Sol Stein - Other people

This young punk says to me, "I'm here to do a job."

"Mr. Brady know you're this friendly with the people who pay him'" I ask,

"If you have to know," he says, "I don't give a damn. I don't care if a guy bangs his wife, or his girl friend, or his mother for all I care, there's enough ass around you don't have to force it."

"Wait a minute, kid," I says. "You're working as my lawyer. You know the law. I'm innocent till somebody says I'm guilty."

"Sure."

I could break this kid's neck. I answer his goddamn questions, you know, where do I work, do I own the station, how do I know the woman, what did I do, what did she do, what was my alibi, that kind of thing, and then v.-e get taken b>' cop car to the courthouse, and there's this runt behind a desk who turns out to be a judge and he looks at me like he can tell from my face whether I'm to be trusted or not. I don't give him any crap, I talk respectful, and then this kid lawyer talks to him so no one can hear, whisper whisper, but whatever he says it works, and the judge says something about my roots in the community — what the fuck is that? — and names ten gees as the bail. Ten gees? But it turns out this kid's got a bail bondsman with him and he asks me all kinds of questions, how much I make, how come I don't own a house, what's the make of my car, things like that, and finally I sign some papers, and the kid is driving me to his office. He says something to Brady's secretary, she looks at me like she could spit. After I cool my heels for a while, wondering about Mary, what she's thinking about this, the secretary says okay for me to go in. I look around for the kid, but he's disappeared somewhere in the back, I guess into his own office, and I go in to see Brady.

Well, sure, I go in there expecting Brady to be six feet tall and he's a midget, I mean shorter than Abe Beame, and he's got these eyebrows that go all the way across the bridge of his nose, one straight black line. His chair and his desk are on a raised platform. I know guys wear boosters in their shoes, but he's got his whole setup up in the air. He says, "Sit down!" and that's what I do, down, looking up at him, and I tell him my story, and he sits there chewing on his cigar. I'm trying to figure what'll make him take the case himself, and I say, "Mr. Brady, I realize you're a busy man, but it's not like I'm a charity case, I can pay a retainer in cash."

"Five thousand?"

"That's okay."

"A check isn't cash," he says.

"I can pay cash."

"When?"

"Tomorrow okay?"

I swear I can't tell from his expression what he thinks, he just chews the cigar. Maybe he's thinking of pocketing some of the cash and turning the rest over to some other lawyer to handle me. What he does is buzz his secretary.

"Get Mr. Cunham for me," he says.

We wait. I start to say something but Brady holds a finger in front of his lips. His brain is on that phone call.

The intercom buzzes. Brady listens, looks mad, says, "Try Lefkowitz."

We wait again. Is he trying to pass me off?

The intercom buzzes again. This time Brady smiles. "Lefkowitz," he says, "good day to you, too. Question. How come the boss decided to put an alleged snatch invasion to the Grand Jury? Doesn't sound like him. That's right, Koslak. He's with me now. Who? Well, thank you very much."

That black line across Brady's forehead, it lifts up in two places, over each eye. He seems happy. He buzzes his secretary again, and says, "Get me George Thomassy."

To me he says, "Just have to confirm something. Take a minute."

I watch him. He watches out the window. The phone buzzes. He picks up, smiles, pushes one of the buttons, says, "Hello, George. How you doing?"

I can't hear what Thomassy is saying, but then Brady says, "You representing a woman named, let's see here," he looks at the yellow pad he's been scribbling on, "Francine Widmer?" Brady listens, says "That's all I want to know," hangs up, stands up, pumps my hand, and says "You're on. Bring the money tomorrow." He seemed so happy about his call you'd think Thomassy was a broad he wanted to fuck instead of another lawyer!

Brady buzzed for the associate. The kid comes in. "Find out who Francine Widmer sees outside her office. Boy friends. Doctors. Everybody."

Brady winks at me, tells me I can go.

When I leave I tell Brady's secretary I was sorry about what I said on the phone and she says she accepts my apology so that's okay. I'm so high that Brady's taking the case I could go right into that Widmer broad's apartment with a cup of sugar in my hand all over again. I know she's not there, and besides, I'm not stupid. I go home and I grab Mary by the right ass and shove her into the bedroom and without taking any of her or my clothes off, just ripping down her pants and opening my zipper, fuck her fast just for old times' sake! Whee!

Dr. Allanberg and his wife, bless them both, took me to Lincoln Center to hear Moussorgsky, and I come home in a cab, euphoric, a bit tired, happy, the music still in my ears. The doorman tells me a patient is waiting for me in the lobby. Who? I have no appointments this late at night, no new patients to see, and the doorman brings me over to a very short man sitting in a lobby chair and he shakes my hand and says, "My name is Brady, Dr. Koch."

This man, whose eyebrows go straight across his forehead in a most unusual way, glances at the doorman who has retreated out of earshot out of politeness, then says, "I must talk to you."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a lawyer," he says. "I've come to see you about a psychiatric patient of yours who you are treating for mental illness, and who is accusing a client of mine of an imaginary rape, and I am terribly concerned about the man's wife, his children, and I need your suggestions. Please, Dr. Koch."

"I'm afraid I cannot talk about a case to anyone except the patient." What has this tiny man to do with Francine?

"I think it's imperative that I see you now, Dr. Koch. You'll understand the moment I explain."

"Impossible," I say. Yet I am curious. "Perhaps we could make an appointment," I say. "When a patient cancels, I could call you…"

I can see the doorman staring at us. Shall I order the man away?

"Dr. Koch," says Brady, "this is a private matter."

Of course it is private, between Francine and myself and no one else.

"It is essential," says Brady.

I am a European idiot. Is it politeness to this stranger that makes me invite him up? Or my curiosity?

As we go into the living room I say, "I am really very tired." Why is he looking around the apartment that way?

"I'll be brief," says this Mr. Brady, sitting down. He puts each hand, fingers extended, on one knee, very symmetrical. "I am a lawyer. I represent Harry Koslak, who has been indicted for an alleged offense against a patient of yours, Francine Widmer. In the event that this case is not dismissed and we go to trial, I intend calling you as a witness for the defense."

I start to object and he says, "One moment. My client will of course pay at the usual specialist rates for your time when you testify and any preparatory time involved, or we can subpoena you, as you wish. I have studied the case and I believe your patient is a high-strung woman of easy morals who has a history of sexual relations with others in extralegal circumstances. Please let me continue. I know you have a confidential relationship to your patient, but at the same time you have the reputation, I have checked, of a kindly man, and I assume you would not want to see the father of two young children go to jail for accepting the favors of a young woman who has given those favors to others on repeated occasions. It is making too much of a minor thing. It is possible that Miss Widmer's testimony on the stand over several days would be too trying for her. Perhaps this whole matter can be disposed of expeditiously, without unnecessary pain to anybody, but to do so I would need to review the record of her treatment. I could, of course, have another psychiatrist testify as to her psychological condition based on her testimony or any pretrial testimony that is admissible, and you might then be subpoenaed to support or contradict specific points in his testimony, but as you can see, that would make for a very long drawn-out procedure painful to all parties. If you cooperate now, it would speed things up immeasurably, and as a courtesy, for your cooperation, I would be pleased to arrange for a donation of a thousand dollars to your favorite charity, or if you would prefer the cash so that you could make the donation yourself, that could also be arranged, what do you say?