The second photo was of Tom and company, but once again, just off to the right, Rebecca was smiling suspiciously at Matt, and he was smiling as if... holy shit, he
couldnt even think straight. He couldnt even breathe, especially with Ben hanging over one shoulder and Harold drooling from across the desk. He looked at the last picture, the one that really made him feel sick. Tom in the hallway, standing next to that old woman on that deadly scooter (shed almost taken him out twice with that thing). And over the top of her steel wool head, you could see Matt and Rebecca, slipping out the back door. She looked a little nervous, but he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And then he called her. Fuck.
I thought you didnt like her, Ben remarked, peering closely at the last picture.
I dont, Matt responded, perhaps (in hindsight), a little too sharply.
Dont like her? Harold gasped, horrified. But. .. what about the art festival?
Jesus, it must be love! Ben cried, banging Matt on the shoulder. Bingo and an art festival? He laughed, strolled toward the door in a definite swagger as Harold followed behind in a definite swish. So whats the hearing this afternoon? Ben asked before walking out.
Uh-oh, Harold murmured, and quickly swished around Ben and out of the office.
Discovery for Kelly Kiker, Matt muttered.
Ben sighed to the ceiling, shook his head. I thought you were going to give her a referral. In fact, I think you promised. So when is it that we start lining up cases that actually make us a little money?
Matt shoved the paper into the drawer and stood, returning to the file cabinet to look for the papers he needed Im doing this pro bono
Like I said we need cases that make money. Look, its great you want to help this chick out, but it takes you away from cases that might actually make us a little something.
Okay, Townsend. Youve made your point a million times over, but I really dont have time for the refrain right now. I need to get to court.
Whatever, Ben muttered, and walked out the door. But it would be nice if you could remember how we pay
the salaries around here and try and chip in with a few profitable cases.
Yeah, yeah, Matt muttered under his breath as he searched for the wayward file, and thought Ben would probably bust a gut if he knew Matt had given Kelly five hundred dollars out of his own pocket to buy some suitable clothes.
He found the file a moment later, grabbed up his briefcase, stuck the file under his arm, and headed for the courthouse. It was a quick two-block walk, and as he came up to the last crosswalk, he saw Debbie Seaforth coming from the opposite direction.
He smiled.
Debbie looked away.
Whoa. The light changed; Matt began striding across the street. Debbie tried to pretend she hadnt seen him, but Matt stepped directly in front of her in the middle of the crosswalk. Debbie gave off a sigh of irritation; her eyes narrowed as she looked at Matt.
Deb, what the hell? he asked, stretching his arms wide.
Youre blocking traffic, she said, and stepped around him, ducking under his arm.
Matt pivoted, caught up and walked with her, bending his head to get a look at her face. Okay, whats the matter, Deb? Did I forget an important date? Did I say something I shouldnt have? What did I do that you wont at least pretend to be glad to see me?
Oh, please! she spat, reaching the curb and stepping up on the sidewalk. Why would I be glad to sec you? She punched the pedestrian button to cross the next intersection. Four times. In furiously rapid succession.
Granted, Matt was not wholly unaccustomed to The Wrath, having been the recipient of it on many occasions. But hed be the first guy in line to confess that he rarely had a clue as to what brought The Wrath on. Seriously. No, seriously. And in this instance, he risked what he instinctively knew to be a monumental blunder and tried to get at the root of it, instead of turning around and walking
straight to court like his gut told him to do. Maybe I think youd be glad to see me because the two of us had such a good time together.
Debbie slowly turned her head, demon-style, and gave him one of those prosecutorial, Ill-bite-out-your-jugular-and-eat-it look that made his balls cinch up and reminded him how thankful he was that he did not practice criminal law. Thats just the problem,. Matt, she said, breathing fire. Weve been together. Just like you and every other chick in town, apparently. Seen the paper lately?
Yow. Matt never got to answer. The light turned green and Debbie was striding across the intersection, leaving him to bob like a rubber duck in her furious wake.
