Lisa Scottoline - Dead Ringer

“Sure, I’m a maverick, remember?” Bennie checked her emotions. “How are you, Robert? I have you on speaker, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. Even better. Are your young ladies there?”

“They are.” Bennie turned to the associates. “Angels, say hi to Charlie.”

“Hi,” they all chorused.

“Good morning, ladies,” St. Amien called back. “Bennie, I’m on the mobile phone. I am calling because I have been receiving this morning several telephone calls from Mr. William Linette.”

Bull! “I know Bill. He’s another lawyer in town, who represents one of the other class members in your case. He filed a complaint against the trade association last week.” Bennie hoped it would sound like she was up to speed, even though she was struggling to play catch-up. “He called you?”

“Several times, as I say, when I didn’t return his. He caught me on the last try. He tells me that he is one of the most experienced class-action attorneys in the country and that he wishes to represent me and my company.”

The associates stood mute, and Bennie swallowed hard. She prayed to God that St. Amien didn’t leave her now. “I didn’t file our complaint until this morning, so maybe Linette didn’t know I was representing you. If he had, I’m sure he wouldn’t have called me directly.”

“No, he mentioned that he had heard I engaged you.”

Bennie laughed, and Carrier held up a silent, yet eloquent, middle finger. So Linette was trying to snake her, trying to steal a represented client. It was a move even lawyers considered low. “I’m not completely surprised. Are you?”

“Of course not.” St. Amien chuckled over the speakerphone. “Nevertheless, I told him I am already represented, by you.”

“Thank you.” Bennie would have kissed the man, but insolvency had killed her libido. “Robert, you’re about to become the most popular Frenchman in town. Lawyers will be buying you all the escargot you can eat.”

“I’m sure of it.” St. Amien chuckled again. “By the way, Mr. Linette said that there would be several other counsel and their clients-men I know-meeting in his office today, at noon. He invited you and me to this meeting. Shall we meet alone as we had planned, or shall we go to Mr. Linette’s meeting?”

“We should go to Linette’s, absolutely. We have to coordinate with the rest of the class, and I want to establish your position as lead plaintiff.” Jesus. Bennie had never seen a case move this fast. Linette was wasting no time grabbing power and running with it. She had to deal with Alice, but she couldn’t jeopardize St. Amien’s interests. “But I’m warning you, I expect there to be a tussle over the lead plaintiff. Linette filed on behalf of someone named Mayer, whom he’s touting as lead plaintiff.”

“Mayer, Herman Mayer?” St. Amien paused. “Linette did not mention this. Herman Mayer is quite vocal, a troublemaker of sorts. But he is-how do you Americans say-a piker, in comparison with me.”

“I suspected as much. And you should also know that Linette’s complaint, which I will show you, seeks damages of seventy million dollars.”

“Oh.” St. Amien paused, and the associates started whispering among themselves until Bennie hushed them. St. Amien was saying, “Mr. Linette is an optimist.”

“I think he’s nuts, but so be it. It doesn’t help the case to ask that much in damages, especially if you can’t prove it. But it gets clients. And headlines.”

“If I meet you there, I expect I’ll be pounced upon the moment I set foot.”

“Exactly.” Bennie managed a smile. “You’ll need a bodyguard, and I recommend an Amazon with messy hair. I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby, and we’ll walk over together.”

“Perfect, see you there. ہ bientôt, ladies.”

“Bye,” the associates chorused, and he hung up.

Bennie hit the off button on the phone and her ersatz good mood evaporated. She heard herself sigh and leaned against the desk. She’d have to fight to keep St. Amien, but Alice was back, the landlord was evicting her, and she was out of dog food. She hadn’t felt so totally at a loss since the day her mother had passed. And her employees were staring at her, momentarily speechless. They looked like waifs, bewildered and scared-as if their mother had passed. It telegraphed to her suddenly what to say, and do. Be a mother. Be strong, nurturing, certain, sure. Take control. Run the family. Be all the things her own mother had been, until illness overcame her. That strength had been her only legacy, and in truth, it was the only legacy of value.

“Listen, folks,” Bennie began, “there is no reason to panic. It’s not a disaster, not yet. As calamitous as this seems, I will deal with it. Fix it. Set it right.”

“Sure,” Murphy said.

“Absolutely,” Carrier said.

“We have faith,” DiNunzio said, but none of them sounded completely convinced, and Bennie straightened up.

“First things first. Right now I have a client to meet, and I’m never late.” She was beginning to feel better, more in control. She took a deep breath, picked up her bag and briefcase, and went to the elevator bank. “Carrier, if you find Alice, call me right away on the cell.”

“Got it,” Carrier called back, brightening.

“I’ll help her,” Murphy added, and even DiNunzio managed a thumbs-up.

Only Marshall couldn’t find a smile, but she knew how serious it was. She was about to be a mother, too.

Bennie grabbed the elevator and was gone.

Bennie had visited Lawyer Kingdoms in her day: oases of thick rugs, original oil paintings, and Chippendale chairs like thrones. She had seen plenty of corner offices, some as big as football fields, with patterned runners the length of airport runways, and rare law books that nobody read housed behind glass in mahogany bookshelves. She knew the costly whoosh of perfectly calibrated air-conditioning and could identify the dull patina of real brass doorknobs. But Bennie had never seen a law firm as opulent as Bull Linette’s.

The floor of the reception area was tiled in black-and-white marble, like the Grand Hall at Versailles, and an overstuffed golden brocade couch was adorned with spun-gold piping, as were matching club chairs. Fourteen-carat swags draped over tall mullioned windows, and the centerpiece of the room was a library table with ornate gold-covered feet, its mahogany surface inlaid with exotic ivory, teak, and yew. Golden damask walls were covered with gilt-framed scenes of French châteaus. Oddly enough, there wasn’t an eviction notice in sight.

Bennie was jealous as hell, especially considering the present circumstances. Somebody has a small penis, she wanted to say. But she was trying to act classy, so she settled for: “Not too shabby, huh?”

St. Amien chuckled. “Après moi, le déluge.”

“And that, too.”

St. Amien smiled. His silvery hair had been slicked back and he wore an elegant light wool suit of charcoal gray with another silk print tie, and even so looked underdressed in the fabulous waiting room. He sniffed as he surveyed the surroundings. “This decor, it’s costly, certainly. Yet it lacks something.”

“Duct tape?”

St. Amien cocked his head. “What is ‘duct tape’?”

“Tape for ducks.”

St. Amien let it go with a smile. They were getting used to each other. “ Non . This decor, it lacks taste.”

“True. Also fun.” But so much friggin’ money. “Is friggin’ a curse, Robert?”

But St. Amien wasn’t listening. “I see no women lawyers.”

“Some of the lawyers in Philadelphia are men.”