The Secret Keeping (29 page)

The ladies had at least been together Friday night and Sharon’s instincts informed her, without a doubt, that it was probably the night. Helaine sleeping with someone else. The very idea of it made her blanch.

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She had not just picked her up at a bar, Sharon screamed before she fired Lawrence Taft. That’s not her style she assured, slamming the phone in his ear. She was angry at the entire incompetent world. He should have discovered what was going on well before Friday. Then the lawyers could have served the photos up, too. For that matter, why had the lawyers dawdled? She had seen them Wednesday afternoon. Paid them enough. If they had gotten their shit together like they promised to, they could have served the legal papers on Thursday. Then, photo or no photo, that would have stopped Helaine cold in her tracks. Stopped her before Friday. Before...

Sharon festered all weekend, the photographs rendering her virtually apoplectic. Dazed, she carried them from room to room. It was that one’s first time, she concluded over and over again, as if it mattered. Yeah, because Sharon knew her types and she could tell by the naive look in those eyes. Warm, wide and willing.

With a little skilled guidance that woman would become a excellent replacement. Blue eyes, red hot for the Love Doc. They were ice when Sharon had looked into them. They had despised her repletely and now she understood why.

What a difference a day would have made, she lamented. Just twenty-four little hours and she could have put the whole affair on ice, permanently. Now, when she got Helaine Kristenson back–and get her back she would–she’d have to live forever with the knowledge that she had slept with someone else.

Monday morning Sharon was still not prepared to make a public appearance. She sent a few choice photos by messenger to her lawyers and they called her back around noon to say that while the blue-eyed woman looked vaguely familiar somehow, they still needed more than that to go on, although they did not think it wise for Sharon to continue her illegal surveillance and wasn’t even sure the current pictures would be admissible as evidence in a trial. In the end, they advised her again, she would, most likely, find that part of her claim dismissed, as the mystery woman had no duty owed to her to which she could be found and held in breach of. Still, for the purposes of an out of court settlement, two rich defendants are always more fun than one. Could she come in on Wednesday for a strategy session?

No, she could not. Actually she had to be in LA by Tuesday for an AM court appointment on Wednesday, hopefully her last if she could just keep her mouth shut during the proceedings. She didn’t share that little tidbit with them, although she thought it unlikely they hadn’t heard about the case. She simply told them to keep her apprised and left them with the phone number of the condo she owned in LA county. She expected to be returning in a week, sooner if they learned anything.

“I want you to nail this Jane Doe for me. I don’t care what it takes.”

“We understand that.”

The rest of Monday she dedicated to restoring order to the waterfront flat. Yes, in reality Sharon Chambers was quite tidy, all her homes spotless. The mess at the waterfront flat was the exception, merely calculated for affect, to manipulate Helaine, keep things lively between them.

She made an assessment of the damages as she went along. The place was in the height of neglect, a sign which she attempted to ignore as she set about straightening it. It needed things, that was apparent, and more attention than she could give it at the moment, as preoccupied as she was and–dare she think it?–as depressed as she was feeling. The best she had to offer it for the time being was some organization.

She applied herself to that task, by evening having made enough progress to call it a day. By then there were a only few piles left in the hallway, personal items that didn’t belong to either her or Helaine. These had clearly outlived their usefulness, she admitted without remorse, and she threw them into the trash along with the entire contents of the refrigerator.

She had come across very few of Helaine’s things. That didn’t surprise her too much. It had been a long time since the woman had actually lived there. She dwelt on that for the very first time as she wondered what she was supposed to do with them.

Her memory of the events that led up to Helaine moving out lay shrouded in dusty cobwebs she wasn’t too anxious to disturb. There was a cedar closet in the back room, she remembered instead, that Helaine had once used for storage. She could stash the stuff in there for safekeeping, get it out of her sight until she could stand to see them again.

It was in the closet that Sharon Chambers had her breakdown. It happened in the darkness when her hand brushed against something soft and sleek, a sensation she recognized immediately.

She had worn that coat the day she had met Helaine Kristenson. A floor-length mink. Helaine had worn it, too, with nothing on underneath. That was the first time Sharon had made love to her. Seven years ago.

