A special thanks to my beta who wishes to remain exotic and mysterious. You are a great set of second eyes!
"Quid pro quo"
Trials & Tribulations
Chapter 6
Friday afternoon
The courthouse seemed alive; pedestrians swarmed in and around the structure like bees to a giant hive. The window on the tenth floor provided an omnipotent view of the street below. Associate Justice Perry Mason found the window in his chambers to be the perfect place to stop, refocus, a place where he could study human behavior from above. The activity around the building entrance seemed more hurried than usual as waves of reporters streamed into the building. No doubt a newsworthy event had occurred.
Normally a few media people were routinely assigned to the courthouse to receive those daily judicial releases from the administrator's office. The fact that so many reporters had converged on the building indicated something out of the ordinary had taken place. The jurist looked up from the view below and caught sight of his own reflection in the window. His expression had not changed from earlier in the day when he sternly sat on the bench, his face granite-hard with an air of invincibility as the packed gallery watched as he delivered his dissent from the bench. Recalling the moment, Mason's reflection developed a sly smile. The dissent from the bench had been priceless. Hands thrust in his pockets; the lawyer rocked back and forth on his feet and relished the moment. Damn, he loved a good fight.
The gallery watched as the robes of the three justices swirled like dervishes as they vacated their seats on the bench and converged in the rear hallway. Preceded by Associate Justice Jameson Clark, the Chief Justice deliberately used his fellow justice as a shield and managed to stay an arm length away from the formidable Mason.
"Mason, you've got your nerve!" the Chief Justice barked. "I think it would behoove you to reacquaint yourself with Canon 19 of the Judicial Canons of Ethics issued by the American Bar Association concerning loyalty to one's court and dissent."
Mason's eyes twinkled and his slight smile broadened at the recollection of their heated exchange. The Chief Justice became anxious and protectively moved his binder to cover his chest as Mason stepped closer and lowered his voice so only the Chief Justice could hear.
"Burrows, I think you know what you can do with your Canon 19," Mason said softly, then stepped back and smiled and in a tone of good cheer stated, "Good day, Gentlemen." With those words, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway.
Looking off to the clear blue sky Mason recalled the writings of Chief Justice Hughes who wrote "that dissenting is an appeal to the brooding spirit of the law, to the intelligence of a future day, when a later decision may possibly correct the error into which the dissenting judge believes the court has been betrayed." As his team, Leslie Marks and Gloria Steiner sat in his work room the words 'error' and 'betrayed' played over and over again in his head. And so as he spoke from the bench he found it unnecessary to read his written dissent. The document and its step-by-step details regarding the errors in the court's decision were permanently retained in his memory and closed with his opinion and the explanation on how justice had been betrayed. And before he prepared to leave the bench, the plaintiff's attorney managed to catch Mason's eye, and for a split second, the message had been conveyed-Mason had given him all the ammunition he needed for an appeal to the California State Supreme Court. The Chief Justice's attempt at marginalizing and excluding his colleague had backfired, his efforts circumvented. Instead of stopping the case cold at the Appeals level, the case had been boosted to a higher court and out of the hands of the Chief Justice.
Again, Mason cast his eyes below and watched the flow of humanity and chuckled. He knew why the reporters were converging. They were hoping to catch a glimpse, arrange an interview, or somehow manage to snap a photo of the Associate Justice who dared take on the master of their division, Chief Justice Erskine Burrows. Jingling his keys in his pocket, Mason gazed off above the rooftops. He was not a man who chased after fame or notoriety. The fact justice had been served was reward enough, that and the pleasure of seeing the expressions on the faces of Burrows and Clark. Mason's thoughts drifted above the rooftops.
"Feeling relief?" the soft, sultry voice asked.
Mason relaxed even further in the softness of the sheets, stretched and placed his hands behind his head. "Well, as the doctor said, take two aspirin, Della Street and go straight to bed."
The sound of silken fabric and a throaty chuckle approached the side of the bed.
The lawyer stretched again and enjoyed the sensation of floating on a sea of pleasurable endorphins and a hearty dose of bourbon. "It seems like I've been to hell and back, oral arguments to the Supreme Court, lengthy correspondence with the Governor's pardon secretary. I certainly don't want a repeat performance."
"Well, it's all over now." Della Street said, slipping the satin robe from her shoulders. "Janice Barton is a free woman and it's all because you believed in her. She was fortunate to find an attorney like you, Perry, an attorney who would go the extra mile and who knew he was witnessing an error of justice."
