Waiting for Cary Grant (10 page)

“I already do,” Harlan mumbled.

“What did you say?”

Harlan moved his hand away from his mouth. “Thank you, your Honor,”

“I’m ready to call it a day.” Judge Franklin rubbed his ample belly. “Lets leave early. Come back tomorrow.”

Taylor fled with his usual haste from chambers. Michaels walked out and winked at Kathy.

Judge Franklin told the jury they were through for the day. Taylor Stanworth watched them race out the door. No sign of Melvin. He’d probably ducked out to Hamburger Hank for the noon time coronary bypass special.

M
elvin’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t get away from Court fast enough. He ordered a beer at the darkened pub where he hid for lunch.

“Hey Melvin.” Donna Mosscato sat down at his darkened booth. He wondered if he’d called her for the weekly feeding and forgotten. She looked different. Like she’d lost a lot of weight.

“You were right about that woman. Stephanie St. Claire. I know you never liked her. That woman gave Harlan Michaels Safety Tire memos. He knows everything now. We’re screwed.”

Donna looked satisfied. Figured. She’d always been jealous of Stephanie.

“The memos that show Safety Tire knew how dangerous the wheel was all along?” Donna asked.

“Obviously. I’ll sue that woman. She breached client confidences. And then she disappeared.”

“Sue her? What makes you think she breached client confidences? Maybe she just shared some pillow talk with Harlan.”

“Donna, are you an idiot? Who do you think gave him the documents?”

“I did,” Donna said.

“What? You’ll get fired for that,” he said.

“You’re the lawyer. And besides, they can’t fire me. I’ve already quit,” she said. He reached to choke her. But with her recent weight loss, she was quicker than him, and bounded out the door.

T
aylor Stanworth admired his designer loafers as he propped his feet up on his new desk after leaving Court. He’d spent too much money. But the important thing was that he’d received envious looks from other lawyers. Sure they could inflate their own incomes. But they could never be born wealthy. They could never be him.

“Can you take a call from Mr. Seams?” The barely clad secretary he’d recently been assigned, his fifteenth that year, asked in a submissive voice.

“At $500.00 an hour, I can talk to any client.” He chuckled.

“Good to hear from you,” Stanworth said in the deep voice he’d spent hours practicing.

“I want out. I’ll pay Harlan Michaels three million dollars to never see him again.”

“You don’t want to just give him three million!” Stanworth’s voice rose as he leapt up from the leather chair. The chair made a poofing noise that sounded like gas as he rose.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Lets low ball at a half-million. We’re before a judge who registered Republican in the womb. He’ll cut any histrionic jury’s award of punitive damages. And the truck driver’s insurance carrier just paid him over $450,000.00. We get a credit.”

“Stanworth, I’m an old fashioned Catholic. I believe that if I commit suicide I’ll go straight to hell. But I’ll take that over the alternative of life and trial with Harlan Michaels. Three million is a small price to pay to avoid his cross-examination.” He coughed nervously.

“If we are going to offer that much money, lets ask for complete confidentiality. Stipulate to seal the records. Bind him from ever discussing the case with anyone.”

“Anyone? Can we do that?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Give him a call.”

“I’ll call him right now.” Stanford grimaced. Something about Harlan Michaels bothered him. Maybe it was his innate ability to seduce any woman he wanted. And he wasn’t even born wealthy. He was a self-made man. That’s not fair. Stanford kicked the desk leg as he ordered his secretary to pick up the phone and get Harlan Michaels.

“We’re prepared to offer three million dollars to settle this case. My client is much more generous than I am.”

“I realize that Stanford. I remember the way you figured out the bill when we ordered cappuccino and croissants sent in at deposition.”

“They want complete confidentiality in return. Don’t even mention the case to your cat.”

“I’ll have to talk to my clients.”

“I can’t afford to have the offer age.”

Harlan hung up.