That’s like a lifetime when you’re only thirty. She pulled the string on the overhead light and stared at it in disbelief. It hung like a dark ghost in the corner, as shiny as the day Helaine had bought it, as perfect as that perfect first night when she had lay her down in it. Here in the waterfront flat. Where Helaine had lived.

Where they both had lived till…oh yes, she remembered it now and felt it in her heart.

In her heart there was a tearing sensation. That had to be her heart, she thought, or perhaps even her stomach. There was a taste in her mouth. Old blood. Bitter. No, it wasn’t her stomach. It was her heart. She had the sense that it was being ripped from where it belonged. It felt pulled like a muscle. She had pulled a muscle once on the runway. The heart is a muscle that has to be exercised. That’s what Dr. Kristenson used to say. Or what? Was she dying? There was a hard lump in her throat. She put her hand to her chest and with the other gripped the fur coat by the collar. She could picture the woman in it. The creamy soft flesh, the beautiful body. This was the precious skin she had left behind. She was gone. The pain was moving up into her jaws. She felt them trembling uncontrollably and she knew she was going to cry. The empty coat hanging there like brand new. She had left Helaine here beside it, but she was gone. If she cried it would ruin her eyes, not just her makeup. Her eyes. Her eyes. She could remember that night so vividly. Those green eyes. How could this coat be so precious? How could it be of so little value to Helaine that she would leave it, leave it hanging like a spirit from the past for her to find? There were tears now, hot as blood. That’s what Sharon believed they were. Must be her blood she tasted in her mouth, must be her blood running out of her eyes, must be her blood gushing down her face onto her clothes and dampening the coat she clung to like a child.

Must be all of her blood, judging from how much of it there was. And from the terrible pain in her heart.

_____

It wasn’t because he was a fan of the super-model that prompted Robert Keagan to keep a Sharon Chambers scrapbook. And it wasn’t because he was sentimental.

He added the recent headliner concerning the resolution of the LA county affair and thumbed through the prior entries with a scowl. Indiscretion. The woman had made a career of it. He closed the book with a thud and put it back on the shelf with his other reference guides. Now she expected to collect fringe benefits.

If necessary, he would present the file to Helaine and force her to pen her thoughts in it. Submit the tragic

“diary” to the jury. Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen: one broken heart. She’d have to go along with it.

He had allowed two weeks to pass without notifying the prosecuting attorneys that he would be the attorney of record for the defendant. Let the bad guys sweat it, he reasoned. No use in the good guys coming off panicked, even if they were. Besides, he was in no rush to join the issue, knowing from years of experience that there were hungry reporters hiding under their rocks, eagerly waiting to sink their teeth into the doctor’s official response to Ms. Chambers’ tasty allegations. It would be a feeding frenzy. Intermeddlers.

They were insatiable. Robert had decided not to delve too deeply with Helaine about that phase of litigation.

He didn’t want to trouble her with its inevitability.

His first priority had been to pinpoint and quash all the peek-a-boo crap taking place on the sidelines and get some eyes of his own watching the streets. And while he felt like a cad doing it, nevertheless, he felt obliged to assign some peepers to the newlyweds as well, mostly because he hated surprises. Word now was that the coast was clear and all’s quiet on the waterfront. While waiting on that determination he had used his time to compile a shopping list of do’s and don’ts. Every one of those items had to be crossed off before he would consider himself ready to spar with Sharon’s attorneys. It was a long list, most everything on it routine.

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Hollisen, Hollisen and Goetz. All dead, but still raising hell in the legal world. And representing super-model Sharon Chambers. Willard Hathaway Esq., chief counsel for the plaintiff.

“Hi, Willie, Robert Keagan here, Chambers V. Kristenson et al. What? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Nah, I haven’t had time to go through it all. Need more time to respond. I know, but I’m busy. No, not really, Willie. Oh, I’m sure she is. What? Nope, don’t know who Jane Doe is–probably a figment of the plaintiff’s imagination judging by this work of fiction I got in front of me. Yes, I really believe that. Pure fiction, as difficult reading as Mein Kempf, Willie. No, I truly doubt that. Uh, it’s neither love nor war, I can assure you.

