Everything was Delphic. Equivocation, ambivalence, ambiguity.
Just as it should be, I could hear Dorita say.
Just as it should be.
27.
When I got home that night I got the silent treatment. I didn’t know why. Melissa got ideas in her head. Instead of airing them and working out whatever problem she was having, she’d do the silent thing. If I asked if anything was wrong, she’d say, ‘No, no, nothing at all.’ In a tone that clearly said the opposite.
No amount of insistence would make her open up.
So I’d long ago stopped trying.
She’d always been like that.
But as with so many other things, it had gotten worse with time.
The doorbell rang. Melissa scuttled upstairs.
It was Jake, coming over to see the bookcase space. I’d forgotten about my invitation. But I was glad to see him. Maybe his presence would brighten the evening.
I ushered him into the living room.
Jake looked about the room nervously. I could see that he was a little taken aback. Our house wasn’t lavish, by New York standards. But there was furniture. There were carpets. Things on the wall. Everything arranged for aesthetic effect. For a young man from a humble background, one still living hand to mouth as he waited to become a movie star, it probably looked pretty darn alien.
Melissa will be down in a sec, I said. I think you’ll like each other.
He looked terrified at the thought. Stage fright, I guessed.
He leaned in toward me. Aftershave. The scent reminded me of the night I’d met him at the Wolf’s Lair.
Melissa returned. She’d put on a dress I hadn’t seen in years, black and red and seductive. She launched into her best hostess routine. She came across the room, arms outstretched.
I’ve heard so much about you, she said, with a touch too much enthusiasm, and kissed him on both cheeks.
She grabbed his hands. Held him at arms’ length. Admired him. Like he was a visiting prince.
It was a role she knew well, but one she hadn’t played in a good long time. There was something forced about it. Fragile.
Jake looked uncomfortable. I was sure he wasn’t accustomed to the ways of the upwardly striving upper middle class.
Welcome to our home, Melissa said, expertly dimming her smile from effervescent to charming and slightly flirtatious. Can I offer you a drink? I’m sorry to say we don’t keep alcohol in the house. But tea? Iced tea? Orange juice? We have just about anything else.
That’s okay, said Jake. I don’t need anything.
Are you sure?
Yes, I’m fine.
Sit, sit, she said. Make yourself comfortable.
He sat nervously on the armchair, perched forward.
We made small talk. Melissa asked some polite questions about his acting career. He replied in short sentences.
Lots of auditions, mostly, he said. Close calls. Small local repertory. Nothing big yet.
He kept looking over at me. As if for help. He was not the jovial Jake I knew from the Wolf’s Lair. He was an overmatched child.
Well, I thought, take the drunk out of the bar. Tell him there’s no booze around. God knows what you’ll get. I was reminded of mornings waking up in a strange apartment after a fine night of casual sex. The morning made everything different. There wasn’t a daylight protocol.
I took him upstairs, showed him the space where I thought we might put the bookcase. He became all business. He’d brought a tape measure. He handled it with a practiced nonchalance.
Sure, he said. No problem. I can get some nice maple. It’ll match the molding. I’ll sketch it out for you. Twelve hundred, say?
I was a little taken aback. I had expected five, maybe six hundred.
I figured you wanted it first class, he said apologetically. I could use pine, stain it red, he added, without conviction.
No, no, I said. Let’s do the maple. Twelve hundred is fine.
I didn’t want to be an ungracious host.
Back in the living room, there were a few more minutes of overly polite conversation. The weather. The latest Brad Pitt vehicle. Jake was clearly anxious to leave. Melissa asked for a cup of tea. Jake declined again. I went to the kitchen to make the tea. I warmed myself a glass of milk.
When I returned Jake was sitting on the couch next to Melissa.
Good, I thought. She’s actually relating to somebody.
Got to be going, said Jake.
Okay, I said, a little surprised. Nice of you to come over.
Melissa looked relieved. Jake looked relieved. I felt relieved.
Melissa rose. Jake got up. Cheeks were kissed. I took him to the door.
Uh, listen, he whispered on the way. I wonder if I could ask you a favor?
Sure, I said, wondering what he thought I was doing, hiring him to build a bookcase I didn’t really need.
I’m a little short, he whispered. You think you could front me a couple hundred?
Gee, I said, I’d like to help you out. I really would. But I’m tapped out this week. Nothing I can do. Sorry.
I shrugged.
It didn’t feel like a convincing performance. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be.
Hey, he said, that’s okay. That’s okay.
He left. I returned to the living room.
He’s sweet, isn’t he? she said.
I guess, I said.
And kind of cute.
Right.
It was an odd thing for her to say. Quite out of character.
Her smile was forced. Like a child caught doing something bad.
28.
I had a hearing in the Lockwood case. Some poor kid had died of a rare form of brain cancer. The grieving parents, understandably, needed someone to blame. They sued our client, a local manufacturing company. Unfortunately for them, there was no known cause, environmental or otherwise, for the disease. So proving causation was going to be a problem. We’d made a motion to exclude some crucial expert evidence about groundwater contamination. Without it, without the veneer of objectivity of a professionally disinterested expert witness, the other side would have to rely on the testimony of a weasel-eyed company engineer named Cecil Crepe. I kid you not. And although it was pronounced ‘Crep’ and not ‘Creep,’ I was not at all sure that a jury would attend to the distinction. So I wasn’t about to let them have their expert without a fight.
I took Vinnie Price with me. Vinnie was my favorite associate. He was an up-and-comer. A spit-polished young man with a burning ambition and a way with a client.
