Legal Artistry (7 page)

Dieter stood up and followed Gerald to his office, taking the same chair he had the last time. Gerald sat behind his desk and lifted the phone, making a brief call before hanging up again. “I explained what I found to Harold Prince, and he asked to be included in this meeting. He'll be about ten minutes if that's okay."

"Of course,” Dieter answered and sat staring at Gerald, who fidgeted a little in his chair before getting up. Dieter followed him with his eyes as Gerald closed the door.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I hadn't expected to see you at the club, and you're a client. I certainly shouldn't have expected... or asked....” Gerald seemed at a loss for words, and Dieter sat quietly letting him struggle. “I shouldn't have...."

"What? Danced with me? That's all you did, you know. We didn't do anything else."

"I know. But I'm also sorry for my crack about how your Gram would feel if she saw you. I meant it as a joke, but it was in poor taste, and I'm sorry. I saw that it hurt you, and I didn't mean to."

"You didn't hurt me, just startled me, I guess,” Dieter responded softly, grateful that they were at least talking about what happened.

"Did you ever tell your grandmother?” Gerald asked, and Dieter shook his head.

"Gram was very old-fashioned. I did tell Auntie Kate, though. I must have been seventeen, and I told her one afternoon after I'd had my first heartache. She hugged me and told me that I was who I was and that she loved me, and things like that weren't really important.” Dieter smiled at the memory. Auntie Kate had always been supportive of everything he did, no matter what. “After that, she told me to sit down and brought me a plate of cookies, just like she always had. We both looked at each other, smiling through our shared secret. Then we both said at the same time, ‘Don't tell Gram.'” Dieter's smile turned to a chuckle that faded quickly. “Gram was set in her ways, and she would never have accepted me as gay. I knew that very clearly, so I hid it from her and never told her who I really was."

"How do you know? People can surprise you,” Gerald told him sincerely.

"Not Gram, at least not in this. She clung to some old ways and ideas. Heck, when she died, she still referred to guys with long hair as hippies.” Dieter saw Gerald look at him in surprise for a second before laughing.

"You're kidding?” Gerald said though his chuckles.

"Nope. Gram was wonderful, and I know she loved me, but I know she would never have accepted me as gay. Oh, she wouldn't have kicked me out or anything, but she wouldn't have understood. I knew that, so I never told her. Does your family know?"

"Yes. I told them a while ago. I can't say they were thrilled, and it only added to my black-sheep reputation, but they know. Not that we ever talk about it. My family tends to see things the way they want to."

A soft knock on the door interrupted their discussion, and Dieter turned around to see an older, distinguished man walk into the office. Dieter stood up and shook the offered hand. “I'm Harold Prince and I knew your father very well,” the man said before clasping Dieter by the shoulder. “You look so much like him."

"Thank you, sir,” Dieter answered.

"There is one thing that puzzles me. I know you were just a boy when your father died. How did you know to call me?"

"Mark Burke recommended you. He said you'd been helpful to him. I didn't know you knew my dad. But maybe you could tell me about him sometime. I was four when he died and don't really remember much about him."

"I'd like that. Your father was something else,” Harold started to say, and Dieter thought he was going to tell him a story about his dad, but he seemed to remember where he was and his expression changed, becoming more formal. “Why don't I have Gerald set up a day next week, and we can meet for lunch. I'd love to tell you about your dad. He was a good friend."

Harold took the chair next to Dieter's, and Gerald pulled a chair around to join them as they seemed to get down to business. “I did some research, and I have some good news and some not so good news for you,” Gerald began. “First, I was able to verify that you are indeed the clear heir to your grandmother's family. That means that you have standing under the law, that you can indeed bring suit to recover the paintings, if you like.” Gerald looked alternately at him and Harold. “However, since the paintings are in Austria, you'll need to bring suit there, and that's the difficult part. In order to bring this type of suit, you need to put up a bond that equals the value of the property in question."

Dieter gasped before swallowing hard. “I can't do that. Mark said those paintings are probably worth millions. I don't have that kind of money.” He should have known this was a fool's errand, anyway. But he'd wanted to get those paintings back for his grandmother, and he'd allowed himself to hope. He should have known better.

