Beauty Queen (4 page)

Riiight, he said with a wink. If you need to deny it, thats okay, he said, and leaned forward. But it makes me feel kind of special that youd go to such lengths.

Youre out of your mind, Rebecca said, rearing back. I made a mistake, thats all. He did not look the least bit convinced, and she came to her feet. This may come as a shock to your obviously healthy ego, but I dont need to concoct a scheme to meet a man! I am sorry to have bothered you.

No problem. It was quite entertaining. By the way, the full name is Matt Parrish. I figure you should at least get that for all your trouble.

Of all the infuriating Really? she asked, feigning wide-eyed surprise. Are you sure its not Matt Popinjay? she added, and with a pert toss of her hair, turned to walk away, bristling at the sound of his maddening chuckle.

Wait! he called after her. Arent you forgetting something?

Rebecca paused, debated but she couldnt stand it and looked over her shoulder. Matt Popinjay was holding up a quesadilla. With a roll of her eyes, she turned around again, walked to the next bench, picked up the quesadilla she bought and tossed it in the trash. And as she departed the capitol grounds, she told the smiling state trooper that the man seated on the bench beneath the big pecan tree was bothering her. The trooper assured her he would not bother her again.

From there, Rebecca walked as quickly as her Jimmy Choos would carry her to her Range Rover, and drove out of town, periodically shrieking at the windshield. How could she have made such a boneheaded mistake? All she could see was his smug look, but fortunately, by the time she reached the Little Maverick Playschool, she was calm again, because, she realized with a sigh of relief, shed never see that man again. Thank God!

The school door opened as she parked and kids began to spill out. Grayson was the last to emerge, walking with his head down, his backpack almost bigger than he, his sandy brown hair (Buds hair) going in fifty different directions. The poor kid had really been down this morning when he found out that Bud was skipping out on him again. Hey, honey, she said as Grayson opened the door and crawled in, head first.

She helped him fasten his seat belt, noticed his corduroy pants had a hole in one knee. So what happened to your pants?

I dont know, he said, leaning over to have a look.

How was your day? she asked as she started the Rover up. Anything new?

I got moved to the B reading group, he announced with a proud smile. His reading had slipped a level somewhere between Dallas and Austin.

Thats wonderful, honey!

And I pushed Taylor down, he added with the same proud smile.

Rebecca frowned. Why would you do such a thing?

Grayson shrugged, returned to examining the hole in his pants. I dont like him.

Didnt like him? Grayson had always been a happy child, quick to make friends, but since they had moved to Austin, he seemed different. Not unhappy, precisely, but just not... happy. And when Bud canceled weekends on him, the boy didnt take it very well. Rebecca pushed his bangs from his eyes and brushed the bit of dirt from a cheek that still had that baby roundness to it. You cant go around pushing kids down just because you dont like them, Gray.

He frowned, picked up her cell phone, and punched some of the buttons. I wish Lucy lived here, he muttered.

Ouch. Shed just extract that little dagger from her heart later, but for now, Rebecca valiantly tried to ignore it Lucy had been Graysons nanny until the divorce was final, and the kid had not quite yet forgiven the universe for her loss. He had not wanted to move and he had not wanted to be with his mom. He had wanted to be with Lucy. Maybe we can go and see her sometime, Rebecca suggested with as much cheer as she could muster. Grayson said nothing, just bent over the cell, randomly punching numbers.

Okay. Maybe not.

They pulled out onto the highway, and Rebecca turned on the radio. Drive on down to Reynolds Chevrolet and Cadillac! Well beat any deal in South Central Texas! Buds voice blared at them. Rebecca quickly punched another button, but it was too late Buds voice had registered on Graysons young brain.

How come Dad isnt coming? he asked her for the third time that day.

Rebecca kept her eyes on the road, hating Bud. Hes really busy, Gray. Hes trying, she lied, and thankfully, her answer seemed to satisfy Grayson for the time being. Unfortunately, he would be disappointed again, and she could hardly bear the thought.

Yep, this day had turned out to be a real winner.

By the look of things, Judge Gambofini was about to bust a nut.

