TCOT Absurd Assumption – C3

"Miss Street, were you involved with Arthur Gordon beyond your capacity as his administrative assistant?"

Della tilted her chin and met his gaze unblinkingly. "No, I was not."

"Oh come now, Miss Street, you have a history of involving yourself personally with your employers. Are you asking us to believe there was absolutely nothing romantic between you and Arthur Gordon at any time during your employment?"

"Objection! Argumentative. Not to mention incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial."

Perry scowled. "I'll rephrase the question. Do you maintain, Miss Street, that there was no romantic involvement between you and Arthur Gordon during your employment?"

"Yes I do, because there wasn't. That question is still irrelevant, by the way."

"Your answers should be responsive to the questions, Della, no embellishment. The DA will instruct as such and the judge will uphold the instruction."

"The embellishment was an aside to my attorney."

Perry ignored her. "How long did you work for Mr. Gordon?"

"Seven years and ten months."

"And during that entire seven years and ten months Mr. Gordon was married?"

"Yes, he was. Which is why I was not romantically involved with him."

"The judge will remind you to confine your answers to the questions as asked, Miss Street. Was the Gordon marriage happy during those seven years and ten months?"

"Objection! Calls for a conclusion by the witness about facts not in evidence, and is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial."

Perry scowled again. "Della, this is as much the discovery phase for me as it is a preparatory exercise for you. You wanted to do this. Stop objecting." What he really meant was, stop pointing out the inadequacies of my cross-examination techniques.

Della stifled a yawn and rolled her shoulders. She had suggested this exercise in lieu of food and sleep but was beginning to second-guess the decision as the questions became more probing and in her estimation less relevant to the circumstances at hand. "I don't know when you're in discovery mode, when you want an explanation, or when you're bossing me around," she complained. "Besides, the prosecutor won't ask a question like that in court."

"He'll certainly try."

"She'll certainly try," she reminded him.

He grimaced. What he'd said about what they were doing being the discovery phase for him was only so much malarkey to disguise a germinating seed of insecurity. This was flat-out a practice round for him. She had caught a mistake a first-year law student wouldn't have made – and it had nothing to do with the correct gender of the prosecuting attorney. "Yes, she will. And I will object then."

"Of course you will, Counselor."

You see right through me, don't you, young lady? "Well, was the marriage happy?"

Della shook her head. "No, the marriage was not happy. About a year ago Mr. Gordon banished Mrs. Gordon to a penthouse apartment in Century City. She visited the main estate only when decorum dictated."

"Why didn't they divorce?"

"I don't know. Mr. Gordon and I didn't talk about such things."

"Surely there were rumors…"

"Of course there were rumors, most of them started by Mrs. Gordon. She tried unsuccessfully on several occasions to make something of the fact Mr. Gordon escorted me to business functions when she refused to attend and made several ridiculous accusations to my face."

"Any witnesses to those accusations?" Perry actually commiserated with Paula Gordon about that particular aspect of Della's job. To his mind Della attended entirely too many business functions with Arthur Gordon. But then that fact circled directly back to Mrs. Gordon, in effect cancelling out his commiseration.

"Unfortunately, yes. She made another in front of Mr. Gordon's children and the police right before Lt. Cooper began questioning me." Della shifted slightly and cleared her throat. "I don't know if I ever told you this, but she doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like you or she feels threatened by you?"

Della's shoulders lifted upward briefly and her eyes avoided his. "Perhaps both. Mr. Gordon had recently decided to make a few changes. He wanted to remove his wife as Director of the Gordon Foundation and asked if I would consider accepting the position. The official announcement was to be made next week. I believe Mr. Gordon was going to tell Mrs. Gordon yesterday."

"Congratulations, Miss Street, but I don't have to tell you that's not good for our side. It's a reason for Mrs. Gordon to be suspicious of you and her husband." Because you, Miss Street, are the most beautiful, desirable woman God ever created and there is no way Arthur Gordon wouldn't have noticed. It speaks to his good sense that he recognized your business acuity, but a spurned wife wouldn't see it that way.

"Paula Gordon was suspicious of any woman who came within a mile of her husband. He had gone through five administrative assistants during the first two years of his marriage to her before I was hired, including one who had been with him nearly ten years, and who it was rumored expected to be the next Mrs. Arthur Gordon. I don't know why I lasted as long as I did. Mrs. Gordon always resented the amount of time Mr. Gordon spent at the office, and would often drop by unannounced, impeccably timed for when things were the most hectic. When I was promoted to his Executive Assistant and assumed the duties of Corporate Secretary requiring even more time in closed door meetings with Mr. Gordon, the number of visits increased, as did her insinuations about what she claimed were my ulterior motives. Mr. Gordon and I had an unspoken agreement to ignore her."

