Simple Intent (3 page)

“Thank you. Thank you. I am Harry James Scott. And this is Victoria.” The blonde curtsied in the doorway, drawing her golden skirt behind her. Harry walked around the table then stopped behind Reilly. He boomed, “Come with me, my boy!” 

Reilly jumped. His knee hit the underside of the table with a solid thud, launching a mini tsunami in the crystal water pitcher. Sailor tried not to laugh.

Reilly snatched up his things, limped after the odd couple, and then paused at the door to give Sailor the thumbs up. “Good luck.”

Sailor was still staring after them when, from the back of the room, Leonard Banning cleared his throat. “Ah-hem.” He loved using the hidden door to make his entrances—especially after that corny Scott performance. The startled look on the girl’s face as she turned round was perfect. He set down his goblet of spring water, tucked a folder under his arm and stepped away from the sideboard.

“Miss Beaumont?”

“Yes,” she said standing and extending her hand. “You must be Mr. Banning.” He looked like his headshot on the website and seemed charming, in a pony-tailed Burt Reynolds kind of way. Kind of sexy too, for an older guy.

Banning hesitated. If he took her hand she was an equal. If he let her stand there, he was a dick. He let her stand there. 

Len Banning had his heyday in the sixties—thanks to sex, drugs, rock and roll—and Vietnam. Now, he mostly ran the ship for Ted Montgomery, who couldn’t be bothered. He owed Ted. He owed Ted everything. So, here he was, a washed-up attorney playing tour guide to interns, hoping they’d sign on at the firm, bill two hundred hours and buy him a new Bentley, or maybe that Harley Fatboy he’d seen last week. Tiffany would love him on a Hog.

He smiled to himself then opened the folder, as Sailor sat back down. He said, “I see Mr. Reilly wasn’t quite able to make up his mind. So, he’ll be doing double duty, Entertainment and Criminal. Not that those two aren’t already hand-in-hand.” “And you?” Banning dropped the folder on the table and arranged himself in the chair across from Sailor. “Are you settled in at the condos?”

“There really wasn’t much settling to do. I had baggage limitations.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, my father taught me how to pack. First, you lay out all the things you want to bring, then reduce them by half and bring more money.”

It was Banning’s turn to laugh. “Your father is a very wise man.”

“And a very good shopper.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no problem filling your closet this summer. Philadelphia has some of the finest shopping on the East Coast, maybe enough to convince you to make this move permanent.”

Banning watched her reaction. Sometimes the summer interns were too immature, unseasoned. Not this one. 

Sailor raised a brow. “Touché, Mr. Banning. But first, let’s see what MDB&S can offer me.” Her voice dropped into a soft, southern drawl as she tilted her head and batted her eyes. “A poor li’l ole girl from Connecticut.” The act was complete. Banning had been trumped.

Sailor locked her eyes on his. “Shall we?”

Banning grinned as he slid the folder across the broad teak tabletop. Then the most amazing thing happened. Something Len Banning hadn’t felt in years, not since Failson-Nough, not since he’d cracked his first law book. Banning had the feeling that whatever he said or did at that moment could matter. It could make a difference. 

From some small place, it came rushing back to him, that old forgotten need to help, to heal, to change things. He started thinking that change was possible again, even if he’d already fucked up once or twice. 

Helen Peterson knocked lightly then opened the door, pushing a rolling cart of white file boxes. She spoke to Banning, a question on her face. “Looking for these?’ She parked the cart near him, wondered why his face was so flushed. She turned to Sailor.

“I’m Helen. Welcome to MDB&S. I hope you enjoy your summer here.” She motioned to the file cart. “Looks like you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.”

“Are those all mine?”

Banning laughed. “Not all yours, or should I say ours.”

Helen did a double take. Did he just say, ours?

Banning closed the folder they’d been looking at and pushed it aside. “You can go over that later, it’s just org charts and inter-office info. But this?” He slid a white box from the file cart. “This is the good stuff.” 

