The jurors looked disapproving, obviously disbelieving Simone in this credibility contest. Even the courtroom deputy looked down, examining his nails, his fingers curled like a grappling hook.
“Mr. Simone, skip ahead to the final meeting at Le Bec Fin. You heard Mr. Marz testify that you and he made a deal at this meeting, and you allegedly said to him, ‘If I make money, you’ll make money.’ Did you hear him testify to that effect?”
“Yes, I heard that, but it’s absolutely not true. We had no agreement or deal. I never intended to buy his idea or his treatment, and I never, ever said I would. And I certainly
At counsel table, Marz gasped, and Temin touched his arm to silence him.
Hartford asked, “Did you discuss a price term? That is, how much you would pay Mr. Marz for his idea?”
“No, not at all. He’d quit his job at the DA’s office to work on his treatment, and I listened to him talk and nodded a lot, which is all I did to encourage him. I wanted to cheer him up.”
“Did he cheer up?”
“After a few bottles of Dom, everybody cheers up.”
The jurors didn’t laugh, and Cate knew they didn’t get the Dom reference. She wouldn’t have, either, but for her legal education.
Mr. Hartford made a note. “Let me ask you a question. If you didn’t want to buy his ideas, why did you accept his notebooks?”
“I couldn’t not. He kept insisting, so I took them. As soon as I left the restaurant, I threw them in a trash can.”
At plaintiff’s table, Marz stirred, and so did his wife, behind him.
“Now, to finish up, did there come a time when you heard from Mr. Marz again?”
“Yes, he attempted to contact me a few times after that, but I didn’t respond. I was busy, and he asked me if I read his treatment, which I hadn’t, as I said. Then when
“Thank you, Mr. Simone.” Hartford flipped the pad closed and looked up at Cate. “Your Honor, I have no further questions.”
“I have cross, Your Honor.” Temin shot to his feet.
“Go ahead, Counsel,” Cate said, and the plaintiff’s lawyer began an earnest cross-examination of Simone that didn’t change anyone’s view, least of all hers.
Hartford rose to his feet. “Your Honor, at this time, the defendant moves for a judgment as a matter of law under Rule 50.”
Temin argued, “Your Honor, plaintiff opposes any such motion.”
Cate banged the gavel.
She left the bench, checking her watch on the fly: 5:05. She had to get going.
She had a standing date.
CHAPTER 4
“Honey, I’m home!” Cate called out, and from the kitchen came a laugh. She let herself into the town house and shut the front door against the cold night.
The living room was dark, but light and music emanated from the kitchen. At this hour, her best friend, Gina Katsakis, would be washing leftover dishes and playing Mozart on the Bose. Of necessity, this household ran on a rigid schedule and listened 24-7 to
Cate set her purse and an aromatic brown bag on an end table, then slid out of her sheepskin coat, shook off the winter chill, and turned on a table lamp. The light illuminated a living room littered with toys, but it was no ordinary kiddie clutter. An orange Fisher Price sliding board had been upended, color flashcards and activity books had been strewn among dry Cheerios, and a Minute Maid juice box spilled over a denim beanbag chair. Cate picked up the juice box, then collected the flashcards and stowed them in the Reebok shoe box.
“Fante, stop cleaning!” Gina called from the kitchen.
“In a minute!” Cate picked up an activity book, lying open to a page titled ALL ABOUT ME, updated with a new photo. An adorable little boy with round brown eyes and shiny brown-black hair, whose bangs had been scissored off in a raggedy homemade cut, posed in front of a landscape found only in Wal-Mart’s photo department. A closer look at the picture revealed that the child’s gaze focused to the right of the camera, and his smile curved off-kilter. Cate reshelved the book, picked up a BabyGap sweatshirt, and set it on the couch.
“Stop now!”
“Gimme a minute!” Cate brushed the Cheerios back into an overturned Dixie cup and stood up, having improved the room only because it was so small, a far cry from Gina’s predivorce Tudor in suburban Villanova.
“Don’t make me yell!”
Cate grabbed the trash and brown bag and went into the kitchen, where Gina stood at the sink in an oversized pink cable knit, and mom jeans that couldn’t hide a killer body. She was emptying a large pot of boiling water into the basin, steaming up the window and filling the tiny kitchen with starchy fog. Spaghetti was on the menu tonight; it was the only thing Warren ate.
“I hate when you clean.” Gina turned from the sink, frowning in mock offense. Even ersatz emotion animated large brown eyes that flashed darkly, thick eyebrows like bold slashes, and a strong nose that fit full cheekbones and generous lips, easily coaxed into too-loud laughter. Gina Katsakis was Maria Callas with a JD.
“Hey, girl.” Cate threw out the trash and set the brown bag on the kitchen table, next to Warren. The three- year-old sat in his blue-padded high chair, taking no notice of her, his gaze focused on the steam blanketing the window. Cate knew he needed time to get used to her being here, so she didn’t greet him. Instead, she said, “Dinner is served.”
Gina scuffed to the table in tan Uggs and peeked in the brown bag. “What’d you bring me?”
“What I always bring. Crack cocaine.”
“Chicken curry!” Gina reached an eager hand inside the bag. “And it’s still hot!” She pulled out a white Chinese food carton and held it up with a broad smile. “You know what I love about this?”
“That it’s free?”
“No, the carton.” Gina pointed to the red letters on the white waxed pint. “The politically incorrect Asian font. Only a Chinese restaurant can get away with that. ‘We love our customers.’ How great is that? They
“How could they not?” Cate asked, but she didn’t have to say anything. She knew that her friend needed to talk, pent up from the day. It struck her that this was Gina’s Miller time.
“It’s like my dry cleaners.” Gina set the container down and unpacked the other one, then pint-sized rice boxes and tinfoil trays of egg rolls, with plastic tops. “The paper on the hanger says, ‘We heart our customers.’ I love that, too. I need more love in my business relationships. Don’t you?”
“I don’t even need love in my
“You just missed a great Dr. Phil.”
“What about? People who love Dr. Phil too much?”
“No, fault-finders, like Mike. Remember he was like that? He found fault with everything. Marks on the walls, laundry on the floor. That’s the whole problem, nobody’s kind anymore.” Gina went to the drawer, retrieved silverware, and grabbed two prefolded napkins on the way back. “We got a new speech therapist today, and she’s horrible. Not anywhere near as dedicated as Lisa. The new one’s just mean. Cold.”
“That’s too bad.” Cate opened a cabinet and slid two dinner plates out of the stack, on autopilot. They set the
