Falling in Love (29 page)

It wasn’t to be. As I returned from a leisurely lunch, David, an associate who worked with Adam, ran out of his office exclaiming, “Lisa just called. The nun got to her! Tell Ellsworth that Denison has agreed to be a part of the appeal.” Then he practically sprinted down the wood-paneled corridor.

Ellsworth’s secretary informed me that he was in a meeting but when she learned that it was about the Murder Mom case, she promised to slip him a note. I had barely hung up when she phoned back. “They don’t have a conference room available indefinitely so the strategy session is going to be down there.”

Within minutes the maintenance people seemed to be moving Adam’s desk and tables against a wall and arranging a half-circle of arm chairs facing his desk on which they placed a large TV screen. By the time several lawyers started streaming into Adam’s office, I had abandoned all thoughts of leaving early.

Adam’s wife, Lisa, led the meeting from their Greenwich home via a speaker phone since she had declined a video screen. But on the large TV screen on Adam’s desk was her co-counsel, Keith Contrell, a lanky angular man with long salt-and-pepper hair and a tan face that looked more like hide than skin. He sported a Western shirt and spoke slowly and deliberately in a Southern accent.

Everyone knew why they were there. A Stay of Execution had to be expeditiously drafted and signed by a Supreme Court Justice or Mary Denison would be executed at 6 a.m. the following morning, less than seventeen hours away.

During their conversations, Denison’s “extenuating circumstances” soon came to light. While using a knife to clean fish for dinner, Mary had caught her husband having sex with their thirteen-year-old daughter. Enraged Mary thrust the knife at him but he had deflected it and the knife had impaled her daughter’s heart. In a mad fury, Mary then slashed her husband over twenty times and herself twice in a botched suicide attempt.

While paralegals and associates rushed in an out, I fielded the lawyers’ phone calls. The pressure had seemed unbelievably intense until I informed them that the execution had been moved up to midnight. This news turned Adam’s office into a sizzling pressure-cooker.

The sweating tension was lifted momentarily with the arrival of Roger Ellsworth. Apparently, Roger and Keith had once been partners, working on appeals of capital murder cases before, according to Keith, Roger had “sold his soul” to Wall Street. Keith mocked Roger’s expensive suit as he swung his cowboy boots up onto his desk to show that he was still true to his roots. Ten seconds later they were back murmuring in earnest tones.

While I was frantically scrawling messages from two previous calls, I snatched up the ringing phone and snapped, “Mr. Turner’s office.”

“Mr. Harrington here.” I gasped. Charles Henry Harrington IV was Whitney’s managing partner, probably the only one in the building who demanded, and received, more respect then Adam. His frequent calls to Adam had always been through his secretary. I had never before personally heard his deep baritone, the voice from on high.

He had paused, waiting for me to utter some words of serious respect. “Yes. Yes, Mr. Harrington,” I stammered. “But Mr. Turner isn’t—”

“—How many are in there?” he demanded.

I glanced into Adam’s office. “About twelve,” I said meekly.

“How many partners?” he barked.

I wasn’t sure but four lawyers looked older than thirty, “Four?” I replied nervously.

He grunted angrily. “Any kind of press release must only say that a Wall Street firm was involved, not our name. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He paused and then retorted. “Christ, forget it. This’ll become a goddamn circus! Adam owes me big for this.” He slammed down the phone.

I was breathing heavily, now worried about Adam. What if he got fired over this? I’d be back on the street again. Would it put me under?
Sherry! What about his lovely daughters? Everything isn’t always only about you!

For the rest of the afternoon, I just wanted to handle the calls and then get out of there. At 5:30 I was still constantly on the phone when David asked me if I wanted to work overtime. I loved overtime and its instant 50% pay raise but not that night. This had nothing to do with Adam but it was his wife’s big case. I owed Adam so much. At least I could spend another hour or so taking more messages.

Food, documents, calls all came and went. As the evening went on, the mood in Adam’s office became more desperate.

