Rage of Angels (18 page)

When Jennifer walked into her office the following morning she found an array of newspapers spread across her desk. She was on the front page of every one of them. There were four dozen beautiful red roses in a vase. Jennifer smiled. Adam had found time to send her flowers.

She opened the card. It read:
Congratulations. Michael Moretti.

The intercom buzzed and Cynthia said, “Mr. Adams is on the line.”

Jennifer grabbed the telephone. She tried to keep her voice calm. “Hello, darling.”

“You’ve done it again.”

“I got lucky.”

“Your client got lucky. Lucky to have you as an attorney. You must be feeling wonderful.”

Winning cases made her feel good. Being with Adam made her feel wonderful.
“Yes.”

“I have something important to tell you,” Adam said. “Can you meet me for a drink this afternoon?”

Jennifer’s heart sank. There was only one thing Adam could have to tell her: He was never going to see her again.

“Yes. Yes, of course…”

“Mario’s? Six o’clock?”

“Fine.”

She gave the roses to Cynthia.

Adam was waiting in the restaurant, seated at a back table.
So he won’t be embarrassed if I get hysterical,
Jennifer thought. Well, she was determined not to cry. Not in front of Adam.

She could tell from his gaunt, haggard face what he had been going through, and she intended to make this as easy as possible for him. Jennifer sat down and Adam took her hand in his.

“Mary Beth is giving me a divorce,” Adam said, and Jennifer stared at him, speechless.

It was Mary Beth who had begun the conversation. They had returned from a fund-raising dinner where Adam had been the main speaker. The evening had been an enormous success. Mary Beth had been quiet during the ride home, a curious tension about her.

Adam said, “I thought the evening went well, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Adam.”

Nothing more was said until they reached the house.

“Would you like a nightcap?” Adam asked.

“No, thank you. I think we should have a talk.”

“Oh? About what?”

She looked at him and said, “About you and Jennifer Parker.”

It was like a physical blow. Adam hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to deny it or—

“I’ve known it for some time. I haven’t said anything because I wanted to make up my mind about what to do.”

“Mary Beth, I—”

“Please let me finish. I know that our relationship hasn’t been—well—all we hoped it would be. In some ways, perhaps I haven’t been as good a wife as I should have been.”

“Nothing that’s happened is your fault. I—”

“Please, Adam. This is very difficult for me. I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to stand in your way.”

He looked at her unbelievingly. “I don’t—”

“I love you too much to hurt you. You have a brilliant political future ahead of you. I don’t want anything to spoil that. Obviously, I’m not making you completely happy. If Jennifer Parker can make you happy, I want you to have her.”

He had a feeling of unreality, as though the whole conversation were taking place underwater. “What will happen to you?”

Mary Beth smiled. “I’ll be fine, Adam. Don’t worry about me. I have my own plans.”

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s no need to say anything. I’ve said it all for both of us. If I held on to you and made you miserable, it wouldn’t do either of us any good, would it? I’m sure Jennifer’s lovely or you wouldn’t feel about her the way you do.” Mary Beth walked over to him and took him in her arms. “Don’t look so stricken, Adam. What I’m doing is the best thing for everyone.”

“You’re remarkable.”

“Thank you.” She gently traced his face with her fingertips and smiled. “My dearest Adam. I’ll always be your best friend. Always.” Then she came closer and put her head on his shoulder. He could hardly hear her soft voice. “It’s been such a long time since you held me in your arms, Adam. You wouldn’t have to tell me you love me, but would you—would you like to—hold me in your arms once more and make love to me? Our last time together?”

Adam was thinking of this now as he said to Jennifer, “The divorce was Mary Beth’s idea.”

Adam went on talking, but Jennifer was no longer listening to the words; she was only hearing the music. She felt as though she were floating, soaring. She had steeled herself for Adam to tell her he could never see her again—and now this! It was too much to absorb. She knew how painful the scene with Mary Beth must have been for Adam, and Jennifer had never loved Adam more than she did at this moment. She felt as though a crushing load had been lifted from her chest, as though she could breathe again.

Adam was saying, “Mary Beth was wonderful about it. She’s an incredible woman. She’s genuinely happy for both of us.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“You don’t understand. For some time now we’ve lived more like…brother and sister. I’ve never discussed it with you, but—” he hesitated and said carefully, “Mary Beth doesn’t have strong…drives.”

“I see.”

“She’d like to meet you.”

The thought of it disturbed Jennifer. “I don’t think I could, Adam. I’d feel—uncomfortable.”

“Trust me.”

“If—if you want me to, Adam, of course.”

“Good, darling. We’ll go for tea. I’ll drive you out.”

Jennifer thought for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better if I went alone?”

The following morning, Jennifer drove out the Saw Mill River Parkway, headed upstate. It was a crisp, clear morning, a lovely day for a drive. Jennifer turned on the car radio and tried to forget her nervousness about the meeting facing her.