By the dim glow of the night light Mason admired Della's still trim figure as she slipped between the sheets and moved to his side. Placing his arm around her shoulders he pulled her near. "You know through it all, I couldn't have done it without you, Della."
Della Street placed her cheek on his chest and replied. "You know I'll always be there for you, Perry."
The jurist heaved a weary sigh and stepped away from the window and sat down in his large leather chair, turned, and opened a drawer to his desk. He lifted a magazine that lay on top, a decoy magazine used to conceal an accumulation of letters. Mason took the one on top, and glanced inside. The first page of the letter, like all the others in the drawer, began in the same way, Dear Della. Despite his appearance of bravery with the Chief Justice, he had not found the courage to finish or mail his drawer full of letters to Della.
A knock sounded at the door and Mason swiftly returns the envelope to their hiding place. C.C. Caldwell's head and shoulders appeared around the half-opened door.
"Are you available for a conference, Mr. Chief Justice?" she asked, stepping completely into the room.
Mason leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Mr. Chief Justice! Now what's that all about?"
C.C. strolled across his chambers, leaned against the frame of his window and casually glanced down at the street, admiring the view, the same view she had from her own window. "Oh, I think my comment is justified. I've just been watching all the excitement around here. The courthouse grapevine is buzzing with rumors of a legal coup d' etat. It's your dissent from the bench, Perry."
Mason shook his head as he turned to face her. "Coup d' etat! I'm afraid Burrows picked this fight. He was a fool to think I'd just sit there and take it. If Burrows had spent any time at all in the courtroom he should have known to do his homework before picking a fight. And if he had, he would have realized he had picked the wrong man to antagonize."
C.C. chuckled and continued her stroll to the corner of his desk, smiled at her colleague and eased her hip onto the corner of his desk. "It wasn't that you dissented, Perry. It was that you read the dissent from the bench for the press, for everyone to see and hear. Burrows is not going to forget or forgive you for that."
The lawyer's face was a mask of mock incredulity. "You mean our dear Chief Justice might hold a grudge?"
C.C. tossed her head and laughed. "You better believe it. But you know, I think you enjoy this. Somehow I get the impression you want to join the ranks of all those other great dissenters, Holmes, Brandeis, Harlan, Black and Douglas."
Knowing she was attracting his attention by her pose on the corner of his desk, she allow her silken leg to swing ever so gently back and forth as she continued to express her amusement, "I really didn't figure you as a legal bad boy, Perry, or one of those romantic figures of legal disobedience."
Mason's eyes narrowed as he admired her jaunty pose and asked in a playful manner, "C.C. Caldwell, are you flirting with me?"
The justice's eyes widened in disbelief. "Since when is expressing fact-flirting?"
"Aren't you worried you'll ruin your stellar reputation by hanging around me," Mason paused for dramatic effect, then continued. "Hanging around with, as you put it, 'a legal bad boy'?"
"You have to remember, Perry, I was married to "Sparky" Caldwell. He wasn't exactly a meek and mild presence in the courtroom. He earned that nickname legitimately." She hadn't planned to speak so quickly about her husband, the man she considered to be the first great love of her life. And furthermore, she regretted she had revealed far too much of her hidden thoughts to the man she hoped could be the second great love of her life. Mason detected her hesitation and change of mood. Their playful banter had suddenly become very serious.
"So I remind you of Sparky?" Mason asked as he studied his colleague.
C.C. nervously laughed, "I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it that way. Besides, I could never imagine him becoming a judge. He loved his work too much as a prosecutor to leave it. He was one of those legal cowboys who I knew would die with his boots on." She shrugged, looked off for a moment and finally conceded, "And I suppose he did."
Mason nodded his understanding. "I'm sure that was difficult for you."
C.C. stood up, nervously laced her fingers together and walked away from his desk. She regretted bringing Sparky into this. The comment had changed their playful banter to something painfully personal. Smoothing down her skirt, she turned and released a bittersweet smile. "Yes, it was. Seeing someone you love wasting away, well, growing old is not for the weak of heart."
Mason looked off at the Parisian painting and noticed C.C. was following his attention. For a brief pause they were silent, both deep in their own thoughts, when C.C. broke the silence.
Her cheerful, upbeat tone had returned as she turned to face her colleague. "Besides discussing the dissent, I wanted to ask you if you would mind joining some of us for cards tonight?"
The image of delicate, crustless finger sandwiches and formal bridge partners created a dilemma in Mason's mind. How could he say no without hurting her feelings. For a fleeting second Mason's face revealed his conundrum. C.C. Caldwell circled Mason and immediately detected what he tried so hard to conceal.
