Solomon Vs. Lord Part 56

Steve's throat felt constricted. He doubted he could swallow, wondered if he could even take a breath. He was pretty sure he heard the judge's pen scratching across a notepad.

"And Sofia makes huevos rancheros," the boy continued. "But Lexy and Rexy don't really cook. They're models, and they eat like a slice of grapefruit and a thimble of yogurt."

"Models," the judge said, disapproval in her voice. "Does your uncle see either Lexy or Rexy now?"

"Not anymore," Bobby said.

Steve felt relieved enough to exhale.

"Used to be, he'd do them both at once."

"Oh, s.h.i.+-i-i-i-i-t!" Steve wailed.

"They're twins," Bobby explained, helpfully.

Steve whimpered and Zinkavich barked a laugh.

"Quiet, both of you!" Victoria flashed an angry look.

Steve said: "That stuff's ancient history, Vic. Six months ago, at least."

"Please. I'm trying to listen," she said.

Bobby was saying something, and they'd missed part of it.

". . . been a while since Uncle Steve got any trim."

"Trim?"

"You know. Some play. Booty in the bone shack."

"So, no more booty?"

"Lexy, Rexy, Sofia, Gina. They haven't come over since Uncle Steve fell totally in love with Victoria."

"Ms. Lord? His ex-fiancee?"

"Oh, that wasn't real."

"Excuse me?" the judge said, puzzled.

"Being engaged. That was just pretending."

"Whatever for?"

"Uncle Steve didn't want to lose me, and he thought Victoria made him seem more mature."

"I see."

"Not that he wouldn't like to marry her for real."

In the anteroom, Zinkavich laughed so hard, spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

"So now only Ms. Lord comes to the house?" Judge Rolle asked.

"Just to work, not to do Uncle Steve. She's gonna marry this other guy, and Uncle Steve is totally b.u.mmed."

G.o.d, this was humiliating, Steve thought. Why had no one ever invented a pill that could make you invisible?

"This isn't a court case, it's a soap opera," Zinkavich said.

The judge said: "Tell me about your homeschooling."

Yes, tell her, Steve thought. They'd rehea.r.s.ed this.

"I'm reading the Aeneid in Latin. Virgil's pretty cool."

Perfect. Way to go, kiddo.

"And The Iliad in Greek. The battle scenes are totally awesome. Better than that stupid movie Troy."

"That's very impressive," the judge said. "Did your uncle give you those books?"

"Yep, plus the fiftieth anniversary edition of Playboy."

Aargh. One step forward, two steps back, Steve thought.

"I thought Stella Stevens was really hot. But she didn't show any cooch."

In the anteroom, Steve banged his head against the bookshelves, knocking a dusty volume of Corpus Juris Secundum to the floor. Over the speaker, Judge Rolle seemed to sigh, then said: "Tell me what you do for fun, Bobby."

"I play Little League, but I suck bad. Uncle Steve says it doesn't matter, but some kids are mean to me. Once I dropped a fly ball, and one of the dads yells, 'Get that spaz out of there.'"

"That must have hurt your feelings."

"Then I let a ball roll between my legs, and the same guy yells I should be in the Special Olympics."

"Oh, my," the judge said.

"Uncle Steve told the guy to quit talking smack, but he wouldn't. He was, like, humongous, with a fat head, and Uncle Steve yells at him: 'Hey, big mouth, what position did you play, backstop?' And everybody starts laughing, so the guy comes after my uncle, who starts running backwards, and the guy can't catch him. Uncle Steve's saying, 'You're so ugly your first name should be d.a.m.n,' and the guy keeps chasing and Uncle Steve keeps backpedaling and says, "If your a.s.s had eyes, you still couldn't see s.h.i.+t.' And the game's stopped because they're on the field and the big guy's swinging at Uncle Steve but missing, and finally the guy stops, out of breath, all red-faced, and bends over and hurls chunks. Right on first base."

"Must have been quite an experience," the judge breathed.

"Later, Uncle Steve told me some people say nasty things because they're stupid and some because they're mean, and not to let it bother me, because I'm special in a good way."

"I think your uncle's right," the judge said.

"And he said if you're really mad at somebody, beat them with your brains, not your fists."

"You really like your uncle Steve, don't you, Bobby?"

"He's awesome," the boy said.

"How about Victoria?"

"I wish she was my mom."

There was a long pause. Steve wished he could see the judge's face, wanted to know what she was thinking. He glanced at Victoria. She blinked several times, her eyelashes flicking away tears like silver drops of dew.

Forty-nine.

MY BIG, FAT STUPID MISTAKE.

"I think we recovered nicely at the end," Steve said. Trying to show confidence, knowing Victoria was furious with him.

She shook her head. "Bobby loves you. You love him. But that's not enough to win."

"You're leaving something out. He loves you, too."

"Stop it, Steve. Just stop it. You promised. No more personal stuff."

"You're the one who started crying in there."

"Tears aren't enough to win, either."

They were outside the judge's chambers, taking a thirty-minute dinner recess. A nearby restaurant had delivered sweet fried plantains, chewy palomilla steak, black beans and rice, and enough espresso to keep everybody awake for a week. Bobby was in the judge's chambers, eating with Judge Rolle. Zinkavich was stuffing his face in the anteroom, and Steve and Victoria, famished but too embroiled to eat, were jawing in the corridor.

"I should have gone with my gut, not yours," she said.

"Okay."

"No matter how much he loves you, Bobby made you seem reckless."

"Okay."

"Undisciplined."

"Got it."

"Immature."

"I admit it. I screwed up."

"Like you're the one who needs a caregiver."

Why wouldn't she let up? He felt like a marlin attacked by a shark. First a ferocious strike, then the rip of flesh from bone, and finally a quick swallow. Followed by another strike, rip, swallow.

"Enough, already," he said. "From now on, you run the case. I won't interfere."

That stopped her for a moment. "All right. Deal."

Thank G.o.d, he thought, he'd finally found a way to quiet her down. "Great. Now let's go over my testimony."

She frowned. "I'm not putting you on the stand."

"What!"

"I'm can't let you be crossed about the night you s.n.a.t.c.hed Bobby."

"I can handle it."

"Only if you admit to a bunch of felonies."

"I'll take the Fifth."

"That'll impress the judge."

"If I don't testify, who will?"

"At your service," announced the suntanned, older man walking toward them. He wore a beige linen suit, and his white hair flowed down the back of his neck. He carried a Panama hat in one hand, an unlit cigar in the other. "How the h.e.l.l are you, son?" Herbert Solomon said.

"Dad?" Steve was so shocked that for a moment he was disoriented. His father striding down a courthouse corridor? Like he was still a judge, on his way to take the bench. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't Victoria tell you?" Herbert Solomon said. "Ah'm your star witness."

Steve's shock was turning to anger. What chutzpah. Calling his old man without even asking him. "She must have wanted to surprise me," Steve said, biting off the words.

"Well, ah'm here to help."

"Too late for that."

"C'mon, son. Until all the corn's out of the crib, there's still time."

"Thanks, anyway, but I don't need your help."

"Yes you do," Victoria interposed. "Unlike you, there's nothing your father can be crossed on."

"Really? How about resigning from the bench in disgrace?"

"Judge Rolle already knows about that. Were you listening yesterday? She idolizes your father."

"Ah remember Althea when she was just a pup," Herbert reminisced. "These insurance lawyers were picking on her, and ah-"