What I think? It’s pathetic is what it is. Well, you don’t have to say you agree with me, we’re both reasonable men. Huh? That she knows her very well? We neither admit nor deny that. I think we have a bad line. No, we neither admit nor deny that, too. No, I’m not calling her a liar. Yes, generally. It’s all specious, Willie. Ten more days. No, five’s not enough, I just got it this morning. At first blush? Well, it fails to state a cause of action for starters. Mm-hmm. Lack of jurisdiction, no merit, the works. Oh, I disagree. Yah, delusional and incoherent. We just can’t make any sense of it, Willie. What? Oh, you wrote it? Well, what do you want from me? The substance? Yeah, we understand the substance. Clever but bald, Willie. So? So? And your client is no Snow White, I’m sure you know. Nah, you can’t say that, wait till the jury sees my client. What do you mean by that? That’s a bald-faced lie and you know it. Of course. Why don’t you ask her about Italy? Oh, really? And what about the stuff going down in LA? Is that ancient history, too? Yah! I think it’s all relevant and I’m sure the jury will, too. Hmm? Infidelity? That’s very funny, Willie. You hear me laughing, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, still laughing and that’s what the whole wide world will be doing when they hear about this.

What, gave her permission? I doubt my client would do that. Yeeaauh…also a bit too kinky to be believed.

She did? Gave her permission? I said, I don’t think so. Well, like I said before, delusional. What? Well, that’s going to be hard for your client to prove. No, I’m not saying that at all. Judging from all this, looks like you’ve got a psychopath on your hands. Yeah, I really do. Well, you say loose cannon and I say psychopath, let’s call the whole thing off. No, I wouldn’t expect that you would. The point? Actually I was just calling for more time to answer and to tell you to stop following my client. Oh, c’mon Willie…what about the photograph? Yeah, we did. I think it’s unethical. For real? Well, then who did? Okay, so then I’ll have to put it this way: If ANYONE bothers my client, her friends, family, colleagues, associates, employees, agents, representatives, or subsidiaries thereof…we’ll throw their asses in jail quicker than you can say but. Good, I’m glad to hear it. Oh, is that right? You better watch her then. Sure. Understandable, but it can’t happen again or I’ll move for an order of protection and run straight to the six o’clock news with it. Who? I’ve already said I don’t know the woman. Theory? Probably passed in front of the lens by accident. No. Sorry. I don’t know that, either. I’m sorry if you don’t, it saddens me to think you don’t find me credible anymore. A friend of my client? Well, you’ll have to ask that when the time comes, because as far as I know she doesn’t know her.

She’s not a liar, Willie. Yah! Oh, I object! Yah! Look here, your client has a criminal record, now. Well, we’re very concerned about that. No, no, no, I’m just saying keep her away from mine. Oh, yes I do. Very good cause for concern and you know it. Well, that’s fine and we send our thank yous in advance. Yup. No problem. Uum…I don’t think so. I think we’ve covered just about everything. Yeah? Oh, don’t worry, Willie.

Sure. Sure. Yep, you’ll be hearing from us. What? You betcha. And say hi to Martha. Very well, thank you.

Oh, not too bad, busy these days, never see you at the club anymore. Just Thursdays? I guess that explains it.

Sounds it, like two ships that cross in the night. Yep. I sure will. Hey…thanks for the ten days. (click)

“Sonofabitch,” Willard Hathaway muttered under his breath. He choked off the team’s laughter with a virulent expression. Ms. Chambers had informed him Robert Keagan was a close friend of Dr. Kristenson.

“She’s got that purebred pitbull defending her,” he announced, standing up and walking to the door. Keagan was bad luck. He hadn’t won a single case against him. “Someone get a hold of our talented client and tell her to call off her ball-breakers or he’ll have us all in the slammer by week’s end. Wouldn’t that be pretty?” he said to his shoes. He grasped the door handle like a grenade. “Try to impress upon Ms. Chambers that she is not a free agent in this matter,” he added, preparing to slam the door. Nobody dared to move while there was a chance he hadn’t finished speaking. “Do it now, I said!”

_____

Attorney Stanley Kandinsky is sharp. If compared to an animal, as people are wont to do sometimes, he looks just like a hawk. It’s his lean physique and chiseled features, the low hairline, the dark and permanently scrutinizing eyebrows, a pair of piercing and unblinking brown eyes, almost black really. He’s one of those people you can’t imagine sleeping. Not that he ever seems sleepless or tired, but rather that he doesn’t need to sleep at all. He is constantly alert.