Fern Michaels - Tuesday’s Child

Sophie mouthed the word speakerphone . Linda obliged.

Jay Brighton’s words were crystal clear. “Here we go, ladies… and let me be the first to say I have never felt this popular in my entire life. Everyone in this state wants a part of me. The media is giving this a full-court press. Sophie, you are big news. It’s all they are talking about. The warden at the women’s prison gave a brief interview, said how Sophie was a model prisoner. Said how the paperwork was in order. Said how Adam Star called the shots and wouldn’t accept anything except the deal his lawyer brokered, which translates to no one could do anything or say anything until he was dead. Told about the meetings he had with Adam’s lawyer, Clayton Hughes.

“Adam’s video has been on the news every hour on the hour. The judge who signed off on Sophie’s release has so far refused to be interviewed.

“Ryan Spenser has called here every ten minutes. Mavis is threatening to quit if we don’t get someone to help her field the calls. We have to keep the office doors locked, and I canceled all appointments till Monday. Reporters are camped outside. I might have to sleep here.

“In addition to all of that, the state’s attorneys called again this morning. I chopped them off at the knees and told them straight out what our deal was. Told them not to bother me again unless we had an agreement.

“They are now showing the urns at the mortuary. Guess the director thought it might be good for business. The media is giving them so much press, so why not.”

“That’s it! That’s all you have?” Linda shrieked.

“What? That’s not enough! What more do you want?” Jay started to grumble and mutter under his breath about not being able to satisfy women.

“Oh, honey, you more than satisfy me. We just want to know more about Spenser and what his mood is, you know, so we can bask in his misery.”

“Well, he ain’t happy, that’s for sure. He’s pissed to the teeth that he didn’t know a thing and heard it when the rest of the world heard it. That’s what he said when he left a message on our voice mail. So far he has not given an interview, and the media are saying he’s involved in something and can’t do interviews right now. The translation to that is, he’s in deep shit with a twenty-million-dollar-payout that is going to haunt his ass for many days and months to come. This is when it’s going to get interesting, so stay tuned.”

When the conversation turned personal, Sophie moved away to sift through what she had just heard. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders at Linda’s gleeful look.

“At last we got one up on that SOB,” Linda said when the call ended. “I’m glad he’s scrambling; he deserves to grovel. And truth be told, I’d pay through the nose to see Ryan Spenser grovel. You know that old saying, what goes around comes around? His business just came around. Jay said, depending on how he feels, he might pick a reporter and give a sort of/kind of/make of it what you will interview. Meaning, of course, your old friend who works for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He said he’s going to throw something out there that will make Spenser pee green. Don’t even ask because he wouldn’t tell me. He’ll call if he does it.

“As much as I hate to eat and run, that’s what I have to do, Sophie. Everything is all set for you. Remember to keep your stuff ready and handy, so if they come for you, you can leave in a heartbeat. It’s wheels up at three for me, so I have just enough time to eat and get to the airport. I really hate to leave, but I’m needed back at the office,” Linda said as she shoveled the delectable scampi into her mouth.

Sophie picked at her food; it was delicious, but her thoughts weren’t on food, Ryan Spenser, or things back in Georgia. Her mind was preoccupied with her old friends. She finally asked Linda to find out where her personal things were, and if she found them, to send them on to her by overnight mail. Linda promised.

Twenty minutes later, Sophie was waving good-bye to Linda from the driveway. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

She was alone again. “Do not feel sorry for yourself,” she muttered over and over as she made her way into the house and up the stairs to her room, where she changed into her bathing suit, which Mally had washed and dried. She pulled on a yellow wrap, made her way back outside, and ran down to the beach. She waded into the water and swam until she got tired. She didn’t see a soul anywhere nearby the entire time.

Back in her room, Sophie shed her wet clothes, took a shower, dressed again, then turned on the television. She blinked, then blinked again as she adjusted the volume on the set. Jay Brighton was talking outside the office to a gaggle of reporters.

“I’m only going to make one comment, so listen up and don’t pester me afterward, because this is all you’re going to get. My client, Sophie Lee, has authorized this firm to hire four additional associates to go back through all the court trials that Ryan Spenser has prosecuted from the day of her conviction. In addition to those four associates, she has authorized the firm to hire an additional four associates to go back and review all of Ryan Spenser’s cases for ten years prior to her conviction.

“As you all know, those cases are a matter of public record. We have also been authorized to hire as many private investigators as we need to do whatever needs to be done. In short, our client feels money is no object when it comes to vindication. That’s all, ladies and gentlemen. I meant it-no more questions, no more comments,” Jay said as he made his way to the parking garage and his car. The gaggle trailed behind him, shooting out questions he refused to answer. Jay Brighton was a man of his word. He did, however, wink at Patty Molnar.

THE REASON FOR THE SEVEN FORTY-FIVE EARLY-MORNING MEETING of attorneys was the media. The powers that be in the state of Georgia were patiently waiting for their star, Ryan Spenser, to make his appearance. Coffee had already been poured, sweet rolls depleted from the silver tray in the middle of the conference table.

The men and two women looked at one another. One of the men, a white-haired older gentleman who could have passed for Santa, spoke. “We did tell him eight o’clock so that we could talk. He is not late. So far I haven’t heard a word from anyone at this table.”

They all started to talk at once, the voice of one of the women a shade more shrill than the others. The gist of the comments was that they didn’t have $20 million in their coffers to hand over to Sophie Lee, courtesy of the Aulani, Brighton, Brighton, and Darrow law firm.

“Furthermore, if what the media said last night about the firm’s hiring all those extra attorneys to go after Spenser’s old cases is correct, we’re looking at megamillion-dollar payouts down the road. Everyone Spenser ever prosecuted will head to their neighborhood lawyer to file suits. They’ll win, too. The public doesn’t like to hear that innocent people were sent to prison. The trust will be gone. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the state of Georgia will go after us even if it’s for jaywalking,” the guy with the white hair and beard sputtered.

The woman with the shrill voice chirped up. “You’re all convicting Ryan before you know if he’s guilty or not. He goes with the facts he has, the proof, when he goes to court. You’re all ready to do the very thing you’re accusing him of doing. Stop being so disgusting.”

A slick-looking young guy with a tint to his styled locks smirked, and said, “And you came to this conclusion because of… pillow talk. Everyone knows about your affair with Ryan Spenser, so maybe you need to cool your jets here and let more impartial minds prevail.”