Unfit to Practice (9 page)

7

“Y
OUR BAG?
” P
AUL
said, peering into the backseat. He must have been watching for her, because he had appeared the moment her car pulled up. Paul lived in a neighborhood called Carmel Heights at the top of the hill high above the ocean. Dry fir trees around his townhouse condo whistled and creaked in a hot wind. Behind them lay the hills that led to Carmel Valley a dozen miles inland from the central-coast community of Carmel-by-the-Sea. Beyond the trees of his parking area, the Pacific twinkled in the sun. Even in the shade the air felt heavy with heat.

“This is it.” She shouldered a small duffel. She had stuffed it with her weekend needs early in the morning: a toothbrush, a nightie, swimsuit, and a few other items, imagining herself as Grace Kelly in
Rear Window,
reaching into her minuscule designer case to pull out a fluffy negligee, making Jimmy Stewart's eyes bulge. She unzipped a corner and showed him a bit of transparent chiffon.

“Ah.”

His eyes didn't exactly bulge, although he gave her a squeeze that made her jump. “You won't even get a chance to put it on,” he promised.

“No, no, I insist that you tear it off me.” Satisfied, she stuffed her nightie back into the bag. “Is your friend coming?”

“We're driving down to Big Sur with him for lunch tomorrow.”

Inside, he pulled the door shut behind her and did exactly what she had imagined he might do during the long drive from the mountains to the ocean, lifting her off her feet until their faces matched, kissing her with the passion she found so moving.

She licked his neck, lounging in the spot where his hair curled slightly, and ran her hand down the dip in his back as far down as she could reach. They swayed in the doorway for some time before he set her gently down.

“I have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. Do you know that you can take the cork out of that thing and let it sit all night and the next day it's still fizzy? It's a wonder. Let's get started. Even if it is four in the afternoon.”

“I'm hot. Long drive.”

“The towels are clean in there.”

She went into the bathroom, stripped down, and jumped into the shower. Paul's decor followed his stated principle about himself: What you see is what you get. Simple and direct with a touch of whimsy in the forties' posters of guns and molls, the room had white walls, a black-and-white-tiled floor, and white towels.

She heard Paul pop the cork off the balcony deck. He had put on the Michael Hutchence CD they both liked and was humming along. He was happy to see her. The evening would seem to stretch on forever, and that was how she wanted it: dinner, drinks, talk, lovemaking, a swim in the condo pool, late night on the balcony, his arms around her as she fell asleep.

She needed this night away from everything. Just this one night, she told herself. So it always went with Paul. “You're already married,” he would tell her. “To your briefcase.”

As she hung the damp towel neatly on its rack, she admitted something to herself: Their relationship had changed forever on the day, just a short time before, that she realized that Paul had saved her life by killing a man who was trying to kill her. She trusted him now in ways she didn't trust anyone else, even her brother and father. In the face of his extraordinary act, she had surrendered much of her resistance to him. She felt bound to him in some primitive way that she had better sort out fast. Coming to him now, when she was so vulnerable, felt natural and right.

She needed him. Before, he had needed her. Her need for his solidity, his loyalty, was beginning to overwhelm all those other conflicts between them.

This feeling is new, she thought to herself, looking in the mirror. Was weakness driving her so urgently to him now?

Did it matter?

Sun poured through the window. She looked at the black teddy. It wouldn't do. The 1950s were dead, R.I.P. Grace Kelly and Jimmy Stewart, but viva the new century! She would at least skip the underwear.

Pulling her shorts and tank top out of her duffel, she dressed swiftly, giving one final glance to the woman in the mirror, the physical one that seldom communicated with the cyborg of the office, the one with nipples obvious under the thin material of her top, the one with tangled brown hair and bare feet. This woman could be irresponsible without dire consequences because she knew it—Paul would never hurt her. She could relax into a blur of sex and pleasure with him, if just for tonight, sleep dreamlessly in his arms, and store up power for Monday.

Out on the deck, Paul grilled teriyaki tuna and steamed asparagus with butter. She fed the blue jays, letting them do the chattering. They ate at a patio table covered with a red cloth, the candle flame flickering in the breeze. As the sun moved west across the ocean and the moon revealed herself, splendid and yellow, Nina ended up on Paul's lap. They moved right along into the bedroom and Paul finally revealed the rest of his big plan.

