Boston Legal? No, not mine. Original characters, storyline, text? Mine. That's about it!
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Denny shook his head as though disappointed in the client in his office. "Tom, you need to make this adultery charge thing go away."
"I know that," Bishop retorted, taking the drink he was offered. "I must say I'm not terribly enthusiastic about the lawyers you've assigned to this case. Where did they get their degrees? Lawyers-R-Us? They want me to apologize—they want me to tell Marion I was wrong. They're not making any headway at all."
"That's because they have a dimwitted bastard for a client." Bishop opened him mouth immediately to protest. Denny waved him down and continued. "Tom, you've got enough money to pay off five ex-wives and still be in the top half of the World's 100 Richest People list. You should have let her go when you had the chance."
"It wouldn't be enough, Denny. You don't know my Marion."
"But she's not 'your Marion,' is she, Tom?" Denny asked. "You said yourself, you don't love her any more."
"I don't."
"Then give her the money and let her go."
"What, are you representing her now?" Bishop said accusingly.
Denny shook his head and laughed softly, angering Bishop. "Tom, all this time I've known you, I thought you understood women."
"Does anyone ever really understand them?" Bishop retorted.
"I do," Denny answered. He spread his hands as though to present himself. "Denny Crane!" He shrugged and took a sip of his own drink. "Relax, I didn't call you here to ask you to do that anyway."
The two men sat down on Denny's sofa. "Then what did you call me for?"
"Tom, you need to play this smart. You got caught with your pants down. Wives don't like that. You're not going to get out of this by being greedy. You've got to make her love you again."
"I don't want her to love me again."
"Sure you do!" Denny eyeballed his visitor. "Tom. If you want out of this mess, you have to apologize for dragging her along for so long and then humiliating her in public."
"I was careful, Denny; she never should have known," Bishop insisted.
"No, you were stupid," Denny replied. Again, Bishop started to protest. Denny spoke over him. "Calm down, Tom. You're too quick off the mark. That's half your problem. She wants you to say you're sorry—she needs you to. Then after that, when she's calm and this is all out of the way, we'll negotiate a fair settlement for you." Bishop let his shoulders drop in resignation. "It's what you have to do, Tom. Or you'll never get out of this alive. I'll get Brad and Lori to organize a meeting."
Bishop finished his drink, put down the glass and stood up. "Thank you, Denny," he said rather downheartedly. "I suppose what you're saying makes sense."
"Of course it does," Denny replied. He smiled wisely and shook Bishop's hand. "And it's exactly what Brad and Lori were trying to tell you all along. Oh, and Tom—if you ever disparage any of my lawyers like that again, I'll cut your balls off and give them to the pigeons for breakfast." Bishop stared at him, shocked. "Denny Crane."
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"Mr. Tippett, please. This is Alan Shore," Alan said to the person who answered the phone. "He'll want to talk to me. Thank you." Alan waited as the call was transferred. "Clyde! Alan Shore. This parrot is getting so anxious to find out where it's going to live next. Can you tell me that?" He listened. "I hoped as much. I'll be returning the parrot to you this afternoon, along with all the negatives, when I pick up the reinstatement document. Four o'clock? Sounds perfect. Pleasure doing business with you."
Alan hung up, then very gingerly fingered a bruise near his temple that was still throbbing enough to distract him. He pulled his hand away when he saw Shirley come into the office.
"Alan, are you sure you should be here today?" she asked him, coming around to his side of the desk and putting a hand on his shoulder.
Alan smiled wanly. "Quite sure," he answered.
"I can handle Patricia Harris's appearance for you."
"I'm sure you can. But there are things I need to accomplish today, Shirley, and one of them is being seen in public, unaffected by the evil machinations of Vincent Del Sarto."
"I'm not sure you can pull off unaffected," Shirley answered, as Alan winced and gently massaged his jaw.
"Nonetheless," Alan answered, dropping his hand to his lap.
Shirley straightened. "Alan, please get to a doctor. As helpful as Brad's friend was last night, I'm worried it just wasn't enough, and you're clearly still unwell."
Alan looked up at Shirley, touched by her concern. "Very well, Shirley. I'll have some time before court. Brad had the right idea, though; I'll see someone I trust who can help without me having to discuss an incident of assault and battery to the police."
Shirley frowned and said nothing.
"Shirley," Alan said in a voice so strong and determined that it took the senior partner by surprise, "Beppe and Teresa want to keep their restaurant. They know what they're up against and they want to fight, and I won't let them face this alone." His grim expression softened. "Sorry." Their eyes met for a moment. Neither of them spoke, but each got the other's message. "I've got to call Beppe and tell him the restaurant can reopen tonight," Alan said. Shirley went back around to the door. "I'll come get you when it's time to go."