A girl in the DC office named Kelly and I were coordinating the whereabouts of the nine Supreme Court Justices since one of them would be needed to sign the Temporary Stay of Execution. Unfortunately, the whereabouts of Justice Klein, the Justice that the lawyers were most eager to find, was unknown and everyone feared that he had left town for the weekend.

Although the lawyers struggled valiantly into the night, with less than ninety-minutes left before Mary was to be executed, all seemed lost. They couldn’t find a solid precedent. Apparently no one in American judicial history had waived all of their rights throughout their trial and the appeals process until just before their death when they decided that they wanted their rights back and a new trial. If they could just stay the execution they would have all weekend to try to find evidence for a new trial. But they didn’t have all weekend. They had a little more than an hour.

Kelly finally informed me of some good news. “Justice Klein is in, of all places, New York. He’s having dinner with friends at the Yale Club. He’s still there but he’s leaving soon and we don’t know his hotel. So someone better get on it.”

Hours before I had given up demurely handing messages to the lawyers. I had become like a train conductor. I rasped, “Justice Klein in New York. Yale Club. Leaving soon. Don’t know hotel.” Next stop, Croton-on-Hudson. Next stop, Klein-at-Yale.

Murmurs and scrambling followed. Ellsworth emerged from the office. “I’ll talk to him but we’ll need something! Anything!”

Then Lisa’s speaker screamed out, “That’s it! It
is
McCormack! Justice Klein wrote the brief for the High Court!”

Ellsworth, who had paused, looked dejected and inside the silent office, heads shook. “Lisa!” spat Ellsworth. “We’ve discarded McCormack twice now. Hours ago. The Court didn’t hear the case. They sent it back down.”

“To where?” Lisa replied with a slight laugh.

“Oh shit!” cried Ellsworth. He added slowly and softly, “to the great state in which Mary Denison’s resides.” He strode briskly down the hallway, screaming back, “You guys get this damn thing right! I’ll get a cab! David, take the limo! And bring Sherry! Don’t forget…”

He was out of earshot. But not before I had heard my name. Why me?

David escorted me toward the elevators, explaining, “Klein once personified a pushy lawyer but now he’s old, serene and hates pushy lawyers. Roger thinks you being there as a go-between will soften him. I’ll do everything. You just serve him coffee or something. You okay with that? Or should I try to get someone else?” It was a question but he was really begging. There was no time to get anyone else.

Awaiting us was the longest limousine I’d ever seen. David and I sat in the soft leather back seat facing long plush leather bench seats on each side. At the front end was a bank of computers, phones, a fax machine, filing drawers and a clock which said that Mary was going to die in forty-six minutes. I glanced up at a long wooden panel stretching along the ceiling. David held his hand over his cell phone. “It comes down into a table,” David informed me, “for meetings.” David was talking to both Ellsworth and the lawyers still remaining in Adam’s office.

At one point, David cried out, “I know. I know. ‘Fuck the facts and go to hell.’” When he hung up, he turned to me, embarrassed. “That’s lawyer, huh, huh—” He paused, staring at his perfectly-shined wingtip shoes. “There’s an old law school saying that in court first you argue the law. If you can’t argue the law, you argue the facts. If you can’t argue the facts, you argue like hell. When Justice Klein was Chief Advocate for the ACLU and arguing a case before the Supreme Court, that phrase was his colorful way of saying he only wanted to argue the law. That’s why we have to have the law to get to him.”

Outside the Yale Club, Vanderbilt Avenue was teeming with well-dressed nightlife but David was all business. “As soon as they start faxing the Stay, I’ll compile it and you, very carefully, take in the sections so Justice Klein can begin reading it immediately.” He glanced at his watch. “This is going to be close.”

We got out and I heard, “Sherry? Sherry! I didn’t know you were a Yale Club member?” I turned around to see Christine Cane laughing. I had only really seen her in a soccer togs and she looked absolutely stunning in a cocktail dress. She hugged me and turned toward a tall, distinguished-looking older man. At five-ten and wearing heels Christine would tower over most men but her husband had her by at least two inches. “Baxter, dear, this is Sherry, our new star.” He nodded and smiled. Christine looked approvingly at David, my “date,” who during the introductions, referred to Baxter deferentially as Judge Walton. “No late stuff,” Christine admonished me. “Big game tomorrow.” With a glance at the limo, she added, “Nice wheels,” and she and Baxter strolled toward Park Avenue.

