The Firm Part 18

The hallway was empty and quiet. To his right was the office of the headmaster. He waited for a moment in the hall, waited to be seen, but no one was there. He walked quietly ahead until, at the third cla.s.sroom, he heard the wonderful voice of his wife. She was plowing through multiplication tables when he stuck his head in the door and smiled. She froze, then giggled. She excused herself, told them to stay in their seats and read the next page. She closed the door.

"What're you doing here?" she asked as he grabbed her and pinned her to the wall. She glanced nervously up and down the hall.

"I missed you," he said with conviction. He bear-hugged her for a good minute. He kissed her neck and tasted the sweetness of her perfume. And then the girl returned. You piece of sc.u.m, why didn't you run?

"When did you get in?" she asked, straightening her hair and glancing down the hall.

"About an hour ago. You look wonderful."

Her eyes were wet. Those wonderfully honest eyes. "How was your trip?"

"Okay. I missed you. It's no fun when you're not around."

Her smile widened and she looked away. "I missed you too."

They held hands and walked toward the front door. "I'd like a date tonight," he said.

"You're not working?"

"No. I'm not working. I'm going out with my wife to her favorite restaurant. We'll eat and drink expensive wine and stay out late, and then get naked when we get home."

"You did miss me." She kissed him again, on the lips, then looked down the hall. "But you better get out of here before someone sees you."

They walked quickly to the front door without being seen.

He breathed deeply in the cool air and walked quickly to his car. He did it. He looked into those eyes, held her and kissed her like always. She suspected nothing. She was touched and even moved.

DeVasher paced anxiously behind his desk and sucked nervously on a Roi-Tan. He sat in his worn swivel chair and tried to concentrate on a memo, then he jumped to his feet and paced again. He checked his watch. He called his secretary. He called Oliver Lambert's secretary. He paced some more.

Finally, seventeen minutes after he was supposed to arrive, Ollie was cleared through security and walked into DeVasher's office.

DeVasher stood behind his desk and glared at Ollie. "You're late!"

"I'm very busy," Ollie answered as he sat in a worn Naugahyde chair. "What's so important?"

DeVasher's face instantly changed into a sly, evil smile. He dramatically opened a desk drawer and proudly threw a large manila envelope across the desk into Ollie's lap. "Some of the best work we've ever done."

Lambert opened the envelope and gaped at the eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs. He stared at each one, holding them inches from his nose, memorizing each detail. DeVasher watched proudly.

Lambert reviewed them again and began breathing heavily. "These are incredible."

"Yep. We thought so."

"Who's the girl?" Ollie asked, still staring.

"A local prost.i.tute. Looks pretty good, doesn't she? We've never used her before, but you can bet we'll use her again."

"I want to meet her, and soon."

"No problem. I kinda figured you would."

"This is incredible. How'd she do it?"

"It looked difficult at first. He told the first girl to get lost. Avery had the other one, but your man wanted no part of her friend. He left and went to that little bar on the beach. That's when our girl there showed up. She's a pro."

"Where were your people?"

"All over the place. Those were shot from behind a palm tree, about eighty feet away. Pretty good, aren't they?"

"Very good. Give the photographer a bonus. How long did they roll in the sand?"

"Long enough. They were very compatible."

"I think he really enjoyed himself."

"We were lucky. The beach was deserted and the timing was perfect."

Lambert raised a photograph toward the ceiling, in front of his eyes. "Did you make me a set?" he asked from behind it.

"Of course, Ollie. I know how much you enjoy these things."

"I thought McDeere would be tougher than that."

"He's tough, but he's human. He's no dummy either. We're not sure, but we think he knew we were watching him the next day during lunch. He seemed suspicious and began darting around the shopping district. Then he disappeared. He was an hour late for his meeting with Avery at the bank."

"Where'd he go?"

"We don't know. We were just watching out of curiosity, nothing serious. h.e.l.l, he might've been in a bar downtown for all we know. But he just disappeared."

"Watch him carefully. He worries me."