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"I find the laws regarding the use of marijuana in this country very arbitrary," Judge Brown said. "Some states allow it for medical purposes; some states don't allow it at all; and one state—Maryland, as a matter of fact—allows people who have a medical necessity for marijuana to be arrested, but their fines are limited to one hundred dollars. This makes no sense to me. You're either a criminal, or you're not. It's shocking. It's outrageous!"
His head still pounding, Alan turned slightly away from the rising voice, hoping Brown didn't get excited enough to bang his gavel. He used the opportunity to smile encouragingly at Patricia, who smiled back, glancing worriedly at the new patch of gauze on his temple. Alan ignored the look and tried to concentrate on the judge's words. The tone of Brown's voice was encouraging. But with Brown, that was never really a sign of anything.
"The US Attorney's offices have sent letters to the states that allow the use of marijuana, telling them that it's a Schedule One substance, and that regardless of the law, growing or possessing marijuana is a federal crime. But that doesn't seem to have stopped the states that have already passed laws, from keeping them in place.
"Studies show that marijuana can be useful in helping patients with glaucoma, with cancer, even with post-traumatic stress disorder. It can slow the progression of Alzheimer's, help people with multiple sclerosis, and combat nausea from some of these awful, but necessary, treatments in the interest of preserving human life. And yet, there are criticisms—righteous ones, I might add. It can be misused. Some believe it leads to an increase in the incidents of schizophrenia. It can lead to cancer of its own accord—smoking is bad for your health, no matter what you smoke.
"However, Miss Harris has come to us looking to use this substance, legally, for the rest of her life. And her life is going to be much shorter than it should be." He looked at her. "That, my dear, is a very sad thing." Then he returned to addressing the room. "Do I think that in her last few months that she will get even more cancer? Or that she'll become schizophrenic? Or that she will get so addicted in the last few months of her life that she will have been disadvantaged by using it? I do not. But asking her to move out of the state so she can follow their laws, away from the people who care about her, and with the time she has left, is not only outrageous," he said, aiming his sharp eye at Ginsberg; "it's cruel. Therefore, I am ruling that all charges against Miss Harris be dropped, and that she be allowed to use and possess marijuana without legal penalty within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for the remainder of her life. I will draw up the order defining exactly how much and in what form, when I have consulted with her doctors. Mr. Shore, you will get me that information today."
Alan struggled up out of his chair to respond. "I will, Your Honor."
"We are adjourned." BANG.
Alan clenched his jaw, then turned to Patricia, who was getting up. "You see?" he said with a smile that he forced onto his face, but with a happiness he truly felt. "I promised you."
"You did. Oh, Alan, thank you—thank you so much!" Patricia exclaimed. She reached out to hug him, then stopped when he seemed to flinch at the move. She smiled at his apologetic shrug and turned to Shirley. "Shirley, you were right. Alan was the one to do this.… Thank you. Thank you." She hugged Shirley tightly.
Shirley smiled and accepted the embrace. "You're welcome."
Alan pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "Patricia, this is the phone number of a friend of mine. Call him today and tell him who you are and that I told you to get in touch. I've asked him to take care of you."
Patricia looked at him quizzically but nodded and took the paper. "Thank you, Alan."
Alan nodded, smiled, and grimaced as he reached under the table for his briefcase. As he turned to leave he came face to face with Ginsberg, at whom he smiled, almost smugly, and made a peace sign. "Lip service not necessary," Alan said.
"I'm glad it worked out for her," the ADA answered. "I told you—I did what I had to do."
"Of course you did," Alan replied, in a tone that clearly showed he didn't remotely believe him.
Ginsberg furrowed his brow and studied Alan's face. "What happened to you, anyway? You walk into a wall?"
Alan shot back cheerfully, "Irate husband. You'll be next when your wife finally confesses." Ginsberg shook his head. "By the way, Mr. Ginsberg, if you're looking for something real to crack down on, I suggest having a good look at corruption and buyouts in the Department of Public Health."
Ginsberg looked at him questioningly but didn't reply. Alan nodded, regretted the movement, and walked away.
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Brad, Lori, and Tom Bishop sat in the conference room across the table from Marion Bishop and her attorney. Tom was fidgeting: adjusting his tie, playing with his watch, scratching his neck. Marion was looking at him, completely still, and completely silent.
"Okay, we've come back," her lawyer said. "I just want you to know that I advised Marion against this, since it was so devastating for her the last time—"
"Marion, I'm sorry," Bishop burst.
Lori and Brad looked at him, surprised at the intensity of his tone. Mrs. Bishop just stared.
"I'm sorry I cheated on you, I'm sorry I humiliated you, and I'm sorry I dragged you along for so long." Bishop looked down at the table, played with his hands. "You deserved better," he admitted sheepishly. "You did."
