Lisa Scottoline - Everywhere That Mary Went

I groan. That must be why Martin had the faxes.

“Wait. That’s not all. The Third Circuit brief is due in two days. I have forty-eight hours to produce a winning brief or I’m fired.”

“Who said that, Martin? He can’t do that!”

“No? I’ve pissed off a house client and embarrassed the firm. Mitsuko’s appeal is in jeopardy-it’s their legal right, not ours.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, and it sticks up in funny places, making her look demented. “It was such a stupid mistake, I should resign.”

“You’d better not. We can rewrite the brief.”

“We?”

“We. I help. We do it together.”

“You can’t help, Mary. You don’t know the record.”

“I don’t need to, you do. Besides, what you need is a new legal argument. A new angle.”

She smiles wanly. “I appreciate it, but it’s hopeless. I’ve thought about every argument. This was the best.”

“Jude! Where’s that pioneering western spirit? The Oregon Trail? The Louisiana Purchase? The Missouri Compromise?”

“Stop trying to cheer me up. And your geography sucks.”

“Listen, I beat the devil today. I can do anything!”

“You’re crazy. We don’t have time.”

“We have all night. It’s pouring outside and I have to stick with you anyway. You’re my bodyguard.”

“Give it up, Mary.”

“No. Tell me why we lostMitsuko, besides the fact that Martin has no business being in front of a jury unless they all went to Choate.”

“Mary, it’s no use.”

“Tell me, Judith Carrier!”

“Aaargh,” she growls, in frustration. “Okay. I think the jury just didn’t understand the case. There were too many facts. Too much financial data. The legal issues were too abstract-”

“Were the jurors allowed to take notes?”

“Yes. Judge Rasmussen always lets-”

“Yes!” I have an idea. I tell it to Judy and she loves it instantly, realizing that even if it goes down in flames, it’ll be a blaze of glory.

She calls Kurt and makes two pots of coffee, one for her and one for me. I call Lombardo and give him the night off, but he doesn’t even thank me. We lock ourselves in a study room in the library and burn up the Lexis hookup. After a couple of hours, we lock ourselves in a war room on Gluttony and start drafting. We send out for Chinese food twice, once at eight o’clock and again at ten o’clock. We order to mein both times. After our second dinner, Stalling’s decrepit security guard, whom Judy calls Mack Sennett, knocks on the door.

“You girls okay in there?” he asks, in a Ronald Reagan voice.

“We’re fine now,” I call back. “But keep checking.”

“Roger wilco,” he says.

Judy changes his nickname to Roger Wilco. I re-check the lock on the door.

At midnight, we persuade Roger Wilco to be our lookout while we stage a giddy raid on Catering Services for potato chips, chocolate cupcakes, and more coffee. Judy tries to snort the Coffeemate, and we think this is wildly funny. The coffee sobers us up and we draft until dawn in the locked war room. Finally, at the end of the night, we put the draft on Miss Pershing’s desk, because she gets in earlier than Judy’s secretary. We shower in the locked locker room, me for the second day in a row. When we get out of the shower, we realize we have no clean clothes.

“Let’s just switch clothes,” Judy says.

“What?”

“At least it’s a change.”

I pop Judy’s tent of a peasant dress over my head. It billows to my ankles like a parachute. When I emerge from the embroidered hole in its top, Judy is still wrapped in a towel, holding up my tailored white dress.

“Do you need a bra with this dress?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“I don’t have a bra.”

“What do you mean you don’t have a bra?”

“I never wear a bra.”

“You don’t wear a bra to work? At Stalling and Webb? That’s a federal offense!”

“You can’t tell, my breasts are so small. You want to see?”

“No! Jesus Christ, will you cover up?”

“We’re both women, Mary.” She teases me by starting to unwrap the towel.

“I know that. That’s why.” I unhook my bra and slip it out through the wide sleeves of the smock. “Here, take mine. It’s one size fits all. Nobody can tell if I’m wearing one in this dress.”

“The bra off your back? What a pal!”

While Judy slips into the bra, I go over to the mirror and try to do something with my limp hair. A project for St. Rita of Cascia, Saint of the Impossible.

“Well, what do you think?” Judy asks.

I turn around. The dress, which is boxy on me, is too small for Judy, and it hugs each curve of her body. She looks dynamite. “Sell it, baby.”

She gives the hem a final tug. “Can it, baby.”

After we’re ready, we troop out to see if Miss Pershing has arrived. She’s closing up her clear plastic umbrella when I spot her, in jelly boots and a cellophane rain bonnet, at the secretaries’ closet.

“Good morning, Miss Pershing.”

She looks me over and smiles sweetly. “You look very pretty today, Miss DiNunzio. Very feminine.”

Judy slaps a hearty hand on my shoulder. “Doesn’t she though? I helped her pick out that dress.”

I give Judy a look. “Thank you, Miss Pershing. How was your book club last night?”

“Wonderful. Next week is Mary Higgins Clark.”

“Sounds great. Now I have to warn you, today is going to be a tough day, because Judy and I are working on an appellate brief. We need to finish it by the end of today. It’s on your desk, so could you start on it right away? We don’t have time to deal with Word Processing.”

“What about that other matter? The one we discussed yesterday.” She meets my eye significantly.

“It will have to wait, Miss P.”

“Got it!” She squares her shoulders.

“Call me as soon as you finish each page. I’ll come get it. Meantime, please hold my calls. And don’t tell anyone where I am, especially Ned Waters. We have to rewrite the whole day, because the brief has to be filed tomorrow.”

“Not to worry.” And she’s off, marching to her desk in her rain helmet and jelly boots.

We christen it the Shit from Shinola Brief and work on it all day in the war room. We run through draft after draft and eat everything that Catering Services carts up to us. We’re alternately dizzy, nauseated, euphoric, and cranky. By the end of the day, we have a terrible case of indigestion and a terrific brief. We place the final draft on Martin’s desk. His office is dark, and the empty eyes of the owls follow us as we leave. “I hate those fucking owls,” I say to Judy.

“They’re the only friends he has.”

My fatigue is catching up with me. “Think he’ll like the brief?”

Judy nods happily. “He has to. It’s brilliant. Thanks to you.”

“No.”

“Yes. You, Mary.” She gives me a playful push, which sends me crashing into the wall.

“What do you eat for breakfast?” I ask, as she skips ahead.

Back at the conference room, we pull up identical swivel chairs. I collapse into mine while Judy plays in hers, spinning in a circle. Miss Pershing appears in the doorway and steals a glance at Judy, going around and around. “Miss DiNunzio, aren’t you ladies through for the day?”

“No, we have a reception to go to upstairs.”

“Wheeeeeeee!” says Judy.

“I would think you’d be too tired for a reception. You both worked so hard.”

“We are, at least I am. But we have to go.”

“We must, we must! We must increase our bust!” Judy sings, spinning. Miss Pershing looks away.

“Miss Pershing, thank you for everything you did today. I appreciate it very much, and so does my co-counsel the lunatic.”