Chapter Ten

Perry Mason was sitting in his chambers when the telephone rang. He glared at the phone in gruff astonishment, after all, it was only pushing 7am, no need for anyone to call him so early in the day. Pressing matters usually waited for him in the courtroom, carefully laid out in digestible little pieces, rarely thrown in his face before hours, tossing around his day. His secretary never showed up before nine, like most of the courthouse personnel which was why Judge Mason loved those quiet morning hours when no one interrupted his train of thought. Emergencies were a foreign concept to him these days, the urgency behind a motion a direct contrast to the life he had left behind. He remembered how he had liked the steadiness of his new job at first, the amount of time he had to study his cases with precision, never feeling rushed to come to a verdict. But increasingly, he found himself unable to sleep, and thus started his days earlier than he cared to admit to himself, the reason for his insomnia too obvious for him to face.

Four years ago she had slowly started living her life without him, rinsed herself from his love, had grown accustomed to the absence of his skin on hers. And what it came down to now, almost eight years into living apart, was holiday visits and the odd phone call he placed once in a while, trying to satisfy his need for her, something that left him drained and frustrated for he knew it only made her withdraw from him more.

As the phone kept ringing, he felt reminded of everything he used to have, of the pictures that kept him from sleeping since Della had last driven home, on the 4th of July, and left him alone again. He felt her lips pulsating against his, swollen from kissing him, hungry and hard. He felt her curves tormenting him like the proverbial forbidden fruit, so alluring yet out of reach.

The phone reminded him of the rush of excitement from a client's call, startling him awake, the desperation of a defendant's plea. He had long felt that his mind was slowing down, and now he finally admitted it, felt that pressure in his chest again, that ache for everything she used to give him without ever airing her grievances. It was anxiety, relentless panic that almost kept him from picking up. What if her voice was calling to say her definite goodbye? Who else would call him at ten to seven, knew he was brooding over a case? Who else but her had his direct number?

"Mason," the judge finally growled into the receiver as he finally picked up the phone, his tone sleep-fogged and quiet.

"Perry, it's me," she sounded shaky over the phone and Perry Mason could have sworn he heard her flutter her eyes to keep herself from trembling.

"Della," His voice cleared as he straightened up in his chair, feeling years being lifted from his shoulders and the burden of tiresome repetition eased by the mere sound of her voice.

"I need your help, Perry," his former secretary said, obviously still struggling to control her tone.

"What's going on?" Perry said seriously, aware of the noise surrounding her in the background. "Della, where are you?"

"I don't want you to get upset, Perry," Della answered him, immediately jumping into her habit of trying to protect him rather than herself. "I was arrested."

"Arrested?" Perry Mason started out of his chair. "For what?"

"For the murder of Arthur Gordon," Della responded meekly. It was obvious now that she was scared, deeply shaken by what was happening to her.

"What do they have on you?" Perry found his mind picking up speed again, tying in with a sense of priority he had long missed in his life.

"They found a dress covered in blood and a pair of muddy shoes," Della tried to convey the facts as professionally as she could. "They aren't mine," she continued as her voice threatened to break. "They look like mine but they aren't."

"I'll get you the best lawyer there is," Perry answered gruffly, interrupting the question she was now unable to ask, then circled his desk to gather his things. Car keys, wallet, jacket. "Don't worry, Della. We'll get you out of this," he tried to reassure her, immediately cursing the thought of missing the thrill of a life depending on his skills.

His decision was instant, a direct response to her voice so desperate and small. He signed his resignation, long prepared and in his drawer, evoking a sense of guilt for being elated to finally see her again.

Della looked pale when he saw her a couple of hours later. She tried her best to pull herself together, could have fooled anybody but not the man who came running to protect her, without hesitation, without a doubt.

Perry looked at her: she looked ravishing in her silky blouse, a light purple with a high collar, one of his favorite tints, complementing her deep brown eyes. Her hair curled up perfection, her makeup impeccable for the occasion, her legs embellished by a pair of high-heeled shoes.

As her lawyer he couldn't believe how she was holding up, until he finally held her in his arms. Only then did she let go, his words still sinking in, caressing her soul. He had resigned to come save her, had finally ended what kept them apart. It was good to have her back in his arms, and Perry couldn't help but close his eyes, tenderly comforting her in the shrill light of the room. He absorbed the emotions she so openly shared with him now that she knew he was there. He had grown tired of writing opinions, he hadn't lied, but her absence had been his hell, and her tears finally begged him to stay.