The Warner house was a magnificently preserved house of Dutch origin, overlooking the river at Croton-on-Hudson, set
on a large estate of rolling green acres. Jennifer drove up the driveway to the imposing front entrance. She rang the bell and a moment later the door was opened by an attractive woman in her middle thirties. The last thing Jennifer had expected was this shy southern woman who took her hand, gave her a warm smile and said, “I’m Mary Beth. Adam didn’t do you justice. Please come in.”

Adam’s wife was wearing a beige wool skirt that was softly full, and a silk blouse opened just enough to reveal a mature but still lovely breast. Her beige-blond hair was worn long and slightly curling about her face, and was flattering to her blue eyes. The pearls around her neck could never be mistaken as cultured. There was an air of old-world dignity about Mary Beth Warner.

The interior of the house was lovely, with wide, spacious rooms filled with antiques and beautiful paintings.

A butler served tea in the drawing room from a Georgian silver tea service.

When he had left the room, Mary Beth said, “I’m sure you must love Adam very much.”

Jennifer said awkwardly, “I want you to know, Mrs. Warner, that neither of us planned—”

Mary Beth Warner put a hand on Jennifer’s arm. “You don’t have to tell me that. I don’t know whether Adam told you, but our marriage has turned into a marriage of politeness. Adam and I have known each other since we were children. I think I fell in love with Adam the first time I saw him. We went to the same parties and had the same friends, and I suppose it was inevitable that one day we would get married. Don’t misunderstand. I still adore Adam and I’m sure he adores me. But people do change, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

Jennifer looked at Mary Beth and she was filled with a deep feeling of gratitude. What could have been an ugly and sordid scene had turned into something friendly and wonderful.
Adam had been right. Mary Beth was a lovely lady.

“I’m very grateful to you,” Jennifer said.

“And I’m grateful to you,” Mary Beth confided. She smiled shyly and said, “You see, I’m very much in love, too. I was going to get the divorce immediately but I thought, for Adam’s sake, we’d best wait until after the election.”

Jennifer had been so busy with her own emotions that she had forgotten about the election.

Mary Beth went on: “Everyone seems sure that Adam is going to be our next senator, and a divorce now would gravely hurt his chances. It’s only six months away, so I decided it would be better for him if I delayed it.” She looked at Jennifer. “But forgive me—is that agreeable with you?”

“Of course it is,” Jennifer said.

She would have to completely readjust her thinking. Her future would now be tied to Adam. If he became senator, she would live with him in Washington, D.C. It would mean giving up her law practice here, but that did not matter. Nothing mattered except that they could be together.

Jennifer said, “Adam will make a wonderful senator.”

Mary Beth raised her head and smiled. “My dear, one day Adam Warner is going to make a wonderful
President.
”

The telephone was ringing when Jennifer arrived back at the apartment. It was Adam. “How did you get along with Mary Beth?”

“Adam, she was wonderful!”

“She said the same thing about you.”

“You read about old southern charm, but you don’t come across it very often. Mary Beth has it. She’s quite a lady.”

“So are you, darling. Where would you like to be married?”

Jennifer said, “Times Square, for all I care. But I think we should wait, Adam.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until after the election. Your career is important. A divorce could hurt you right now.”

“My private life is—”

“—going to become your public life. We mustn’t do anything that might spoil your chances. We can wait six months.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“I don’t either, darling.” Jennifer smiled. “We won’t really be waiting, will we?”

Jennifer and Adam had lunch together almost every day, and once or twice a week Adam spent the night at their apartment. They had to be more discreet than ever, for Adam’s campaign had actively begun, and he was becoming a nationally prominent figure. He gave speeches at political rallies and fund-raising dinners, and his opinions on national issues were quoted more and more frequently in the press.

Adam and Stewart Needham were having their ritual morning tea.

“Saw you on the
Today
show this morning,” Needham said. “Fine job, Adam. You got every single point across. I understand they’ve invited you back again.”

“Stewart, I hate doing those shows. I feel like some goddamned actor up there, performing.”

Stewart nodded, unperturbed. “That’s what politicians are, Adam—actors. Playing a part, being what the public wants them to be. Hell, if politicians acted like themselves in public—what
expression do the kids use?—letting it all hang out?—this country’d be a damned monarchy.”

“I don’t like the fact that running for public office has become a personality contest.”

Stewart Needham smiled. “Be grateful you’ve got the personality, my boy. Your ratings in the polls keep going up every week.” He stopped to pour more tea. “Believe me, this is only the beginning. First the Senate, then the number one target. Nothing can stop you.” He paused to take a sip of his tea. “Unless you do something foolish, that is.”

Adam looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Stewart Needham delicately wiped his lips with a damask napkin.

“Your opponent is a gutter fighter. I’ll bet you that right now he’s examining your life under a microscope. He won’t find any ammunition, will he?”

“No.” The word came to Adam’s lips automatically.

