Dirty Blonde (3 page)

On the bench, Cate was about to burst, but instead wrote on her pad, DIDN’T LAW SCHOOL CURE YOU OF TRUSTING OTHERS?

Temin said, “Mr. Marz, some jurors might not understand that you, as a lawyer, would go so far without a written contract. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say they were right, but lawyers are people, too.” Marz turned again to the jury. “I admit, I got carried away with the whole Hollywood thing. He has a jet. A limo. He knows all these famous people. I felt cool for the first time in my life. I may have been naïve, but that doesn’t change the fact that Art Simone stole my show.”

“No further questions,” Temin said, but Hartford was already on his feet.

“I have cross-examination, Your Honor.”

Cate nodded, and Hartford strode to the lectern vacated by Temin. He began in a clipped tone, “Mr. Marz, just a few quick questions about this alleged deal. You admit it was never put in writing?”

“It was an oral agreement. Oral agreements are made every day. It’s called an ‘if-come’ deal, standard in California.”

Cate picked up her pen. PLEASE, GOD, HELP THIS BOY. CAN’T YOU SEE HIS YARMULKE?

Hartford bore down. “Mr. Marz, I repeat, this deal wasn’t written, was it? Yes or no.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Now, you and Mr. Simone didn’t discuss any specific terms of this deal, did you?”

“As I testified, he said, ‘If I make money, you’ll make money.’”

“Perhaps you misunderstood me.” Hartford squared his padded shoulders. “I meant, you and Mr. Simone did not discuss a specific price for your idea, did you?”

“I gave him the treatment for
Hard Drive
, too,” Marz added.

“I’ll amend my question. You and Mr. Simone didn’t discuss a specific price for your idea and your treatment, did you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t discuss when, where, or how any payment would be made, did you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t discuss who would pay you, whether it would be Mr. Simone or his production company, did you?”

“No.”

“So you discussed no specifics of this supposed deal at your luncheon meeting, did you?”

“No.”

“How about in any of the phone calls or the e-mails between the two of you, about which you testified last week?”

“No, as I said, because—”

“Yes or no.”

”No,” Marz answered reluctantly. His mouth snapped back into its rubber band, and the jurors eyed him, a sympathetic furrowing of their collective brow. They’d not only hold Simone liable for damages, they’d have him drawn and quartered.

“No further questions,” Hartford said, finishing his cross more quickly than anyone except Cate had anticipated.

“Mr. Temin, any redirect?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Temin returned to the lectern and embarked upon a series of questions that rehashed old ground, and Cate sustained two of Hartford’s objections for good measure. But the testimony didn’t change anything, and by its conclusion, she adjourned court for lunch, grabbing her legal pad as she rose.

On it, she had written: IS THE ONLY JUSTICE ON TV?

CHAPTER 2

Cate understood on sight why Detective Frank Russo could be a fictional character. His craggy skin served as a rough canvas for dark eyes, a prominent forehead, and heavy, sensuous lips. His shiny hair, a suspicious shade of black, matched a pair of longish sideburns. He wasn’t tall, about five nine, but powerful shoulders stretched his dark jacket across a broad back, and a flashy tie of red silk proclaimed him the aforementioned “tie freak.” He sat forward in the witness stand, leaning to the black bud of a microphone.

“Going back to that two-day meeting, who asked you to come, Detective?” Temin asked, getting to the point.

“Mr. Marz.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He wanted me to help Mr. Simone with research.”

“Where did you meet?”

“Liberties.”

Up on the dais, Cate hid her smile. Russo’s testimony was to the point, typical for law enforcement personnel. Detectives appeared in court so frequently they answered only the question asked and never volunteered a word. Cate sympathized with poor Temin, struggling to pull teeth from even his own witness.

“And by ‘help Mr. Simone out with his research,’ what do you mean, specifically?”

“Give him the standard operating procedures in the Homicide Division. Tell him how we handle murder cases, work with the ADA, and whatnot.”

“Did you do anything after Liberties that day?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do? And please, explain as fully as possible.”

Russo arched an offended eyebrow, like Italian kabuki. “Mr. Marz asked myself to give Mr. Simone and his assistant a tour of the Roundhouse, which I did. I showed him the squad room, I let him see the interview rooms. I introduced him to the guys, too. I was real popular that day.” Russo chuckled, and so did everyone else.