Not terribly surprising. Gambofini was one of those guys who, once he donned the black robe, thought that he ascended to sitteth upon the right hand of some Supreme Court Justice and took umbrage at every little thing. Nevertheless, Matt didnt think hed ever seen him quite this pissed.

Matt and his partner, Ben Townsend (who together with a handful of staff lawyers constituted the Parrish-Townsend law firm), stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Judge Gambofinis chamber desk, taking their licks. Which meant they were concentrating very hard on trying to look properly chastened. At least Matt was, anyway, seeing as how he was the object of the judges complete disdain, and he couldnt get a good look at Ben. But a moment ago, when he had gotten a look at Ben, he had the distinct feeling that his partner intended to kick his ass up one side of the courthouse and down the other.

Okay, all right, so he hadnt actually listed Betty Dilley on the witness list. But how was he supposed to know theyd dig her up and shed actually come out with a cou-ple of juicy, jury-bending tidbits about the plaintiff? The means was not as important as the endthe plaintiff was a lying cheat and had retaliated against Matts client, big time. Mrs. Dilley just happened to be the last nail in a coffin that wasnt quite shut. Granted, he could have told opposing counsel about her long before today (hed just conceded as much to Gambofini, which made him puff up like a giant red M&M), but he had succeeded in planting a seed with the jury that maybe there was something bad about the plaintiff they really needed to hear. It was a move, in his opinion, that, had practically saved their case. But for purists like Judge Gambofini, it was what he liked to call courtroom theatrics. And Judge Gambofini made it quite clear that he did not like courtroom theatrics.

Mr. Parrish, do I make myself exceedingly clear? the judge asked him, concluding todays rant while a smug opposing counsel looked on.

Yes, Your Honor, Matt responded instantly and contritely.

But not contritely enough, apparently. Look, Parrish, the judge said. I know youre the hotshot big gun everyone is talking about, but I dont care. You will not be allowed to stage your dramatic little antics in my fucking courtroom! (Part of that remark not the antics part, but the hotshot big gun part caused Matt to exchange a curious look with Ben, who appeared to be just as mystified by it). You may think this court is your own personal little playground for showing off, but you will abide by the rules, or you will find yourself in contempt and wearing an orange jumpsuit to bed! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?

Yes, Your Honor, you certainly do, Matt said again, and wished Gambofini would hurry up so he could personally wipe the lipstick smirk off the face of the plaintiffs attorney, Ann Pritchard.

I should hope so, for your sake, the judge said, rising from his chair. Now clear my chambers before I get really upset.

Matt and Ben nodded, waited for Ann Pritchard to pre-cede them through the door. Once outside the judges cham-bers, Ann (who, coincidentally, happened to be one of the many women Matt had dated in the past, only now he was looking at her wondering how the hell that had ever hap-pened) turned her smirk up to a full scoff and snorted, I told you that would get you nothing but an ass-chewing. On top of that, the jury thinks youre a jerk.

I guess well know if Im a jerk when the jury comes back, wont we? Matt responded with a wink.

Dick, Ann snorted and marched away, almost knock-ing down the only legal secretary the Parrish-Townsend firm had.

Harold, Ben sighed, looking sternly at their legal sec-retary, Take a piece of advice from me. Never, ever, do what Matt does in a courtroom. Better still, he continued, as Harold nodded solemnly, never take on loser cases like this if you want to feed your family ... or whatever.

Oh, you mustnt worry, Mr. Townsend, Harold said brightly. I have no intention of ever becoming a lawyer.

Ben missed that; he was too busy frowning at Matt. Look, I dont want to get called on the carpet anymore by that asshole. Hell, I remember when he couldnt argue his way out of a paper bag, let alone preside, but he thinks he can, so when you bring a case before him

Ah, I beg your pardon, Mr. Townsend, Harold politely interrupted before Ben could go off on what was a regular rant about Matts cases, but I need to inform Mr. Parrish that Senator Masters has called five times today.

Masters? Ben said, surprised, his rant suddenly forgotten. Hey, that reminds me what was that about you being a hotshot big gun?

Hell if I know, Matt shrugged, and took the cell phone from Harold to call Senator Masters.