He ran his fingers over the files then stopped and pulled an inch thick manila folder from the stack and slid it to Sailor. “Tell me what you see.”

Sailor looked at Banning and wondered what he expected of her. Wondered if he actually thought she knew what the hell she was doing. She flipped through the file photos then began skimming the pages.

Helen headed for the door, but Banning motioned for her to stay.

He looked back to Sailor. “Miss Beaumont?”

Sailor spoke without looking up. “It’s clearly a case of mistaken identity. There are no credible witnesses. I can’t believe she was convicted. And she’s been there, what? Four years?” Sailor closed the file, slid it back to Banning. “We need to get someone to help her.”

“Who? Who would you get to help?” He opened the file. “Corrine Knoeble certainly deserved something better than the incompetent, bungling counselor who screwed up the first time. Who would you get to help? Perhaps someone like you?”

Sailor balked. “Like me? Mr. Banning, I don’t know anything about cases like this. I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” She dropped her voice, ran a pattern across the tabletop with her fingers. “I might be a Beaumont, but I’m not my mother, and I have no intention of following in her footsteps.”

“You couldn’t,” he said.

Sailor jerked her head up. “What?”

“I knew your mother,” he said. “And I know you, what you think you’re planning for your life. But look at Corrine Knoebel. Do you think this is what she was planning? Do you think she is so much different than you? Look, she has green eyes, like you. She is tall, like you. Do you think she loved a man once? Felt the pain of loss? Do you think she dreamed of having children, or a home in the suburbs? Do you think she deserves less than the best representation in court?”

“I’m not judging anyone, Mr. Banning. I am simply stating that I would not be the right person for the job. My father sent me here to work with Mr. Deluca. I was under the impression that was understood.”

“Sometimes things change.” Banning said, staring past Sailor, as if he’d heard someone call his name from far away. He blinked then looked into Sailor’s eyes. “Sometimes what people think they shouldn’t be doing is exactly what they should be doing.”

“But.” Sailor looked to Helen for help. The woman shrugged. Shit. This was her first day. Her first morning—and look what a mess it was already. 

Banning stood up. “I think you know what I’m talking about. That’s why you’re here,” he said pushing the file back to Sailor. 

He followed Helen to the door. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. See what you can learn.” 

In the hall, Helen said, “Very nice.”

“Just doing my job.”

Helen mumbled, “It’s about damn time.”

Reilly and Sailor sat behind their newly appointed desks in their newly appointed cubicles. Music drifted down the hall as the cleaning crew moved through five floors of wiping and vacuuming.

Sailor called through the thin wall, “I’m not kidding you, Reilly. That’s what he said.”

Reilly called back, “If Banning is going to work with us on these pro bono cases, I wonder if we’ll get Deluca for the criminal ones?”

“Deluca won’t have time for us. According to this morning’s paper he has a hearing tomorrow for the Gallo case. I’m sure he’ll be too busy preparing for that to play mother hen to a bunch of third years.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still, it would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?”

Sailor turned back to the stack of files. “No, Reilly. It would be pretty cool to go home and get some sleep. I wonder what he expects us to do with all of this? How much longer are you going to stay?” 

“Baby, I could go all night. Just wind me up and watch me go.” He jumped on his desk and did an impromptu dance on that shook the cubicle walls. 

“Okay, okay,” Sailor said laughing. “Sorry I asked. Get back to work, would you?”

A few offices away, Edward John Deluca, Esquire was doing some wondering of his own. What the housekeeper was planning for dinner, when he’d see Mariel again, and how to tell his mobster client that he was, without a doubt, fucked.

Deluca knew it wasn’t that the guy didn’t know how to run his business. He just didn’t know how to keep his hands off the wrong broads. If Gallo hadn’t been thinking with Little Lou One Eye that night, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. If he hadn’t brought Susie Cupcake to the warehouse, she never would have seen the crates. How many times had Deluca told Gallo, “Keep your business and pleasure separate.” He couldn’t remember. In all the years they’d known each other, this was probably the dumbest fucking thing Gallo had done, and now he needed Deluca to lift up the rug and start sweeping. Otherwise, they were all going down.