“Good,” Stewart Needham said. “How’s Mary Beth?”

Jennifer and Adam were spending a lazy weekend at a country house in Vermont that a friend of Adam’s had loaned him. The air was crisp and fresh, hinting at the winter to come. It was a perfect weekend, comfortable and relaxed, with long hikes during the day and games and easy conversation before a blazing fire at night

They had carefully gone through all the Sunday papers. Adam was moving up in every poll. With a few exceptions, the media were for Adam. They liked his style, his honesty, his intelligence and his frankness. They kept comparing him to John Kennedy.

Adam sprawled in front of the fireplace, watching flame shadows dancing across Jennifer’s face. “How would you like to be the wife of the President?”

“Sorry. I’m already in love with a senator.”

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t win, Jennifer?”

“No. The only reason I want it is because you want it, darling.”

“If I do win, it will mean living in Washington.”

“If we’re together, nothing else matters.”

“What about your law practice?”

Jennifer smiled. “The last time I heard, they had lawyers in Washington.”

“What if I asked you to give it up?”

“I’d give it up.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re too damned good at it.”

“All I care about is being with you. I love you so much, Adam.”

He stroked her soft dark brown hair and said, “I love you, too. So much.”

They went to bed, and later, they slept.

On Sunday night they drove back to New York. They picked up Jennifer’s car at the garage where she had parked it, and Adam returned to his home. Jennifer went back to their apartment in New York.

Jennifer’s days were unbelievably full. If she had thought she was busy before, now she was besieged. She was representing international corporations that had bent a few laws and been caught, senators with their fingers in the till, movie stars who had gotten into trouble. She represented bank presidents and bank robbers, politicians and heads of unions.

Money was pouring in, but that was not important to Jennifer. She gave large bonuses to the office staff, and lavish gifts.

Corporations that came up against Jennifer no longer sent in their second string of lawyers, so Jennifer found herself pitted against some of the top legal talent of the world.

She was admitted into the American College of Trial Lawyers, and even Ken Bailey was impressed.

“Jesus,” he said, “you know, only one percent of the lawyers in this country can get in?”

“I’m their token woman,” Jennifer laughed.

When Jennifer represented a defendant in Manhattan, she could be certain that Robert Di Silva would either prosecute the case personally or mastermind it. His hatred of Jennifer had grown with every victory she had.

During one trial in which Jennifer was pitted against the District Attorney, Di Silva put a dozen top experts on the stand as witnesses for the prosecution.

Jennifer called no experts. She said to the jury: “If we want a spaceship built or the distance of a star measured, we call in the experts. But when we want something really important done, we collect twelve ordinary folks to do it. As I recall, the founder of Christianity did the same thing.”

Jennifer won the case.

One of the techniques Jennifer found effective with a jury was to say, “I know that the words ‘law’ and ‘courtroom’ sound a little frightening and remote from your lives, but when you stop to think about it, all we’re doing here is dealing with the rights and wrongs done to human beings like ourselves. Let’s forget we’re in a courtroom, my friends. Let’s just imagine we’re sitting around in my living room, talking about what’s happened to this poor defendant, this fellow human being.”

And, in their minds, the jurors
were
sitting in Jennifer’s living room, carried away by her spell.

This ploy worked beautifully for Jennifer until one day when she was defending a client against Robert Di Silva. The District Attorney rose to his feet and made the opening address to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Di Silva said, “I’d like for you to forget you’re in a court of law. I want you to imagine that
you’re sitting at home in my living room and we’re just sitting around informally chatting about the terrible things the defendant has done.”

Ken Bailey leaned over and whispered to Jennifer, “Do you hear what that bastard’s doing? He’s stealing your stuff!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jennifer replied coolly.

When Jennifer got up to address the jury, she said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve never heard anything as outrageous as the remarks of the District Attorney.” Her voice rang with righteous indignation. “For a minute, I couldn’t believe I had heard him correctly. How dare he tell you to
forget
you’re sitting in a court of law! This courtroom is one of the most precious possessions our nation has! It is the foundation of our freedom. Yours and mine and the defendant’s. And for the District Attorney to suggest that you forget where you are, that you forget your sworn duty, I find both shocking and contemptible. I’m asking you, ladies and gentlemen, to
remember
where you are, to remember that all of us are here to see that justice is done and that the defendant is vindicated.”

The jurors were nodding approvingly.

Jennifer glanced toward the table where Robert Di Silva was sitting. He was staring straight ahead, a glazed look in his eyes.

Jennifer’s client was acquitted.

After each court victory, there would be four dozen red roses on Jennifer’s desk, with a card from Michael Moretti. Each time, Jennifer would tear up the cards and have Cynthia take away the flowers. Somehow they seemed obscene coming from him. Finally Jennifer sent Michael Moretti a note, asking him to stop sending her flowers.

When Jennifer returned from the courtroom after winning her next case, there were five dozen red roses waiting for her.