"Oh, Perry, don't worry, it's not bridge or those teeny, tiny sandwiches, if that's what you're thinking about."
Mason released a relieved chuckle and admired her savvy observations.
"No, a few friends are coming over. They're not courthouse acquaintances if that might concern you. It's a nice group, varied interests, people I have known for years. We'll have drinks, a casual meal and we'll play poker. You know, Texas Hold'em, Stud, you name it; we're game for anything new. It's friendly and low stakes."
Mason grinned and replied. "In that case, I'm in."
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Later that afternoon…..
Leslie Marks slipped into her office and collapsed in her chair. She had been careful to avoid Gloria Steiner. She had learned from experience that Gloria had eyes like an eagle and would have immediately noticed her agitation. The whole day had been a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows.
Leaning forward on her desk, she propped her chin on her fists and stared at the various stacks of papers, research for their dissent. The entire morning had been filled with a palpable energy. Standing to the side of the courtroom she had watched the three justices enter and take their seats on the bench. Butterflies danced in her stomach in anticipation of the events to come. Burrows would address the attorneys standing before them, and express the opinion of the court.
While the Chief Justice spoke she glanced around the packed gallery. Word had quickly spread and a nervous hush had filled the audience as they waited for the big moment. Leslie knew all too well what the big moment would hold. Smiling with satisfaction, she knew, because she had helped draft the dissent. She had spent many hours walking the stacks, collecting and assimilating the research. Under her mentor's tutelage they had spent long hours, shoulder to shoulder, discussing the various points they hoped to make. With growing admiration, she watched her stone-faced mentor seated next to the animated Chief Justice. The side-by-side comparison of the two men was striking. In Leslie's mind, Mason was the seasoned veteran, the filet mignon, the Moet of the acting community, while Burrows was the unsalted hamburger; the Andre served in a plastic cup.
Even the smallest sound in the gallery ceased as the attention shifted to Associate Justice Perry Mason. Leslie felt light-headed and realized she had been holding her breath in anticipation of hearing her mentor speak. His deep, stentorian voice filled the room. Without glancing at the written dissent, Mason addressed the standing attorneys. Leslie couldn't help but smile. In her mind they spoke the words together and she felt as though she were seated on the bench giving the dissent. Working at Mason's side was a dream come true. But then the rollercoaster ride abruptly took a nose dive as her attention shifted to the Chief Justice. A cold shiver ran down her spine as her eyes meet the Chief's icy stare. Suddenly the dream of working by Mason's side had become a nightmare-she had acquired a formidable enemy.
A formidable enemy, she thought, as she buried her face in her hands and tried to suppress the tears. Again, after the morning session the Chief Justice had found her alone. He seemed to come out of nowhere. How was this possible? Had he been stalking her? His voice…. his hands…she could still feel his touch. The moment, the sensation would be with her forever. This time his fondling was not an accidental sleight of hand. The assault was deliberate. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone, leaving her disheveled and distraught. She was caught in the battle between two powerful men. The stakes were too high to complain to anyone. Wiping her eyes, Leslie checked the work area, trying to avoid Gloria Steiner, or worse….Perry Mason. The thought horrified her. Immediately she checked her watch, gathered her belongings and prepared to leave for the day. She couldn't allow her mentor to find her crying. The thought frightened her. She didn't want to contemplate what Mason might do if he found out what Burrows had been doing.
Leslie snapped out the lights and hurried from the office.
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Later that evening….
Erskine Burrows, propped against the headboard, stretched and flexed his muscles amidst a tangle of bedding. Sipping the last of his vodka tonic he listened to the running water in the bathroom and noticed the sliver of light beneath the door. Swirling the ice around the empty glass, he reviewed his efforts to drown out the disastrous part of his day with an evening of sex and alcohol.
He hadn't anticipated Mason would write a dissent and then have the nerve to read it from the bench. The whole event had been a media bombshell. In his experience most lawyers he knew were all bluff and no substance. He had underestimated his adversary. Licking his wounds, he had headed back to his chambers when he stumbled across an opportunity he couldn't resist-Leslie Marks, alone and vulnerable. He felt aroused just reliving the moment. Fondling Mason's clerk was just one small way of getting even. He would have to think of new ways to exact his revenge.
