One Dead Lawyer (9 page)
Authors: Tony Lindsay
“Oh, I see. So how are you going to help David?” she asked Daphne.
With her foot still bobbing, Daphne answered, “The plan is to take Regina to court before the marriage and establish guardianship.”
Carol looked at me with her eyes thinning, and in an accusing tone asked, “What did you do to her, David? I don't see Regina doing a thing like this.”
“I did nothing to her!”
With ink pen pointing, she surmised, “You had to do something, David. She chose to involve you in Chester's life when you didn't even know he existed. Why would the same woman try to remove you from his life?”
I started not to answer her evil-sounding self. She was supposed to be on my side. “She's not trying to remove me from his life. I can visit Chester whenever I want. She wants him to have Randolph's last name, making him an heir to his wealth.”
“Oh,” she paused, “now that sounds like Regina. She has always been about the dollars. I can see her suggesting something along those lines.”
The two women nodded in agreement. They were about to give each other five, but stopped short.
“What are y'all agreeing about? What she's trying to do is wrong!”
“We are not lessening the wrong in her actions, David, but it does sound like a Gina move,” Carol said.
“A Gina move?”
“She's right, David. It is a Gina move. Over the last couple of years, Regina has been making some serious power moves. Especially financially. Sister girl been going off!
The stock market, the sale of her property, her pension rollover and even her venture capital investments have been paying off big; everything she touches has been yielding her tens of thousands of dollars. Gina has been making some moves!” Daphne extended her palm and this time they gave each other dap.
“So her offering my son to a white man is a power move?”
“For the boy it is. For him it's a win-win situation. He gets you raising him and inherits a rich man's wealth, from Regina's perspective not a bad thing for her son.”
I couldn't tell if Daphne was teasing or if she really agreed with Gina.
“He is my son, okay? My son should have my name!”
“That sounds like a lot of male ego to me. I mean think about it, your name isn't really yours. It's a hand-me-down from slavery. How much pride is there really in carrying a slave master's name for some two hundred and forty or so years? Is your last name really that important to you?”
I started to get ugly and comment on her son not having his father's name, but I didn't. “My daddy gave me my name.”
“He could have given you diabetes. Would you be proud of that too?”
“You're tripping, Daphne.”
In her own defense she offered, “No, I am just trying to get you to see it from a different perspective. A battle is fought better if you can gain your adversary's view.”
“So you saying it's all about money with Gina?”
“As far as I can see, she's not denying you visitation. She wants you to be part of Chester's life.”
“You honestly think that Regina sees no wrong in what she is doing?”
“It's not about an emotional right and wrong for Gina.
It's about a financial right and wrong, and it would be financially wrong for her not to let Randolph adopt Chester.”
With that statement, I saw how important wealth really was to Daphne.
“I'm not a poor man.”
“You're not a poor man by a working-class man's standards, but you're broke by Randolph's standards. He has an estate in Olympia Fields and is building another in Lake Forest. His downtown condominium is a tri-level on Oak Street. A financial Goliath is trying to adopt your son.” Daphne flipped open her two-way and checked an incoming message.
The room was quiet. I guess she was allowing her point to sink in.
The front office door was pushed open. A County sheriff walked in asking for David Price. Carol pointed to me. He handed me a folded piece of paper. When I opened it, I saw it was a restraining order, barring me from being within 150 feet of Attorney Randolph Peal. I showed it to Daphne.
“It's started. He's got you on record as a threat. He's attacking your character on paper.”
“What do we do?”
“We get Regina in court.” When Daphne flipped her two-way pager closed her cell phone rang. The ringer sounded to the Marvin Gaye song, “Let's Get it On.”
She indicated by mouthing that it was Martin on the line. He wanted to meet with her. She told him he could meet with us. He hesitated, but agreed when he understood she wasn't going to give. I suggested she bring him out south to us. I didn't feel like driving back downtown. We agreed to Jackie's, a soul food restaurant on Seventy-first and Vernon three hours later.
Off the phone, Daphne told us she delayed meeting with him because she wanted to secure a court date as soon as possible, and whatever Martin wanted to discuss could wait until that was done.
The office phone rang. Carol answered. It was for me, and she put the call on speaker. It was my cleaning service; apparently the young man in my home was directing them to wash windows and clean silverware. I laughed and I told them no, their normal duties would suffice. Stanley was trying to delegate his responsibilities. I liked that in the kid.
Chapter Nine
We drove from the office to my house with very little conversation. I parked behind Daphne's gold Benz and watched the sun's rays dance with the metallic flake chips in the car's paint. The Benz was sparkling.
I hadn't paid much attention to Carol's. I was simply happy that she'd gotten something nice for herself. But looking at Daphne's, I realized that it wasn't only a nice car; it was a fly ride. Carol was getting kind of jazzy.
I rested my head against the headrest and looked up through my sunroof. The afternoon sky was clear and blue. Thank God the humidity had dropped and given us a break from the heavy sweating, but it remained hot. I was anxious to get out of my suit, because light wool is wool all the same.