Behind them stood Ellsworth and a small, ancient-looking man with a pearl-handle cane. Ellsworth handled quick introductions. He had booked a private room for Justice Klein to read the Stay but the Justice had another idea. “Seems easier for me to just read it in the limo.” He turned to me. “Would you please join me, my Dear?” When David protested that I was just a secretary and didn’t compile documents, Justice Klein waved him away with a crooked wrist. “We’ll be fine.” The Justice held door open for me.

He had to be kidding! Me? Mary dies because I screw up the paperwork! I turned to David but he looked helpless. “Sherry?” The Justice was waiting. As I got in, I thought I saw David drop his cell phone on the floor before he closed the door.

Inside the limo, Justice Klein informed me that I was to retrieve the pages from the fax machine, hand them to him and under no circumstances was I to touch his pile of read pages. The fax was the fastest I had ever seen and pages started shooting out of it. When the Justice informed me that different sections should have different tabs, I ruefully admitted that I had never before compiled a document. Paralegals had always done that. Justice Klein patiently had me rummage through the file drawers until I found the correct tab and then he inserted it into the document. Great, I thought, she dies because I didn’t find the right tab in time.

Whenever I retrieved more pages, I couldn’t help staring at the silently-ticking clock. Only eight minutes left. While Justice Klein seemed deadly calm, I could feel my heart beating furiously inside my chest. He never once glanced at the clock but just seemed to be leisurely reading.

With less than two minutes left, the pages stopped. Justice Klein asked for the last tab. I couldn’t believe it. Mary was about to die! As I furiously went through the drawers I suddenly had a horrible thought. What if the clock was slow! If it was already passed midnight! I heard him whisper, “It is correct!” Fuck! This guy can read minds, too? I found the right tab and rushed back to him. “It’s not legal unless it is stapled,” he said. “Please find a stapler.”

I’d been through almost all the drawers. “There isn’t one.”

“It’s a legal limo, Sherry. It has everything,” he said calmly. Fifty-eight seconds!

I ran to the front and began ripping open drawers. Finally, I found a drawer with three different sized staplers. Without looking up from his reading, he said, “The largest one.”

I ran to the back and handed him the stapler. Forty-five seconds! “I’m afraid my arthritis won’t allow me. Would you mind doing it?” Forty seconds! I tried but the document was too thick. I couldn’t do it. Thirty seconds! “David is just outside,” I pleaded with him. David lifted weights. He could do it in one quick snap.

“It would be better if we could do it.”

Twenty seconds! I was outraged. He was going to let that woman die rather than ask David to staple the damn document? What kind of ogre was he? “You want it stapled? You want it stapled!” I hissed. “I’ll staple the damn thing for you.” I slammed the Stay and the stapler on the floor. Then I flipped off my high heels. In one quick move I did a cartwheel as I kicked my feet off the board table ceiling so that all my weight and force went into my fists on the stapler and smashed the staple solidly through the document. “It’s stapled!” I spat at him. “You want the bottom stapled, too?”

Very calmly, Justice Klein said, “I would love for you to staple the bottom part, my dear Sherry. But I’m not sure my eighty-four-year-old heart could take it.” He smiled and I suddenly realized that during my cartwheel, my skirt had been tossed down around my face. I was mortified.

Justice Klein picked up the Stay and pulling a gold pen from his suit pocket, he slashed his signature across the last page with a flourish. I yanked on my heels. Twelve seconds! “Thank you very much for your help, Sherry. Take my hand and don’t let go until I’ve gotten you to your people.”

Was he crazy? My people were one foot outside the door. But I took his tiny bony hand. Justice Klein cracked open the door and Ellsworth’s gold-cuff-linked hand reached in to grab the document. Then, as the Justice and I emerged from the limo, we were blindsided by flashes and bright lights as people jostled us around. Two policemen tried to hold back the crowd. Suddenly blind and terrified, I clung grimly to the Justice’s small hand. Somewhere above the melee of the reporters’ questions, I heard Ellsworth yelling, “He signed it. Justice Klein signed the Stay.”