But then to his surprise the day had not been a total loss. Arriving in his chambers he found a very receptive and sympathetic Janice Thiery. Peggy's wouldn't be returning from Boston until Saturday allowing him the perfect opportunity to finally consummate their physical relationship. He'd had enough of their office foreplay. Staring at the shadow moving beneath the bathroom door, Burrows felt a gnawing concern, and niggling thoughts. Janice was not the typical clerk he was use to using and discarding like a soiled tissue. Beneath the veneer of naiveté, Janice demonstrated a worldly experience he had not anticipated. She had demonstrated sexual prowess far exceeding his own abilities. He knew immediately as she left the bed and seductively walked into the bathroom he was hooked. Sex with Janice was like a highly addictive drug. Already he was ready for another fix. The thought frightened him. When the time came, could he easily discard her like all the rest? After all, he had to consider Peggy, there was always Peggy. His wife and her position, her family's position gave him the air of legitimacy, respectability. Marriage to Peggy opened doors for him to all the right country clubs, the best social groups; she was his ticket to the world he hoped to belong-the world of a California State Supreme Court Justice.
Damn! Mason was ruining it all! He had heard the talk spreading like wildfire through the courthouse. He was hearing the talk, the concerns and complaints about disharmony on the court. As a remedy they were actually contemplating Mason as Chief Justice. He was sure by now even the Governor would know about the dissent from the bench and might even be considering Mason for advancement. Hell, the next appointment to the court was always just an elderly justice's heartbeat away. It would be temporary at first until the vetting process was complete. But with his luck, Mason would be there permanently. Mason would have his seat on the Supreme Court. The thought made him ill.
Suddenly the phone rang and Burrows jumped. Who could possibly be calling at this time of night?
He let the phone ring a second time before picking it up and listened before answering. "Hello."
"Hello, Chief Justice," a male voice greeted.
The voice was familiar and immediately Burrows grew anxious. "You're not supposed to call here."
"I wouldn't have to call if you'd just do your job."
Burrows looked for the silver flask, his glass was empty, he needed more alcohol; he needed fortification.
"Are you looking for my little present, the symbol of our association?" the voice asked.
The justice's eyes shifted and darted about the room, wondered if the voice on the phone might somehow be able to see his every move. He was at a loss for words. What could he say? After Mason's dissent from the bench, the case would be easily kicked to the Supreme Court and out of his hands. Burrows remained quiet, hoping the caller would just hang up when he had a disturbing thought. Janice! Could she hear his conversation? Shifting his eyes to the door, he hoped his clerk wasn't listening or step out of the bathroom in the middle of their conversation.
"Look, I can't talk now."
The caller's tone became chilling. "We had a deal, you get something, we get something, quid pro quo, remember. This is serious. You don't mess with people's money."
"I know, I know," Burrows anxiously replied, running his fingers through his hair. Abruptly he hung up the phone and prayed it wouldn't ring again.
"Damn, Mason, it's all his fault, he's ruining everything," the Chief Justice muttered, glancing at the phone again, when it suddenly rang. Slipping out of bed, Burrows paced back and forth, staring at the instrument, willing it to stop.
A muffled voice came from the bathroom. "Aren't you going to answer it?"
Feeling the pressure, Burrows snatched up the receiver and roughly answered, "Listen!"
He abruptly stopped at the sound of a feminine voice on the other end.
"Erskine, is that you?"
Burrows released a crazed laugh. "Oh, honey, it's you, what a surprise!"
For a moment the voice on the line hesitated, then laughed. "I have a surprise for you."
Playing along, he laughed. "Oh, great dear, I can't wait!"
"Good," she cooed in a seductive voice, "because you won't have to wait long."
Burrow's eyes slowly widened. "Why's that, honey?"
"Because I finished Boston early and I'm in the limo just minutes away. See you soon, darling."
"See you soon," Burrows feigned enthusiasm. The justice quickly hung up the phone and began frantically scooping up Janice's clothing from the floor and prayed he wouldn't leave anything behind.
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Later that evening….
As soon as the door clicked shut, Perry Mason began roughly pulling the tie from his collar and slung it in the direction of a chair. Moving into the kitchen he placed the bag on the counter and began unloading its contents, a fifth of sixteen year old A.H. Hirsch Reserve bourbon whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a Forbes magazine.
Shedding his coat, Mason slung it in the general direction of the chair, not noticing it had also joined his tie on the floor. Loosening the collar of his shirt, he retrieved a shot glass, dropped in a few ice cubes, picked up his supplies and headed for the kitchen table. Leaning back in the chair, he lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he blew out a cloud of smoke and watched the haze form in the circle of light above the table. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed half its contents and reached for the bottle to fill it again.