The room was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, Mrs. Bishop asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
Lori watched Bishop as he answered. "I thought about it a lot after we last met here, Marion. I didn't do the right thing. I tried to hold on to everything—you, the money, my reputation. I couldn't figure out how to talk to you about the things that were bothering me, and I couldn't stand being alone. I guess I just thought, if I just kept you there, you know, financially comfortable with me in the same house, that it would all be okay. But it wasn't. And I humiliated you. And I'm sorry."
"I was so angry, Tom," Mrs. Bishop said softly. "You can't imagine how angry I was." Bishop nodded. "But… mostly I was hurt. I wanted things to get better. I did."
"And now?" he asked her. She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. "Marion, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Bishop looked at her pleadingly. "Let's try again."
Mrs. Bishop smiled, a tinge of sadness touching her upturned lips. "I'm sorry, too." She turned to her lawyer. "I don't know what's going to happen in the future. But I know we can't work on anything if he's in jail. I want to drop the charges."
"Marion, are you sure?" her lawyer asked.
"I'm sure," she answered. She turned a brighter face to her estranged husband. "If Tom wants to try, I have to let him try. It's what I've stayed all this time for."
"All right. Well, then, we'll deal with the authorities today, and the two of them can get back to trying to reconcile," the lawyer said. He and Marion stood up. "I'll be in touch."
"Thank you," Lori said as she, Brad and Bishop stood up. She smiled at Marion. "I wish you both all the best."
"Thank you," Marion said.
Tom came around the table to her and took her hands in his. "Marion," he said, "we'll make it work. I'll work hard. I promise."
She smiled, accepted the kiss on the cheek her offered, and departed.
"Well," Brad said, "a happy ending. I'm really happy that you realized what you did wrong, Tom. And I hope you're able to find happiness again."
"I will," Bishop said. "But not with her."
"What?" Lori exclaimed.
"She got what she wanted: to feel good about our situation. I got what I wanted: she dropped the charges. Now I can pursue my own life again—only this time I'll be more careful. And in the meantime, I'll do a better job at protecting my assets. You and Denny were right—sometimes all they want is a little soft talk. I'll be in touch about setting up some trusts."
Brad and Lori remained speechless as he walked out the door.
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Alan let his mind wander as the car wound through the streets of Dedham heading toward Bennisimo Italia. He had turned down Denny's offer to come with him, but had gratefully accepted his friend's offer of a driver. Truth be told, although he was happy to be bringing the Marinos the legal document allowing the restaurant to re-open, he wasn't feeling the best and was beginning to regret having such a busy day. He was still worried about Beppe's insistence on resisting Vincent Del Sarto, and couldn't help wishing that they had listened when he advised them to get out.
On the other hand, Alan considered, he was proud of Beppe and Teresa for not backing down, even in the face of this kind of adversity. Growing up, he'd had a significant lack of principled people in his life. So having people who not only spoke about principles, but lived them, was endearing, and he had to do everything he could to support them. In this frame of mind, he felt confident he had done the right thing by making public appearances today, even though he still felt like he'd been run over by a truck. But he'd kept his promise to Shirley by seeing a medical friend, and though he was now even more sore from all the manhandling, he was satisfied that time would heal any damage. And besides, he thought with a sardonic snort, he'd been beaten up worse than this before. But you were younger, Alan… much, much younger….
He had closed his eyes and was thinking about how happy Beppe and Teresa would be when he showed up with their reprieve, and whether to end the night with some strong pain killers or a bottle of scotch, when a ruckus from outside the car brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes and looked out the window, and immediately felt fear grip his gut. They were on the block where Bennisimo Italia was located, but the lower half of the street had been blocked off by a fire truck and police cars. He scanned past the vehicles and tried to see what was happening. When he couldn't make full sense of it, he ordered the driver to stop the car and he got out, practically running toward a police officer who was standing talking to four reporters, whose microphones were shoved under his nose.
"…no information at this time," he was saying.
Alan continued to look wildly down the street. He couldn't see the restaurant clearly; there were too many emergency vehicles in the way. Two fire engines… two police cars… an ambulance…. And flames. Where he expected he should have been going, there were flames, and smoke. No…
He turned his attention back to the police officer, who was responding to a question Alan hadn't even heard in his worry. "…cannot discuss reports of people being inside the premises at this time."
"Witnesses say they heard an explosion before the flames appeared through the roof," one of the reporters said.
"I have no information on that at this time," the officer answered. "The Department will do a full investigation into the cause of the fire. Right now, we just want to put the fire out and protect the buildings around it."
Alan looked back down the street, lightheaded and sick to his stomach, and hoped with all his might that what he was thinking was wrong.