Notorious (9 page)

T
he afternoon was waning,
the condolence calls were done, and Brenda Gould had thirty minutes before her next appointment. Alone in the apartment with her memories, she was trying not to hear the siren song coming from the liquor cabinet. She needed to stay sober to talk first to her lawyer, and then to the FBI. If they didn't believe her, they wouldn't take her side in the coming battle. To Brenda, Lester's death read like an early warning strike in what was sure to be a long and bitter war. The forces massing against her were not to be underestimated.

She'd pulled out the stack of old home movies. Funny, what you saved and what you discarded over the years. Inspired by the asceticism preached by her yogi, Brenda Gould had given away more than most people ever owned. Amazing clothes she'd worn in the seventies that would be worth a fortune as “vintage” now. Paintings and sculpture and avant-garde furniture. Virtually all of her jewelry, including the wedding and engagement bands from her first marriage to Lester. (That desperate second wedding hadn't stooped to anything as sentimental as rings or a white dress.) Material things weighed her down,
yet she'd kept a pile of old movies that featured a person she'd hated with a passion and who had hated her; a person who'd ultimately succeeded in destroying her life. Not only had she kept the movies, she'd transferred them from film to video to DVD, carefully preserving them so they'd follow her into old age. Why?

The apartment had a media room fit for a Hollywood mogul. Brenda drew the blinds and flipped through the DVDs as if they were cards in a deck. She chose at random; the one she popped into the player was from 1980. As soon as the first frames flashed across the screen, she lost her battle with the bottle. No way could she look at this stuff without some moral support.

A few minutes later, Brenda sank into a leather armchair with a tumbler of Macallan in her hand. She'd left the bottle downstairs. Pouring more would therefore require a journey, though hardly one arduous enough to keep her away. Not with what she was about to watch.

Appearance and reality could be poles apart. As Brenda stared, wild-eyed, at film of herself from a long-ago summer day, her heart filled with bitterness. She was lounging in a chair beside the pool at the house in Sagaponack, holding the ever-present glass of wine, waving off the person holding the camera. Who'd been behind the lens? She and Lester and Philippe were all on the screen, so it wasn't any of them, but she couldn't remember. A long time ago, and she looked so young. Brenda's dark glasses obscured her face, so she couldn't read her own expression. Anybody watching the woman in the lounge chair would assume she was happy. The luxury of the surroundings, the glory of the day. It would take a real cancer, growing silently and out of sight, to wreck a life as charmed as hers had been. The camera panning to the grass court, catching the satisfying thwack of racket on ball as her husband and stepson played tennis, couldn't see such stealthy evil. The three of them looked the very picture of a happy, loving family.

The thought that the cancer might have been her own addictions briefly occurred to Brenda, but she pushed it away.

Before she knew it, she'd watched a lot of videos, and the bottle of Macallan sat empty beside her on the glass table. Here was Philippe washing the Jaguar, older now, nourishing his secret resentments, plotting against her. And the various women who'd wandered through their weekends, flirting openly with her husband in front of her like she was an irrelevant old hag. Why hadn't she left sooner? Why had she tortured herself in that way? Because it gave her a bitter satisfaction to keep tabs on Lester, to stand in his way and frustrate him, to outmaneuver whatever woman—or women—pretended to the throne that year.

Ah, yes, there was that one. Brenda couldn't even remember her name, that girl who'd been the cause of so much trouble. She'd been named for one of the virtues, but which one? Faith, maybe, or Hope. Not Chastity: Brenda would have remembered the irony if that had been the case. The camera had loved the girl, or somebody had, because there was a hell of a lot of footage of her from that summer. There she was sitting at the teak table, eating an ice-cream cone, sticking out a pink tongue coated with vanilla as Philippe gazed at her with adoration. And there she was in a tiny bikini, getting pushed into the swimming pool by Lester, the frank invitation evident in her every giggle and squeal.

The bottle was empty, but Brenda had her wits enough about her to realize that it was time to go. She'd agreed to meet Bob at that diner to escape the watchful eyes of Evan Diamond. Evan, who had his fingers in everything. But Brenda had figured out a bargain she could make with Mephistopheles. Evan on her side was better than Evan as an enemy, that much she was beginning to figure out.

Brenda grasped the arms of the chair and hauled herself up with both hands, not minding the darkness that came across her vision or the numbness that she felt cascading from her teeth to her toes. Old
junkies didn't get high anymore; the best they could hope for was to feel blank. But as Brenda's eyes cleared, her hearing sharpened, too, and she became aware of…wait a minute, could it be? Footsteps in the hallway? When had they started? Could she be hallucinating on a few glasses of single malt? That must be it. All that muck in her system from years gone by, combined with some truly fine liquor.