For the next several minutes he drank and smoked until the first cigarette was extinguished in a make-shift ashtray. Glancing down at the unopened Forbes magazine, he took out another cigarette and lit it. Again he closed his eyes, and thought about the evening.
He had easily found C.C.'s Victorian mansion in the Park-Presidio District and parked along the street. Everything was just as C. C. promised. Her guests were friendly, and eager to meet their fellow card player as introductions were made. Mason could feel the scrutiny and, light, but probing questions, as each guest tried to determine the extent of his relationship with C.C. Caldwell. The atmosphere was informal with a small buffet served with a pleasant table wine. The table conversations perfectly matched the professional nature of the diners, it was lively, intellectual and humorous.
After dinner, the table was cleared and as though on cue, each of C.C.'s guests set about completing various tasks. Warren, the stock broker, took charge and began making cocktails for everyone as he shared his most recently acquired bad jokes. Mason immediately knew the stockbroker would be the life of the party. Millicent, the lone women in the group, had much in common with her hostess; she too was widowed, professional and still working at an advertising firm in the city. Milton, a thoracic surgeon, began setting up the card table with the help of Stanley, a hematologist/oncologist. Both men had their practices in the area. As promised, no courthouse people were present. For the evening, Mason was safe from gossip and possible media attention.
Mason felt C.C. tugging at his arm as she led him into her spacious kitchen. With a critical eye the lawyer had taken note of the spacious Victorian mansion and had drawn a conclusion—the house was all C.C. He could not feel Sparky Caldwell's presence in the elegantly decorated rooms. Not that he was an expert on the man. His only knowledge was what he had managed to glean from the bits and pieces his colleague had chosen to share with him.
"Well?" C.C. asked, dropping plates into the sink and gesturing in the direction of the others. Mason carried a stack of plates and set them on the counter next to her.
"They're fine," Mason reassured her.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"The food was delicious, the company pleasant and now we'll play poker. Don't worry, everything will be fine. What could possibly go wrong?"
C.C. wiped her hands on a towel and smiled up at him. "I'm glad you could come tonight."
Mason nodded and together they walked out to join the others who were already finding their seats. Warren, the broker, wore a black visor and looked the professional as he expertly shuffled the cards.
What could possibly go wrong? Mason tapped the end of his cigarette over the ashtray and refilled his glass of whiskey and stared at the cover of the Forbes magazine. There's a story behind every photograph, Valentina explained. Eyes narrowed, he watched the smoke rise to the ceiling. Drinking, smoking, his favorite foods, Della, he had given them all away and for what? Maybe he should be like Paul and drop dead at the office. Maybe C.C. was right; maybe he was like Sparky after all and loved his work too much to leave it. Maybe he was one of those legal cowboys who should die with their boots on. Maybe that's how it should have been. But what about Della?
Finishing the glass, he swirled the cubes around and stared at the magazine cover. Yes, what about, Della?
Warren tossed his cards to the center. "That's it amigos, I'm out."
Mason spread his cards on the table and the group whistled and shifted in their seats. The lawyer modestly pulled his winnings across the table. He was thankful the winnings were small and he came out slightly ahead for the evening. Standing and stretching, Warren took his place as bartender and created nightcaps for everyone. Moving into a formal sitting area, the group sat around a small decorative coffee table. Milton, the surgeon, was constantly interested in diversifying his financial portfolio. Turning to the stockbroker, he asked, "Hey, Warren, you got any new companies? Anything open to the public?"
Warren sipped his martini and thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I do, now that you mention it." The broker got up and retrieved his briefcase. Mason watched with interest the group dynamic. Immediately the group's focus was on Warren's newest venture.
"By the way, Stanley, how's that tech stock performing?" Warren asked, sitting down, digging through his briefcase.
Mason crossed his legs and leisurely sipped his drink, watching the transition from poker to high finance. C.C. certainly had interesting friends.
"It's doing alright. There's some pretty interesting things coming out of the valley. It should definitely make a difference in our operating room equipment at the hospital."
"Great, glad to hear it." Warren nodded and pulled the magazine from his briefcase. The broker placed the glossy covered magazine on the coffee table and dramatically pointed to it. "This, ladies and gentlemen is the future."
Everyone leaned forward and looked at the recent cover of Forbes magazine. Mason sat immobile and nursed his drink while the others strained to read. "The future?" Millicent asked.
"I've been checking into this company. It's solid, the CEO is a master engineer who's the best in his field. He's surrounded himself with talent. The man is driven, the man behind the company is Arthur Gordon of Gordon Industries."