"We know you don't,” Harold said soothingly. “The issue is that we'd need to bring suit in Austria. We've requested copies of some of the records regarding the paintings from the Belvedere and the Austrian Cultural Ministry, and they are not cooperating. What we'd like to do is find a way to bring suit in the United States, but with the paintings physically in Austria, that's going to be problematic."

"So I should just give up?” Dieter asked. It sounded to him like that's what they were saying. “These people stole my family's legacy, and there's nothing I can do about it?” Dieter felt his temper rise. “There has to be something we can do. Even if I could put up the bond, is there any way I could get a fair hearing? No. They'd rule to keep the paintings where they are because they think they're theirs, but they're not."

"Dieter,” Gerald interjected levelly. “We've not given up hope, and we're still looking into possibilities, but we wanted to tell you where things stood.” Gerald didn't sound particularly positive, either.

"Well, I want to thank you both for looking into this for me,” Dieter said as he stood up. “I'd like to take my photo album if I could.” Dieter waited while Gerald opened a door in the credenza behind him, retrieving the album before handing it to him.

"Look, I wish we had better news, but don't give up hope.” Gerald stepped around the desk.

"Will you send me the bill?” Dieter asked.

"Son,” Harold said. “All the work we've done up till now has been on us. Your story was so compelling, and having known your father, I was hoping we could find a way to help.” Dieter saw Harold look at Gerald and then back at him. No matter what their mouths said, their eyes said they'd given up hope, and that told Dieter all he needed to know.

"Thank you for trying.” Dieter shook hands with both men before leaving the office, heading for the lobby. The glass doors closed behind him, and he'd called for the elevator when he heard movement behind him.

"Dieter.” He turned to look at Gerald. “I don't know what we can do, but I'd like to find out some more about the paintings. I don't know if it will help, but I was wondering if you could arrange for me to meet this artist friend of yours. I could call him as your lawyer, but I think it would be better coming from you as a friend.” The elevator door opened and Dieter looked at it, watching the door close again.

Dieter saw a touch of earnestness in Gerald's eyes and found himself agreeing. “I don't have a lot of money."

"Until we've figured things out one way or another, I won't charge you for my time. Since tomorrow's Saturday, if your friend agrees, I'll be happy to meet you at his studio or wherever you'd like."

"Why?” Dieter asked, clutching the photo album in front of him like a shield. “You don't know me very well. I'm really just some guy you saw dancing at a club.” He wasn't sure what sort of game Gerald was playing, but Dieter wasn't going to play along.

"I like your story and want to do what I can to help,” Gerald told him, but Dieter kept wondering what his angle was, and it must have shown on his face because he saw Gerald's expression change, becoming softer. “I went to law school so I could try to help people. And I do that, sometimes. But most of the time I end up arguing with other attorneys over stupid things like who gets the toaster or the television. Your case is bigger than that. It's about righting a wrong that was done to your family decades ago, and if I can, I want to help. It's why I became a lawyer."

Dieter was slightly shocked. Gerald seemed sincere, and Dieter wasn't quite sure how to react. “Okay. I need to call Mark and see if he's available. Can I call you and let you know?"

"Sure.” Gerald smiled and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling a pen from the receptionist's desk, he wrote on the card. Dieter took the offered card. “That's my cell number. Please call me and let me know."

"I will. Thank you,” Dieter said, turning to call the elevator again. The door opened and Dieter stepped inside, then the door closed and the car began to move toward the ground.

Dieter left the office building, standing on the sidewalk with the last of the office workers passing around him in their rush to get home or wherever they were headed to start their weekend. Dieter looked both ways before deciding to stop in at the wine store. He needed to talk to someone, and Sean was someone he trusted. Having decided, he hurried to his car, driving through town before luckily finding a parking space near Sommelier Wines.

The store was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, and Sean looked anxious, the way he usually did when he expected to be busy and wasn't. “Evening, Dieter,” Sean called as he strode over, before embracing him tightly. “How are you?” he asked quietly without releasing him right away. “It's been a few weeks, and I was beginning to get worried about you."

