Reilly 12 - Show No Fear (11 page)

“S
O THIS IS THE LIFE YOU WANT?”
P
AUL SAID SLOWLY.
“H
AVE
you got it all figured out?”

“My life’s a wreck, Paul.”

“How so?”

“Never mind. Anyway, I’m living for the future, really. I want to finish law school, get established.”

“Why be a lawyer?”

She closed her eyes. “Because knowledge is power.”

“So power is your thing?”

“So interrogation is your thing?”

Paul ignored her. “What about the macho posturing in court? The slam-dancing? You enjoy theatrics?”

“Most lawyers never go to court. Some, like Jack, are naturals but don’t like doing it anyway. Some, like Remy, are terrific at it, but work at it way harder than I want to. I do like going to court and watching the lawyers. I did well on our moot court at school. I kind of like slam-dancing. But, you know, mostly in court you’re just trying to be sincere, your manner is kind of formal and respectful.”

“What kind of law do you want to practice?”

“Maybe corporate law?”

“Why?”

“Lots of options, some intriguing gray areas. Or maybe I’ll do that impossible thing—go into a general practice in a small place. People in trouble will sniff me out.”

“You do smell good, like the sun is releasing pheromones.”

“Like water bugs do. Like roaches.”

“Your hair.” Paul lifted it out of the sand. “Don’t want a mess.” He stroked it. “I like long hair.”

“Hey! Look what I found!” Bob cried. He had wandered toward the surf and picked up a huge brown bubble of seaweed, its long sea tail dragging behind him.

“Pop it,” Paul offered, “or lay it down and jump as hard as you can.”

Bob chose to jump, making popping sounds, and ran down toward the shore to find more. Nina took off after him, then Paul ran, too, leaving his shoes behind. At the edge of the ocean the seaweed bubbles lay tangled where the tide had dropped them, and the three jumped and stomped on the piles, laughing and yelling. Nina ran out into the shining water up to her knees. Paul stood still, holding on to Bob, as the outgoing waves pulled the sand from around their feet and the new waves buried them up to their ankles.

After a while, they rinsed off as well as they could and clambered back up to the car. “Where to?” Nina asked, aware of her wet clothing, sobering up.

“How about if you drive us to Carmel and I buy you lunch at the tourist trap of your choice?”

“Mickey D’s,” the little voice trapped in the backseat said. “Best fries on the planet.”

They drove along Holman Highway in the wind and sun. They took the Carpenter Street turnoff and passed through the shady streets of upper Carmel. The overall effect was of a pricey English village mocked up for some movie set, each house uniquely charming. Carmel had been a den of bohemianism in the twenties and thirties. Jack London had spent a lot of time here. Clean, safe, and quaint, the police log must be a laugh. “The rest of the world should be so lucky,” Paul said. “Where do these people work?”

“Often they don’t. They made their money someplace else, in San Jose or San Francisco, lived in the nicer burbs, and saved for a romantic retirement. Now they paint, draw, write, sculpt. Throw pots. Have lunch. Play golf. Shop.”

They parked in the Pohlmann office parking lot since there was no place else to park on Saturday, walked a block, sat down in the dark pub called the Bully III, and ordered stew and garlic bread for Paul and Bob and a chicken sandwich for Nina. Bob said politely to Paul that he was having a nice time and proceeded to spill his stew all over himself, muttering about the missing but hotly anticipated fast-food fries. Paul, looking at Nina, said he was having a nice time, too.

Back in the car after lunch, they all felt drowsy. They turned back onto Ocean before Paul first noticed the BMW in his rearview mirror. The glossy car stuck close behind.

“Look behind you,” he said to Nina. “Check out that Beemer a couple of cars back.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”

“You know this guy?”

“I guess I do. He’s—harassing me.” She felt scared, and she felt Paul sense her fear.

“That’s the man,” said Bob. “Mommy hit him.”

“Please, let’s ignore him,” Nina said, wishing she could.

But Richard was not giving up.

“I’m going to stop the car,” said Paul.

“What?”

“Let me deliver your message.”