Mason's eyes darted to the coffee table at the sound of Gordon's name.
Mason recalled stepping to Della's side as they packed and asked, "What will you do?" Della Street's cool and icy response, "It's a little late to be asking that question."
The question was a moot point. He knew deep down the answer to the question-'What will you do?' Arthur Gordon had already contacted him concerning Della Street's possible employment. He had shared a cab with the engineer years earlier not realizing in his wildest dreams that someday Della might work for the man.
Warren pointed to the cover. "That's Gordon leaving his limo and that…" The broker placed his finger to the interior of the car. "That's Gordon's secretary, and I'll tell you, the man knows how to pick'em-she's a knockout." The men leaned in closer and unanimously nodded their heads in agreement.
"Gordon's company is cutting edge and it's poised to take off next year. If you get in now while the shares are low, you should make a tidy profit. Out in the business trenches I'm hearing government contracts, submarines, transponders, you name it." Warren opened the magazine and pointed out photos of the research facility, clusters of engineers, and a planning session. "There she is again," Warren pointed to another photograph. "I wonder how many times Gordon has chased her around the desk?" Several of the men chuckled.
Mason got up and disappeared into the kitchen. C.C. quickly followed to find her colleague leaning against the sink, staring ahead.
"Perry," she said, slipping her arm around his. "Is there a problem?"
"I have some work to finish. I'm sorry, I need to leave. It's been a pleasant evening," Mason said softly and pulled away from the sink, heading to the hallway to retrieve his coat.
The lawyer snubbed out another cigarette in the ashtray, finished the rest of the whiskey and stared again at the magazine. The bright, glossy cover showcased the tall, slender, silver-haired Arthur Gordon, a man who oozed power and influence as he and his companion exited his limousine. The photographer captured the executive as he offered a helping hand to the woman who the magazine identified as Gordon's confidential secretary. Wearing pearls and a navy business suit, Della Street allowed Gordon to take her hand and assist her in stepping out of the vehicle. The photographer, obviously male, had decided to add a little cheesecake to a routine business shot. Nothing sells like money, power and sex and Arthur Gordon possessed all three. The man was a perfect sell, he was listed in Forbes 400 of the rich and well-connected and possessed a secretary who every male agreed was a knockout. He didn't even need to look on the inside or read the story. He knew all too well what he would find. Della Street would be at Arthur Gordon's side, sharing his goals, his dreams. Mason knew he should be happy, he was after all the best at what he did. He had made a living out of manipulating human nature. He had pushed all of Della's emotional button, knowing full well Della would leave and ride with Gordon in that limousine. Attractive, powerful, the best in his field, a man with energy, drive and vision, Della Street would be a fool not to work for a like that. A fool…
Gordon was attractive, powerful, the best in his field, a man with energy, drive and vision, Della Street would be a fool not to work for a man like that. Mason shook his head and realized the irony in his comparison. After all she had worked for him.
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Saturday morning…
Perry Mason stood outside EATS. Head throbbing, eyes squinting from the bright morning light, the lawyer watched Frank work his magic at the grill. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes he had purchased Friday night, and remembered its companion purchase; the bottle of sixteen year old A.H. Hirsch Reserve bourbon whiskey that sat empty on his kitchen table. Tapping out the last cigarette from the pack he realized the remnants of his old life were quickly disappearing. Would he buy another bottle, another pack? He had to decide.
A gentle breeze wafted the aroma of the cooking food on the grill and Mason felt his stomach turn. He needed coffee and a mental distraction. He needed to think, he needed to clear his head. And now his feet had subconsciously brought him to EATS. Yes, he needed a mystery, an easy on the eye mystery in the form of the curvaceous Mae.
Stepping inside the diner, he encountered the usual male faces at the counter and a scattering of customers throughout the elongated dining area. The seat Mason enjoyed the previous week was vacant. He nodded to the turned heads at the counter and sat down at his table. Taking a quick survey of the eatery, he was disappointed not to find Mae. The same hurried brunette popped out from behind the counter with a coffee pot in her hand.
Following her usual routine, she offered a quick all in one greeting. "Goodmorningdoyouwantsomecoff ee?"
Mason nodded and watched her turn over the porcelain coffee cup and fill it with strong black coffee. The smell was pungent. He glanced over the uniform and its history of culinary mishaps and read the name tag pinned to a small pocket. The tag read- Inez.
"Good morning, Inez," Mason greeted. Inez paused, set the coffee pot on the table, placed her hand on her hip and for the first time took a good long look at her new customer. The look of recognition bloomed on her face. She remembered him from last week.
