Sleeping Beauty (30 page)

“Not a chance. Your client was medically incapacitated; therefore, an investigative subpoena is warranted.”

“Limited to the condition causing medical incapacitation, that’s it. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and thumbs through a sheaf of bills. He finds a one hundred dollar bill and smacks it down on the table “A Franklin says that the judge calls it a fishing expedition that creates undue harassment of my client under constitutional article one, section twenty-eight, subsection one.” He grins and throws a twenty on top of the hundred. “A double says he actually uses the words ‘fishing expedition’ in his written decision.”

Lucinda sighs and looks at her watch. “This is getting tiresome. I’ve known you long enough to recognize a little bit of theater when I see it. What do you want, Rev?”

He sweeps the bills off the table and stuffs them back into his wallet. “Charmant still holding steady with that ‘not guilty’ plea?’”

“As of an hour ago, yes.”

Rev eyes her. “He has a right to a speedy trial.”

“Prosecution has forty-five days under state law.”

Rev shakes his head. “You’ve got two weeks.”

She laughs, a full-throated laugh that causes her face disappear into one of her chins. “Two
weeks
? Ben McCarthy will never allow this to go to trial in two weeks.” She chuckles some more. “Trust me, he’ll want all the time he can get to mount a solid defense.”

“I can get him to agree.”

She frowns. “What exactly would I be getting out of this?”

He waves his hand at the yellow file under her folded hands. “We don’t contest the subpoena for the medical records; you get to look at whatever you want.”

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “You did say your client was testifying for the
defense
, right? I didn’t hear that wrong, did I?”

Rev smirks, scooting forward on the chair so he can cram his wallet in his back pocket. “You get the records, Dr. Charmant gets a trial in two weeks. Deal or no deal?”

She purses her lips thinking. “If you think making a deal with me now will give Ben McCarthy an angle to work on appeal, you’re wrong.”

Rev makes a sucking sound between his teeth. “Yikes, I hope you’re not charging me by the hour for that excellent legal advice. I’m not sure I can afford you.”

She shoots him a sour look. “If you can get McCarthy to agree, it’s a deal.”

“Thank you for your time, Lucinda,” says Rev, rising to his feet.

Lucinda Gaelic turns to me. “You’d be smart, Ms. Beau, to second-guess every move Mr. Carlin makes. He’s in it to get you your way, but don’t be surprised if it’s at your expense.”

I don’t really know what to say to this, so I don’t say anything.

We get up and head out of her office with the same snuggly feelings that greeted us on arrival. Lucinda Gaelic pretends to peruse the contents of her folder, leaving me and Rev to drift out the door on waves of hostile silence big enough to surf on.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” I say.

“That was the easy part,” he says, looking at his watch. He starts walking, me trotting alongside. “You sure you’re ready for round two, dally?”

I take a deep breath, but I’m a little shaky on the exhale. “Nope.”

“Honesty is underrated,” he says. “Here’s where your acting abilities are really going to come in handy.”

*****

Andy Gordon ushers us inside, greeting me with a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You guys have the house to yourselves,” he says to Rev over the top of my head. “Give me a call when it’s okay to come back.”

Normally the picture windows that make up the majority of the exterior walls provide a breathtaking ocean view from anyplace in the house. Andy has dropped the blackout shades on every window, sucking all the light and airy spaciousness out of the place. It looks like a wood-floored mausoleum with dreary, room-sized mirrors.

I check my reflection in the one closest to us, the ivory lace overlay of a blush shift dress the brightest thing in the dim light of the foyer. Ivanna worked her magic as usual, somehow coming up with trendy, blush, patent leather, open-toed sling-back–size four, of course–with a solid heel that looks like it’s been macraméd by a beach hippie. Between the dress and the headband Rev insisted I wear, the cool shoes are the only thing preventing me from looking like a sacrificial virgin.

I’m surprised by how calm I look on the outside.

“Sure thing,” says Rev to Andy. “And thanks for the neutral ground. Makes it easier for everyone.”

A set of car keys appear in Andy’s hands. “You bet.”

