William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

The band was an exercise in acoustical compromise, intermixing big-band melodies with Muzaked versions of popular rock songs. The dance floor was almost empty this early in the evening, with never more than ten couples, mostly elder shareholders who had nothing to lose by embarrassing themselves. Shareholders, Ben observed, tended to take the floor with someone else’s wife, or some female associate normally only seen in a gray suit with a scarf bow tie.

After dinner, the plates were cleared, and approximately five hundred people began milling about, trying to shake the right hands, flirt with the right wives and flatter the right egos.

Ben was sitting at a large round table With the other new associates, including Alvin, Greg, and Marianne, all in formal dress. He had hoped the new associates would be distributed throughout the room so he could meet some new people, but instead they were all seated at the same table. As Alvin pointed out, there was no margin for the shareholders in taking the time to learn all the new names, at least not until they had a better idea of who would be staying and who would not.

The only non-new associate at the table was Tom Melton, a gregarious fifth-year associate assigned to supervise and assimilate the incoming class. Tom, Ben thought, was the sort of person who made partying and flattery seem like professional skills. His ability to tell boisterous, bawdy, often self-deprecating jokes was matched only by his ability to butter up shareholders and shamelessly bolster their sense of self-importance. Probably on the partnership track, too.

The male associates at the table were talking sports-predictions of success and failure, with reenacted instant replays. Ben was reminded of the crucial importance of a superficial knowledge of sports for male bonding and camaraderie. When Ben was interviewing, he always made a point of memorizing the day’s sports headlines so that he could drop names into the conversation at strategic points, usually in sentences that began “How ’bout them …” Tonight, he was unprepared.

And there were other problems as well.

“You and I seem to be the only ones here without dates,” Ben said to Alvin. “Of course, I just moved to Tulsa last Saturday. What’s your excuse?”

“I find it easier to function at these formal exercises in social foreplay when I don’t have to worry about whether my date has her head in the punchbowl.”

“I see. Want to shoot some pool?”

“No. I find that the bullets tend to deflect off the surface of the water.”

Oh, it’s going to be one of those conversations, is it? “Excuse me,” Ben said. “I mean, would you like to play a game of billiards?” He turned toward Marianne. “Boy, a minor imprecision, and this guy jumps all over you.”

“Actually, I never jump all over anyone,” Alvin replied.

“Really,” Ben said. “Must be hell on your sex life.”

“Actually, I don’t have a sex life. I’m celibate.”

There was a hush at the table. “Sorry to hear that,” Ben offered.

“No, no, no,” Alvin said. “It’s by choice. I swore an oath of celibacy some time ago. I prefer it this way.”

“I see. That must be … trying.”

“Not at all. I prefer it. Never had it, don’t miss it.”

“Ah.” Ben nodded his head.

Greg decided to join the fun. “Well, better stay away from Raven’s new wife, then,” he advised Alvin. “You may not have any choice.” Several of the men at the table laughed in a knowing fashion.

“Raven has a new wife?” Ben asked Alvin quietly.

“Boy, you don’t keep up at all , do you, Kincaid? How are you ever going to make it in the murky world of firm politics?” He shook his head with disgust. “Yes, Raven has a new wife. His sixth.”

“Have you met her?”

“Not personally. But I’ve heard about her. They say she’s considerably younger than he is.”

“She could hardly be much older.”

“Good point. They also say she’s on the prowl.”

“On the prowl ?”

“You heard me. On the prowl. And she likes young associates.”

“Get real.”

“That’s the word on the street. I suppose a woman in her position would come to appreciate anything young, don’t you?” The men all laughed boisterously.

“Kincaid,” Greg said, “you’re single, decent-looking, as far as I know, heterosexual—and not celibate. This could be a tremendous opportunity for you.” He smiled his perfect smile, but it was more like a leer this time.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Greg frowned. “C’mon; Ben, it’s a career move.” He jabbed his elbow into Ben’s ribs. “Close your eyes and think of England.”

Ben half smiled. “I’ll give it some consideration.” He craned his neck around, looking for an avenue of escape from this conversation. Immediately behind him, he saw his old pal, Richard Derek.

“Good evening, Mr. Derek,” Ben said, rising to his feet. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh …” Derek sniffed. “Trying to. I’ve got this damn cough and”—he inhaled deeply—“sinus congestion. Flu, probably. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had pneumonia.”

Somehow, neither would I, Ben thought.

Derek turned toward a diminutive blonde in a floor-length sky-blue gown. “Have you got those cough drops, Louise? Oh, Kincaid, this is my wife.”

Like soldiers at inspection, every male associate sitting at the table rose to his feet. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Derek,” Ben said.

“Oh, call me Louise.” She smiled weakly and nodded her head. She was a slight woman, and somehow, standing next to Derek, she seemed even slighter. “Dick, I don’t know where the cough drops are.”

“Figures.” He cleared his throat, loudly enough to attract attention at the next table. Ben noticed that Derek didn’t even look at his wife when he was ostensibly speaking to her. “Well, glad you could make it tonight, Kincaid. By the way, you did a decent job summarizing your two new cases. Didn’t miss too much. I look forward to reading your brief on the trade dress injunction.” He Sniffed again, then turned away, departing with his wife for cough drops unknown.

Cozy little marriage, Ben thought. He sat back in his chair, only to find every associate’s eye fixed upon him. Receiving public accolades from shareholders, however minor, was probably not the way to endear oneself to one’s fellow associates. He stood again and pushed his chair away from the banquet table.

Greg sidled up next to him and whispered in his ear. “Psst, Kincaid.” He gave Ben a conspiratorial look. “Let’s break into the good stuff.”

Ben looked back at him blankly. “The good stuff?”

“You know. Booze.”

“Greg, there are open bars all over this place.”

“Yeah, but not the good stuff. Courvoisier. Dom Pérignon.”

“I understood that was strictly for the senior shareholders to dispense to megafees-paying clients.”

Greg smiled his trademark smile. “I found the cabinet where it’s kept. In the adjoining room.”

“I’m sure it’s locked.”

Greg wiggled his fingers in the air. “There was never a liquor cabinet I couldn’t break into. These fingers can open any lock, crack any security system.” He jabbed Ben in the ribs. “And they say you don’t learn anything in a fraternity.”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so, Greg. I’d like to wait until my second week at least before I get caught confiscating firm assets.”

“C’mon, Kincaid, don’t be a wimp.”

“No.” He turned away from Greg and found himself standing face-to-face with Mr. Raven. Raven was peering into a short piece of paper held close to his nose.

“Let’s see,” the elderly man said. “Are you Amberson?”