Studying the lawyer's bloodshot eyes; Inez realized her return customer might also be having a rough morning as well. His pleasant greeting and the use of her name immediately caused her to lower her guard. The guy in the suit, even though it looked like he might have slept in it, might listen, might have a sympathetic ear.
"Well, I guess it's a good morning," she finally conceded. Mason tilted his head to the side and gave her a concerned look, encouraging her to share.
The lawyer could smell the aroma of frying bacon and immediately knew his only desire for the morning would be a cup of coffee.
"I'll just have coffee, Inez."
The petite brunette quickly wrote across her order pad, ripped off the page and placed it by the saucer. Meanwhile, Mason had retrieved his wallet and pulled out a bill, picked up the form and handed it to the waitress.
Inez noted the twenty-dollar bill. "I'll be back with your change."
Mason took a sip of the hot black coffee and felt it burn all the way down. Despite his throbbing head, he forced a pleasant smile and offered, "Keep the change, Inez."
The brunette's eyes blinked rapidly. "Are you sure, mister?"
Continuing to smile, Mason replied, "I'm sure, Inez."
The lawyer's sizeable tip, and his obvious concern, caused Inez's shoulders to slump as she released a weary sigh. She wanted to talk.
"What's wrong, Inez?" Mason said in a soothing voice.
The waitress looked around, checking to see if anyone might hear. "It's hard working this whole place by yourself when she takes her extended breaks." Inez bit her lip and nervously thumbed the edges of her order pad. "It's just hard being plain when she's…..."
The lawyer glanced at the row of admirers lined up like a fan club. "It must be difficult for you. After all, you work hard; you're entitled to a decent tip."
Inez looked down at the twenty in her hand and almost wanted to cry.
"What about Frank? Has he noticed her extended breaks?" Mason asked, watching the burly cook talking to one of the men at the counter.
Inez looked over at Frank, then turned away. "No, he's like all the rest, he only notices one thing and it's not her breaks."
Rubbing his temple, Mason suppressed a laugh.
"Rough night?" Inez asked putting together her customer's bloodshot eyes and throbbing temples.
"You could say that."
"You know Mae's not her name."
Mason stopped the massage, dropped his hand and looked up at the server. "How do you know?"
Inez picked up the coffee pot and freshen Mason's coffee, glanced to the side making sure no one could hear. "During one of those extended breaks I heard her talking on the phone in the back." Inez sat the pot down and pretended to take out her order pad again. "Her real name is Maybelline. She told us it was Mae. And I guess it could be Mae or May."
"Maybelline," Mason repeated, eyes narrowed. "And a last name, did you hear a last name?"
Exasperated, Inez rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, and tried to recall. "No, I can't remember, she said it so quickly with that Southern belle accent of hers. I just remember it sounded like the name of a drink."
"An alcoholic drink?"
The petite brunette pointed to the lawyer. "Yeah, that's right. It sounded like an alcoholic drink. I'm sorry. I wish I could have heard it better."
Mason dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Inez, it's a minor detail." Again, he took a sip of the coffee and smiled. "Please feel free to share again."
The weary waitress fingered the twenty as she placed it in the small pocket behind her name tag. "I'd be delighted. Let me know if you feel like eating anything."
The lawyer appreciated her concern, but was quite confident the black coffee would be all he required. "Thank you, Inez, the coffee will do quite nicely."
"You're welcome," she replied, turned and began to make her rounds with the coffee pot.
Rubbing his fingers along his temples, he slowly sipped the black coffee.
The figure by his side placed both hands on his desk and leaned in, looking directly at him. The voice was soft and silky. "I don't know that I like that, Mr. Mason. Taking the poor girl to a bar, plying her with drinks, flirting with her, all in an effort to separate her from her secrets. Now it's even worse, you're using money, a generous tip, for heaven's sake the poor girl's bread and butter, to work free some little tidbit of information. No, I don't know that I like that."
Mason cupped his hand around the coffee cup and whispered under his breath, "I know, Della, I know."
The sound of shuffling and movement came from the counter. Looking up, the lawyer could see the fan club coming to life, coming to attention. In the doorway stood the woman they all anxiously waited to see. Poised like Mae West at the top of the stairs, she knew every male eye would be watching as she smoothed down the apron that covered her figure hugging uniform. Mae definitely knew how to make an entrance.