“Detective, did Mr. Simone ask you any questions that day?”

“He asked about our slang. He said he wanted to make the character talk like a real detective.”

“What did you tell him?”

“We speak English.”

The gallery laughed again, as did the jury and the deputy, loving every minute.

“Detective Russo, did Mr. Simone take notes on what you said at the meeting?”

“No.”

“Was his assistant with him?”

“Yes.”

“Did she take notes?”

“No.”

“Tell me, did you think that was strange?”

“I think everything about Hollywood people is strange,” Russo answered deadpan, and the gallery laughed. So did Cate, caught off-guard.

Temin waited a beat. “Detective Russo, what happened the second day of your meeting with Mr. Simone?”

“Mr. Marz and myself drove Mr. Simone and his assistant down Delaware Avenue and other neighborhoods, not-so-nice ones in North Philly.”

“And what took place during this drive?”

“Mr. Marz told them where the characters in the show would live, where their law office would be, and where they’d each lunch and whatnot. He also told about his experiences as an ADA. Rich is young, but before he started with the computer crimes, he tried a murder case and major felonies.”

“Did you provide information during the drive, too?”

“No.”

Temin blinked. “What did you do?”

“Drove.”

“Then why were you there?”

“Protection.”

The jury and the gallery laughed. Cate looked down, behind her fist.

Detective Russo added, “For the record, I used my vacation days to do this. The city didn’t foot the bill.”

Temin cleared his throat. “Detective Russo, did Mr. Marz ever discuss with you the terms of his deal with Mr. Simone?”

“Objection, irrelevant and calls for hearsay!” Hartford said, rising, but Temin shook his head.

“Your Honor, as you have said, relevance is broadly defined and it’s coming in only for the fact that it was said.”

“Overruled.” On the dais, Cate turned to the witness. “You may answer, Detective.”

“Yes, Mr. Marz discussed the deal with me,” Russo said.

“And what did he say?”

“Continuing objection,” Hartford said, and Cate nodded.

“Noted, Counsel. Detective Russo, you may answer the question.”

“Mr. Marz told me that he made a deal with Mr. Simone and that Simone was gonna pay him when he got paid, like a contingency fee.”

“When did Mr. Marz tell you this, Detective?”

“Right after his lunch with Simone. He called me on his cell, walking down Walnut Street, all excited. He thought we were gonna be players.” Russo smiled in a benevolent way. “Rich gets like that, carried away, like he said. He’s like a little kid.”

Temin paused, letting it register. “Let’s switch gears, Detective. Did you make a deal with Mr. Marz to be compensated for your time and services?”

“With Rich? Yes.”

“What was your deal with Mr. Marz?”

“Objection, relevance!” Hartford rose.

“Overruled. Relevance is broadly defined in the Federal Rules, Mr. Hartford, and this is certainly within its definition.” Cate turned again to Russo. “Go ahead and answer, Detective.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Russo faced Temin. “Mr. Marz and I had an agreement that we’d be equal partners when Mr. Simone produced the show. That I wouldn’t get any upfront money but when the show got made, I’d make whatever he made.”

“Did you consider that generous?”

“Yes and no.” Russo raised a large, cautionary hand. “Don’t get me wrong. Mr. Marz is an all right kid, but him and myself, we spent a lotta time developing the ideas for the series. Working at night, making up the four characters and their histories. The lead was gonna be me, the good-lookin’ one.”

Again, smiles all around, but for Cate, who knew the ending to this episode.

“Detective, was it your intention to quit your job after the show was produced?”

“Yeah, but this woulda been like winning the lottery. Marz quit his job to work on it full-time.” Russo shot Simone a hard look. “Glad I kept mine, the way it turned out.”

“Detective Russo, was your agreement with Mr. Marz ever written down?”

“We shook on it, and that was good enough for us.” Russo eyed the jury, who got the message, rapt, to a member.

“No further questions,” Temin said, obviously pleased, and took his seat.

Cate faced defense counsel. “Any cross, Mr. Hartford?”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he answered, standing up and approaching the lectern. “Mr. Russo, to the best of your knowledge, was the alleged agreement between Mr. Simone and Mr. Marz ever reduced to a written contract?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Detective Russo.” Hartford looked at the dais. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Temin stood up. “No redirect, Your Honor, and plaintiff rests its case-in-chief. We would like to reserve rebuttal.”