“Did you know you and Martin drive the same kind of car?”
“He drives a Caddy?”
“Yeah, the same model as this one, identical color and everything. Don't you find it interesting that both our partners match? Look at it, I was a partner with Martin at the firm and he drives a black DTS. You are a partner with Carol and she drives a gold C class. You have to admit there may be something cosmic to it. Perhaps we should hook the two of them up?”
“No, I want no parts of Martin in my life.”
“Well don't rule it out. Carol is going to need someone once she finds out you're going to need her less in your life.”
“Carol and I aren't . . .”
“David, please, a woman senses what a man doesn't. You may not be cognizant of it, but Carol has got plans for you. Please believe.” She reached over and held my hand. “I need to explain something to you. Well not explain, but tell you something. It's related to my outburst last night and earlier today.”
I imagined it was the “it” that was riding her down. “Wouldn't you rather talk inside the house?”
“Yes, of course. I would like to get something out of my car before we go in.”
Hers was the only Benz on the block. Looking up and down, I had to admit our block looked good for being in the hood. There were small neat lawns, chain link fences, hedges and no abandoned or raggedy houses on the block. A group of kids were rolling out a basketball hoop and that would be the center of all they did that day. Despite the heat, they played ball all day long.
They set the hoop in front of the only dope house. There was a time we had three, but with concerned neighbors and a cop moving onto the block, two left. The Reeds, the owners of the one that remained, had lived on the block as long as my family.
As a child I remember my grandmother's referring to the house as the policy house. When I was teenager, that was where I brought my first dime bag of weed, and as a man, that was where I dragged my crack-addicted brother Robert from more times than I cared to remember.
The Reeds and I are the only homeowners who don't complain about the kids setting up the basketball hoop in front of our houses. I don't complain because I like to watch them hoop. The Reeds, the kids tell me, don't complain about anything, as long as it doesn't stop the traffic from coming and going out their back door.
Daphne went to the trunk of her car and pulled out a large legal hanging file filled with newspapers. I reached to help her, but she backed away. “I got it, David.”
When we walked into the house I halfway expected to smell a blunt burning, hear Nelly blasting in the background and see a group of teens chilling on my couch. Much to my comfort, none of that happened. Stanley was stretched out on the couch, asleep. He did, however, have the big screen on the Playboy channel. Yin and Yang sat watching intently; they looked over their shoulder to us, then back to the screen.
The mahogany box that held my grandmother's silverware was on the coffee table, open, along with the silver polish and rags. The pieces gleamed from the box. Daphne signaled for us to leave Stanley sleeping. We eased by him into the kitchen.
She placed the papers at her feet as she sat at the table. “On second thought, I am not entirely ready to share this information with you.”
“No problem, baby.” And it really wasn't. My mind was spinning with my own problems. I wanted the relief of a cold shower and the freedom of my Nike shorts.
“But I am positive it will be helpful with us in dealing with Randolph if things go that far. After we speak with Martin, I'll know better how to handle it. If you don't mind, I would like to use your phone to try and get us a court date this week.”
“Please feel free.”
Trying not to wake up Stanley, I quietly called the dogs to the back door and let them out in the yard. Standing on the back porch at the screen I watched them wrestle in the grass while different thoughts crossed my mind.
How important was my last name?
Was it a male ego thing?
Was I denying Chester a chance at a better life?
If it was a rich black man wanting to adopt him would I protest as much?
Price is a family name and a tag from slavery. For most African Americans a family name is both, but it's a family name all the same. My family name, thereby my family history. I could go back only to my granddaddy, who didn't know his daddy and didn't care that he didn't know him. All he ever told me about his mama was that she taught him to count money. There is not a whole lot of history attached to my family name, but what's there belongs to us. The Prices.
As a boy I was proud to be a Price. It used to make me feel good to hear one of Daddy's buddies say, “There go one of them Price boys, tell ya daddy I said hey.” It was pretty much the same at church. I wasn't David and my brothers weren't Robert or Charles. We were all, “them Price boys” or “one of those Price boys.” At the barbershop they called my granddaddy, my father, me and my brothers Price. We were all Price.
As a child I understood that people knew my family and I felt good about that. My father wasn't my mama's “baby's daddy,” he was my father, and I had his name.
My daddy and my granddaddy set standards for us to follow: “A Price does this, a Price does that.” I was raised as a Price. My father was part of me and I he. There was comfort in knowing that I was a Price, and my son should have that same security.
Financially, I could provide for my son better than I was provided for. True, I might not be wealthy by Peal's standard, but I could take care of mine. If it was male ego, so be it. It was only right that I should give my son what was given to me. My son would have the strength and confidence of a family name.
It was the Marvin Gaye ringtone of Daphne's phone, which pulled me from my thoughts.
“It's Randolph's cell number on my screen. Should I answer?” she asked loudly from the kitchen.
“Yeah, see what he wants.” I walked from the back door into the kitchen and sat in the chair next to her.
