Everywhere That Mary Went Page 24

  “They’re just men,” Judy whispers.

  But the men are another story. The room reeks of their power. The apostles on the Rules Committee are here, along with a full complement of judges from the district court. I spot Chief Judge Helfer with Einstein, being fawned over by Golden Rod and a flotilla of Stalling alligators. The Honorable Jacob A. Vanek, who practically made the law in my field, yuks it up with Berkowitz and the Honorable John T. Shales, who’s rumored to be the next choice for the Supremes. The Honorable Mark C. Grossman and the Honorable Al Martinez, newly appointed from the counties, talk earnestly with Martin, who listens and listens. Bitter Man hovers over the jumbo shrimp like a blimp at the Superbowl.

  “I have a job to do,” Judy says, and edges into the crowd.

  I float over to the bar and watch Judy mingle with Einstein and Golden Rod. She’s perfect for the job, which is to collect affidavits for the Shit from Shinola Brief. Our main argument is that the jurors’ note-taking contributed to their confusion about the evidence and caused a defective verdict. The record supports the argument; the jurors returned from their deliberations six times with questions from their notes. There’re no cases to support our argument, but that’s where the affidavits come in. That’s the beauty part.

  I watch Judy as she strikes up a conversation with Einstein, wherein she’ll get him to tell her what a lousy idea it is for jurors to take notes. Then she’ll speak to as many other judges as she can, parlaying Einstein’s opinion into a consensus. Later, we’ll write affidavits saying that the consensus is that jurors should not be permitted to take notes, and we’ll file the affidavits with the brief. They’re not a part of the trial record, but the Third Circuit isn’t afraid to make new law. If it disapproves of note-taking by jurors, as the intellects like Einstein do, it’ll find a way to give Mitsuko a new trial. And Judy her job back.

  I raise my champagne in a silent toast to the Shit from Shinola Brief and then to Martin, who’ll file it because his back is to the wall. I take deep gulps from the fizzy drink, toasting Judy and Berkowitz. The champagne is gone too soon. I grab another from a passing waiter. It goes straight to my head. I feel dizzy and happy. I ask the bartender for a third and drink a toast to Ned, whom I loved and lost, then to Brent and to my beloved Mike. I begin to understand the expression “feeling no pain.”

  “Don’t drink that too fast now,” says the young bartender, handing me a refill. Even though his face is blurry, I see that he’s a parking valet from the basement garage, disguised in a tux.

  “You can’t fool me, I know who you really are. Anthony from the garage, right?”

  He laughs. “I can’t fool you, Miss Dee.”

  “Doing double-duty, huh?”

  “I got a choice, Miss Dee. I can look at pretty ladies or I can park a bunch of big cars. It’s a no-brainer.”

  “We’re traveling incognito, Anthony.”

  “In what, Miss Dee?”

  Suddenly, there’s a deep voice beside me, murmuring almost in my ear. I look over and it’s Golden Rod, glass in hand. He looks blurry too, even though he’s standing very close. “What did you say, Judge Gold… Van Houten?” Hearing the sloppiness of my own words, I set down my glass.

  “I said, that’s a very nice dress.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a peasant dress, isn’t it? Did you get it in Mexico, or someplace else more exciting than Philadelphia?”

  “There is no place more exciting than Philadelphia, Judge.”

  He laughs and traces the gathered edge of the dress with an index finger. “I like the embroidery at the top.”

  Dumbly, I watch his finger touch my chest, just above my bare breasts. “You shouldn’t do that. I’m Mike’s wife, and I’m not wearing a bra,” I blurt out.

  Golden Rod looks stunned. Simultaneously, I realize that I’m too drunk to be here. I look around the room for Judy, but it’s out of kilter. All I see are cockeyed three-piece suits. I mumble a good-bye to the startled judge and make my way to the door.

  But my escape route is blocked. Bitter Man’s standing right in front of the door, talking to Jameson. The mountain talking to the molehill. I walk as steadily as I can toward them. “Excuse me,” I say slowly. It’s an effort to talk. My head is spinning.

