Motion to Dismiss (2 page)

"No thanks."

Grady took a long swallow and sighed. He was a big man, over six feet in height, with a build that had helped secure him a football scholarship during his years at Stanford. Now, twenty-three years later, some of the muscle had turned soft. But Grady Barrett was still an attractive man. He had a full head of hair, streaked by just the right amount of silver, and skin that was bronzed without being weathered. He was successful, smooth, and, I suppose, sexy, but I sometimes got the feeling that none of it went very deep.

Grady crinked his neck, then offered us the strained smile born of disbelief. "I gotta tell you, this is one headache I never thought I'd have."

"Why don't you tell us what's going on?" I suggested, since no one else seemed inclined to broach the subject.

He frowned into his glass. "First I knew about it was earlier today. A couple of policemen came by the office, wanted to talk to me about last Saturday. Seems there's a woman claims I ... raped her." He stumbled slightly over the last few words.

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Deirdre. I didn't rape her," he said, raising his gaze and his voice. "No way, nohow. You've got to believe that."

Marc nodded.

I rubbed a finger across my chin and tried again. "Who is the woman?"

"Do I look like a rapist?" Grady was looking at Marc, not at me. "
Why
would I do something like that? Doesn't even make sense."

"So why is she claiming that you did?" I asked.

"How the hell should I know? Maybe she's feeling guilty or something."

"Guilty?" Now we were getting somewhere. "Am I correct in assuming that the two of you
did
have sex?"

Grady's brow furrowed. He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "She wanted it," he said, shifting sideways in the chair. "She was all over me from the start."

"And hard as you tried, you couldn't resist."

Marc shot me a warning glance, but Grady missed my point entirely.

"Maybe she set the whole thing up," Grady said. "For the publicity. She'll go on
Oprah
, write a book full of lies, and walk away a millionaire."

Marc cleared his throat. "Is she someone you're seeing?"

"Not exactly
seeing
."

There was a sour feeling in my stomach I didn't much like. It wasn't that I rode a moral high-horse, or was insensitive to human frailty, but Nina was my friend. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the details.

Grady drew a hand through the hair at his temples. "Christ, this is stupid. She's no one. Some woman I met at Caesar's." He sighed in frustration and slowed the tempo of his words. "I only met her that night. It was at the engagement party for Nick Moore." He'd been addressing Marc but turned to me to explain. "Nick works at ComTech."

"Does Deirdre work there was well?"

He shook his head. "I think it was one of those friend-of-a-friend kind of things. She didn't seem to know the others."

"And so you befriended her?" This time the disapproval in my tone was unmistakable. Marc shot me another look.

"She was wearing a tight dress. The kind that doesn't go much below the crotch and leaves nothing to imagination." This, too, was addressed to Marc. "We had a couple of drinks, danced some. I mean, it was that kind of party. People out to have some fun."

Never mind that one of those people had a wife who no longer knew the meaning of the word. "And after the dancing?" I asked.

"I gave her a ride home. Like I said, she was all over me."

I ran my hand along the smooth surface of the conference table. "Whose idea was the ride?"

"I can't remember. It just sort of evolved, I think. Hell, I should be the one accusing her of rape rather than the other way around."

Marc leaned forward. "So it was consensual?"

"Damn right. She enjoyed it too."

Like you'd know if she didn't, I thought, perhaps unfairly. "Do they have anything else against you? Bruises, signs that you used force?"

Grady gave me a look of disgust. Marc's expression wasn't much different.

"I told you, she was hot for it. I didn't force her to do anything."

"Tell us about the woman," Marc said. "Age, occupation, what she looks like."

"Late twenties, I'd say. Young but not youthful. Attractive, though it was clear she worked at it. A little too much makeup, a few pounds too heavy. Too much perfume."

And yet somehow irresistible. "Does she work?" I asked.

Grady shook his head, baffled. "Wait, something with the telephone, I think. Receptionist maybe."

If Deirdre had spent much time talking about herself, Grady hadn't been listening.