"I'm fine,” Dieter answered as Sean's arms and warmth slipped away.

"You don't look fine,” Sean countered before looking to Katie, who motioned to him.

"I'll call you when it gets busy,” Katie told him. “Just send Laura out. We can handle it while you talk."

Sean led him to the back of the store, Laura already walking toward them. “Sean, I have a question about this invoice."

"Okay. Can it wait a few minutes? I'd like you to help Katie on the floor. We shouldn't be too long."

"All right.” She headed toward the sales floor, still carrying the invoice. “Oh, Dieter, could you look at the computer before you leave? It's acting slow and cranky."

"I will,” he promised before she disappeared through the door and they entered the office. Sean closed the door, and they sat down on the futon.

"So tell me what's got you flustered,” Sean told him lightly.

"I met with the lawyers, and they didn't give me much hope about getting Gram's paintings back. They said I'd have to sue the museum and the Austrian government in Austria and that I'd have to put up a bond that would be a lot more money than I'll ever see if I wanted to do that."

"I'm sorry, Dieter. I know how much it means to you to get those paintings back."

"It's for Gram,” Dieter clarified, “and it's my family's heritage.” Dieter leaned forward nervously. “I knew I shouldn't have allowed myself any hope, but I did."

"I know. Did the lawyers say anything else?” Sean asked him in a very caring tone.

"Gerald said that he wasn't giving up and asked if I could arrange for him to meet with Mark. I don't know what he's expecting, but he wants more information. I think he's grasping at straws."

"How much is this fishing expedition costing you?” Sean asked him in a very fatherly way. After Gram died, Dieter had felt very alone for months, and over time, and Sean had become sort of the dad he never had.

Dieter shook his head. “Nothing. That's the strange part. Mark gave me the contact information for his attorney, and it turns out he and my dad were friends in school, so up to now, they've been doing the work for free. And Gerald, my attorney, says he's not going to charge me until they either give up or find something. Frankly, I don't know what to think."

Sean's eyebrows knit together in obvious suspicion. “Why would he do that?"

"I think he likes me,” Dieter confessed, looking down at the floor. “Two weeks ago after I met with him, we went to dinner. And afterward, I had so much energy and couldn't sit still, so I went to Dance All Night, and I saw him there,” Dieter explained, and he saw the suspicion in Sean's eyes grow more pronounced. “I only go there to dance. When I saw him, I asked him to join me, and we danced together for hours. He's sort of uncoordinated,” Dieter said, and he couldn't stop a grin, “but it was nice to dance with him."

"Did anything else happen?” Sean asked lightly.

Dieter shook his head forcefully. “No. I'd never!” Dieter swallowed hard. “I think he was sort of hinting that he'd like to go home with me or that we could go to his place, but at the time, I didn't really understand, and I'd never do anything like that."

"Why not?” Sean asked. “Not that I'm advocating anonymous sex. But why is it so bad that he'd like you or ask you to go home with him? You're twenty-four, and as long as you know what you're doing and take precautions, you shouldn't feel guilty for having a little fun. As long as you're not being hurt or hurting anyone else."

"I could never do that,” Dieter said with a little more force than was necessary.

Dieter heard Sean sigh loudly. “Dieter, I'm going to say this, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I knew your Gram, and I liked her. She was quite a lady and a wonderful person. She raised you in an atmosphere of love that most people would kill to have. You never wanted for attention or affection. But your Gram could also be a bit of a snob, and some of those attitudes made their way into you.” Dieter opened his mouth to argue, but Sean stopped him with a gentle touch. “I don't think you're a snob, but some of her opinions—and we both know your Gram was free with them—are still playing in your head."

"No, they're not."

"Dieter, I think they are. Your Gram had certain ideas about people and how they fit into the world. I think a lot of those ideas came from her early childhood, which was very sheltered, privileged, and quite narrow. Your Gram once told me stories of things I can barely imagine, balls and parties that boggled the mind, but always with the same people. But you realize she nearly had a conniption when I offered you the job here, because I was gay."