As she walked toward the living room late on Sunday morning, she heard the low rumbling of masculine voices. His lawyer friend must have arrived. The man stood up when she came in and took a step toward her, his hand coming up and then hanging in the air, along with his mouth.

She stopped, her mouth frozen in the polite smile.

“Oh, no. No, Paul,” she said.

“What's she doing here?” her ex-husband, Jack McIntyre, said at exactly the same time.

They both turned to Paul, who sprawled in his chair, long hairy legs stretching out from his khaki shorts. “You both would have said no. You'll both thank me later. Get you something, Nina?” he said.

“I'll get it,” she said, retreating into the kitchen, trying to figure out what in the world she felt, seeing Jack again. Shock, definitely. They hadn't met since before their divorce, not since the day Jack walked out on her and their place in Bernal Heights.

She walked slowly back out, holding a soda. Apparently not a word had been spoken. Jack held a beer to his mouth and appeared to be draining it. Beer on Sunday morning. That was new.

“Well,” Paul said. “Ha, ha. Jack, Nina. Nina, Jack.”

“Hello, Nina,” Jack said. He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, smiled slightly. “Believe me, although I should have suspected he was up to something, I didn't.”

“Hello.” She sat down on the couch, keeping her legs together, and crossed her arms. “What're you doing here?”

“I was invited,” Jack said. “It's been a couple of years now, hasn't it? Amazing. I meant to call Bob more often.”

“He's been busy. Like you, I'm sure.”

“You always did fit into a T-shirt just right,” Jack said.

Nina crossed her arms.

Jack broke into a broad smile. “Paul, you old fox.”

“Don't get the wrong idea, buddy. This is business,” Paul said.

Jack ignored him. He did look fine, if pale from the years in high-rise San Francisco and away from the beaches. Shorter than Paul, he was brawny, although leaner than he looked, something you only saw when he took his shirt off. He had reminded her of a teddy bear when they met, a hairy Big Sur guy who brooked no shit but had a ready smile and a kind word for everyone.

Nina was remembering her last phone conversation with Jack. He had urged her to hurry up and sign the papers so he could marry his girlfriend. She had reacted, well, with a certain lack of gentility. The old anger hadn't had time to rise up yet and all she felt was nervous and curious. She looked again at Paul, who cleared his throat, stalling, as if waiting to see how she would react.

“He's the state bar defense lawyer?”

“I hear he's good,” Paul said. “Of course, I hear that from him.”

Jack said, “Ah ha. The pieces begin to come together.”

Odd, to be in a room with two men she had slept with. She had no urge to compare them, then suddenly found herself doing exactly that. Apples and oranges, she thought. Onions and leeks. Cucumbers and bananas. She giggled. Nerves.

“What's so funny?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“I haven't even started my song and dance yet, and you're smiling.” He turned to Paul. “Did you tell her about Eva? Is that why she's smiling?”

“Tell me what?”

“She dumped my ass,” Jack said. “Two months ago.” He looked hurt when he said it.

“Really,” Nina said.

“I didn't even see it coming. She moved out and served me the next day.”

“She does move fast,” Nina said. Jack's new wife had also been the attorney who represented Jack in his divorce from Nina.

“Go ahead. Tell me I deserved it.” After a pause pregnant with Nina's silence, Jack said, “Well. You get a gold star for restraint. Here I am, battered and blue. So, Paul, you going to tell me what's up?”

Paul got up. “Let's save that until we're on the deck at Nepenthe. It's a forty-five-minute drive and I'm already hungry.”

Jack and Nina continued to sneak looks at each other. She decided he was as intense and brash as ever but he had a new aspect today. He looked wounded, maybe. Chastened.

Improved. Definitely improved.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Sure.”

They took Jack's green Chrysler Sebring, top down. Paul sat in the rear seat, his legs digging into Nina's back. The fog had drifted out to sea around the Highlands Inn and the twisting road revealed glimpses of deep blue sea on their right around every turn. Vacationers blew past them as Jack stuck to the speed limit. When the houses grew sparse, the road hugged a cliff that stretched high above them on their left and down a thousand feet, to the crashing surf far below.