IT was summer on the Cape. A time of magic and dreams, when sunburns could be healed with ice-cold beer and spicy crabs, and childhood romances would prove to be the basis for all others to come. 

The wind blew across the ocean, up the beach, through the saw grass and over the gardens into the open window of the breakfast nook. White embroidered curtains fluttered and danced against wooden restraints. The pages of a newspaper rustled, a small dog yapped and a coffee maker clicked then hissed on the counter. Though the gourmet kitchen was outfitted with the finest hi-tech steel appliances, the honey-glazed walls, terra cotta tiles and colorful pottery in glass-fronted cupboards made it feel warm and welcoming. 

A tan, wiry man in well-worn khakis and a dirt-smeared shirt peered into the kitchen from the mudroom. “Miss Chetta? I have news about the workers.” 

Maria Chetta entered the room holding a spiky plant attached to a piece of driftwood. From the center of the gray-green spikes, a long red flower bloomed, the tip changed color from red to blue to yellow. She was like the flower, exotically sturdy, a bright spot appearing from nowhere. With her jingling jewelry and swishing skirt she looked like a Spanish gypsy, the kind who told your fortune in the caves of Old Madrid. 

She looked at the man wringing his ball cap in his hands. 

“News, Santiago? I hope it is good news.” 

“There is a possibility–” 

“Santiago,” said Maria as she set the plant on the counter, picked up a pair of garden shears, “there is always possibility. What I need to know is if they cannot complete the job, can you find me someone who will?”

“Of course, Miss Chetta. That would be no problem.”

Maria smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Santiago. Now how is the fountain cleaning coming?”

Santiago spent the next few minutes telling Maria about the grounds of her estate, what had been done and what needed to be done. And when he returned to his work among the fountains, pools, gardens, sheds, garages and putting greens, Maria was left holding a Tillandsia Fuchsii, surrounded by silver appliances she knew nothing about.

It was all Stephan’s fault. He’d been her chef for so long, and it was more his kitchen than hers. His job was supposed to have been a temporary one. He would cook when the housekeeper went on holiday. But one summer the housekeeper didn’t return, and Stephan moved into Maria’s kitchen.

Maria worried about him. His relationships with the men in Provincetown, his trips to West Palm; he was anything but discreet. 

Somewhere in the large house, a phone rang, followed by a buzzing intercom. “Miss Chetta, you have a call. The gentleman wishes not to be announced, but asked me to say, ‘He is a friend from the old neighborhood.’ Shall I tell him you’re not available?”

Old neighborhood? Maria cleared her throat to calm the quaver in her voice. “I’ll take the call, Sonja. Thank you.”

“Very well. I’ll put him through.”

Maria dried her hands and picked up the phone. “This is Maria Chetta. To whom am I speaking?”

“So, it’s Chetta now? And ‘to whom?’ Well, well. Lou said you’d re-invented yourself.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, Maria, sweetheart, this is not the time to play coy. But I’ll tell what it is time for. It’s time for that old saying to prove itself right. You know, the one: ‘Whatever goes around, comes around.’”

Maria closed her eyes. Her past came rushing back at her: James King’s gold teeth, Mama in the apartment with the secret closet floor, the backseat of Deluca’s Cadillac, and the lie she’d told that convicted an innocent man. 

“What do you want, Fast Eddie? And why are you calling me here?”

“Hey, if you don’t want to discuss this on the phone, I have no problem coming up there. Fact is, I’d love to get reacquainted. We still have unfinished business, you and I, don’t we?”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Whatever business you need to discuss with me can be handled from a distance.”

“Yeah, maybe that would be best. I mean I wouldn’t want anything to mess up your perfect little life, now would I? I mean you have worked so hard for your fortune.”