H
arlan reached Debbie and Rick at last. They wanted to take the settlement offer. He felt mixed emotions when he called Taylor. He knew he’d never stop thinking about Kathy. And if he’d done enough for her.

His hands were still in fists as he sat down in his den’s black leather chair. For some reason, the gleaming marble and glass of his home seemed cold tonight. He thought about going to the gym.

He put his head into a pillow and remembered the scent of Stephanie’s just washed hair. She used a vanilla conditioner. He just wanted to take a bite out of her when he smelled it. She’d hate him when she heard about the confidentiality agreement.

He tossed and turned in the chair. He didn’t want to watch 9 Live. But it was like he had climbed on an express train without any stops. He couldn’t get off now. He hit the remote.

“We have a shocking story tonight about the company who says they want to keep you as safe on the road as you want to keep your kids when you tuck them in bed at night. We’ll bring you the story of the wheel that killed,” the pretty anchor woman said.

The screen flashed shots of exploding multipiece wheels. Burning wreckage and body parts strewn across a highway.

“We have a former Safety Tire representative at our west coast studio tonight. Are you there?”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Taylor hissed, feet quaking in his designer loafers. Taylor sat back, adams apple twitching uncontrollably. He suspected Harlan Michaels had something to do with this.

“Can you hear me?” Asked the blonde anchor woman again, reading from her tele-prompter.

“Yes.” Answered the confident voice. An oversized jacket curved in at her small waist. She’d been dieting ever since the night she’d gone to Melvin’s house unannounced.

“Ms. Mosscato, you were a claims adjuster for Safety Tire, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I worked at Safety Tire for twenty years. The multipiece wheel accidents began as soon as the design was on the road. There were some serious injuries even then. Safety Tire got nervous about a recall. They contributed money from secret slush funds they maintained in Europe, kickbacks from European suppliers, to certain politicians. And lo and behold, maybe it was just a coincidence, only a week after they made these contributions, the head of the National Highway Traffic Safety Association, who had considered the investigation of multipiece wheels a top priority, was transferred to an obscure position in the mid west, and replaced with someone who didn’t have a clue. Then, the National Highway Traffic Safety Association magically rescinded the investigation.” Donna Mosscato sat back in her chair with assurance, as if she regularly took on powerful corporations.

“They didn’t recall these wheels for years. Multipiece wheels continue to maim and kill. We’ll be back after the break.” The anchor woman shook her head.

Donna Mosscato breathed deeply. She wondered what Mel Seams was doing. She felt free for the first time in years.

L
ana still had Cary Grant movies. And she still had cats, a comforter and a glass of wine at home. She’d be alright. She cried harder as she pulled into the gym’s parking lot. She’d feel better after twenty minutes on the stairmaster. On the news, she heard a Safety Tire spokesperson announce a recall of the dangerous wheel they placed on the highway. She wondered how Harlan managed to get them to agree to a full corporate recall.

Harlan was standing at the counter chatting up the receptionist at the gym. She tried to get by him quickly but he moved back and she bumped him with her hand.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You’re lucky you didn’t bump into my stomach. You could have broken your hand.” Harlan smiled.

She’d never felt her heart pound like this before. What if she had a heart attack and died right in front of him? What if she became an anecdote he told at trial seminars later?

“I heard about the recall. How did you ever get them to agree to it?”

“Happy Birthday, Mr. Michaels. You get a free gym bag for your birthday.”

Harlan slapped his forehead. “I forgot.”

Forty years old today. And he’d never looked more handsome. His strong jaw and supple skin tone belied his biological age and belonged on a man ten years younger.

“Happy Birthday, Harlan. Lets go visit Kathy tomorrow. We could celebrate your birthday together.”

“I can’t go tomorrow. Sorry.”

“I’m still working with her,” Lana said.

“Then I am too. It just takes faith. And things will work out. Just like in an old movie.”

“You’re Kathy’s hero.”