  “Miz DiNunzio,” says Bitter Man. He holds a plate with a mound of shrimp carcasses on the side. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Jameson tips forward on his toes. “You shouldn’t be, Judge Bitterman. Mary’s our star. Her rise in the past year has been positively meteoric.” His voice is full of undisguised jealousy. He must be drunker than I am.

  “I really should go, Timothy.”

  “Don’t be so antisocial, Mary.” Jameson reaches out and grabs my arm roughly. “Tell Judge Bitterman how you’re going to make partner this June. Tell him how your mentor is going to ram you down our throats.”

  “Timothy, I don’t know what—”

  He squeezes my arm. “Isn’t that a nice word, Judge Bitterman? Mentor. It could mean anything, couldn’t it? Teacher. Friend. Confidant. Counselor. Do you know the origin of the word mentor, Judge?”

  For once, Bitter Man is speechless. He shakes his head.

  “Mentor was the friend of Odysseus, to whom the hero entrusted the education of his son, Telemachus. Isn’t that interesting? Did you know that Mary has a very special mentor too? A very powerful mentor. Sam Berkowitz is Mary’s mentor. He takes very good care of Mary. Right, Mary?”

  “Timothy, stop it.” I try to wrest my arm away, but Jameson’s grip is surprisingly strong.

  “What do you think, Judge? Do you think it’s Mary’s sharp analytical skills that Mr. Berkowitz so admires? Or do you think it’s her superb writing ability? I had both of those things, Judge, but our fearless leader did everything he could to block my partnership. So tell me, what do you think she’s got that I haven’t?”

  Bitter Man looks from me to Jameson.

  “You know, don’t you, Judge? You’re a brilliant man, but I’ll give you a hint anyway. Mary’s a merry widow. A very merry widow.”

  Bitter Man’s mouth drops open.

  I can’t believe what Jameson’s saying. It’s outrageous. “I worked to get where I am, Timothy.”

  Jameson yanks me to his side. “I know you did, Mary. A big, strong man like Berkowitz, I bet you take quite a pounding—”

  “Fuck you!” I shout at Jameson. I wrench my arm free.

  Bitter Man’s eyes narrow. His face is red, inflamed with anger. “Mary, you didn’t!”

  I can’t take the fury from his face, I couldn’t convince him in a million years. I feel dizzy and faint. Heads turn behind Bitter Man, looking at us. I have to get out. I lunge for the door and run to the stairwell. I stagger down it in tears, leaning heavily on the brass banister past Lust and Envy. By the time I reach Gluttony, I’m feeling sick. From embarrassment. From alcohol. From sleep deprivation. I collapse into my chair, and my head falls forward onto a cool pillow of stacked-up mail.

  32

  He is seething.

  His lips are moving, though I can’t hear what he’s shouting at me. He’s shaking, he’s so infuriated. His face, almost womanish in its softness, is twisted by rage.

  We are alone, he and I. It’s dusk, and his office is empty and dim. The secretaries have gone home, as have the others. The room is cold; he keeps the thermostat low. He has to set an example, he says.

  There are photos of him, with other men who set examples. Richard Nixon. Chief Justice William Rehnquist. Clarence Thomas. Beside the photos are bookshelves filled with books, lots of books, all about the law. Legal philosophy, legal writing, legal analysis. One book after another, in perfect order. And rows and rows of golden federal casebooks, their black volume numbers floating eerily in the half-light: 361, 362, and 363. He has an entire set all to himself. He is a man of importance, a legal scholar.

  But he is so angry. Raging, quite nearly out of control. I’ve never seen him this angry. I’v
e never seen anyone as angry as Judge Bitterman on the day I quit.

  Why is he so mad? I did one article, that was all we agreed to, I say to him. I don’t have time to do another.

  You used to have time! he shouts.

  I don’t anymore. Things have changed.

  It’s a young man, isn’t it?

  I don’t answer him. It’s none of his business. I am in love, though, with Mike.

  Miz DiNunzio, let me quote you one of the most profound legal thinkers there was. The law is a jealous mistress, and requires a long and constant courtship. It is not to be won by trifling favors but by lavish homage. The quotation is Professor Story’s, Miz DiNunzio, not mine. A jealous mistress. It means you can’t have it both ways. It’s your young man or the law. You have to choose.