"She's Gordon's second wife?"

"Yes. Mr. Gordon's first wife committed suicide when the two older children were barely teenagers."

Perry stared at Della soberly. "You keep referring to him as Mr. Gordon. That isn't what you called him on an everyday basis." She had always referred to her boss as Arthur. He knew that because it had always bothered him. What was she doing?

Della flushed immediately. "N-no. I called him Arthur."

"Keep calling him Arthur, unless someone else initiates the conversation and refers to him as Mr. Gordon. Don't try to play down your good working relationship with him. We're going to be above-board about everything." It was two years before she addressed him directly by his first name, the night he told her he loved her. She admitted her continued use of a nickname kept their relationship from being too personal before they were both ready for it to be very personal. And she had been right, of course, for the first time she spoke his name specifically for him was one of the most special moments of his life.

She plucked at her wrinkled skirt nervously. "All right."

"Was there a prenuptial agreement?"

"The prevailing rumor is that there was a prenuptial agreement with very specific clauses regarding infidelity and irrevocable forfeiture of community property if at any time Mrs. Gordon was untrue to her husband. It sounds like an agreement Arthur would have insisted on. He would never reward anyone for betraying him."

"Objection! The defendant couldn't possibly know for certain what Arthur Gordon would or would not do in reference to a prenuptial agreement if indeed one was in effect. I'd like to know for sure if there was indeed a prenup." They had never really discussed Arthur Gordon and his family. When they were together there were far more interesting things to discuss.

Della arched an eyebrow at the objection, calling attention to her earlier complaint. He had asked a question and she had answered, so why was he objecting? To keep her on her toes? Or to tick her off? He was certainly doing a bang-up job of the latter. "Arthur was a very difficult man. He was wealthy and powerful and could be ruthless. I'm fairly certain there was a prenuptial agreement to protect what was his."

"All of that is still conjecture and rumor and therefore inadmissible as testimony, but nevertheless something we need to ascertain. You always said you got along with him, but was he ever ruthless with you?"

Della met his eyes frankly, sensing where he was going with this line of questioning. "During the first five years of my employment you and I were still together. You two may not have hit it off the few times you met, but if he had been um…ruthless, I would have told you. Arthur and I became friends. We were fond of one another, and that's all there was to it. He respected my personal life even though he didn't particularly like you, and appreciated what I did for Gordon Industries. I respected his position as my boss, performed my job to the best of my abilities, and he rewarded that performance."

"And the last three years?" His quick mind picked up on the qualifier of 'during the first five years' in her statement.

Della hesitated and Perry frowned at her. "He made a pass."

Perry's frown deepened. "What kind of a pass?"

"A very small one. Hardly a pass at all, really."

"Della…"

"I declined and he promised it would never happen again. It never did. No harm done. We remained friends."

"Any witnesses to that small pass?" If Della's assessment of Arthur Gordon was correct, Perry doubted a prenuptial clause stipulating infidelity would have extended to any dalliances on the business magnate's part.

"No."

Perry involuntarily let out a relieved breath then sucked in another. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because we were no longer together."

Her lack of hesitation in answering caused Perry to hesitate. Hurt me with the truth, my darling girl, and never comfort me with a lie. "Tell me now."

"I'd rather not."

Just as you'd rather not tell me why after twenty-five years suddenly I wasn't what you wanted? "And I'd rather not have my winning streak end with my most important case. Where's that obedience now? I need to know everything that could conceivably be spun into a motive."

"An innocent little pass nearly three years ago is hardly a motive for murder. I believe telling you anything more would breach a vital article of our contract."

"And I believe consideration should be given to suspending the contract in toto for the duration of the discovery phase of this case," he argued. "If it was an innocent little pass, why won't you tell me about it?" That damn contract…

"Because I'd rather not. " Suspend the contract?

Perry stared at her, tight-lipped, eyes blued steel. "Do I have to count to ten?"

Della crossed and uncrossed her legs, folded her arms against her chest, and re-crossed her legs. Her bare foot hung in the air, toes pointed toward the floor in an unconscious ballet pose. She couldn't stand it when he treated her this way, making an issue of their age difference, something that had always concerned him far more than it had ever concerned her – until she had used it as a convenient wedge between them to explain her own admitted confusion about their relationship.

"One," Perry counted off.

Della pushed herself deeper into the couch cushion and met Perry's eyes with the same hard expression pinned on her.

"Two."

Della patted her lips daintily as she pretended to yawn.

"Three. Four. Five."

Della rolled her eyes and Perry almost smiled. Almost.

"Six. Seven. Eight."