“No.” Nina touched Paul’s arm, alarmed. He drove up and down a few streets but the BMW stayed right behind them. Richard Filsen was smiling below his sunglasses.

“He’s following us,” Paul noted.

“He’s waving at me!” Bob said.

“Okay, pull over,” Nina said, just before they reached Highway 1. “Sorry, I’m going to handle this.” She opened the door and marched toward Filsen, who had pulled up behind them.

He got out of his car and leaned on it.

“Time for you to get the hell out of my life, Richard.”

“Just a reminder. Don’t conveniently forget the DNA test appointment next week.”

“You thought enough of me to love me once, Richard. You have to stop following us, okay? You’re scaring Bob. You’re scaring me.”

“Your problem. I’m taking care of my problem.”

Nina walked back to Paul’s car wondering what his problem was, other than a sudden maniacal interest in a child who was a stranger to him.

Paul waited until Nina returned to the front passenger seat.

He got out, walked a bit, and put his face into Filsen’s face. “I don’t like you.”

“Fair enough,” Filsen said. Up close, Paul didn’t smell alcohol, and a look around the car failed to establish any plain-sight weapons, bottles, or hypodermics. Filsen wore a fatuous smile on his face. Californians smile too much, Paul thought, not for the first time.

He looked toward his car, where Nina was moving her hands in frantic signals. He blocked her view of the driver’s window with his body and took a handful of Filsen’s hair, squeezing until Filsen emitted a pathetic little scream. Paul let go and Filsen raised his hand to his head. He didn’t move.

Paul turned and walked back to his car.

Nobody spoke. Paul pulled out. Filsen dropped back and disappeared. Paul was thinking that lawyers are so used to carrying on their wars of words that they forget how to fight. He was also feeling as if he had overreacted, perhaps, slightly.

Finally he said, “I fixed it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have touched him.”

“Oh?”

“We’re in the middle of a custody—um—issue.”

Paul looked at Bob. “Oh,” he said again, although this time much more softly.

“Even threatening him without touching him can be an assault.”

“I know what a fucking assault is,” Paul whispered so that Bob wouldn’t hear. “I’m a homicide detective.”

“Big help. Great. You don’t understand, Paul. Richard enjoys the attention. Like a neglected kid? He craves it.”

“Not the kind of attention I give.”

Paul drove silently back to her house.

“I’d like to stay this afternoon,” Paul said. “You could work for a couple of hours. I could arrange for supper.”

Nina thought, I should send him away. He’s impulsive and rough. Then she remembered socking Richard in the preschool parking lot. “Supper would be great.”

He lowered his hands to his legs while she climbed out of the car, helping Bob and all his gear get free. “Thai, Indian, Italian, strange?”

“Hot dogs,” Bob said. “With spicy mustard.”

“And garlic fries,” Nina added.

“No garlic,” Paul said.

“Oh, really?”

“I’ll bring the hot dog, Bob, plus—something strange to please your mama.”

He left for a while, then returned with food after Nina and Bob had time to clean up, settle in, and start Bob’s preschool art project.

After Bob ate his hot dog with relish and finished his project, Nina carted him upstairs, singing his favorite Burl Ives song, “Little White Duck.”

“You’re a good mother,” Paul said.

“What delectable food did you bring me?” she asked, plopping down on the couch beside him.

“Escargot. Snails to the American.”

She pulled her legs into a triangle on the couch, trying to figure out how to respond.

“Kidding. I brought homemade slow-cooked pork tacos with green sauce from Maria’s.”

Nina turned down the lights, lit candles, and found plates for the food. Both of them ate heartily.

Wiping sauce from her cheek, Nina said, “About the cottage…”

“When can I move in?”

Nina uncrossed her legs and crossed her arms. “The thing is—”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re nervous. Is that good?”

She smiled. “Maybe it is.” She liked him too much. He scared her. She was not ready.

“That’s a really soft bed you’ve got in there.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, buster. C’mon, it’s the old wood floors. The lack of a dishwasher. The lack of electrical sockets, cheap rent and a landlady who can’t afford repairs. I’m having second thoughts about taking advantage of you.”

“So you don’t want me.”

“I never said that.”