“Awesome!” Jack shouted over the noise of the engine. “I always forget.”

As they crossed the Bixby Creek Bridge, Paul leaned forward to touch Nina's shoulder, because she had a very bad memory of that place that had to do with her mother's death many years before. They swerved past the Point Sur Lighthouse, where the navy was on the lookout for terrorists these days. The world had changed since Nina's childhood, when VW vans full of bell-bottomed kids had traveled this beautiful road.

At the thick redwood forests of Pfeiffer Big Sur they dipped into shadow. Jack told them about how his wife had taken their hamster with her and how he had seriously considered filing for custody. Solemnly, he laid out his legal strategy, even citing some cases, probably invented but nevertheless credible and detailed. Some people in trouble turned to counseling; Jack turned to storytelling. His disasters always evolved into deadpan comedy skits, which was his way of controlling and reshaping his psychic traumas.

They parked in the driveway at the foot of the concrete staircase that led to the Phoenix Shop and Nepenthe. “Haven't been here in years,” Jack said. “Lots of good times here. Remember that Halloween party in, let's see, I forget the year. Who was it wore the pumpkin head? Probably Paul.”

Paul took Nina's arm as they went up. They both puffed, but the hike was worth the wait because Nepenthe possessed a spectacular view. Under the enormous, shifting sky, miles and miles of ragged cliffs collided with the ocean.

“There are seven wonders, but are there seven wonderful views?” Jack said as they arrived at the top. “There ought to be. Put this one at number one.”

They sat on the outside deck and ordered burgers and margaritas. Paul and Jack had fallen into the old banter Nina remembered from years ago when she had first met them. She had been a law student clerking at Jack's firm in Carmel, and Paul—incredible! Paul had still been a cop. Bob was a toddler then. Her mother was alive.

So much had happened since, too much too fast. Another marriage, another loss . . .

“I was sorry to hear about your husband, Nina. What a sad way to die. How terrible for you and Bob.”

Jack had wormed his way into her heart, just like old times. She never knew what to say. “Thank you.”

“How's the law practice up there in the mountains? I look east sometimes outside my window on the thirtieth floor in the Financial District and I think of you in your cozy town and I think, you finally figured it all out—”

Nina gave a short laugh. “Right.”

“She needs to talk to you professionally,” Paul said. “So straighten up. Go ahead, Nina, dive in.”

“I'm still thinking about it,” Nina said. “Jack, are you really a certified specialist in state bar matters?”

“At your service, fair lady,” Jack said. He stood up suddenly and pretended to sweep a cap off his head and bowed. “I've been hoping Paul dragged me down here just to get us talking again, actually.”

“I didn't even think about that,” Paul said. “Actually.” He put his hand over Nina's.

“So you guys are lovers?” Jack said, Jack-style, no pussyfooting around. “She's with you?”

Paul pulled Nina close. Jack's eyes flickered.

She felt vaguely like a sack of flour being weighed by two merchants. “Paul and I aren't your business,” she said.

“Maybe. Still, I find myself absorbed by the implications, and just a little aggravated. Paul, you could have said something. I've talked to you on the phone many times. We went climbing this summer at Pinnacles. We hit Vegas last month. You never once mentioned Nina.”

“No time like the present.”

“Well, well, well,” Jack said. “Coffee for me,” he told the waitress. “Nina? Anything?”

“I'll have the chocolate mousse,” Nina said.

“That's right. Chocolate in times of stress. I remember that. You have need of my services, I take it,” he said. “I'm sorry to hear it. That's the first thing I always tell my clients. I also tell them it's inevitable. Happens to every one of us sooner or later. Complaint from a client. Ceiling caving in. It's the grand old practice of law these days.”

“I'm looking for some advice. Some information. About malpractice,” Nina said.

“Okay,” Jack said. He folded his hands. “You get a complaint against you? Malpractice?”

“Not yet.”

“‘Not yet.' A wallop awaits behind those two little words. What happened?”

Nina told him. She didn't spare herself, telling about the missing key, her stolen truck, her sleepiness, the fact that she often brought files home. Jack shook his head and Paul narrowed his eyes. Then she got to the worst part.