He pressed his fingertips to his temples, his brawny face suddenly slack. His eyes closed for a moment. "I screwed up," he said morosely. "I know that. I'm not saying I'm above reproach here. But I didn't rape her, for God's sake. If that's what she says, she's lying."

The distress in his voice was genuine. I felt the hard edge of anger soften.

"We've got to keep this from Nina. I never meant to hurt her. That's the last thing I want to do."

Marc rubbed his cheek. "What did you tell the police this afternoon?"

Grady shook his head again. "When they first mentioned the woman's name, I didn't even know who she was." He lifted his head, leaving faint pink imprints on his face where his fingers had been. "Do you think they'll go ahead with this?"

"Depends on whether they believe the woman's story," I told him.

"And whether the D.A. thinks a jury will believe it," Marc added. "It's your word against hers. It comes down to a question of credibility."

And that was where Grady might be in luck, I thought. He was good-looking, successful, and polished -- with just a trace of vulnerability. No doubt he'd make a convincing witness.

But then, I hadn't met Deirdre yet.

Nina was drinking ginger ale out of a champagne flute. The rest of us had filled ours with the real thing.

Marc raised his glass. "To the birthday girl."

"No longer a girl, I'm afraid." Nina smiled. She was stretched out on the sofa, her head and shoulders bolstered by floral chintz cushions. An afghan of rose-colored wool covered her legs and feet.

"But I'll drink to birthdays," she added. "I've recently come to appreciate that old adage that it's better to have them than not. I'll take as many as I can."

Nina's voice held the same wry cheerfulness she'd shown since being diagnosed, but I knew that it masked a sea of contradictory emotions. Emotions we'd all, at one time or another, endeavored to step around.

She looked at our strained faces and gave herself a theatrical slap on the mouth. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put a damper on the evening. It seems lately that whatever the conversation is about, it ultimately comes back to my health."

Nina's illness was not, however, the source of our discomfort that evening.

"In any event," Grady said smoothly. "Age becomes you. Every year you grow more beautiful."

Nina reached for her husband's hand, pulling it across the mound of her belly. She'd always been slender, and though her face was fuller now with the pregnancy, she didn't look as though she was into her sixth month.

"That's why I love you." Nina lifted his fingers and grazed them with her lips. "To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, 'A good liar is not only a charmer, he's the very basis of civilized society.'"

Grady and I responded with stiff smiles. Marc laughed a trifle too eagerly.

I couldn't tell what Marc was feeling. He'd been Nina's friend almost as long as I had. But he was Grady's friend too, as well as legal counsel for ComTech, the company Grady had built from the ground up.

In truth, I wasn't so sure what I was feeling. Anger, for sure. But there was also a muted sadness that crept through my mind like wisps of fog.

"You're all so tense tonight," Nina said. "Come on, drink up. It's more than my birthday. There's good news to celebrate as well. Next week I start the medication that will mature the baby's lungs. After that, even if he's early, he should be able to breathe on his own."

"That's wonderful," I told her. Good news had been in short supply of late.

She nodded, eyes bright. "We're not there yet, but each day is like a milestone. We've finally started to think about names." This was something she'd refused to do before, feeling that it was tempting fate.

Grady poured more champagne, although his glass was the only one nearing empty.

"So, what do you think of Christopher?" Nina asked, addressing me and Marc.

"Great," Marc said with unwarranted enthusiasm.

"He'll end up being Chris," Grady grumbled. "I knew a Chris in high school, couldn't stand the guy."

"Grady's pushing for Mason, my maiden name. But I think Mason Barrett sounds like the line dividing the North and South during the Civil War. So far all we've managed to agree on is a sizable list of rejects."

Marc picked the book of baby names off the coffee table and started flipping through the pages. "Dilbert, Garfield, Knut, Tupper, Wirt, Zebulon." He closed the book and laughed. "Seems to me you could do worse than either Christopher or Mason."

"The family that lived next to us when I was young had three daughters," Nina said. "Their last name was Knight, and they named their daughters Windy, Stormy, and ... believe it or not -- Dayen."

"No?" Marc made a face. "That's child abuse."

