Sol Stein - Other people

Francine the Unexpected wanted me for my alleged ability to win what I then thought truthfully to be her hopeless case. What use was she to me?

She was ready to talk back in a high-risk way, a convenience women like Jane would never dare. In fact, wasn't I having dinner with Francine because she, not I, had wanted it?

"I'm sorry about goofing the appointment," I said.

"Conciliation accepted," she said. "I'm sorry for goofing your evening this evening."

"You haven't yet."

"I've been thinking. How come a fellow like you isn't rich?"

"I do okay," I said.

"I don't mean okay, I mean real rich like F. Lee Bailey, lawyers like that. Wouldn't you like to have a fancy pad with an indoor-outdoor swimming pool, a wine cellar, a game room, a mirrored bedroom with a revolving circular bed, you know?"

"Does crap like that turn you on?"

"No."

"Why'd you think I'd want things like that?"

"You're a bachelor. You don't have a mess of kids to support."

"I have all these women."

That stopped her only for a second. "You ever buy them presents?"

"Not often. Sometimes they buy me presents."

"In gratitude?"

"I think I'm a respectable lover." Quickly I added, "I'll tell you why I'm not rich like some criminal lawyers. I have a few rules."

"Scruples?"

"I said rules. Those lawyers are like cruising Cadillacs. Anybody with a lot of dough and a highly publicizable case can flag them down. I pick my cases. I never make a final judgment based on the client's ability to pay or to draw the newspapers."

"You're a socialist."

"Fuck that. I do what I like to do. No corporation tells me what to do with my work. I don't have to compromise with a lot of law partners. And I'm not for hire to a mobster with a hundred grand in his pocket. Unless, of course, his case intrigues me beyond my capacity to resist."

"What kind of case do you find irresistible?"

"This is going to sound egotistical."

"I'll bet you won't let that stop you."

"I like a case to depend more on me than on the evidence. The same way a specializing surgeon will take on even a charity case if it's the kind that scares off the other surgeons. Showing off."

"Not money?"

"I never knew an interesting professional who'd choose mere money over a chance to display his tail feathers."

"I'm not convinced. You know how men love to test out women — would you screw so-and-so for a thousand dollars, ten thousand dollars, a million? And when he finally names a number you say yes to, he says 'I knew you were a whore, I just wanted to establish the price.' What's your price, Mr. Thomassy? Would you take a six-week case in Las Vegas for six hundred thousand dollars?"

"You offering?"

"Just testing."

"I don't take tests."

"How about one week's work for a Howard Hughes or an Onassis for a million even?"

"What's the case?"

"Mr. Virtue. Would they pay a million if the case didn't stink?"

"I'll tell you something, Francine. Those guys didn't get rich overpaying lawyers or accountants. They know where to find footmen with accounting and law degrees. The world is full of ass kissers. I thought you'd have noticed in that zoo where you work."

"I am not an ass kisser."

"I didn't think you were. Neither am I. I take what I want. I make what I make."

She seemed embarrassed.

"Can you say the same?" I asked.

"Not yet."

"Take your time. You're still growing up."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"That's what I mean, a very bright kid. I'll give you a piece of nonlegal advice. Don't ask a middle-aged man why he's not rich. He's either rich by then or doing something different."

"F. Lee Bailey and Edward Bennett Williams are famous. Doesn't that attract you?"

"I've got enough clients."

"You don't want to be well known."

"To headwaiters? To people in the street? The judges know who I am. I know who I am."

"Thomassy the Unshakable. Don't you ever get thrown by events?"

"Sure."

"Like what?"

"Like now."

"Meaning?"

"Catching myself fencing with a twenty-seven-year-old kid."

"Want to go?"

"No."

"That's the nicest compliment I've had in ages."

"I don't compliment people. Let's get this straight, Francine. I'm the only rank in my business. I do my thing my own way at my own pace."

"As if the rest of the world didn't exist."

"Bullshit. I know it's there. It can do what it wants. I just don't want it poking its finger in my eye. Most people would like to stay out of jail. All people would like to keep from being jammed into a concentration camp, yet they live their business lives part of the time as if they were being regulated by blackshirts."

"White shirts."

"Same thing," I said.

"What do you know about concentration camps?"

"A lot," I said.

"You're not Jewish, are you?" Francine asked.

"Would it matter?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

"My father's an Armenian. They're the ones the twentieth century practiced on before they got around to the main act on the Jews."

"You're more political than I thought."

"You operate out of a whole garbage bag full of prejudices. You think 'political' means the kind of cloakroom crap your U.N. is full of? I run my own life. That's political."

I could see the waitress coming out of the kitchen with a full tray, headed in our direction. "Want to go?" I asked.

"No," Francine said. "But I don't want to impose on your freedom."

I could face sending the food back. I could even face Michael. It was time to confess. "I'm electing to be here," I said.

Francine was blushing. Without thinking, I rested my hand on hers, just a second, but it was enough.

"What's the matter?" I said finally.

"I started the evening as an imposition. I guess I'm very pleased to have turned into an elective," she said.

My apologies, Michael, for not paying full attention to your ambrosia as I ate. I used your meal the way I use a distraction in the courtroom that doesn't involve me: to think of my next step.

I like to know where I'm going. I like to plan my moves. Great actors, it is said, plan their most extemporaneous-seeming bits of business most carefully. I wasn't an actor. I didn't know where this script was leading to.

Francine said something complimentary about the food. I smiled a shit-ass smile. I hadn't been paying attention.

"Francine," I said. "There's no point in starting anything — I mean your case — unless I can see my way clear to a successful conclusion."

"You don't wing it?"

"That's unprofessional."

"Do you play chess?"

"I used to. As a kid."

"You stopped?"

"Yes."

"Because you couldn't count on winning all the time?"

"You trying to goad me?"

"It was a real question."

"Okay, a real answer. There's not enough at stake in chess. In my game, losers go to jail."

"In that case, you don't go in for any sports?"

I had to confess I didn't.

"Neither do I," Francine said. "Maybe we can take tennis lessons together. On second thought, you'd probably spend your time trying to psyche me instead of learning to play well."

"Not true. I can't psyche anybody successfully in or out of the courtroom without ammunition, facts, background. For instance, I don't know half enough about you to handle anything as personal as a rape case always turns out to be. I'd like to get your permission for me to see your Dr. Koch."

"Oh?" She didn't seem to warm to the idea. Then she said, "When do I get to talk to your shrink?"

I laughed. "When you're handling my case."

"Have you ever seen a shrink?" she asked.

"No."

"It might help you see between the interstices."

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked.

"You go from point to point in a preplanned way. A little free association might help you see the way life is. The elusive thoughts are sometimes the most interesting."