “Ida, in particular. Crazy as it sounds, she thinks Big Buy was behind Judi’s death.”

  A skinny Jewish guy, Benjamin wore a multi-colored yarmulke atop of his Afro-like mass of curly hair. He favored blue jeans and owned an impressive T-shirt collection. Today, a picture of the Black Eyed Peas graced his chest.

  Benjamin graduated at the top of our class at UC Berkeley’s School of Law, far ahead of me. His decision to forego a big law firm salary and dedicate his time and talent to the poor said a lot about him.

  When we entered the conference room, Olivia Jackson and Ida Lopez were standing near the window. We all sat down at a long table. I took one side, Benjamin the other, sandwiched between the two women.

  “Good to see you again,” I said. “I still can’t believe Judi’s gone. Our fight against Big Buy won’t be the same without her.”

  I pulled a legal pad from my satchel.

  “Did Judi ever show you those documents she called me about?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Do you have any idea where they might be?”

  “Her boyfriend probably has them,” Olivia said, “which means we’ll never see ’em.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “That man tried everything he could to get Judi to drop out of the case,” Olivia explained. “I was proud of her for not bowing to his pressure. Some women will do anything to please a man.”

  That statement made me think of Special. I was certain that she was only joining the Community of Islam because it was what Clayton wanted her to do. We still hadn’t found time to have a heart-to-heart talk about her decision.

  “Why would he want her to drop the case?” I asked.

  “He’s an actor and he made a few commercials for Big Buy,” Ida said. There was a tiny hint of a Spanish accent in her voice. “He was worried that they wouldn’t give him any more work if Judi sued the company.”

  “That man is a heathen who needs Jesus,” Olivia said.

  Benjamin smiled and winked at me. We both thought Olivia’s strong faith would play well to a jury.

  I could hear the quiet patter of Ida’s foot underneath the table. Dressed modestly in a loose-fitting dress, her long hair was pulled back into a bun. I’d never seen her in
makeup, not even lipstick.

  “Whoever Big Buy hired to kill Judi has those documents,” Ida said. “Whatever they were, Big Buy couldn’t risk letting them go public.”

  “You really believe that?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Do you have any evidence of that?” Benjamin asked.

  “Not a shred,” Olivia replied.

  “Do you still want to proceed with the lawsuit?” My question was intended for Ida.

  “Definitely,” Olivia said with no hesitation. “We have to stop this mess.”

  A tear slid down Ida’s cheek. “I have two girls I’m raising by myself. I can’t afford to lose my job. And if something happens to me…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I assured her.

  “Were you guys able to gather any more demographic information?” It was time to steer the meeting in another direction.

  Olivia pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me.

  Her handwritten notations showed that eighty-three percent of the non-management workforce was female, while women held only seven percent of the supervisor positions. The numbers were even worse at the upper-management level. Women held only two percent of those jobs.

  I would need to confirm these stats during discovery, but the information gave me a good starting point.

  “I just discovered that there’s a guy in our region who makes three dollars an hour more than I do,” Olivia said. “And he does the exact same job and started a month after me.”

  “You think that’s something?” Ida said, suddenly re-engaged. “One of the guys I supervise makes more than I do. When I confronted the store manager about it, he tried to make a joke. Said I was getting child support payments from my ex so that made us even.”

  I frowned in disgust. “What’s the manager’s name? I’m going to have a lot of fun with him in deposition.”

  “Anything else happen in the workplace since our last meeting?” Benjamin asked.

  “Two weeks ago, they had the nerve to hold our regional convention at a casino in Temecula.” Olivia waved her hand in the air. “That place is filled with sin. At the kickoff reception, the hostesses were wearing hot pants and push-up bras for tops. A couple of the regional managers got drunk and started telling sexist jokes.”