“Of course, and thank you, Mr. Temin.” Cate excused Detective Russo from the stand and looked expectantly at defense table.

Hartford stood tall. “I would like to call Arthur Simone to the stand, if I may.”

“You may,” Cate answered, shifting forward in her chair. She wanted to hear from this character.

CHAPTER 3

From the lectern, Hartford asked, “Mr. Simone, could you tell the jury a little bit about yourself?”

“Sure. I’m from Reno and went to UNLV, in Vegas. Graduated an English major. You know what that means, job-wise.” Simone smiled crookedly. “‘Hello, my name is Art and I’ll be your waiter tonight.’”

A chuckle ran though the gallery, especially from the redheaded jury consultant and Simone’s assistant, Micah Gilbert. Gilbert, who looked to be in her early thirties, sat with her legs crossed in tight pants, and her long, dark hair flowed to her shoulders in a sexy curl. She took almost constant notes, and Cate couldn’t help wondering if her dedication to her boss was more than professional.

“I went to law school at Hastings, but as much as I loved reading cases, I got bored. I don’t know how law school manages to make winning and losing, life and death, justice and injustice so deadly dull.” Simone scoffed, and his fine hands rested on the edge of the polished wood, showing a thick gold wedding band. “I always loved TV, so I moved to L.A. and got into the business as a gofer, then moved up to producing my own true-crime shows and selling them to cable markets. Then I started writing and producing
Attorneys@Law.
”

Hartford flipped a page of his legal pad. “Mr. Simone, you heard Mr. Marz testify that he gave you the idea for the series that eventually became
Attorneys@Law
, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did hear him say that.”

“Is that true?”

“No.” Simone’s good humor faded. “No. Absolutely not.”

Cate saw Marz lean forward in his chair at counsel table.

“Mr. Simone, what gave you the idea for
Attorneys@Law
?”

“My imagination. One day in the shower, I realized that none of the current lawyer shows showed the inside view. The way lawyers really work, in court and out. So I said, if I want to see it, I guess I have to write it, and that was that.”

“Did you copy the idea from anyone or anywhere?”

“Of course not. Let me state the obvious. The idea of a lawyer show isn’t copyrightable, and it isn’t even new, and there were four main lawyers in
L.A. Law
,
Ally McBeal
, and
Boston Legal
. Marz didn’t invent it, and neither did I. It started as far back as Perry Mason, and I live in the same world as anybody else.” Simone shifted forward, warming to the discussion, though Hartford’s confused expression suggested that his client was veering from their script. “By that I mean, I’m influenced by reality, by my own life. I’m being sued in this ridiculous lawsuit, and on the bench sits an attractive woman judge, with real star power.” Simone turned suddenly toward the dais. “Do you mind if I suck up, Judge Fante?”

Cate flushed, caught off-balance. “Is this relevant?”

“Yes, of course. I’m trying to explain that my ideas often come from my life. For example, I could turn this very lawsuit into a TV series. Write a spin-off from
Attorneys@Law,
and call it
Judges@Court
. And it could star a blond female judge who’s a lot like you, Judge Fante. Charismatic, attention-getting. The most alive person in the room. What do you think?”

Cate stiffened at the flattery, but the jurors and gallery held their breath, waiting for her reaction. Most federal judges would have admonished him, but that wouldn’t defuse anything. She answered, “Great idea. Get Charlize Theron, for me.”

“Done!” Simone laughed, and so did everyone else.

Hartford cleared his throat. “Now, Mr. Simone, were you ever friends with Mr. Marz?”

“No, not at all. He was one of my campers, that’s it. Long story short, we barely stayed in touch over the years. We were never close.”

At counsel table, Marz scowled, and his wife looked equally unhappy.

Hartford asked, “Were you sitting in this courtroom when Mr. Marz testified that he met with you on three occasions?”

“Yes, I did hear Mr. Marz testify, but what took place at them wasn’t what Mr. Marz said. At the June meeting, Mr. Marz told me he had an idea for a TV series, and I gave him my time because he was a nice kid and he was in dire straits. Things weren’t working out for him at the DA’s office and—”