“Oh, they’re fine. The twins are headed to college next year.”
“No.” Adam loads his voice with doubt.
“Eighteen,” says Conover.
“I can’t believe that. They were just little things.” Tolt holds his hand at a level even with the tabletop. “It has been a while,” he says.
“Thank God for little favors,” says Conover. “It’s not that I don’t like to see you,” he says, “but I’m not sure my wallet can handle the stress.”
“Nonsense,” says Adam. “We always have a wonderful time. Besides, it’s not your money.”
“Yes, but your hands keep stretching my pockets out of shape.” Conover looks at me and laughs, the signal for me to join in. It’s all very cordial, chuckles all around. I have no idea what they’re talking about other than to gather that Tolt has put his own mark on Devon Insurance in the past.
“I want to introduce you to Paul Madriani.” Just like that Tolt acquaints Conover with the hand aimed at his other pocket.
We shake. He gives me the same solid grin he offered charging through the door, the once-over to assess the latest lawyer trying to shake him down. He quickly turns his attention back to Adam and they talk golf, kibitzing and quizzing each other on current handicaps.
“We’ll have to get you over to Temecula,” says Conover.
“Seems I only get to play these days when I’m on vacation,” says Adam.
“Where’s that?”
“Out at de Anza.”
“You have a membership?”
Tolt nods. “We bought a condo on the fourteenth fairway. We spend some time there.”
“How is Margo?”
“She’s good. Healthy. She keeps me in shape.”
“De Anza. That’s a little rich for my blood.” Conover looks again in my direction. “You play golf, Mr. Madriani?”
“Sorry to say it’s not one of my vices.”
“Good. We’ll have to get you out on the course. I need somebody I can beat. Adam here chops the legs out from under me every time we get near the greens. Whatever he lacks in his drives, he more than makes up for with his putts.”
“Putz is the right word,” says Adam.
We laugh again as the line piles up outside the door to the conference room.
Behind Conover, a slender guy in his thirties is hauling a briefcase in both hands, trying to lift it over Conover’s shoulder as he slides in behind him to get to the table across from me.
“Excuse me,” says Conover. “Like you to meet Larry Melcher, house counsel with Devon. Paul Madriani. Is it Madriani? I am pronouncing it correctly?”
“That’s right.” I’m shaking Melcher’s hand as I talk to Conover. When I turn to look at the lawyer, he gives me the insurance eye, a play for dominance. There is much mutual sniffing here. This is well practiced by every indemnity lawyer I’ve ever met. He would frisk me if he thought he could get away with it. Instead he tests my hand for grip as if any contest between us will be settled by arm wrestling on the conference table.
“Now who exactly is it you’re representing here today?” Melcher hasn’t even taken a seat and he’s plumbing for information, trying to nail down my client. It wouldn’t do to be playing too many sides of the same fence.
“My firm represents Dana Rush. You may have met my partner out in the reception area?”
“I don’t think we had that opportunity.” He says it with a kind of fraternity grin that makes me think that whatever happened out in reception wasn’t that cordial. With Dana and Margaret in the same room, they may have to chip the ice off the walls.
Dana is next through the door, followed by Harry. I had to twist his arm to get him to come. I needed somebody to referee in the event Margaret and Dana decided to do best two-out-of-three falls while they were waiting.
They come around the long way to my side of the table, Dana taking a seat between Harry and me. As I make the introductions, Conover is busy filling his eyes with my client and flashing his pearly whites. He would no doubt like to ask her a few questions, perhaps undress her, but this is not the place or time.
While this is going on, Margaret wanders through the door behind him, ogling the surroundings, the French crystal chandelier over the table and the original oils on the walls, seeing how God might decorate heaven if He had the money. She is followed by her lawyer, Sue Glendenin, a bright, cheerful blond, perky and cute. Her slight build and sometimes timorous voice have deceived more than a few lawyers into playing patty-cake with her in the courtroom only to wake up with their pants on the floor and their pockets empty. As usual Susan is smiling. Margaret is not.
Glendenin moves to the head of the line, introduces herself to Adam, and starts giving out business cards. She repeats this with Conover and his lawyer, then nods to me.
“How are you doing, Paul?”
“Tell you in a while.” I wink at her.
“No need to give you one of these.” She puts the little case with business cards back in her coat pocket. This does not go unnoticed by Conover, the fact that lawyers representing the two adverse parties have been talking out of school and are still smiling at each other.
Moving slowly, like a wounded animal on a predator’s turf, Margaret cannot find enough things to look at. She stares at the paintings behind us, up at the clock, her eyes falling anywhere and everywhere. The only place they don’t land is on Dana. The invisible woman. While there are handshakes and introductions all around, no one possesses sufficient stupidity or enough balls to fall into the social pit of introducing these two women. For their part, they try as best they can to ignore each other.
“I think maybe we should get started,” says Adam. “Would anybody like coffee? Anything to drink?”
“A scotch and soda, but only after we’re finished,” says Conover. He and Adam laugh.
“Why wait?” I say. “Harry would be happy to pour.” More laughs, everybody but Margaret, whose fuse already seems lit.
“Please take a seat.” Adam assumes the duties as master of ceremonies, while his assistant takes orders for coffee and calls them out front on the phone’s com line.
There are adjustments into chairs all around the table. Since these are on wheels, I notice Margaret sliding perceptibly down the table away from us. Her lawyer stays close, right up next to Melcher, crowding him at the table, so if he wants to take notes, he’s going to have to hold the legal pad against his stomach to write anything in confidence.
Adam’s assistant, Glenda, has set up office at the other end of the table, taking notes in case there is any dispute later as to what is said or the ground covered.
“I suspect we all know why we’re here today.” Tolt sits up straight in his chair at the head of table. “Devon Insurance issued a policy of life insurance on one of this firm’s partners, Nicholas Rush. Mr. Rush, as we all know, is now deceased, and there appear to be two separate claims to that policy, each laying claim to the full face amount of the policy, two million dollars. One of these is filed by Mrs. Margaret Rush. One by Mrs. Dana Rush. Please stop me if anything I say is incorrect or if there are any questions.” Adam looks around the table. Nobody says a word.
“There are some details,” he says. “Complications that I’m sure we can all discuss if that becomes necessary.” “Details and complications” is how Adam covers the question of the marital settlement agreement between Margaret and Nick and the fact that the widow’s name is not on the policy as beneficiary, issues over which some Third World nations might go to war given the sums involved here.
Adam clears his throat and takes a drink of water from a glass that Glenda had poured earlier and placed next to his hand.
“The purpose of this meeting is to see if there is any accommodation that we can all arrive at here today, in order to resolve any dispute short of litigation.” Tolt looks at the two women as if to make his point. “That is, without having to go to court and have a judge make a ruling that perhaps none of us would be entirely happy with.”
“I could live with it if the court enforces the insurance policy.” Margaret shoots from the lip, unable to control
