Chapter 12

Perry Mason had always enjoyed spending time with Willard and Elizabeth Cavanaugh, but tonight he found their company nearly unbearable as the dinner conversation revolved around primarily three subjects: Laura's impending move to Denver, redecorating their Malibu beach house, and his secretary.

Laura was relentless in her criticism of Della – clothing, hair style, physical attributes, moral character – nothing escaped her scorn. Vehement denunciation of Della's suitability to manage Perry's practice and outraged censure of her involvement with a married man drew raised eyebrows and furtive disappointed glances in his direction from Elizabeth Cavanaugh. He kept his protests low key, calming himself with alcohol and tobacco, withdrawing into himself to seethe at Laura's cattiness. When he looked at her he saw nothing of the beautiful, sophisticated, accomplished attorney he admired so much. What he saw instead repelled him, and if he didn't have so much respect for the years of close association with the Cavanaghs he would have abandoned them without a second thought. Willard and Elizabeth, usually level-headed and reproachful in regard to their daughter's behavior, merely absorbed the invective and accepted it at face value, bitterly disappointing Perry.

He knew Della Street was not the cheap, scheming woman of loose morals that Laura wanted her to be. And damn it, he rather liked the way she dressed. Her clothing was pretty and feminine. He looked forward each morning to seeing what outfit she wore, and how she'd decided to arrange her hair. So what if her dress was two years old and she wore barrettes. She worked tirelessly, made dictation pleasant, and his clients appreciated her professional efficiency. He never tired of watching her impossibly graceful movements, utterly charmed by the unselfconsciousness of her bearing.

She was a witty, intelligent conversationalist, curious about everything, and able to offer pithy comment about even the most obscure subjects. He felt at ease in her presence. He could speak his mind without pause and cuss like a stevedore without worrying about offending her.

Just a few days ago he thought he didn't know much about Della Street, but at this moment he felt he knew her better than he knew Laura. Della wouldn't target another person with such contempt, wouldn't attempt to make them appear insignificant or unworthy. He also knew there must be a reasonable explanation why she was dating a married man, if indeed she was. To say that didn't bother him a bit would be lying, but just as he had faith in her abilities to manage his practice, he had faith in her personal choices, however deflating they may be.

Deflated. He decided that was a good term to describe how he felt as desert and after dinner drinks were served. Elizabeth was out of stories about her tyrannical interior decorator, which gave Laura the opportunity to bring up the unprofessional telephone conversation she had witnessed between Della and Paul Drake's operator, and how Della had presumed to drink Perry's alcohol after hours in his private office.

As Laura ascribed words and actions to his secretary that he knew Della would never say or do, the anger and hurt that had built up in him for months as he sought to salvage their relationship slowly drained from him, to be replaced by an exhausted calm. He pushed his half-finished cognac away from him, no longer needing its numbing effects. Laura's ignorantly inappropriate remarks about Della clarified everything for him, finalizing a decision he had hoped to avoid, one that would take his life in a direction more suited to his beliefs and talents.

Later, as he said his good-bye's to Willard and Elizabeth, he wondered if they realized it was more than likely the last time they would ever see him.


Laura clung to Perry's arm as they stood at the curb waiting for the valet to arrive with Perry's car. Her dark eyes glittered with excitement as she chattered about the next stop on their night on the town, a recently opened nightclub where she had arranged to meet a large group of friends for an impromptu going-away party in her honor. The in-demand club boasted a well-known orchestra and guest vocalist, sparse modern Lucite decorations, and walls covered by reflective paper in icy shades of blue and silver. Puny, outrageously expensive cocktails were served by busty women in scanty satin costumes. Laura was wild about the club, as was half of Hollywood. She hoped to see more than one major celebrity tonight, and maybe, just maybe, one or two would join her party.

Perry's shiny black Cadillac swung around the corner and came to a screeching halt in front of them. The valet jumped from behind the wheel, ran around the back, and opened the passenger door for Laura with a grand flourish, ignoring the disapproving glower from Perry Mason as he slid behind the wheel.

Laura maintained a running monologue about those who would be in attendance at the gathering, prepping Perry on acceptable topics of conversation and bringing him up-to-date on the lives of her friends. Greg had recently been promoted to Executive Vice President at his father's firm; Cynthia was expecting again; Joe had caught Alice kissing his brother at their nephew's wedding two weeks ago and were unofficially separated; Eddie hadn't asked Marilyn to marry him yet, even though he'd admitted to Charles that he'd bought a ring; Catherine had finally listened to everyone and dumped that horrible little man she had been seeing and was bringing a new gentleman friend as her escort.