He looked at the paper again that night as he waited for her call. And when she didnt call, he looked at the paper several times over what turned out to be a very long weekend, where, in a new twist of the saga that was his life, Matt never left his penthouse loft. Honestly, he couldnt remember the last time that he had stayed in for two solid days ... Maybe back in 98, when hed had a horrendous case of the flu. But even then, whats-her-name had come and stayed with him (what was her name?).
It didnt matter anyway, because this time was nothing like that time. He felt fine. He just felt sort of... blah. Unsettled. Weird. Nothing sounded appealing. Not chasing women, or hanging out with his pals who liked to chase women. Bars, restaurants, and houseboats did not sound appealing. Not golf, not basketball. Nada. Zilch.
What was bothering him, Matt finally admitted to himself (with the help of a couple of vodka martinis), was the goddamn pictures. The goddamn pictures and the uncomfortable and disquieting fact that he really had been gazing at her, looking deep into those blue eyes, lured in by that glimmer of light behind them. He looked almost devoted, and really, hed never considered himself the devotee type.
This was a problem.
It was a problem because Matt was a serious high flyer,
someone who had always told himself that he had neither the time nor the inclination for a long-term, serious thing. He did better with many women at a time. There was no space in his life yet for a wife and lots of kids he had always thought those things would come in the future. When he was a little older. And had made a name for himself.
Okeydoke . . . but he was thirty-five years old. And hed made a name for himself. He had, in fact, met all of his self-imposed criteria. So what was it, exactly, the thing that he was so afraid of?
Oh yeah, right, like he didnt know what it was. He knew exactly what it was. Didnt understand it, not why, or how, or even what any of it meant. But still, he knew what he was afraid of, and it was a fear that gripped him right down to the bottom of his heart.
It was that warm glimmer of light deep in those blue eyes.
By the time Monday rolled around, Matt was ready to get out of his house before he drove himself crazy with all the bullshit introspection. Fortunately, he was snowed under getting ready for the Kiker trial, so he really had little time to dwell on the fact that she had not returned his call. (Stuck up!)
In fact, he couldnt even focus on the campaign at all until mid-week, when Doug and Jeff called from Dallas to discuss Toms platform, and more importantly, Matts work to get the Hispanic vote. This is going to be key to the DA office, you know, Doug reminded him. Maybe even as key as it is to the lieutenant governors office. At the end of the conference call, Jeff said, Great work with the Silver Panthers. Youre even getting a little press up here.
That was mildly surprising; one event at the Silver Panther conference didnt seem worth reporting, particularly as it had nothing to do with the agenda they had just discussed over the phone. Oh, yeah? What are they saying?
That it was a good tactical move by Masters, preempting the incumbent and the independent. Which reminds me weve got a tight schedule of statewide fund-raisers coming up, and a big mother between a couple of candidate forums. Well send the stuff to you and Tom this week.
Okay, Matt said, and had hardly hung up when Harold ushered in two new potential clients. Matt greeted the Dennards, who were both beaming, helped them to a seat, then asked what he could do to help them.
Ive got an invention, Mr. Dennard said. Its going to make millions when I get it marketed and produced. Its a shoe insert that actually helps you walk and wont let your arches down.
Hes real smart with his hands, Mrs. Dennard said proudly.
I see, Matt said carefully. And why do you think you need a lawyer, Mr. Dennard?
Why, for a patent, of course! And I have to get one right away, because the minute some of them big company fellas see this, theyre going to try and steal my idea! That very thing happened to a golfing buddy of mine.
I dont do patent law, Mr. Dennard. Did someone tell you I did?
Well, no ... we just asked for a lawyer, Mrs. Dennard said.
Mind if I ask who? Matt asked.
Rebecca Lear! they both chimed at the same moment.
Ah, Matt said, nodding, silently wondering how many more ways the woman could possibly complicate his life. Ill have to thank her, he said, and began to explain to the Dennards what they probably would have to do to get a patent, and the name of another lawyer who might be able to help them. It took a full, unbillable hour before Matt was confident that the Dennards understood what they needed to do.