“Yes, Randolph, how can I help you?” Her tone was guarded, almost fearful. Her leg nervously tapped against the file of newspapers at her feet.
“Yes, I understand we have a history together . . . I disagree. I don't see my leaving as disloyal. I am doing what is best for me . . . What? . . . Randolph I would never, that would hurt us both . . . you shouldn't view my moving on as a threat to you . . . David had nothing to do with my decision . . . that's not your business . . . if you consider me a threat, there is nothing I can do about it . . . no, I don't consider you a threat . . . what? Yes, I am sure we will both meet there and the only bitch I know is your mother!” She flipped the phone closed.
“I should have known it wasn't going to happen that easy. He's afraid. As long as I was with him, under his watch, he was cool. Sinners are bound by secrets, and now that I am away from him, he is afraid I will break our bond.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
“Not the way he fears me. He's afraid I will ruin him, and I fear what he will do to stop that from happening.”
“I won't let him hurt you.”
“D, I'm not going to give him a reason to hurt me. I got the court date set for Friday morning. If all goes well, Regina will come to her senses and this will all be over.”
At that moment Stanley entered the kitchen, “Hey, Ma what's going on? I just got a two-way from Martin, saying he's going to give you my last check and that we are finished doing business. What's up with that?”
“I'm going into practice on my own.”
“Are you going to do crash cases?”
“No!” Her jaws set and her teeth clenched.
“Then why is Martin ending my thang?”
“Baby,” she massaged her own temples bringing some release to her tight face, “I'm ending your thang, okay? I'm taking you out of the crash case business.”
“Ma, I ain't got enough to get my ride.”
“No, but together I'm sure we have enough to get you a nice little car, that will get you back and forth from school.”
“Ma! I was getting a whip, not a nice little car.”
“We are through talking now, Stan. Leave Mr. Price and me alone for a second.”
“Ma!”
“Go on up front boy! We'll talk later.”
He slumped out of the kitchen.
Trying my hand at a little levity I say, “The boy said he wants a whip, girl. Not a nice car.”
“Yeah, well, his and my wants are going to be on hold awhile. But talking to him made me think about a person who might be the answer to our problemsâthat is if things go south with Randolph.”
“Who?”
“The person he hurt most with our shared sin; his ex-wife Eleanor.”
I wanted to ask her what the sin was, but life had taught me that patience is indeed a virtue. “I know his first wife, Eleanor Jackson. Her family is from Englewood. Nice folks. I went to her parents' wedding; they had lived together over twenty years and then got married. Man that was a big event; they hired two bands and a DJ, reserved half the park and had enough food to feed the whole south side of town. Eleanor and I talked a great deal at the wedding. I like her. Does she know the secret?”
“No, if she did, Randolph would be ruined. She wouldn't hesitate to nail his behind to the wall. Please believe. I need to call her anyway and tell her I made the move away from Randolph. She'll be happy.”
“You and her are friends?”
“Yeah, she's my girl. I met her when I was going to Roosevelt University. She was a serious student, always telling me I couldn't afford to play like the white kids. She would say, “We are young black females, a rarity at this level; playtime is over.” She preached harder than my parents, but I didn't hear her. We got cool regardless of my poor study habits and partying. She went straight through and got a paralegal certificate; me, I dropped out of the paralegal program, but I went back a couple of years later for my bachelor's.
“After she graduated, she started a data-entry service, and once I started with Randolph, I got him to send her some business. They eventually started dating, and one thing led to another, and they got married.”
Daphne cut off her two-way pager and put it in her purse. She stood, yawned and stretched toward the ceiling, slid out of her suit coat and hung it on the back of the chair, then sat back at the table with me.
She wore a camisole with no bra. I didn't want to be distracted. A brother had to muster up enough self-restraint to ask a hard question.
“If she's your girl, why haven't you shared the information with her?”
She looked down at her manicured nails. Her eyes came back to me, then to the wall behind me and finally back to me.
“Because I'm as guilty as Randolph, that's why. The information would cause her to hate me too.”
Marvin Gaye sounded off again and Daphne flipped her phone open. It was Martin confirming our meeting. We had over an hour before we were to meet him at Jackie's.
After she'd confirmed and hung up, I asked, “So what's the deal with you and Martin?”
“Attorney Martin MacNard, my man, excuse me, my ex-man. Didn't you think he was all that and a bag of chips?”
“No.”
She patted my knee. “Well, he thinks he is. The man loves himself.”
“Sounds like he loves you.”
“Please, he's a foot freak. He has a foot fetish. He loves my feet.” She reached down and slipped her high heels off.
“The man will do anything I tell him as long as I allow him to rub, kiss and pamper my feet. In the beginning it was kind of erotic, until I found out his toe sucking wasn't foreplay. He achieves a climax from sucking my toes.”
“No!”
“It's the truth. Over the years we've been together I can count the times we had actual sexual intercourse. He's not one for copulation. He'd rub on himself and suck my toes till satisfied.” She placed her feet in my lap. They were pretty.
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