Kill All the Lawyers

'I knew this would be useless.'

Another rip. Another 'Ouch!'

'I'm just worried that we're too different, Mother.'

'Of course you are, dear.'

As if it's a given. As if there's no need to discuss it.

'Keep the landing strip narrow, Benedita,' Irene instructed as the Brazilian woman plucked stray hairs with tiny tweezers. 'It makes the man look bigger.'

More concerned about the aesthetics of her private parts than about her only child's happiness.

Victoria decided to try once more. One more stab at drawing her mother away from her own sybaritic pleasures. 'Steve did something incomprehensible, and I just can't come to grips with it.'

'He cheated on you?'

'Of course not! It involves a case.'

'You know how legal talk bores me, dear.'

But still, Victoria told her the story of Steve handing over evidence that helped convict his client. By the time Victoria finished, The Queen was left with a landing strip the width of a popsicle stick. The surrounding skin was flaming pink.

'I don't know, dear. What Stephen did doesn't sound that terrible to me. His client's a murderer who was going to get away with it. At least Stephen took him off the streets for a few years.'

'But that's not his job. You don't understand, Mother. It cuts to the essence of the profession. A lawyer who'll do that. . who knows what else he might do? If Steve represents a corporation, will he give away trade secrets if he decides the company's behaving badly? In a divorce, if his client tells him she's been cheating on her husband, will he tell the judge? Once you break the rules, where does it stop?'

'Did I mention that Carl is a fantastic golfer?'

'What?'

'He wants to take me to Scotland, play all the great courses.'

What a breathtaking leap, Victoria thought, her mother vaulting to her own love life without breaking stride.

Of course, she already devoted nearly five minutes to my problems. How much more could I expect?

Victoria decided to surrender. What else could she do? 'That's fascinating, Mother.'

'Carl's family came over on the Mayflower. Personally, I never cared for cruises, though the S.S. France had foie gras to die for. Which reminds me. Are we going to the club for my birthday?'

'It's up to Steve, Mother. He's picking up the check.'

'If he mentions that chili dog place on the causeway, tell him to forget it.'

'Will you be bringing the fantastic golfer?'

'Of course. It will be the perfect time for our announcement.'

'What!'

'Don't furrow your brow, dear. Little lines today, deep ditches tomorrow. And don't worry. Carl and I are not getting married.' She smiled mischievously. 'Yet.'

'I had no idea the two of you were so serious.'

'Because you don't listen to your mother. All wrapped up in your own problems. My life drifts along, unnoticed and unadorned.'

'Hardly, Mother. Don't project your personality onto me.'

'Nonsense. You're my only child, Victoria. My entire life.'

There was no way to win the argument, Victoria knew.

'As for Carl,' Irene continued, 'I haven't been drawn to any man this way since your father died. We fit together so perfectly. He has such a-je ne sais quoi-I find almost indescribable.'

Something felt out of kilter, Victoria thought. The Queen made men swoon, not the other way around. 'So what exactly is the big announcement?'

'Sur-prise,' Irene sang out. 'You'll have to wait. But I'll say this. I haven't been this happy in years. Just look at me. Am I glowing?'

'Your crotch certainly is, Mother.'

Well, that was useful, Victoria thought ruefully as she crossed the Broad Causeway on her way back to the mainland. Indian Creek Country Club was to her left across a narrow channel. She had played tennis there as a child, had consumed gallons of root beer floats in the clubhouse restaurant, had learned to sail in the calm waters of the bay. She hadn't envisioned an adulthood filled with complications, both professional and personal. When her father was still alive, when her mother seemed to care for more than just herself, the future promised rewards that thus far eluded her.

I have to make decisions. About Steve. About me. About life.

Ten minutes later, she was on Biscayne Boulevard, stopped at a police barricade. A parade passed by. A steel band from one of the islands. Marchers carrying signs that either celebrated some holiday or protested conditions in their native land. From five cars back in line, she couldn't tell which.

She decided to go with her gut. Wasn't that what Steve always taught her?

'Throw away the books, Vic. Go with your gut.'

Okay, so he'd been talking about jury selection, but didn't the advice apply to mate selection, too?

Her gut told her she loved Steve. But did that mean they should live together? Then there was Bobby to think about. Bobby kept talking about 'family,' and she was included. The boy'd had so many disappointments. She didn't want to add to them.

So, as the parade passed and the police barricade gave way, Victoria hit the gas. She decided to plunge ahead. Her gut was telling her to move in with Steve, to give the relationship every chance, to see if they would have a je ne sais quoi that would be almost indescribable.

SOLOMON'S LAWS

4. If you're going to all the trouble to make a fool of yourself, be sure to have plenty of witnesses.

Nine

THE SHRINK AND THE SHYSTER

'You gotta look out for numero uno. You gotta do what gives you pleasure, not what others want you to do. Hedonism is good. Selfishness is good. Greed is good. No, I take that back. Greed is great!'

The voice was deep, rhythmic, and spellbinding. Wearing a headset and a beige silk guayabera, Dr. Bill Kreeger crooned into a ceiling-mounted microphone. Steve stood in the control room, looking over the shoulder of the board operator, watching through the window. So far, Kreeger, his mouth close enough to the microphone to kiss the cold metal, hadn't seen him. Steve had come here to deliver the message that would get Kreeger off his back.

'Self-interest is the highest morality,' Kreeger prattled on, 'and selflessness is the deepest immorality. You can't make another person happy, so don't even try. Give a hundred bucks to a charity at Thanksgiving, they'll hit you for two hundred at Christmas. Bake a tuna casserole for the neighborhood shut-in, next week she'll expect filet mignon. The people you sacrifice for won't appreciate it, so forget them. Wait, you say. That's cruel, Dr. Bill. Wrong!

Don't be a sucker. The moral life is one of self-interest. If everyone pursued his or her own happiness, there