The next afternoon, Matt finally found the time to get by the campaign offices, and when he did, Angie was out
front, manning phones. She had tipped her hair in green this week, which Matt thought a much better color for her than the pink of last week. Yo, Ang, he said, strolling through.
Matt! she all but shouted, jumping up from her chair before he could manage to squeeze through the tiny entry. Hey, listen can you do me a favor? Can you watch him? Ive got to get to the post office before it closes, and theyve been behind closed doors a lot longer than I thought, she said, motioning toward the back.
Matt stopped, confused. Watch who?
Angie pointed beneath her desk. Matt bent over, saw Grayson sitting in the little cubbyhole of the desk. Hi, Matt, he said solemnly.
Hi, Grayson. What are you doing under there?
Reading, he said, and held up a book, My Best Dog Friend.
You like dogs?
I have three. Frank and Bean and Tater.
Matt and Angie looked at each other. Angie shrugged. So? Will you watch him? Hes really no trouble, but if I dont leave right now
So whats the big meeting about?
Angie was scraping stuff off the desk into a green canvas backpack. I dont know. Some fund-raiser or something like that. She dipped down on her haunches, peered under the desk. Grayson, will you let Matt watch you? Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top?
Okay.
Okay, Matt echoed, but how long? he asked, following Angie as she threw the backpack over her shoulder and stuffed a box of campaign letters under her arm (all hand-addressed in perfect calligraphy, naturally. God forbid someone should feel like they werent personally involved in Toms campaign).
I dont know. Ill be back as soon as I can. Pats coming later if you have to take off, hand him over to her. She pushed the glass door open. Bye! she yelled, and was outside before Matt could say anything else.
Grayson crawled out from beneath the desk. He was wearing khaki cargo pants that pooled around his ankles. On his feet were some sneakers that looked disproportionately enormous. His polo shirt hung to his knees, and the kids hair... man. That was some bad hair, no two ways about it, poor kid.
Wanna play something? Grayson asked.
Matt sighed, started toward the back. Like what? he asked over his shoulder with Grayson following solemnly behind.
I dont know.
They walked into the larger office next to Toms, the one with a blackboard on which the daily tasks were written by some enterprising campaign staff member. Anyone who had extra time tried to tackle any of the tasks listed there. Todays list included getting quotes for air time from various media outlets in the major metro areas. Some helpful soul had left some phone books, an empty McDonalds bag, five million catsup packages, and a list of TV stations with lines drawn through them, quotes per minute of air time listed on the side, and a list of radio stations beneath those that hadnt been touched.
Looks like weve got radio, Matt said, and tossed his stuff aside. This is like searching for a needle in a haystack, you know, he said to Grayson, shaking his head.
Grayson shook his head, too.
I mean, here the party has hired that big-ass public relations firm out of L.A. Why dont they get Gunter and his people to do this stuff?
Maybe hes sick, Grayson suggested.
Maybe, Matt said with a shrug. Still seems to me there would be someone out there to do this grunt work instead of wasting our time with it, right?
Right, Grayson emphatically agreed.
Right on, bro, Matt said with a wink. But you have to play the hand you were dealt. So why dont you sit over there and read your book while I make a couple of calls? he suggested as he sat down and opened a phone book.
But I dont like this book anymore, Grayson said.
Matt glanced up. Okay, so... do you have another one?
The kid shook his head.
Toys?
Hot Wheels.
Cool. Matt hadnt seen a Hot Wheels in about twenty-five years.
And Rescue Heroes.
Dude, even cooler. Okay. Why dont you get them out?
Theyre with my moms stuff, Grayson said anxiously. Can I go get them?
Sure, Matt said, and Grayson instantly dropped his book and rushed out the door.
Matt had just dialed a local radio station when Grayson returned, backing into the room, dragging a huge bag. Matt ignored him, turning his back as he asked to speak to the sales department. From there he had an uninformative and thankfully brief conversation with the sales rep, wrote down some figures, and hung up. Only then did he look up and see what Grayson had brought. There were the Hot Wheels, lined up, bumper to bumper, by color. And the Rescue Heroes, which he had also lined up. like a little army on the edge of the desk..