Solomon vs. Lord (32 page)

Forty-nine

MY BIG, FAT STUPID MISTAKE

“I think we recovered nicely at the end,” Steve said. Trying to show confidence, knowing Victoria was furious with him.

She shook her head. “Bobby loves you. You love him. But that's not enough to win.”

“You're leaving something out. He loves you, too.”

“Stop it, Steve. Just stop it. You promised. No more personal stuff.”

“You're the one who started crying in there.”

“Tears aren't enough to win, either.”

They were outside the judge's chambers, taking a thirty-minute dinner recess. A nearby restaurant had delivered sweet fried plantains, chewy palomilla steak, black beans and rice, and enough espresso to keep everybody awake for a week. Bobby was in the judge's chambers, eating with Judge Rolle. Zinkavich was stuffing his face in the anteroom, and Steve and Victoria, famished but too embroiled to eat, were jawing in the corridor.

“I should have gone with my gut, not yours,” she said.

“Okay.”

“No matter how much he loves you, Bobby made you seem reckless.”

“Okay.”

“Undisciplined.”

“Got it.”

“Immature.”

“I admit it. I screwed up.”

“Like
you're
the one who needs a caregiver.”

Why wouldn't she let up? He felt like a marlin attacked by a shark. First a ferocious strike, then the rip of flesh from bone, and finally a quick swallow. Followed by another strike, rip, swallow.

“Enough, already,” he said. “From now on, you run the case. I won't interfere.”

That stopped her for a moment. “All right. Deal.”

Thank God, he thought, he'd finally found a way to quiet her down. “Great. Now let's go over my testimony.”

She frowned. “I'm not putting you on the stand.”

“What!”

“I'm can't let you be crossed about the night you snatched Bobby.”

“I can handle it.”

“Only if you admit to a bunch of felonies.”

“I'll take the Fifth.”

“That'll impress the judge.”

“If I don't testify, who will?”

“At your service,” announced the suntanned, older man walking toward them. He wore a beige linen suit, and his white hair flowed down the back of his neck. He carried a Panama hat in one hand, an unlit cigar in the other. “How the hell are you, son?” Herbert Solomon said.

“Dad?” Steve was so shocked that for a moment he was disoriented. His father striding down a courthouse corridor? Like he was still a judge, on his way to take the bench. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn't Victoria tell you?” Herbert Solomon said. “Ah'm your star witness.”

Steve's shock was turning to anger. What chutzpah. Calling his old man without even asking him. “She must have wanted to surprise me,” Steve said, biting off the words.

“Well, ah'm here to help.”

“Too late for that.”

“C'mon, son. Until all the corn's out of the crib, there's still time.”

“Thanks, anyway, but I don't need your help.”

“Yes you do,” Victoria interposed. “Unlike you, there's nothing your father can be crossed on.”

“Really? How about resigning from the bench in disgrace?”

“Judge Rolle already knows about that. Were you listening yesterday? She idolizes your father.”

“Ah remember Althea when she was just a pup,” Herbert reminisced. “These insurance lawyers were picking on her, and ah—”

“Yeah, yeah, we heard,” Steve said. “You're the great white father.”

“After every trial, Althea would come back to chambers, ask me why ah did this and that, why ah ruled one way or the other. Always wanting to learn, that little girl. Like to think of her as one of mah protégés.”

“You were always so good with strangers.” Steve's words were as hard as marbles.

“Don't talk to your father that way,” Victoria said.

“Who gave you the right to run my case?”

“You did.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Then we've both made mistakes lately, haven't we?”

“If you think that,” he said, “you're lying to yourself.”

“No. I'm finally thinking clearly.”

“Our making love was not a mistake.”

“What the hell did ah wander into?” Herbert said.

“It was for me,” Victoria told Steve. “A big, fat, stupid mistake.”

“Bigby, the wedding, real estate closings. Those are your mistakes,” Steve told her.

“Y'all are showing way too much of yourselves,” Herbert said. “When you go skinny-dipping, you oughta keep close to the willows when you come out.”

“I
love
Bruce! I can't wait to marry him. And I'm dying to get out of the courtroom.”

“Ah think ah'll head
into
the courtroom,” Herbert said, walking away.

“Maybe you
want
to love him,” Steve told Victoria. “Maybe you
wish
you loved him. But you
don't
love him!”