DeVasher waved another manila envelope. "Quit worrying, Ollie. We own him now! He would kill for us if he knew about these."

"What about Tarrance?"

"Not a sign. McDeere ain't mentioned it to anybody, at least not to anybody we're listening to. Tarrance is hard to trail sometimes, but I think he's staying away."

"Keep your eyes open."

"Don't worry about my end, Ollie. You're the lawyer, the counselor, the esquire, and you get your eight-by-tens. You run the firm. I run the surveillance."

"How are things at the McDeere house?"

"Not too good. She was very cool to the trip."

"What'd she do when he was gone?"

"Well, she ain't one to sit around the house. Two nights she and Quin's wife went out to eat at a couple of those yuppie joints. Then to the movies. She was out one night with a schoolteacher friend. She shopped a little.

"She also called her mother a lot, collect. Evidently there's no love lost between our boy and her parents, and she wants to patch things up. She and her mom are tight and it really bothers her because they can't be a big happy family. She wants to go home to Kentucky for Christmas, and she's afraid he won't go for it. There's a lot of friction. A lot of undercurrents. She tells her mom he works too much, and her mom says it's because he wants to show them up. I don't like the sound of it, Ollie. Bad vibes."

"Just keep listening. We've tried to slow him down, but he's a machine."

"Yeah, at a hundred and fifty an hour I know you want him to slack off. Why don't you cut all your a.s.sociates back to forty hours a week so they can spend more time with their families. You could cut your salary, sell a Jag or two, hock your old lady's diamonds, maybe sell your mansion and buy a smaller house by the country club."

"Shut up, DeVasher."

Oliver Lambert stormed out of the office. DeVasher turned red with his high-pitched laughter, then, when his office was empty, he locked the photos in a file cabinet. "Mitch.e.l.l McDeere," he said to himself with an immense smile, "now you are ours."

15.

On a Friday, at noon, two weeks before Christmas, Abby said goodbye to her students and left St. Andrew's for the holidays. At one, she parked in a lot full of Volvos and BMWs and Saabs and more Peugeots and walked hurriedly through the cold rain into the crowded terrarium where the young affluent gathered to eat quiche and fajitas fajitas and black bean soup among the plants. This was Kay Quin's current hot spot of the year, and this was the second lunch they'd had in a month. Kay was late, as usual. and black bean soup among the plants. This was Kay Quin's current hot spot of the year, and this was the second lunch they'd had in a month. Kay was late, as usual.

It was a friends.h.i.+p still in the initial stages of development. Cautious by nature, Abby had never been one to rush into chumminess with a stranger. The three years at Harvard had been friendless, and she had learned a great deal of independence. In six months in Memphis she had met a handful of prospects at church and one at school, but she moved cautiously.

At first Kay Quin had pushed hard. She was at once a tour guide, shopping consultant and even a decorator. But Abby had moved slowly, learning a little with each visit and watching her new friend carefully. They had eaten several times in the Quin home. They had seen each other at firm dinners and functions, but always in a crowd. And they had enjoyed each other's company over four long lunches at whatever happened to be the hottest gathering place at that moment for the young and beautiful Gold MasterCard holders in Memphis. Kay noticed cars and homes and clothes, but pretended to ignore it all. Kay wanted to be a friend, a close friend, a confidante, an intimate. Abby kept the distance, slowly allowing her in.

The reproduction of a 1950s jukebox sat below Abby's table on the first level near the bar, where a standing-room crowd sipped and waited for tables. After ten minutes and two Roy Orbisons, Kay emerged from the crowd at the front door and looked upward to the third level. Abby smiled and waved.

They hugged and pecked each other properly on the cheeks, without transferring lipstick.

"Sorry I'm late," Kay said.

"That's okay. I'm used to it."

"This place is packed," Kay said, looking around in amazement. It was always packed. "So you're out of school?"

"Yes. As of an hour ago. I'm free until January 6."

They admired each other's outfits and commented on how slim and in general how beautiful and young they were.

Christmas shopping at once became the topic, and they talked of stores and sales and children until the wine arrived. Abby ordered scampi in a skillet, but Kay stuck with the old fern-bar standby of broccoli quiche.