Gradually, we were loosening up, like actors falling into their roles. Or maybe it was the champagne.

"How about Barrett?" I offered. "I knew a boy once named Thomas Thomas."

Marc groaned. "I never imagined being a parent was so complicated."

There was a creaking sound from the hallway. Emily shuffled into the room. She swung a bedraggled and threadbare stuffed dog in one hand.

Marc greeted her with a wide smile. "Hey, kiddo. How's Arf?"

"He's hungry." Emily glanced at her mother, then back to Marc, who pulled a handful of Hershey kisses out of his jacket pocket.

"He's got to show me his tricks first, remember?"

"Have you seen Arf's tricks?" she asked me, bubbling with anticipation.

I shook my head.

"Watch closely, okay?"

With Emily's help, Arf went through his repertoire of tricks, from rolling over and shaking to dancing a jig. Finally, he was rewarded with the coveted chocolates.

"Arf's quite the showman," I told her.

"He can do almost anything."

"Come here, honey," Nina said. "Give me a hug."

Emily put her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her cheek. Then she climbed into Grady's lap to eat her chocolates.

Watching Grady with his stepdaughter always warmed my heart, and tonight was no different. It was clear they adored each other. He might have his faults, I reminded myself, but he had many good points as well.

We were called to dinner by Simon, who, I suppose, is the modern-day equivalent of a butler. Nina, whose liberal roots were well established before her marriage to Grady, didn't refer to him in those terms, of course. It was usually just "Simon" or, in conjunction with his wife, "the couple who help us out."

When Nina and I had roomed together years ago, we'd shared our cramped, drafty flat with an endless stream of ants and the reverberation of arguments from the couple next door. It was always a bit of a shock to see her here in the midst of such opulence. But Nina had told me on more than one occasion that it wasn't difficult getting used to money.

With another hug for her parents, Emily departed with Arf to watch television. The rest of us ate in the wood-paneled dining room with a view of San Francisco Bay and the sparkling lights of the city beyond. We'd just finished our salads of winter greens garnished with pear and blue cheese, when the phone rang in the other room. Grady paused mid-sentence for a fraction of a beat and then continued with what he was saying. A moment later Simon appeared in the doorway.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. There's a man on the phone who wishes to speak with you."

"Didn't you tell him I was unavailable?"

"I tried. But he said it was important."

"Go tell him I can't be bothered."

Simon cleared his throat. "It has something to do with a police investigation, sir."

Nina was looking at Simon, so she missed the look that passed between Marc and myself, and the tightening of Grady's jaw.

Grady stood abruptly and pushed back his chair. "Must be that damn breakin at the plant last month. Maybe they've got a lead."

"What breakin?" Nina asked.

Marc made gesture with hand. "Nothing important. They made off with some, uh, office equipment."

I was glad that Marc had picked up on Grady's cover. I'm not sure I would have been as quick. My mind was too much on what the phone call might really mean.

"They probably recovered some of the stuff that was stolen and want Grady to verify it."

"At seven in the evening?"

Marc brushed the air with his hand. "You know how paperwork is. They have to catch up on it when they can." The nervous tapping of his legs made the comment seem ludicrous. "Hey, this is great salad. Really superb."

Nina gave him a curious look. "It's the same salad you thought was too froufrou when we served it at the Patterson closing last fall."

"Is it?" He laughed. "Guess my taste is maturing."

Nina sucked on her cheeks, her expression more perplexed than concerned. It dawned on me that she might suspect that our antics were part of some finely orchestrated birthday surprise.

Any thoughts she might have had in that direction were put to rest when Grady returned not long after, wearing a gray pallor that even his well-mannered apology couldn't disguise.

"Sorry for the interruption," he said.

"What was it?" Nina asked.

"Nothing." Grady's tone was sharp. He took a breath. "Nothing that I need to deal with at the moment." His forehead glistened with a band of perspiration.

"What the hell's going on? You've all three been tense as thieves the whole evening." Nina looked in my direction. "What do you know about this, Kali?"

Nothing. That was the word that bubbled to the surface of my brain. The answer I expected to give.