“I do!”

“Then what were you doing the other night with me?”

“I don't know!”

“Maybe you better figure that out. Preferably before your honeymoon.”

Steve followed his father through the courtroom door.

Victoria paced alone in the corridor, hopelessly confused. She thought she'd put all of this to rest.

I used logic and reason, and I chose Bruce.

It made sense. Dealing with Bruce was easy. Comfortable. The way it should be. A mate isn't a sparring partner, right? Dealing with Solomon was impossible. A constant tug-of-war. So why did he still have the power to rattle her?

“There you are!”

Victoria turned to find Bruce striding toward her, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. He was wearing a camel sport coat and dark brown wool slacks and looked like an adorable teddy bear. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetie.”

“Hon!” Victoria said. “So thoughtful of you.”

He brush-kissed her and opened the basket.

“God, I'm happy to see you.” She ran a hand over the luxurious fabric of his coat. It was a sign, she decided, Bruce showing up like this. Confirmation that her choice had been right all along.

“Were you and Solomon arguing again?” he asked.

“The man's exasperating.”

“I know, sweetie. I know.” He was pulling plastic containers from the basket. “Cucumber avocado soup, bean sprout sandwich with tomato and avocado, and avocado sorbet. You'll feel better after some supper.”

Victoria felt her stomach growling but knew she'd break out in splotches after one bite. “Thanks, hon, but I really have to get back into court. It was just so sweet of you to come all the way over here.”

“The least I could do.”

Her mind drifted to Solomon, the sandwich man. Maybe he'd bring her a mouthwatering prosciutto and ricotta
panino
, but it would grow cold while they squabbled about something or other. Wasn't that the warp and woof of their relationship?

“You look so tired, sweetie,” Bruce said.

Startled, Victoria put a hand to her face. “Are my eyes puffy?”

“You just need some sleep.”

“Oh.” She told herself she appreciated his honesty.

“I hope you can get some rest before the wedding. You don't want to look all haggard in the photo album.”

Haggard? On the other hand, honesty is sometimes an overrated quality.

“It's no wonder you're so bushed, having to deal with Solomon day and night.”

“That must be it.”

“Well, he won't be around aggravating you for long, sweetie.” Bigby slipped a file out of his briefcase and handed it to her.

“What's this, Bruce?”

“You've been so busy, I've had to do all the heavy lifting. Menus, seating charts, music selections, honeymoon itinerary. Plus some papers the lawyers want signed.”

The words “papers” and “lawyers” struck a somewhat different chord than “menus” and “honeymoon,” she thought.

“What papers?”

“Why, the prenuptial agreement, of course,” Bruce Bigby said.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the Honorable Herbert T. Solomon?” Judge Althea Rolle said. “Even more distinguished and handsome than I recalled.”

“Kind of you to say so,” Herbert drawled, bowing slightly. “Pleasure to be here, Your Honor.”
Yo Ah-nuh.

“Where you been keeping yourself, Judge?”

Zinkavich cleared his throat, the sound of a growling dog. “Your Honor, I object to your calling the witness ‘Judge.'”

“That so?” Judge Rolle said.

“The title is not appropriate for a jurist expelled from the bench. Further, I question the propriety of Ms. Lord even presenting
Mister
Solomon as a witness.”

“You do?”

“It's an obvious attempt to curry Your Honor's favor. There are two kinds of lawyers: those who know the law, and those who know the judge.”

“No, Z, there's a third kind. Those who don't know shit even when they've stepped in it.
Judge
Solomon is the most decent fellow ever to sit in the Eleventh Judicial Circuit and I'm gonna call him anything I want, and then I'm gonna listen to what he has to say.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Zinkavich said, meekly.

“And if I come down off the bench and give him a hug and a kiss, you're gonna keep that garbage dump of yours shut. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, ma'am,” Zinkavich said.

With a sweet smile, Judge Rolle turned to the witness. “Now, Judge Solomon, what have you been up to?”

“Some fishing, some reading, a lot of thinking,” Herbert said.

“Well, it agrees with you. Now, it would give me great pleasure to administer the oath to you myself.”

As Herbert Solomon swore to tell the truth, Victoria wondered who was more upset by his presence, Zinkavich or her pouting partner. Solomon had turned away from her in his chair, sitting corkscrew style, sulking. The big baby.

