Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unfit to Practice

“I’ll tell you something about him and money. He’s also a cheapskate. When I used to work there, he gave the most pathetic Christmas presents. Instead of bonuses. Stuff he makes down in the basement at his house. Spice racks, lazy Susans, wood bowls.” She made an impolite sound. “We’d have to admire his talent. What we would have really admired was a big gift certificate from Macy’s. His ego is the size of Cave Rock. I still have one of his bowls. The dog admires it when he drinks his water. Yeah, he’s a prick, no way around it.”

“Sandy, you’re going to have to find another description for Riesner. I find that term objectionable.”

“You offended? You never said that before.”

“I’m not offended. It’s just objectionable.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to make a couple of quick calls before I go.” Nina opened the door to the inner office and went in, leaving the door open.

After a few minutes, Sandy called, “So what’s your objection? Why’s it objectionable?”

“It’s not offensive enough,” Nina said, and was rewarded by a dusty chuckle from the outer office.

Sandy said, “I’ll call Angel Guillaume tomorrow morning to set up the appointment. How do I get hold of Brandy Taylor?”

“I think she’s still at her sister’s.”

“And Kao Vang?”

“Call his friend Dr. Mai. He gave me his phone number in Fresno.”

“If it’s okay with you, I gotta go right now. Joe and I are on the committee to organize a powwow down by the lake two weeks from now. So far, lots of discussion and nothing getting done.”

“Sounds like my life. Go get ’em, Sandy.”

“Yeah, we’ll ruffle some feathers tonight. Don’t forget to lock up. And.”

“And?”

“Stay cool.”

“Yeah.”

As soon as she heard the outer door slam, Nina punched in the number of her malpractice insurer, Lawyer’s Fidelity. No answer. The company had gone home for the weekend. She should have called earlier.

She called the Lake Tahoe Police Department and asked for Officer Scholl or Matthias. The officer on duty took her message and told her the Bronco hadn’t been found yet.

She called Paul.

“Van Wagoner Investigations.”

“Hello.”

“Hi!” She always forgot his voice, so warm and full of life.

“Paul, I changed my mind. I have a big problem up here I need to discuss with you. And I miss you. I can be there about four tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure. I was just on my way out the door. Big football game tonight at Carmel High School. Can you tell me what’s up right now? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. It’ll wait until tomorrow.”

But Paul made her give him the outline, and from the long silence on the end of the phone when she finished she knew he, too, was grappling with what to say.

“You go on,” she said. “You’ll miss the game. And I have to get home.”

“Wait, Nina. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to call an old buddy of mine who happens to be certified to practice in the state-bar court. All he does is lawyer-discipline cases. He can help us sort this out.”

From the new relief she felt, Nina knew he was on the right track. She needed information. “That sounds great. But is this attorney good? You know this person well?”

“He’s been around. Left private practice two years ago and does this exclusively now. Lives in SF and loves to come down to the Monterey Peninsula. Big talker, big ego, but you see plenty of that in your business.”

“What’s his name?”

“Let me call and see if he’s available first. Meanwhile, pack light. My big plan for the evening won’t involve dinner clothes.”

Nina’s bed did not offer its usual comforts that night. Instead of resting, she journeyed bleakly through times she had screwed up or swerved into the windy side of the law. Green sunglasses-two years ago, she had hidden this evidence of one client’s presence at a crime scene. Hypnosis-she had assured another client it would remain private. She had been wrong and Misty Patterson had almost been convicted of murder because of it. Bob’s No Fear cap, recognized by her at another crime scene-she had never told the police about that. And then there were the pieces of a dead man out there buried under the pine trees of Tahoe-a murder had been committed to protect her and Bob.

She had thought of herself as a good lawyer, good enough to look for the spirit behind the letter of the law sometimes, looking for the real rule that ought to govern the situation, trying to be brave about applying it.

She had been accused of recklessness many times, but she had always managed to pull the right result out of the situation before. Sometimes, she had to admit, she had taken risks that were more suitable to a horse track than a law practice. All in the service of the clients, she told herself.

Last night? She hadn’t even identified the risk in advance. She had been careless and lazy.

How hard would the clients get hit?

How hard would she get hit? For the first time, she let her most private, selfish fears loose, and the thought came:

Fuck! I could get disbarred!

And then what would I be?

She opened a bleary eye to the green clock light at 2:30 A.M., then rolled and tumbled until dawn in the twisted sheets. Gut-wrenching self-doubt, the whole night long.

“Y OUR BAG?” PAUL 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.