Paul put his hands around her neck, so gently it felt soft as the breeze. “You don’t want such close proximity, just in case? In case—”

“I have issues but I can’t expect you to fix them. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. However, I think this means you owe me another date at the very least.”

At this point, concentrating entirely on his touch loitering so suggestively on her skin, she couldn’t speak, so she nodded.

He kissed her good night on her aunt Helen’s porch, her feeling heat that began in her heels and moved up, him trying to hold on much longer than was polite.

“Night,” he said, walking down the few stairs toward the sidewalk.

While he walked to his car, she waited for the tingling to subside, which took several minutes.

At three in the morning, when she habitually woke up perturbed about her mother, Bob, Matt, or Richard, she found herself, eyes open, imagining explicit and raunchy activities with Paul instead. She fell back against her pillows into the best night’s sleep ever.

R
EMY DRANK BLACK COFFEE IN HER IMMACULATE WHITE LIVING
room, looking out at the strollers on Scenic Drive. Tourists cruised slowly past searching for parking or gaping at the ocean. Just across the street, a concrete stairway led down to the wide, white beach and a cold, seaweed-heavy Pacific. The morning overcast had not deterred a steady stream of families, leashed dogs, and power walkers.

She loved Sunday mornings. Her house was her refuge, and she spent a lot of money maintaining the place. Sipping the scalding-hot liquid, she thought about how to continue her lifestyle should she get the judgeship—judges didn’t make big money, but there were opportunities there.

She had worked all her life toward this goal, she decided, not for the prestige, but for respect and admiration. In preparation, she kept herself fit, clean, and presentably dressed. Today she had already ridden the exercise bike, done fifty sit-ups, completed her yoga exercises, and soaked in a hot bath, then cloaked herself in a flowered satin kimono.

But right now, her most pressing, urgent question involved food. She was insistently, gnawingly hungry. However, she had noticed she was starting to put on water weight. Her stomach
felt bloated. She feared that today’s brew of hunger plus PMS would make her overeat. She decided to have another cup of coffee with nonfat milk and four strawberries. Klaus and Elise expected her for tea this afternoon. Tea, luckily, had no calories, no issues.

The phone rang. Her machine was off. She debated answering. She hadn’t talked with Jack since the Bar dinner and she still wasn’t ready, but it could be Klaus. She answered.

“This is the governor’s office for Miss Sorensen,” a woman said formally. “Will you hold for Mr. Alex Antioch?”

The governor’s assistant for judicial affairs came on the line. “Remy. Sorry to call on a Sunday.”

“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, Alex,” Remy said. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. I wonder if you know why I am calling?”

“You’re such a tease, Alex. C’mon. What’s up?”

“The governor wants me to get you up here to Sacramento for a breakfast meeting tomorrow. Is that possible?”

“Certainly,” Remy said, murmuring to herself, keep the breath even, that’s it, you’re composed, you expected this—

Alex’s voice lowered. “He’s down to two candidates for the judgeship. You’re made for the position. I noticed that when you came up.”

“Thank you, Alex.” She allowed only a small drop of the ebullience she felt to leak into her voice. “What time?”

“Seven thirty. The governor’s mansion.” He paused. “I’ll be there, too.”

“I look forward to seeing him. And you, Alex.”

“Ditto,” he breathed.

Breakfast. Well, she would have all day to decide how much food she would have to choke down. Meanwhile, what should she wear? Even now, at the end of October, it could be warm in the Central Valley. She needed a new suit—maybe she could nab a Calvin Klein or even another Armani at Nordstrom at the Stanford Mall on the way. She needed to cancel Klaus, get a hair appointment, and call Jack and ask him to take over her cases just for a day.

And bring along a couple of condoms just in case something developed. She had an idea about that and it had nothing to do with blubbery Alex Antioch.

“I changed my mind,” said Bob, crunching on his Lucky Charms. “I don’t want to be a ghost tonight. Jason’s going to be a ghost, and I hate Jason.”