I can hear the hushed conversation of Brendan and his attorney around the corner in the great room. The tension hangs heavy in the air, like wet laundry just hung to dry. My heart is pounding so loud I feel like I have to raise my voice to be heard. “Is West here?” My voice echoes in the cavernous foyer, the
here? here? here?
richocheting off the walls, effectively smothering the voices in the adjoining room. “Did Davin come?”

“Uh, no, neither of them are here yet,” says Andy. “Probably having a helluva time getting through the zoo on the main road.” He shoots me a worried look before heading out the door, closing the door behind him slowly and deliberately, like he’s afraid a loud noise will be all it will take to spark a conflagration in here.

“I thought we agreed that having West here would be counterproductive,” Rev mutters.

“If they’re not here already, then they’re not coming.” I look at the floor. “Davin isn’t speaking to me. He won’t return my calls. West said he’d kill Brendan on sight.”

“Well, there you go,” he says, grabbing my elbow and dragging me down the hall.

My reluctance to keep pace with him must be obvious, because he drops my arm and stops in his tracks. When we’re this close together, I have to crank my neck back to look at him. He’s six-foot five at least, and even in my heels I feel like I’m trying to spot the flag at the top of a pole.

“You gonna be able to suck it up or what?” he says.

I give him a half-hearted salute. “Sucking,” I confirm. He gives me another classic “Davin look”– a mix of scorn and sympathy that only an edgy surfer-lawyer speaking to an unworthy underling can properly deliver. “Sir,” I say finally, mostly to hear something else besides my heart, which is slamming my ribcage at the rate of about two hundred beats a minute.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he says. “We do this and we’re in past the break, you get me?”

“Roger that, sir.” This time, I lead the way.

Brendan is dressed in an olive-colored sports coat and matching pants, no tie, hands in his pockets, pacing in front of the stone fireplace of Andy’s cavernous great room like a caged animal. He looks gaunt and pale, like he’s been underfed and flogged.

“Claire!” he says, rushing towards me, arms outstretched. “Oh, my god, when Ben told me–”

I have a flashback of him on top of me in the bed from the sleep lab, him holding me against the wall while I scream. My skin suddenly feels like it’s crawling off my body. I reflexively stumble backwards, away from him.

Rev takes a step forward and throws out his left arm like a roadblock, right into Brendan’s chest.

I recover and hold my ground, not feeling nearly as tough as I’m trying to look. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” I spit at him from behind Rev’s arm.

Brendan looks like he’s been pitch-poled, flipped headfirst over a surfboard into the water and crushed by a wave.

“Ben,” says Rev to the third man in the room, his voice hard as nails. “I think you have your hands full defending one battery charge, don’t you? Control your client.” He’s a good four inches foot taller than Brendan, making the stare he settles on him look even more disdainful and scathing. “If you
can
,” he adds.

Ben McCarthy has cheeks so heavy, they hang off his chin like a set of jowl curtains. He’s the definition of stout–not overweight exactly, but short and sturdy. With his closely-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, he looks like a retired, steel-town wrestling coach faking his way through a three-martini lunch in a three-piece suit.

“Brendan,” Ben McCarthy says softly. His voice is surprisingly rich, almost melodious.

Brendan’s leaning so far into Rev’s still-outstretched arm that I start to think that it’s the only thing stopping him from dropping to the floor. He regains his wits one muscle at a time, in a visible, upward progression beginning at his feet. He slowly straightens up, away from Rev’s arm, the traumatized, obsessed expression on his face never fully withdrawing. He shuffles a few steps backwards, two vertical lines of confusion still creasing the skin between his eyes.

“I don’t understand…” he whispers, like it’s just a secret between him and himself.

“Well, let me clear it up for you, Doc,” says Rev, plopping himself down into what looks like an upscale, linen-upholstered, wicker-back deck chair.

I stay standing, anchoring myself directly behind Rev’s chair. Ben McCarthy pulls Brendan down onto a plush, armless sofa.

“Claire thinks you’re guilty as hell,” says Rev, “but has decided for reasons of personal and professional self-interest that there will be no benefit to her if you’re convicted.”

