Mary read it again and again, inspired. The law had a force of its own, even a beauty. Its letter was clear, as was its intent. She was finally glad she had become a lawyer, because she knew just what to do next.
Less than an hour later, she was writing like a girl in a fever, surrounded by open law books, photocopied cases, and a stack of tentative exhibits. She had written two pages and only had fifty-six more to go. It would take all night, but she would get it done. Most lawyers would have balked at the task, but not Mary.
“You need a break, Mare,” said a cheery voice from the threshold. It was Judy, grinning in her hot pink sweatshirt, clashing cobalt sweatpants, and red clogs with black fake-ostrich dots, all topped by a Stanford backward-baseball cap. Her ensemble was Cirque du Soleil meets Best-Friend-Forever, and Mary didn’t say a thing, because Judy had dropped everything to come and help her. Also she was carrying a brown bag that smelled like take-out lo mein, chicken curry, cold sesame noodles, and spring rolls.
Mary smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. “I love you, you know that?”
“About time you realized it, girl,” Judy said, with a crooked grin, and set the bag on the table. “Let’s eat.”
In time, Mary filled Judy in on all the details of her plan, the lawyers got down to work, and the night sky outside the conference room window lightened to streaky gray. The take-out containers littering the table were joined by Styrofoam coffee cups, empty Diet Coke cans, discarded cellophane from two packs of chocolate Tastykakes, a tiny plastic tub of Light ’n Fit strawberry yogurt, and an organic apple, which came pre-bruised, so Mary refused to eat it. By dawn, Judy was getting tired and looked up, red-eyed from the law books.
“You know what we need, Mare?” she asked.
“Fruit with pesticides.”
“No.”
Mary thought of the case. “A miracle?”
“No. Tunes! We need TUUUUUUNES!” Judy yelled, throwing up her arms, because she was beyond punchy. She leapt out of her swivel chair, leaving it spinning, flew out of the conference room, and before Mary could protest, returned with a white Bose CD player from her office and a stack of slippery CDs, which she set on the credenza. “Tunes have arrived!”
Mary peered over her laptop with suspicion. “Got any Sinatra?”
“No way. I have Steven Tyler and Aerosmith! Yeeeesss!” Judy giggled, slipping a black CD into the tray, hitting some buttons, and cranking up the volume. An earsplitting guitar riff blasted the conference room, ten thousand drums thundered, and Judy started dancing around, shaking her tight butt in her loose sweatpants, and clicking off her clogs so she could jump around better. Aerosmith started singing at full volume.
“This doesn’t sound like ‘Night and Day’!” Mary shouted, covering her ears, but Judy segued into dancing like an Egyptian, boogying around the room.
“It’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady!’ Come on, get up and shake your booty!”
Mary scoffed, then reconsidered. She needed the exercise and she couldn’t work with all that noise anyway. She pushed back the laptop, got on her feet, kicked off her pumps, and shook her butt as hard as she could in a skirt from Brooks Brothers. And the rock music wasn’t bad at all. He was no Francis Albert, but Steven Tyler rocked!
Later, Mary became aware that Judy had fallen silent and she looked across the table. Judy was buckling her lower lip, eyeing what she’d written on her screen. Under the Stanford cap, her brow knit unhappily. Mary knew it wasn’t just fatigue. “What’s the matter, Jude?” she asked, setting down a warm Diet Coke.
Judy looked up. “I’m worried.”
“About what?”
“About you, about this.” Judy slid off her baseball cap, revealing a flat ring around her shorn blonde hair. She spiked it up with her hand, and Mary knew she was stalling, because she never cared about hat head. Judy cleared her throat. “Listen, let me say right out that I think it’s great that you put all this together, and figured out what that snake and his son did.”
“Thanks.”
“You went all the way to Montana, and I’m not denigrating that. I told you how cool that was.”
“Hold the positive reinforcement. Just give.”
Judy sighed. “But I’m not sure about this new idea of yours. I’m not sure it holds up to a standard cost-benefit analysis. Can I be your sounding board?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s review.” Judy straightened up. “Cost. Bennie will hate this idea.”
“True.”
“Cost. You probably need her permission to do it and you’re not asking.”
“Right.”
“Cost. She could fire you for it.”
“And the bad news?”
Judy smiled, but it faded quickly. “Cost, and worst cost of all, it could be really dangerous. Justin Saracone has a fortune to protect, and the power and means to come at you. Even if Chico’s out of the picture, Justin has the dough to hire somebody else. He’s a killer, Mare. Look at Keisha, she’s still in a coma.”
“I know.” Mary felt her stomach tense. She had called the hospital during the dinner break, and Bill had said Keisha’s prognosis wasn’t good. The longer she stayed under, the worse it got. It made Mary feel guilty, and angry, all over again. “All the more reason to do this.”
“Maybe, but it means it’s definitely dangerous.”
“Okay, it’s a little dangerous.”
“Or a lot.”
“Okay, a lot,” Mary admitted. Even though she felt a tremor of fear, she was determined, but she didn’t tell Judy about Mrs. Nyquist. It would be Mary’s replacement secret, because now she could fly with abandon.
“So, you would agree, there are costs to this idea of yours. Great big downside?”
“Me, dead. That can’t be good.”
Judy couldn’t manage a smile, which showed what a good friend she was. “Now we come to the benefits. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mare, but I think you’re gonna lose.”
“Yes. Honestly, it’s a high standard of proof at this stage of the game, and you don’t have much. I’ll buy that you have irreparable harm. The sale of rights to Reinhardt and the change in trademark would render Brandolini’s patent worthless, over time. But you can’t show you’ll win on the merits.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Try it on me, try it right here.” Judy leaned back in the chair and put her Stanford cap back on. “I’ll be the judge. Judge Judy, get it?”
“Calm yourself.”
“And suck up a lot. We judges like that.”
“Please.” Mary stood up and gathered her exhibits. “I’ll keep it short. Basically, I’m asking the court for a temporary restraining order. I want the court to restrain, or stop, Justin Saracone and Saracone Enterprises from selling the rights to the patent and trademark to Reinhardt and ultimately, from getting any more royalties from licenses of the hatch patent or its improvements, because they obtained the original patent by fraud.”
Judy nodded. “So to get a TRO, or a temporary restraining order, you have to show that when this case goes to trial, you have a reasonable chance of success on the merits. In other words, you have to prove that Giovanni Saracone stole the invention.”
Mary tilted her head. “You talkin’ down to me, Your Honor?”
“I’m the judge. It’s my job.”
“Okay. First, I prove that Amadeo Brandolini registered as an enemy alien. Exhibit A.” Mary set down a stamped copy of his alien registration card. “Second, I prove that he was arrested and sent to Fort Missoula. I can’t prove it through me, because I’m not a fact witness, but you can. You saw the FBI memo, too.” Mary set out an affidavit she’d drafted about the FBI memo from the National Archives as Exhibit B. “Third, I prove that Saracone was sent to the same camp, and that they knew each other in the camp.” Mary set out Exhibits C and D, which were copies of the photos she’d gotten from Fort Missoula ’s archives. “I’ll authenticate them by affidavit of the museum director. Are you dazzled yet?”
Judy smiled. “Keep going, counsel.”