Nina’s heart sank. Coming on the last day of the month, a day she needed to file important papers and study for a quiz, Halloween had galloped up and gobbled them whole. “We don’t hate people, honey,” she said automatically. Bob had missed school the day before, and she had missed half a workday, taking him over to a county-approved lab to have samples taken for a paternity test. Richard had received his court order. She hadn’t been able to do anything about it but seethe.

“I want to be Captain Hook. Here. Look at this picture.” He studied a big picture book he had laid out on the breakfast counter. “I already have a sword and hat.”

He did, she realized with relief.

“What I don’t have is the hook.” She took the book from him. Not only did he not have the hook, he didn’t have the red jacket, the lace necklet, or the black boots with the silver buckles, and tonight was Halloween. Her son ran out of the room, returning with items he felt might be relevant, including a nasty-looking plastic sword in a scabbard. “I don’t need to wear it this morning. The parade is this afternoon,” he announced.

Nina scavenged frantically in her closets while Bob brushed his teeth. Nothing that would make a good jacket. An old lace tablecloth. Two fake-silver napkin rings that might morph into buckles, if someone far cleverer than she did the work.

Bob tied his shoes laboriously. She looked at him, her heart aching with love and inability, as it always did. “Can I help you with that?”

“I can do it.”

Nina watched with increasing anxiety as the clock ticked. “I thought you really loved Casper the Friendly Ghost. And then you
could wear your costume to school this morning. I bet a lot of the other kids will be wearing their costumes.”

“I changed my mind.”

Nina bent to retie his shoes. “You liked Jason last week. Why don’t you like him anymore?”

“That man in the car is my dad, right? The one that was behind us?”

“Oh, honey.”

“Why doesn’t he live here? Jason says his dad’s at home. Dads live with their kids.”

“Not always, honey.”

“Will my daddy ever live with us?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? That’s what I wonder. How come you aren’t married? That’s what Jason asked me.” Bob attempted to stuff his lunch bag into his backpack. “He’s smart.”

“Life’s complicated. We will talk about these things when we have more time, but I want you to think about this for today, okay? We’re happy, aren’t we?”

“I guess so,” he said, emphasizing
guess.

On the way to preschool she said, “You know what’s the best thing to do when somebody says something you don’t like? Just walk away.”

He looked at her as if she were crazy.

By habit, she scanned the parking lot for signs of Richard. When she saw no one, she walked Bob to the door. “Remember,” he said, kissing her. The entryway was blocked by a fat, yellow bumblebee and what appeared to be a turtle in drag.

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

At noon, she stopped by Astrid’s desk. “I need a huge favor.”

Astrid whacked away at her keyboard. “Everybody needs something. Remy and Jack both loaded me up this morning. I’ve got depo summaries on Patel and Rasheedi to do. That letter for your mom’s case. Plus Jack wrote a forty-page opening brief on his writ in that Coastal Commission case.” Astrid inclined her head toward
a cassette. “You’d think he’d get tired of the sound of his own voice.” As she talked, her fingers kept up an energetic pecking on her computer keyboard.

“How is it that you manage to talk the same time as you type?”

“Autopilot. Over a hundred words a minute. It passes through my brain like white noise. God, the job would turn deadly if I read this garbage.”

“Listen, Astrid. I know how busy you are. You’re always busy. But this is important. Tell you what. Help me out for an hour right now, and I’ll treat you to dinner afterwards.”

“I should work late.”

“I’ll provide a delicious, mouthwatering meal, okay? Here at the office. At your home. At your lover’s. Wherever.”

Astrid said nothing. Her brow furrowed.

“On the beach! At the Carmel restaurant of your choice!”

She shuffled paperwork on her desk.

“I’ll cook it myself!” Nina said, desperate.

Astrid finally raised her eyes from the shambles on her desk to look hard at Nina. “This is just sad. Now I’m scared. Does this have to do with Richard Filsen?”

Startled, Nina asked, “What?”

“Did you forget I’m Jack’s secretary? I type everything and am privy to everything. You’ve got big problems with that guy.”

Nina didn’t know what to say.

“And, ahem, girl talk. It’s only fair to add that I know him,” Astrid said, mouth turning down at the admission. “I met him at a party at Klaus’s a couple of years ago, two maybe. He chatted me up, gave me his card. I didn’t think much about it, because he’s not my type.”