But the steps were coming closer. Now it sounded like two people. Two men. She heard voices. But she wasn't imagining it. They were in her apartment.

S
hekeya Jenkins wheeled the
cart into the windowless conference room, righted a few binders that had toppled over, and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Jennifer Lamont asked, alarmed.

Shekeya put her hands on her hips. “It's after six and I was here half the night last night. I don't spend two nights in a row away from my kids. I'm going home.”

“But Diamond hasn't shown up yet to get the discovery.”

“He'll show eventually. You got to wait.”

“Don't leave me here by myself. I've never done this before.”

“What's to do? Make him sign the sheet before you give him the binders, that's all. You went to law school, right? I think you can handle that.”

“What if he has questions?”

“Tell him to call Melanie or Susan. That's what I'd do.”

Jennifer stood in the middle of the floor, looking helpless.

“Look, you can't screw this one up,” Shekeya said, and despite the exasperated look on her face, her tone was not unkind. “The only
screwing up you in danger of doing is pissing off the support staff, you feel me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then we understand each other. Have a nice night.”

The door clicked closed behind Shekeya. Jennifer stood there for a moment, uncertain of what to do next. Her mouth was dry. She thought about making the trip to the vending machine for a Diet Coke, but she was afraid to leave the room. What if Evan Diamond came by while she was gone, and thought she'd left for the night? Not only would she get in trouble for not doing her job, she'd lose her chance to see him in the flesh.

That Diamond was a man to be both feared and admired Jennifer had believed for some time. About a year ago, he'd done a gun-running trial before the judge she was clerking for, and she'd watched him in action. He was handsome and quick, yes, but it was another quality entirely that attracted her attention. Diamond had power over people. He got them to do and say and agree to things that they shouldn't have done or said or agreed to, things in direct conflict with their own best interests. She didn't know how he achieved his ends, and she didn't care. To Jennifer, the power was compelling no matter how he came by it. She was a timid person—an unsuitable quality in a lawyer and one she despised in herself—who aspired to influence people. Influencing people was something Diamond did like nobody else.

Daydreaming about an unattainable man like Evan Diamond helped fill the gaping hole in Jennifer's love life. She hadn't had a steady boyfriend in years. Plenty of guys asked her out, but it was the same story every time. They seemed like Mr. Right, so she slept with them, but then they didn't call. So she'd call them, and they wouldn't call back. Then she'd call a few more times, and they'd leave a message telling her to stop calling. But she'd ignore it, and they'd decide she was a psycho. She saw the vicious cycle. She really did, but it
was hard to stop. Therapy didn't help. The only thing therapists ever wanted to talk about was the ugly stuff that had happened when she was a kid, and Jennifer had absolutely no interest in dredging up all that crap.

The phone rang, and she jumped.

“Conference room.”

“Is this Jennifer?”

“Yes.”

“This is Al out front. I got a Mr. Diamond here for you.”

“Oh, yes. Send him in.”

“Send him in? No way, hon, you come get him. We don't let defense attorneys wander around unescorted. Didn't they tell you that?”

Jerk,
she thought. “Fine. I'll be right out.”

At the end of the hall, Jennifer opened the bulletproof door and poked her head out. Diamond was in the process of peeling the back off a visitor's pass and sticking it to his suit jacket. She drew a sharp breath. He was even more gorgeous than she remembered.

“Mr. Diamond?”

He glanced up at her and did a double take.

“Hey, Dixie. Look at you all grown up, with a big girl's job.”

Jennifer blushed, worrying that the guard had heard, but he was on the phone.

“It's Jennifer,” she said.

“I know. But I always dug that cute accent.”

She smiled. “Come on, this way.”

Diamond fell into step beside her.

“You remember me,” Jennifer said.

“Of course I do. You were the best thing about Charlie Fox's courtroom. I'm just surprised that he let you leave.”

“My year was up,” she said.

“And you landed here? I had you figured for one of us.”

“Maybe someday. I need trial experience first.”

“Oh. A résumé maximizer. I like that.”

“Résumé maximizer?” she asked.

“I have this theory that AUSAs can be divided into two categories. Résumé maximizers, who're looking to check off the trial experience box and move on. And true believers, who think they're on a mission from God. True believers are a pain in a defense lawyer's ass. Glad you're on board, Dixie. You can save me from Charlton and Vargas on this one.”

Jennifer giggled. “Yeah, they're definitely in the true believer category.”

“Talk about humorless. I like to have a good time at trial. Now that you're here, I can have some fun.”