Perry pretended to listen. He didn't intend to do much talking tonight, he never really did when they spent time with this particular circle of friends. For the most part he found her friends uninteresting and self-centered, privileged children of wealthy parents with little or no ambition. Laura had enough ambition for the lot of them, something he had found intriguing about her, considering the social circles she ran in. Her ambitions and accomplishments had attracted him originally, and sustained their relationship for years, but lately he had begun to see them as serious flaws in her make-up, pushing her headlong into areas of law and politics that he had no use for.

The nightclub was located on Hollywood Boulevard, lit with spotlights and flashing blue neon. Perry patiently waited in line, creeping slowly forward as an overtaxed corps of parking valets dispatched the cars ahead of him to surrounding side streets. He handed his keys and a tip to a breathless young man who was sweating profusely from the late summer heat and the steady stream of arrivals and departures of patrons. He assisted Laura from the car, and cupping her elbow with his hand, propelled her toward the mirrored doors of the club.

Inside the air was cool, smoke-filled, tinted a soft shade of blue. Huge Lucite prisms suspended from the ceiling with fishing line glowed eerily in the soft light, swaying softly as air circulated around them. Laura spied her friends immediately, gathered around pub tables in a corner of the club that had been roped off for privacy. She grabbed Perry's hand and half-dragged him to the gathering, eager to officially begin the party.

Almost immediately Perry knew he wasn't going to enjoy himself. After the women ceased shrieking their greetings and the men dispensed chaste kisses to Laura's cheeks, he dutifully shook hands with the men, gave his drink order to a zaftig cocktail waitress, settled himself atop a supremely uncomfortable Lucite stool, and lit a cigarette. Laura had moved to the opposite end of the roped off area, where she was holding court with her women friends, expressively punctuating her words with broad hand motions. Bursts of laughter cut through the din of the club, including the conversation of the abandoned men of the party, which centered on the extreme pulchritude of the waitresses and the probability of the skimpy costumes to contain it.

He sat for what seemed like hours, never really entering the masculine conversation surrounding him, merely nodding in agreement and laughing occasionally so as not to be perceived as completely rude. Two cocktails down, he decided it was time to visit the men's room and check in with his service. From long association he knew it best to inform Laura of his intentions or suffer consequences, so he dropped to the floor from the rump-numbing stool and made his way toward the corner where the women had taken up residence.

"She wears cotton shirtwaist dresses, for Heaven's sake," he heard Laura say in a tone nearly an octave above her normal speaking voice. "Would you believe the dress she wore out to dinner tonight was yellow dotted Swiss!" She broke into derisive laughter that the other women heartily joined.

"Laura," he barked, a furious heat rising in him. "Shut up." He felt the eyes of her male friends on his back, curious about his sudden outburst.

She jumped and turned to him, annoyed by his interruption, stunned by his command. "What did you say?"

"I said shut up. As of this moment the topic of Della Street is officially off limits. To my discredit I didn't say anything about your cattiness during dinner, but I won't stand for it another moment. You know absolutely nothing about Della and have no business talking about her like that. She's the best secretary I've ever had and I intend to do everything I can to make sure she remains my secretary for a long time. If you mention her name just one more time, I will walk out."

The women shifted uncomfortably in their molded Lucite chairs while the men alternately cleared their throats and coughed behind him. They had never heard Perry speak to Laura like that. He had kept to himself in their presence, sitting in the background listening and watching, whether uncomfortable in their company or unwilling to put forth the effort to join their conversations they didn't know. What they did know about him was almost solely through Laura and various news articles about his notorious legal exploits. His declaration that he intended to keep this Della Street woman his secretary for a long as possible confused them, as they were all under the impression that he would be closing his practice and moving to Denver with Laura. Laura had been telling them that their partnerships were confirmed, and that she expected to make a major announcement any day. When she had called to organize this party, they had assumed the announcement would be made tonight, and this it would be in regard to an engagement.

Laura stared at Perry in disbelief. "Don't you tell me to shut up, Perry," she flung at him, rising to her feet and taking a step toward him. "And don't you dare walk out on me. I'm not the one who foolishly hired a sow's ear of a secretary and is trying to convince himself she's a silk purse."

She stood before him, a tiny, angry woman brilliantly disguising the sheer mortification of having been spoken to in such a manner in front of her friends. If she wasn't so well-bred and contained she would slap him.

"My God, Laura," he said in a strangled voice. "Have you always been this awful?" He turned his back on her, stepped over the velvet rope and headed for the exit.