"What're your plans for Christmas?" Kay asked.

"None yet. I'd like to go to Kentucky to see my folks, but I'm afraid Mitch won't go. I've dropped a couple of hints, both of which were ignored."

"He still doesn't like your parents?"

"There's been no change. In fact, we don't discuss them. I don't know how to handle it."

"With great caution, I would imagine."

"Yeah, and great patience. My parents were wrong, but I still need them. It's painful when the only man I've ever loved can't tolerate my parents. I pray every day for a small miracle."

"Sounds like you need a rather large miracle. Is he working as hard as Lamar says?"

"I don't know how a person could work any harder. It's eighteen hours a day Monday through Friday, eight hours on Sat.u.r.day, and since Sunday is a day of rest, he puts in only five or six hours. He reserves a little time for me on Sunday."

"Do I hear a touch of frustration?"

"A lot of frustration, Kay. I've been patient, but it's getting worse. I'm beginning to feel like a widow. I'm tired of sleeping on the couch waiting for him to get home."

"You're there for food and s.e.x, huh?"

"I wish. He's too tired for s.e.x. It's not a priority anymore. And this is a man who could never get enough. I mean, we almost killed each other in law school. Now, once a week if I'm lucky. He comes home, eats if he has the energy and goes to bed. If I'm really lucky, he might talk to me for a few minutes before he pa.s.ses out. I'm starved for adult conversation, Kay. I spend seven hours a day with eight-year-olds, and I crave words with more than three syllables. I try to explain this to him, and he's snoring. Did you go through this with Lamar?"

"Sort of. He worked seventy hours a week for the first year. I think they all do. It's kind of like initiation into the fraternity. A male ritual in which you have to prove your manliness. But most of them run out of gas after a year, and cut back to sixty or sixty-five hours. They still work hard, but not the kamikaze routine of the rookie year."

"Does Lamar work every Sat.u.r.day?"

"Most Sat.u.r.days, for a few hours. Never on Sunday. I've put my foot down. Of course, if there's a big deadline or it's tax season, then they all work around the clock. I think Mitch has them puzzled."

"He's not slowing down any. In fact, he's possessed. Occasionally he won't come home until dawn. Then it's just a quick shower, and back to the office."

"Lamar says he's already a legend around the office."

Abby sipped her wine and looked over the rail at the bar. "That's great. I'm married to a legend."

"Have you thought about children?"

"It requires s.e.x, remember?"

"Come on, Abby, it can't be that bad."

"I'm not ready for children. I can't handle being a single parent. I love my husband, but at this point in his life, he would probably have a terribly important meeting and leave me alone in the labor room. Eight centimeters dilated. He thinks of nothing but that d.a.m.ned law firm."

Kay reached across the table and gently took Abby's hand. "It'll be okay," she said with a firm smile and a wise look. "The first year is the hardest. It gets better, I promise."

Abby smiled. "I'm sorry."

The waiter arrived with their food, and they ordered more wine. The scampi simmered in the b.u.t.ter-and-garlic sauce and produced a delicious aroma. The cold quiche was all alone on a bed of lettuce with a sickly tomato wedge.

Kay picked a glob of broccoli and chewed on it. "You know, Abby, the firm encourages children."

"I don't care. Right now I don't like the firm. I'm competing with the firm, and I'm losing badly. So I could care less what they want. They will not plan my family for me. I don't understand why they are so interested in things which are none of their business. That place is eerie, Kay. I can't put my finger on it, but those people make my skin crawl."

"They want happy lawyers with stable families."

"And I want my husband back. They're in the process of taking him away, so the family is not so stable. If they'd get off his back, perhaps we could be normal like everyone else and have a yard full of children. But not now."

The wine arrived, and the scampi cooled. She ate it slowly and drank her wine. Kay searched for less sensitive areas.

"Lamar said Mitch went to the Caymans last month."

"Yes. He and Avery were there for three days. Strictly business, or so he says. Have you been there?"