  I already have, I say to him.

  That’s when it dawns on me, half in a dream and half out of it. I know why Bitter Man was so angry. His speech about the law being jealous was bullshit. He was hiding behind the law, using it as a smokescreen. I didn’t see through it then, but I do now. It was Bitter Man who was jealous, crazy jealous, of Mike. It’s almost inconceivable, but it makes sense.

  I awake with a start.

  Bitter Man is standing over me, stroking my hair with a peaceful smile. “Hello, Mary,” he says softly.

  “Judge?”

  “You are so precious to me, my dear.” His cheeks look like they’re about to burst with happiness, like an overfed baby.

  I look around, panicky. My office door is closed. Everyone’s at the reception, three floors above.

  His swollen underbelly presses against my chair. “I’ve cared for you ever since the first day you came to work for me. Do you remember?”

  I’m too stunned to answer.

  “We spent the whole year together, you and I. I watched you grow, watched you learn. I know I was hard on you at times, but it was for your own good. I was your mentor then, wasn’t I, Mary? I was the only one.” His voice is unnaturally high.

  I nod mechanically. My gorge rises at his touch.

  “I tried to forget about you for many years, after you left me, but I couldn’t. No other woman would do. Imagine how happy I was when a case of yours finally got assigned to me. I could barely wait until the day of oral argument. It was your first argument, wasn’t it, Mary? I could tell. I thought, She has so much more to learn, and there’s so much more I can teach her. She still needs me.”

  Oh no. I won that motion, and Mike was there, watching me with his class. Mike.

  “I got the Harbison’s case a year later almost to the day. As if fate had planned it. I scheduled argument just to see you before me, and you looked so professional in your dark blue suit. As soon as I entered the courtroom, you jumped up and smiled at me in the prettiest way. That’s when I knew you felt the same way I did. After all this time.”

  Of course. I won that motion too. Then came the first note: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PARTNERSHIP, MARY. Bitter Man knew the win would help me make partner. Why didn’t I think of him? I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “I was silly to make you sing. Forgive me, but I wanted to test your love. And the other day in Sam’s office, when I asked for your opinion, I was just giving you a chance to shine. But you seemed upset with me, so I sent you another note. I put it in Sam’s box after our noon meeting. Did you get my note, Mary? I was worried you wouldn’t get it.”

  My heart is pounding. My chest is flushed with blood.

  “A penny for your thoughts.” His hand reaches under my chin and he wrenches my face up to him. His eyes, almost engulfed by the flesh around them, look out of control.

  Suddenly, the door to my office bursts open and Judy bounds in. “Mary, what happened?” she says. “I heard that Jameson—”

  “Close the door!” Bitter Man shouts. He steps away from me and whips a silver revolver from his jacket, pointing it at Judy.

  She looks wildly from me to him. “What the—”

  “I said close the door! And lock it!”

  Judy obeys quickly, staring at the gun in fear.

  “Who is this woman, Mary?” Bitter Man’s hammy hands train the gun expertly at Judy’s chest. There’s a metallic click as he cocks the trigger.

  My heart leaps up at the sound. “No!” I shout.

  Bitter Man looks at me sharply, a silent reprimand.

  I swallow hard. “Please don’t hurt her, Bill. She’s my best friend. My dearest friend. Please don’t.”

  Judy nods emphatically, her eyes wide.

  Bitter Man eases off the trigger. “Your best friend? Good. We’ll need her. She’ll be our witness.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I say evenly. “Now let her go, Bill. She has to go home now.”

  “She can’t go, she’s the witness. For our wedding. I’m performing it tonight. Get up, Mary!”

  “Wedding?”

  “There’s no time to waste. I know the truth now. I have to get you away from the Jew. That blustering fool, he’s no lawyer. He’s nothing but a horse trader. So get up!”

  I don’t move. I can’t.

  “Get up, you whore!” He swings the gun crazily over to me.

  I can barely breathe. The gun is two inches from my forehead. It’s a dull silver color, like a shark, and bigger than I thought. Bigger than Marv’s gun. The end of the barrel points directly at me, a lethal black circle.

  “Get up!” His shout reverberates in the tiny office. Suddenly, he shoves the gun against my forehead.

