William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

As if this wasn’t enough, a clear acrylic screen was built into the wall of the deep end of the pool. From a staircase outside, guests could descend into a sunken room and, without getting a toenail wet, observe the merlady and her court. The potential uses of this architectural wonder staggered Ben’s imagination.

Ben was trapped in a conversational clique with Derek and Sanguine. Derek seemed perfectly at home; had he moved back in? Maybe Louise had gone somewhere else—home to Mother, perhaps. Derek was talking about himself, Sanguine was listening, and Ben was bored. Tidwell was also there, but he wasn’t saying much. He seemed to be out of sorts. In fact, he had yet to tell a single lawyer joke. Perhaps, Ben hypothesized, he’s concerned that the presence of in-house counsel will diminish his influence with his boss.

“Speak into my good ear,” Derek said, amid a chain of reminiscences about an antitrust case Derek had litigated for Sanguine several months before. “I don’t like to admit it, but I might as well tell you, Joe, I’ve got some hearing loss in my right ear. When I was in the Coast Guard, I spent a miserable winter night doing swimming drills on Chesapeake Bay. The wind was so cold it could freeze your eardrum shut. Total aural paralysis. My poor ear has never recovered.” Out of Derek’s eyesight, Sanguine winked at Ben.

“That explains a lot of the things I’ve heard you say in oral argument,” Sanguine said to Derek. “I’ve always suspected you couldn’t hear the judge’s questions.”

Derek took a sip from his martini. “Remember the oral argument in Charleston?” he said. “The personal jurisdiction question?”

A misty-eyed expression crossed Sanguine’s face. “That was a classic. Were you in on that, Tidwell?”

“No, sir,” he said politely. He smoothed the few hairs stretched across his bald head. “I was checking out a potential location for the Phoenix franchise that week.”

“Well, you missed a classic,” Sanguine continued. “This poor legal assistant kept trying to pass Dick a note while he was speaking, but he didn’t notice her, and she kept whispering and psst ing till finally the judge himself rose from the bench and told Dick to turn around and take the damn note!”

Derek and Sanguine laughed heartily. Ben did the best he could.

“She was a cute little redheaded number,” Sanguine said after he calmed down. “What was her name again?”

“Christina,” Derek said, smiling. “Christina McCord or McLaine or something like that.”

Ben considered correcting him, then thought better of it.

“We ought to work with her again, Dick,” Sanguine said, winking. He nudged Derek with his elbow. Derek’s drink spilled onto his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I liked her.”

Derek countersmirked. “Would you like that, Joe? I think I could make her available to you. If you catch my meaning.”

This was more than Ben felt able to hear. Boring nostalgia trips and macho posturing he could handle, but he drew the line at snide remarks about a woman who was currently performing a hellatious task for him as a personal favor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need a fresh drink.”

“Sure, kid,” Derek said, still ha-haing to himself.” Drink up. This is your night.”

Ben walked toward the bar table. The whole party gave him the creeps. Especially Derek. Derek has been nothing but antagonistic and arrogant since the day I came to the firm, Ben thought, but today, he’s hosting a party in my honor. Not forty-eight hours ago, Sanguine was hostile, suspicious, and barely civil to me, but today, we’re old drinking buddies.

Marianne and Greg were standing in the bar line chatting. Greg saw Ben approaching, threw his arm around Ben, and squeezed his neck tightly in the crook of his arm. “My old buddy!” he screamed. “Ben! How’s it going, big guy?”

Ben wasn’t sure if Greg was drunk or if this was just his boisterous way of maintaining his status as the prince of party animals. “I’m fine, Greg. Nice coat, by the way.”

“What, this old rag?” He flashed his lightweight cashmere jacket. “You like the way it hangs?”

“Well, I like it better than that white Brideshead Revisited number you wore the first day of work.”

“Yeah, I thought it was time for an image revamp. This makes me look more like a regular guy, don’t you think?”

“Greg … that’s cashmere .”

Greg glanced at his jacket. “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is. Hey, this is some party, isn’t it? I bet Marianne had no idea the perks would start perking this soon, huh?” He jabbed Marianne in the side. “And I guess we’ve got you to thank for this one, Ben-man!” He gave Ben another squeeze around the shoulders. “You’re some kind of animal, big guy.”

Ben nodded pleasantly.

“Hey,” Greg said, his eyes suddenly growing as wide as his smile. “Remember that time at the Bare Fax, you and me? Was that awesome or what?” Greg laughed heartily enough for both of them, which was fortunate, since Ben wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah, those were the days,” Ben said. He couldn’t believe they were reminiscing about an event from last week as if it were a golden memory from yesteryear.

Greg took a gin and tonic from the bartender. “Well, I better move on. More flesh to press and shareholders to im press.” He socked Ben on the side of his arm. “But I guess you know all about that, huh, big guy?” Greg turned away and blended into the crowd.

Ben and Marianne looked at one another. “What the hell was that all about?” Ben asked.

Marianne smiled thinly. “I think you just got promoted from fellow associate to big guy,” she answered. She took her rum and Coke from the bartender.

“I guess he heard the announcement about in-house counsel.”

“Apparently,” Marianne said. “Especially the part about how you’d be assigning Sanguine work to attorneys of your choice.”

“Really?” Ben responded. “I didn’t know that.” Marianne stared at him. “Talk about the way of the world. If you’re a woman, you can bust your butt your whole life and never get a decent job. If you’re a man, they fall into your lap so fast, you don’t even know what you’ve got.”

Ben took his Seven-Up from the bartender. He noticed that Marianne had changed her hairstyle. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

“I guess that’s intended to make you look more professional?” Ben asked.

“What? Oh, the hairdo. Yeah, well …”

“At least you’re not still worrying about your name,” Ben said.

“I’m not,” Marianne said, “but that reminds me. Have you met my date?” Ben shook his head. “He’s around here somewhere. Tall, good-looking fellow. Thick mustache. His name is Kevin. Actually, his full name is Charles Kevin Bryant. He’s an architect. But I can’t decide whether I should introduce him as Kevin or Charles. You know, to make the right impression.” She reflected for a moment. “Maybe C. Kevin.”

C. Kevin? Ben tried to keep a straight face. C. Kevin walk. C. Kevin run. “Not very conversational, is it?”

“I suppose not. But Kevin sounds so little-kiddish. I want people to understand that he, too, is a young professional. I don’t want anybody to get the idea that I’m going out with a bum.” She took a drink from her rum and Coke. “What do you think, Ben? I trust your judgment. I want to do the right thing.”

“I’m sure you will,” he murmured.

Marianne adjusted her glasses and peered over Ben’s shoulder. “Oh my God , Ben,” she said slowly. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Ben turned to look in the same general direction as Marianne. Alvin was just arriving—and Alvin had brought a date.