“No?” Nina asked, fascinated.

“After three days of me not calling him, he called me every single day for a week. He sent bouquets of exotic flowers to the office, like saying, ‘Hey, everyone in Astrid’s workplace, a sleek guy wants her bad!’ He sent me crush notes!” She laughed, but her eyes were chilly. “I wonder if he wrote them himself or if he had his assistant write them?”

Nina tried to imagine Perry writing mash notes and couldn’t.

“Really good stuff, not gooey, just the right balance between gracious and romantic.”

“What did you do?”

“Look, he had expected me to fall down and kiss his shiny Bruno Magli shoes at the first invitation.”

“You recognized his shoes?” Nina couldn’t help her astonishment.

Astrid read her mind. “My boyfriend at the time wore the same style and never let an opportunity pass to mention how much those pointy leather babies set him back. Anyway, along comes Mr. Handsome, successful lawyer, lowering himself to woo a lowly assistant type. I surprised him by not falling for his shtick. He took me for a challenge.” She shook her head. “Fool. He was on the make. I’ve seen and rejected an even dozen like him. I told him to go fish.”

Astrid had seen through him, and Nina had not. Astrid, who kept the office running, who never faltered under fire, now held a new image in Nina’s eyes, that of a sexual sophisticate.

“Now you know my sordid past. So tell me, does it relate to yours or have I revealed myself pointlessly, as usual?”

“My past has to do with Bob. Richard seems to want to worm his way into our lives, not in a good way.”

Astrid nodded. “The dinner bribe shook me because I know you hate cooking. Now I’m getting the picture. It’s all about Bob.”

“I hate cooking for a four-year-old. For grown-ups, I come through. You like moussaka? Veal scaloppine? Name your dish.”

“You’ll bring it here this evening?”

“Yes. If you come to my house right now.”

Astrid shrugged. “Everything important always comes in at the end of the day. I’ve put out the most raging fires.” She pushed
SAVE
on her computer. “Let’s get out of here.”

On the way to Nina’s, after stopping at the post office to mail urgent documents, Astrid studied a picture of Captain Hook. They stopped at the department store in Pacific Grove to pick up supplies. In another life, Astrid must have been a tailor, reflected Nina, admiring the way she grabbed red felt, ribbons, and glitter and whirled around the store.

Nina gave Astrid some of Bob’s old clothes to go by and made lunch. By the time Nina was finished, Astrid had a tailored jacket cut, two side seams sewn, details in the works. After they ate, she applied lace at the neck and armholes, purple ribbon down the front, and glittery decorations with a glue gun. “This ought to do it. Now where’s that hat?” She pulled a yellow plume out of the bag. “Don’t forget to take makeup so you can give him a mustache.”

“I can never repay you for this.”

Astrid beamed.

“Come see the parade?” Nina asked. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Why the hell not?” asked Astrid, gulping down a glass of milk at Nina’s, leaving her supplies in brown bags on the floor. “I’m late back to work anyway.”

Most of the children were dressed up by the time they arrived at the school. They located Bob waiting patiently near the door. Astrid helped him wriggle into the felt jacket and purple tights while Nina painted his face.

After they were done, Bob looked at himself in the mirror, face solemn. “My hook?”

Nina ground her teeth, her mind whirring through possible mitigations, looking at Astrid. “Maybe if you held your hand like this?” Nina curved her hand into a hook shape.

Bob appeared ready to let loose and cry.

Astrid rummaged in her paper sack, pulling out a plastic thing with a hook on one end and a handle hidden on the other. Bob tried it out. The long sleeve on his right cuff just covered the handle. The music began, and he marched around the parking lot and up the block with the other children, waving his hook, while parents bumped into each other in their eagerness to position themselves for photos.

“Where on earth did you find that?” Nina asked Astrid.

“In the Halloween section of the store. Jeez, Nina. Open your eyes. There’s a world out there.”

At dinnertime, Nina brought Astrid a huge plate of her mom’s favorite recipes, Southern-fried chicken and rice. Astrid, always on a diet, ate every bite and raved about it for days.