  I hear Judy gasp.

  The cold metal digs into my skin. I feel paralyzed in my chair, terrified to move an inch. I will myself to speak. “Bill, please. Let’s talk—”

  “There’s no time for talk.” He pushes the gun into my head.

  My gut tightens. “I don’t understand. I need you to… teach me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t understand you, your feelings.”

  “My feelings?” he says, testy.

  “Yes. About me.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Mary. What about my feelings? Be precise!”

  “Do you really love me? I’m not—”

  “Of course I love you, of course I do.” His head shakes slightly. The gun barrel jiggles against my forehead.

  “I wasn’t sure, Bill. I didn’t know… how you felt. You never told me.”

  “Well, I do love you. I love you more than any of them.”

  “But how can I trust your love, when you—”

  “Trust my love!” he roars. “Trust my love! I’ve risked everything for you. It’s all been for you. All of it!”

  I catch my breath. I can hear the blood throbbing in my ears. “What have you done for me, Bill?”

  “I killed him! Your husband, the schoolteacher. He took you away from me, away from the law. He brought those brats into my courtroom. So ignorant. They clapped, by God. In my courtroom!”

  My heart stops. Mike. I hear myself moan.

  “He didn’t deserve you, Mary. He couldn’t offer you what I can. He taught spelling, for God’s sake, to small children. He knew nothing about the law. Nothing!”

  “Did you kill my secretary, Bill?” I can barely utter the words.

  “He had his arm around you. I thought he was your date from the night before. The one you had dinner with. The one who kissed you at your doorstep. He had no right!”

  I close my eyes. Brent. A mistake. “So you followed me in the car. And called me.”

  “I had to.”

  “Why? Why did you have to?”

  “To be near you. And to check up on you, I admit it. I had to make sure you were working hard, applying yourself. You get distracted by men, Mary, we both know this. I couldn’t let it happen again. You have a brilliant career ahead of you. I’ll teach you everything I know. You’ll write, publish. You’re going to be one of the best!”

  The gun barrel bores into my temple.

  “Now do you see how much I care for you? Now do you understand?”

&
nbsp; The office is dead quiet. Judy is frozen in front of the door, her eyes full of horror.

  “I see now… that you’ve done a lot for me, Bill. But if you really love me, you’ll give me the gun. That will prove you really love me.”

  “I’m not stupid, Mary,” he says coldly.

  “But how can I believe you love me when you’re threatening to kill me? It’s not… logical, Bill. It doesn’t stand to reason. You taught me that, how important it was to test—”

  “Why is it so hot in here? Why?” Bitter Man looks angrily around the room. “They keep it too hot!”

  The gun moves on my head. I try to squeeze back my fear. “As soon as you give me the gun, we can be married. But I won’t go as your prisoner. I’ll go freely. As your wife.”

  “No, no. This is all wrong.” Tears begin to gather in his eyes, but he shakes them off. “All wrong. I need the gun. I can’t give it to you.”

  “I’ll be your wife, Bill. Finally and forever. Think of it.”

  “It’s not going to work.” He starts to sob. “You want him now. You don’t want me anymore. You betrayed me.” He drills the gun into my forehead, shoving me backward with it.

  I feel panic rising in my throat, almost choking me. “No, I didn’t, Bill. It wasn’t true, what Jameson said. I want you. I’ll work hard, I’ll make you proud of me. We’ll be the best, Bill. The two of us.”

  Bitter Man starts to whisper furiously, incomprehensibly, to himself. Tears stream down his face. I look over at Judy, who looks terrified. The judge is a madman, and he’s falling apart like a demented Humpty Dumpty. “Bill, give me the gun. I want to be the best. I can’t do it without you. I need you!”

  “Mary,” he says, crying. “Mary.” It’s the only understandable word he utters; the rest are whispered ravings. His eyes are so tear-filled he can’t see. He moves to wipe them on his sleeve and the gun drops away slightly from my temple.

  It’s my only chance. And Judy’s.

  I reach for the barrel and yank the gun away from him with all my might. It comes free in my hand.

  Bitter Man looks at me in shock, then in fury. “Mary, what are you doing!” His eyes are like glittering slits.