They passed the vending machine.

“Hold on a second,” Diamond said. “I need a soda or something. I just drank some champagne with my client and it gave me the worst headache. Can I get you one?”

“Yes. I'd love a Diet Coke.”

He fed a bill into the machine, and a can plunked out. He opened it and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at him, remembering how she'd study his face during the trial, his voice and his gestures. Had he noticed her watching? Jennifer didn't take her hand away, and she held his gaze a few beats too long. There was no mistaking the hunger in her big green eyes. Surprise registered on Diamond's face, then curiosity.

He turned away and got himself a soda. Neither one of them spoke again until they were seated across from each other at the conference table, but by then the air between them was thick.

“So,” she said, her voice husky and breathless, “I have the discovery binders all ready for you. The only thing you have to do is sign—”

He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. His fingers were cold from the soda can. The words froze on her lips.

“Slow down,” he said.

“Slow—slow down?” Her heart was hammering.

“It's been a crazy day, and I'm under a lot of pressure. Let me sit here and enjoy drinking this soda with you.”

“Okay,” she said. With great effort, she took her hand away, glancing at the closed door. She had no reason to think anybody would walk in. But if they did, she'd better not be seen holding hands with the defense lawyer.

“Remind me now, where exactly do you hail from, Dixie?”

Her new colleagues hadn't troubled to ask her the first thing about herself today. She'd felt so lonely and at sea. She looked up. Evan's eyes were the darkest brown. Black, really. So opaque that she couldn't see into them.

“Tennessee,” she said. “But I hate my accent. I'd love to lose it but I can't seem to.”

“No, don't say that,” he said. “It's completely adorable.”

The praise made her glow. She couldn't believe that she was alone in a room with him, or that he'd touched her. Any of it.

“You think so?” she asked.

“I do. But here's my question. You're a Yalie. College and law school, right?”

“I can't believe you remember that.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I don't know. We only talked that one time. When you came by to drop off the jury instructions, remember, and I was alone in the judge's chambers?”

Something flickered in his eyes, and she realized how pathetic it sounded that she recalled the exact circumstances. But he wasn't put off. To the contrary.

“I listen when you talk to me,” he said. “I always will.”

“That's nice,” she said, smiling.

“Tennessee to Yale. Big leap. How'd you swing that?”

“Just smart, I guess.” She managed a flirtatious toss of her head, and he laughed. She was actually flirting with him, just like she'd fantasized about. But she felt all hot and prickly, like her body wasn't real, like any minute she'd wake up from the dream.

“Well, your parents must be very proud.”

He'd put his finger right on her sore spot. Suddenly she was looking at the room through a haze.

“I'm an idiot,” he said. “Here I'm so excited to run into you again, and the first thing I do is make you cry.”

“I'm not crying,” she said, blinking hard. “And it's not your fault. I've had a rough day. New job and all.”

“I should know better. I come from one of the world's most dysfunctional families myself.”

She laughed in shock. He'd gotten it exactly right.

“So what do you say we make a deal?” he said. “You let me take you out tonight. Anywhere you want. And I promise never to make you cry again.”

But he'd overplayed his hand. Those words brought her to her senses. This was not a daydream. Her actions would have real-life consequences.

Jennifer sprang to her feet.

“Don't be silly,” she said, and marched over to the cart. “You're married, and you're the defense lawyer.” She took a deep breath. “There are twenty-three binders here. They're all labeled. You probably want to count them before you sign off that you received them. How are you planning to carry them?”

He came over to where she was standing. She wouldn't look at him.

“My car's right outside,” he said, and his voice was gentle. “Can I
borrow the cart to get the binders downstairs? I'll send it right back up in the elevator.”

“Certainly.”

He bent over and signed the acknowledgment form that was sitting on the table. His suit jacket was so precisely tailored that she could see the muscles of his back moving beneath the taut fabric. She wished that he would touch her again.

He turned to give the form to her. This time, their eyes met.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you just now,” he said. “But I felt such a powerful connection to you. The words popped right out of my mouth before I could stop 'em.”

She looked away. She wanted to scream—
I felt it! I felt it, too!

“It's okay,” she said. “Don't apologize. Let's not mention it again, though.”

She opened the door, and he maneuvered the cart through. He stopped and turned back to her.

“Good night. Be well,” he said.

The concern in his voice seemed real. She smiled.

“Good night.”

She closed the door quickly and sank, weak-kneed, into the nearest chair, where she proceeded to put her head down on her arms and relive every moment of their encounter. Only much later did she remember that she was supposed to have escorted him out.