Slowly, the lawyer lowered his cup and he too watched the performance, the way her hips swayed as she walked to retrieve the other coffee pot. As graceful as a dancer she elegantly turned, the pot balanced in her hand, as she began holding court with her adoring subjects, pouring one cup after another. The working men in uniform fawned over her, all in the hopes she might express an interest in going out with them. Each day was a new challenge, trying to find the right look, the right line that might win over the blonde beauty.
Slowly, the lawyer's brain began to clear as he processed Inez's information. The diminutive brunette was eager to share to a customer who understood her plight. He had planted the seed and over the weeks to come he hoped to harvest more useful information. The twenty-dollar bill tucked neatly in the server's uniform would guarantee her hearing would improve.
In the meantime, Mason enjoyed the view, watching Mae plying the men with coffee with her sole purpose of receiving a sizeable tip. Moving down the line, Mae paused, looked in his direction, and remembered a return customer-Mr. Blue. Immediately her lashes fluttered and her full lips pulled into a seductive smile. Mason reciprocated, both with his eyes and his lips. One of the men in line noticed her attention had shifted elsewhere, turned, and gave the lawyer an annoyed look. Not wanting to lose her tip, Mae returned her attention to her fans and only occasionally would she dare steal a look in the lawyer's direction. Mason continued watching the show as a soft and silky voice filled his thoughts.
"Don't flatter yourself, counselor," Della said, as they sat down at their table. The shapely blonde seated at the bar across the room continued to hold Mason's attention. Straightening the hem of her dress, the secretary watched the lawyer stealing glances in the blonde's direction.
He had stopped in the bar for a drink while he waited for Della Street's arrival. Nursing his drink, he first detected a heady perfume and the brush of a hand along his thigh as someone slipped onto the stool beside him.
"I hope this seat's not taken," she breathlessly asked as the shapely blonde's eyes inspected the lawyer from head to toe.
"No," he answered simply, glancing down at her form-fitting black dress and daring décolletage.
Della Street watched as the blonde continued to glance in their direction, watching and waiting to see if Mason was still looking. Casually picking up the menu, she noticed Mason hadn't picked up his. "No, I wouldn't be too flattered."
The lawyer turned his attention to his secretary. "I was having a drink while I waited for you, when she asked if the seat was taken. I said no."
Over the top of her menu Della's keen eyes swept over the bar. "There are other empty stools, Perry."
Still not picking up his menu, the lawyer followed his secretary's eyes. "Your point?"
Eyes moving over the menu, Della coolly replied, "The blonde's calibrated eyes were seeing dollar signs when she took the seat next to you."
The blonde continued to move the umbrella around in her fruity tropical drink while continuing to observe the lawyer.
Turning the page, Della continued her analysis while the lawyer looked on. "Did you offer to light her cigarette?"
"Yes," the lawyer replied, still watching the blonde.
"Did she place her hands around yours as if to steady your lighter?"
"Yes," he again replied, amazed at her intuitive powers.
"I bet she has eyes like a jeweler's loupe. And of course, you would have had to bring out that ten karat gold lighter, the one engraved with your initials when you were lighting her cigarette. With those polished nails she would cup your hand with hers and with those calculating eyes would quickly appraise the value of that pinky ring I gave you for Christmas and your pearl and onyx cufflinks and at the same time appraised and added the value of your Piaget watch. She would then add on the price of your cologne, your fresh shave, haircut and manicure." Della's eyes moved up and down the menu while her companion looked back and forth from the bar to his secretary, marveling at her observations.
Della continued. "The blonde's mind was probably working like an adding machine calculating all those dollars. It would be equally important for her to have an eye for men's fashion. It helps when getting a first impression from across the room. She would need a way to weed out the chaff. With one quick glance she knew you were her top pick. You were easily selected by your expensively cobbled shoes, your tailored suit, your expensive silk tie, gold tie pin, and your tailored Turnbull and Asser shirt. Immediately she knew you were a man of means."
Lowering and folding the menu, Della Street neatly folded her hands on the table. "So don't be too flattered, Counselor, you've been appraised from head to toe-you're quite a catch- you're quite a sugar daddy."
Mason shook his head, took one last look at the shapely blonde, picked up his menu and softly laughed. "Della…..you are amazing."
Della Street released a satisfied sigh. "Yes, I know."
Reading through the menu, the lawyer shook his head and chuckled.
The jurist sipped his coffee and watched the curvaceous blonde move down the counter of EATS attending her line of male admirers. At every opportunity, she would catch the lawyer's eye and deliver a smile-a very special smile meant just for him.
A sugar daddy, Mason thought. Well, two can play at that game.
~~~tbc~~~