“I’m as tall as Cary Grant. If that helps.”

Lana looked admiringly at all 6’2” of Harlan Michaels. Maybe he was playing a role. It was the role she’d always wanted someone to play for her.

“I’m sorry, Lana. I’ll never be Cary Grant. I’ve got to get out of here.” Harlan sprinted out the door as quickly as his Gucci sneakers could carry him.

S
tephanie loved shopping in Passy. At the more expensive shops in Paris, the saleswomen humored her by speaking French back to her slowly. At the cheaper stores, they spoke English back to her. It sucked to have a bad French accent.

“Oui,” she said to shoes she couldn’t afford. She needed red pumps for her brave new world.

She walked back out on Rue de Passy looking for a café. A man smiled at her. She looked away.

All those years of having the upper hand, laughing through the prism of a girl who usually got what she wanted, were gone now. She’d given a case away after hot sex with Harlan in France.

Sure she could tell herself she’d given Harlan the documents because it was the right thing to do. It was easy to slip the documents on top of the trash Harlan took out. But what if Harlan had been old and fat and bald? Would she still have been stimulated and inspired to do the right thing? HA.

Mel knew of course. She wasn’t worried about him telling. What would he say? Harlan banged the documents out of her? Admit that the associate he hired at first sight spurned him? And got boned senseless by Harlan in the south of France? Mel wasn’t going to tell anyone.

She looked down at her phone. A picture of Harlan with a text appeared.

“I could fly to Paris this week. Remember how much we enjoyed France?”

What was it with men and putting the word remember before every veiled reference to sex? As if. She could forget. Harlan. Dangerous. Tempting. Too dangerous.

She texted him back.
This week could be a problem. Nice thought though
.

There was time enough for Harlan. She was in Paris. Where anything could happen for an American girl.

What’s going on this week?
He texted back.

Harlan chasing her. This was unexpected. She smiled.

Usual. In Paris. Pretending I’m not noticing the Gap store on the corner.

What’s wrong with the Gap?

Nothing. In the states. In Paris, I want to see French shops.

Do you dream in French?

After a few nights here. I dream I speak flawless French.

I could improve on that dream.

And there he was, standing in front of her. Harlan Michaels.

“How could you possibly know where to find me?”

“I bribed Lyla with a case of champagne and a promise to take her trash out when I’m in her neighborhood.”

“You’ll be busy.”

“Lets look at some real estate.”

“Do you know this is the 16
^th
Arrondisement? One of the most expensive neighborhoods in Paris?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’d have an awesome view of the Eiffel Tower from here.” He pointed to an elegant apartment building.

“Maybe we should look at the view from the Eiffel Tower.” Stephanie gazed at it fondly, the Eiffel Tower always filled her with hope and appreciation.

“Want to walk up the first two flights?”

“Sure, I can take you up that way. Resuscitate you if necessary.” She joked.

He had the body of a twenty-one year old. Stephanie would know. A month before she’d met Harlan, she danced with a twenty-one year all night at her favorite bar.

“Aren’t you glad you kept working out on that Stairmaster?” Harlan asked, just one step behind her.

“Yes,” she said, careful not to say too much, so she didn’t sound breathless and out of shape.

At the second floor, they saw the elevator to the third, and Harlan pushed the button.

“We can’t climb any further. They don’t have steps to third floor,” Stephanie said.

“We don’t need to climb to the top. We’ll take an elevator to the top. Like a 90’s startup company.”

They reached the 3
^rd
floor and immediately went to the champagne bar.

“Tomorrow, you can pick out any apartment in Paris you want,” he said.

“I know you’re going to say, ‘I may not buy it. But you can pick out any apartment you want.’”

“Do you know what’s wrong with you?” He asked.

“I know you too well.” She suggested.

“No. Nothing is wrong with you, Stephanie.” He lifted his glass of champagne to her lips and smiled.

Copyright © 2012 Mary Matthews United States of America

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