Brendan speaks next, his voice hollow, his lips quivering. “It’s not what it looked like, I swear it wasn’t,” he says, dropping his head into his hands, and rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He sighs. “But I guess it doesn’t matter, everyone thinks I’m guilty. I might as well just
plead
guilty.”

Rev told me before we arrived that this would likely be the only place where I would be free to speak my mind in Brendan’s presence without Rev threatening to quit. I seize the moment before he changes his mind.

“Plead guilty?” I say. “Yeah, well, here’s the problem, Brendan: I’m not your victim, or anyone else’s for that matter. If you want to hang for something, you’d better find a better crime and a more willing injured party.”

Rev jumps in. “You’re either going to be found very, very guilty, or very, very
not
guilty, my friend. Claire is willing to do her part to make sure it’s one or the other. Her preference is ‘not guilty.’ Now, you can say ‘thank you’ to her and just ride the pocket, or you can be a martyr and try your luck with the pipeline. You do something stupid like plead guilty, and Claire will work with Lucinda Gaelic to make sure you get
launched
.”

“They’ll put her on the stand, Rev,” says Ben McCarthy, his tone lilting, hypnotic. “Does your client understand the kinds of questions the DA will ask her in open court?”

“We’ve already anticipated that,” says Rev. “Which is why we gave the DA full access to Claire’s medical records in exchange for a trial date two weeks from now.”

“No,” says Brendan, shaking his head back and forth, his mouth set. “Absolutely not. We’ll plea bargain or something. I am not having them put her on the stand.”

Ben holds up his hand. “Brendan, just listen to what they’re offering–“

His jaw is twitching, a sure sign that he’s about to blow up on someone. And that someone is Ben McCarthy. “No, okay? Discussion over! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t you think she’s been through enough?”

“It was her choice,” says Ben.

“She doesn’t get a choice!” he says, banging his fist on the table coffee table between us. “It’s
my
defense, not hers. I’ll decide how I want my case defended.

“I don’t get a choice?” I say, my tone mocking. “I didn’t have a
choice
when my entire apartment was ransacked, and my underwear was stolen by cops and sold on e-Bay. I didn’t have a
choice
when Lucinda Gaelic told me that it was common for women suffering from Stockholm Syndrome to protect their rapists. I didn’t have a
choice
when this blew up and Sebastian Belgium and every director in town decided they’d rather hire their pool cleaner than me for any part worth having.” I jab my finger at him. “The only way to clear my name is to clear yours, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about when
I’ve
had enough.”

“Claire, I didn’t mean–”

“Fuck you, Brendan,” I say, my voice steely. “I don’t want to hear your explanations anymore, okay? Your explanations aren’t going to save you from this mess,
mine
will. Stop trying to pick up the pieces. Just sit back and wait for the puzzle.”

From the corner of my eye I see Rev’s head jerk my way, no doubt recognizing Davin’s favorite pearl of wisdom.

Brendan lifts his head, still looking dazed. “Why are you doing this?” he says to me. “If you think I’m guilty, then I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“The best part is that you don’t
need
to understand,” says Rev. “Here’s what’s going to happen: Ben’s going to explain to you how we’re going to save your ass. You ask questions, you make sure you understand, you recite it every night before bed if you have to until you have it all straight. And when Ben puts you on the stand, you deliver your lines like you’re trying to win an Academy Award. Claire will be in court every day, right behind the defense table, showing the jury how non-victimized she is, how she’s ‘standing by her man.’”

Rev digs in his pocket, producing a ring, a three carat diamond flashing inside a setting of smaller sapphire stones. He flicks it to Ben McCarthy, who catches it in one of his meaty hands. “At some point during the first week of the trial, a diamond ring will appear on Claire’s left hand. Ben will leak to the media that you two are engaged to be married. When appropriate,” he says, “she will dab her eyes with a tissue. She may even have an emotional outburst in open court at any testimony she perceives as an absolute fabrication. In other words, she’ll put on a performance like
she’s
trying to win an Academy Award.”

“Is that all it’ll be?” says Brendan to me. “Just a performance?”

I sneer at him. “Trust me, it’ll be the most challenging part of my career, you disgusting creep.”

At exactly the same moment, my phone and Rev’s phone start ringing. I reach in my bag and silence mine without looking at it.