The policemen marshaled us over to another limo where David was standing. He opened the door for Justice Klein. I was still clinging to him. Justice Klein turned and kissed my hand. “You were a joy, Sherry. Good night.” He got inside and was gone.

“Roger’s handling the press,” David said. “Unless you want to talk to them?”

“Me! What would I say?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” replied David. “Let’s get out of here.” We hustled up to Park Avenue and were safely in a cab before David finally seemed to breathe again. “Wow!” he cried out. “If I’m a lawyer for forty years and make millions, I’ll never be as proud of this profession as I am right now.” He pounded his fists. “We saved a life that deserved to be saved! How many lawyers can say that?” He turned to me. “Listen, you want to get a drink or something? I just feel so great!”

I vigorously shook my head. I knew he had a girlfriend and was just being sociable. But I didn’t want to go near a bar, not then, not ever.

“Sure. Sure,” said David. “I understand.”

He dropped me off at my building on his way back to the office. I could hear my phone ringing before I entered the apartment. I was too exhausted to talk to anyone. But that didn’t matter. The phone kept on ringing, mostly from my teammates and with messages calling me a “star.”

I turned on the TV to the NY1 channel and saw non-stop coverage about the Murder Mom case. They showed trial coverage, an interview with Keith Contrell, Roger Ellsworth’s press conference and then I saw it—a shot of Justice Klein and me emerging from the limo. I looked like some blinded, blinking child being towed along by her grandfather. I would have hoped that no one would recognize me but it was too late for that. I clicked off the TV and fell on my bed as the calls continued. What were they doing up this late? We had a big game tomorrow.

While we laced up, a couple teammates ribbed me about being a “TV star.” But the others were all business. Neither Paula nor Darcy said a word. The Vixens must have heard the “star” comments because they immediately double and triple teamed me and I couldn’t get free to get the passes that Darcy and I had practiced. Darcy kept yelling “Sherry” but I didn’t know what to do. Actually, I knew what she always wanted me to do—go for the goal! But there were always defenders blocking my way. Finally, after she screamed my name again, I shot like a rocket toward the goal. I heard the ball kicked and turned to see it threading defenders toward me. I trapped it and jammed it past the goalkeeper for a score. I loved my teammates embracing me but thought they should be congratulating Darcy for an incredible pass. But I basked in their love anyway.

From then on, I was not only covered but pushed and shoved around for the rest of the game but I keep sprinting toward the goal with defenders in tow, once enabling Paula to get open, who scored easily. Doubling and tripling me while leaving Paula open? Were they crazy? They deserved to lose, and they did. The final score was only 3 to 2 but we remained undefeated.

As in every other game, when someone made a great shot or an assist, the other teammates gave her a thumbs up, the ultimate Wildcat salute. I never gave one. I just didn’t feel worthy of congratulating them. It also seemed like I didn’t get that many thumbs up either. Maybe my teammates didn’t think I deserved them. But one great thing did happen for the first time in that game. For years, defenders had screamed, “Watch Harper-Cane!” That day I heard, “Watch Marsh-Johnson.” Unbelievable! My paltry nothing name was linked to the great Darcy Marsh. Sure, almost all of our pair was Darcy but I was thrilled to be whatever was left.

To celebrate, the Wildcats headed for Callahan’s but I begged off, claiming to have a birthday dinner engagement. That night, Robie, feasting on a tin of tuna, and me, devouring Orange Chicken takeout, helped someone somewhere celebrate their birthday.

On Monday morning, towering over my stately workstation was this huge bouquet of incredible red, pink and purple roses and carnations and other gorgeous flowers. Its card read, “Sherry, thank you so much! Lisa Turner.” The other secretaries turned from jealous to joyful when I let them pick their favorite flowers for a display at their own workstations and soon the whole floor seemed to be bursting with color and exuding a rich fragrance. Adam returned and seconded his wife’s gratitude, making sure that I had charged my overtime until midnight.