When happy hour rolled around, Matt drove his silver Jaguar XK to the warehouse district in downtown Austin. He screeched to a halt in front of Stetsons, a popular steakhouse, tossed his keys to the valet, strode inside like he owned the joint, and flashed his most winsome smile at the hostess. Howre you doing, Maria?

She, in turn, lit up like a Christmas tree. Great, Mr. Parrish! Are you by yourself tonight? she asked, as Matt was rather notorious for bringing his many dates here.

Just me. Im meeting some friends is Tom Masters here?

Right this way, she said and, picking up a menu, asked him to follow her.

Matt followed her and her ass, which jiggled side to side in black spandex pants as she led him to the back of the restaurant and the table usually reserved for big shots. Matt should know he sat there often enough. With a reputation for being one half of the best litigation team in town, his clients included CEOs of multinational corporations and heads of state and local governments who liked to be wined and dined. Matt spent almost as much time here as he did in the downtown loft he called home.

Tom Masters was the first of three men to come to his feet when he saw Matt behind the pretty hostess. Parrish! he called, sticking out his enormous hand. Tom had been one of the best high school lineman in Texas, but in recent years, he had gotten a little thick, both figuratively and literally. Glad you could make yourself available tonight, he said, shaking Matts hand with enthusiasm.

Right. Like he was foolish enough to turn down a state senator, even if it was one of his old college fraternity brothers. Wouldnt want to be anywhere else. How are you. Senator?

Shit, Parrish! Call me Tom! He laughed, slapped Matt on the shoulder. Hey, you know Doug Balinger? And Jeff Hunter? he asked, indicating his two companions.

Matt knew them by name only, and that they were the powerhouses behind the state Democratic Party. He shook hands, took a seat next to Tom, and asked Maria to bring him a bourbon, neat. The four men watched her walk away; Tom sighed longingly. Now thats a pair of ta-tas, he said with a shake of his head.

Matt, I read you did pretty well on that theater deal, Jeff Hunter said. What was it again?

The Cineworld case? We sued them over access for the handicapped, he said with a shrug and left it at that. He was loath to talk shop in situations like this, because everyone and their dog was an armchair attorney.

The paper said you did pretty well for the plaintiffs, Jeff continued. Didnt the court rule that Cineworld had to provide so much handicapped seating on par with the rest of the crowd? And added a cool five mil for being inconvenienced?

Doug snorted into his vodka tonic. Must be nice.

Actually, it wasnt very nice at all it was textbook discrimination, and Matt couldnt stand seeing the little guy get trounced by big Cineworld-type conglomerates. Maybe Dad was right about him he was a bleeding heart. The deal was that Cineworld made it clear they werent changing business practices for a bunch of gimps in Austin, Texas, he said coolly. But my clients have severe handicaps that confine them to wheelchairs. If they want to see a movie like all the rest of us, they have to wait for video because Cineworld puts them down on the floor where they have to crane their necks just to see the damn screen. My clients asked them nicely, but Cineworld got pretty arrogant about it. And Matt hated arrogance, hated it more than anything.

I guess Cineworlds thinking a little differently about it now, huh? Tom said with a laugh.

I guess, Matt said as Maria reappeared and placed a bourbon in front of him.

Youre a fighter, Matt. And thats exactly the kind of attitude the Party is looking for people who know the difference between right and wrong and have the balls to apply that common sense to the common good and get results.

He wasnt going to get the donation speech already, was he? Shit, the election was months away. He should have ordered a double, and quickly turned to catch Maria, but she was too far away.

We need that kind of thinking and that kind of person to help me win the Lieutenant Governors office next November.

Just looking for a few good men, yada, yada, yada . . .

We need that kind of drive and determination to breathe life into the state party apparatus.

Dont you mean breathe Cineworlds money, Tom? Matt smiled and tapped his breast pocket. Dont worry I got your few good men right here, he said, withdrawing a checkbook.

But Tom surprised him, stopped him with a hand to his arm. Im not asking for money, Matt.

Hello? Since when ? Since when had Tom Masters ever wanted anything but money? More importantly, what was he doing wasting time here if it wasnt for a contribution?