She was confident in her decision to call Herbert Solomon to testify. Strictly speaking, the ex-judge had little relevant information. But when she'd spoken to him on the phone, he'd revealed a deep respect for Steve and how he was nurturing Bobby. This was something worth conveying to the judge.

Hey, Solomon, I'm just following your instructions. “Know your audience.”

While thinking these thoughts, she forced herself to compartmentalize. She hadn't even looked at Bruce's seating charts, his musical selections . . . or his prenuptial agreement. What a nice little wedding surprise that was. All things considered, she would have preferred a heart-shaped, diamond-studded pendant.

“Ms. Lord,” the judge said.

“Yes, Your Honor?” Victoria responded.

“It's customary at this stage of the proceedings for the lawyer who calls a witness to ask a question or two.”

“Sorry, Judge.” Victoria got to her feet. “Please state your name and occupation for the record, sir.”

“Herbert Solomon. Recovering lawyer.”
Re-koven loy-yuh.

That drew a chuckle from the judge, a scowl from Steve, and a little snort from Zinkavich.

Victoria needed the father to paint a portrait of his son.
Who is this man?
So she asked her questions, and Herbert told his stories, the mellifluous flow of his Savannah drawl as pleasant as a burbling brook.

Herbert talked about Steve and young Janice growing up in the old, rambling house on Pinetree Drive on Miami Beach. He credited Steve's mother, Eleanor, “God rest her soul,” for keeping the family together while he was busting his tail as a lawyer, making his name with pro bono work, then on to the bench, eventually becoming chief judge of the circuit, and the first name on the governor's short list for appointment to the Florida Supreme Court.

“That's when my troubles began,” Herbert said, “but we're not here to talk about me, except as it relates to Stephen.”

He said he regretted all the missed opportunities to spend time with both his children when they were young. Janice took some wrong turns early, running with a bad crowd, using drugs, while Stephen was a jock at Beach High.

“Ah was too in love with mah own ambitions to pay mah children much mind,” Herbert said. “Eleanor was sick for years, and there was only so much she could do. The kids grew up pretty much on their own. Ah remember one time ah rushed from court to Tropical Park for the state track meet. Got there too late, just missed Stephen winning the hundred meters. Ah hustled into the stands, and one of the bailiffs from downtown stopped me and said, ‘Judge, you must have some of them Negro Israelites in your blood, 'cause white boys don't run like that.' Later, ah told Stephen how ah watched him win, but he knew ah was fibbing.”

“Your Honor.” Zinkavich was on his feet. “This is heartwarming, but I object on grounds of relevance.”

“Sit down,” the judge ordered.

“When Stephen was in college, he started asking me questions about lawyering,” Herbert continued. “Just scratching and pecking, not saying what he meant. Eleanor was dying and ah was about to be indicted on false testimony. Ah didn't have the heart to fight, so ah quit the bench and resigned the Bar in return for them dropping the investigation. Stephen was tore up, maybe more than me. That boy never told me straight-out, but ah know the reason he went to law school was to clear mah name. He wanted to ride into court on a big ole white horse, prove ah was innocent. When ah wouldn't let him do it, he got angry at me, too.”

Steve squirmed in his chair, Victoria sneaking a peek at him. Painful memories were etched on his face.

“Stephen's got this deep resentment of injustice. Maybe he doesn't always follow every little rule the fat cats come up with, but on things that matter, mah son's got integrity. His principles are more important to him than money. And he's a fine role model for mah grandson.”

There was a catch in his throat as he continued. “A man can't help but compare himself to his own son. Me? Ah was caught up in mah own inflated self-importance. Lawyer of the Year? Like being the best rattlesnake in the Okefenokee.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Judge Rolle said. “You were widely admired. Still are, in my circle.”

“Ah'd lost mah way, Althea,” Herbert confided, dropping the formalities. “Ah never missed a Bar convention or a Chamber luncheon, and ah'd hang out at the Judiciary receptions till the last shrimp was gone from the bowl. Lord, how ah loved the applause, the slaps on the back, even those damn fool plaques they give you with the little gavels. Stephen doesn't give a rat's
tuchis
about those things. He'd rather spend time with a boy who needs him.”