"He caught me crying," Della said in a rush, words tumbling over one another. "I was having a bad day and Arthur walked into my office unannounced. He called you several colorfully inventive variations of imbecile, hugged me, and tried to kiss me. I told him no. He was really quite contrite. While he knew I was no longer involved with you, he didn't know I was seeing Bryce Hummel at the time. He apologized and we put it out of our minds." Della was amazed at how naturally that little story rolled off her tongue.

"Did you tell Hummel about it?" Truth really does hurt, beautiful girl, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Wait a minute. Why was she crying if she was already dating Bryce Hummel?

Della hesitated, eyes shifting downward again. "No. No one could seriously consider Bryce a suspect. He and Arthur never met." Poor Bryce. A nice man caught up in a whirlwind he hadn't been prepared for, tumultuous sensations tearing him apart from deeply held convictions, their fervid, emotional dance bewildering to both of them.

"What about Asher Langlois?"

Della rose from the couch and shook out her skirt in a way that still begged impertinence on Perry's part, balancing lingering feelings for not only the current topic of conversation, but for the man directing the conversation as well. "I'm even more uncomfortable discussing Asher than I am with discussing Bryce. It's ridiculous to bring either of them into this. Neither could possibly be involved in Arthur's death."

"I don't care what or who you're uncomfortable discussing and neither will the District Attorney. She might question Langlois and Hummel, and she could attempt to question me, you know that. Tell me about Langlois. Did he and Gordon ever meet?"

She had moved to the window and stood with her back to him, arms tightly wrapped around her middle. "Maybe this isn't going to work after all," she said.

"Maybe," he said sharply, "we should stop commenting on how this isn't going to work and make it work."

Della's shoulders slumped visibly. "There was a time…" her voice caught in her throat and she leaned her forehead against the window pane when she realized she was about to say the exact same thing he had already said. You had my back once.

"Yes, there was a time, Della. We've already been over that." Too many times. "You must realize it's every bit as difficult for me to ask these questions as it is for you to answer them, but I'm asking as your attorney right now. Nothing more, nothing less. Answer me."

Her shoulders straightened. "Let's just say that things progressed too quickly for Bryce and not quickly enough for Asher."

Deciding to ignore the fact she hadn't directly confirmed that Arthur Gordon had met Asher Langlois, which he already knew to be so, Perry pushed himself out of the 'uncomfortable' club chair and went to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. Pummeled within an inch of his life by the truth he had avoided for three years but now needed from her, it was vital he stepped back to regroup. "What say we take a break and have something to eat?"

"No, let's continue until closer to dinner time. How does an In-n-Out burger grab you?"

Perry gently turned her to face him, and what he saw in her eyes now made him think it had been for the best he'd stumbled over one of those hurdles and hadn't kissed her earlier. "I ask the questions around here, young lady."

"Asher asked a question. And I answered. Feel free to draw your own conclusions as to why I didn't call him from jail."

"Oh Della," Perry expelled her name on a tormented breath. Her herky-jerky admissions were making it difficult to gather his thoughts before she whacked him with another and scattered them to the four winds again. "You can't do this to me. We can't do this, not now. Let's take a break."

"Make up your mind, Counselor. Do you want complete honesty or do you want me to censor my answers when they might be as difficult as the questions? I could have let the DA bring out that particular tidbit in court…because Mr. Mason, on the face of it, I haven't been such a good girl, and Paula Gordon will tell anyone who will listen what a Jezebel I am."

"I should be able to keep innuendos about your past out of the official record." There was very little he could do to protect her from being publicly humiliated by a falsely grieving widow like Paula Gordon and a salacious media that would pander to the attractive woman's every utterance, but an overreaching, overzealous DA he could smash like a bug. "If they put it on the tee, I'll hit it." Jezebel indeed. Where did she come up with stuff like that?

One expressive eyebrow climbed slowly toward Della's hairline. "Tell me this: can you keep an innuendo named Rodger Eastlund* out of the official record? My relationship with Rodger blasts a neat hole in my contention that I would never involve myself with a married man. Hit that one without shanking it, Mr. Mason."

"Rodger Eastlund was divorced."

"No, Rodger Eastlund was not officially divorced until two days before I ended our relationship. For five months I…how can I phrase this in a ladylike manner...carried on with a married man. It might not be such a big deal now, but back then it was. Of course, I was very young and what I did could be chalked up to youthful indiscretion, I suppose." As well as youthful curiosity…

"Then it's a good thing your trial will take place in the present and not in the past." What had she said about ending her relationship with Rodger Eastlund all those years ago? "I lost a hundred and eighty-five pounds of dead weight." Who would have thought that dead weight could ever be used to bludgeon her character so many years later? He couldn't inquire about the depth of her relationship with Rodger Eastlund then, having known her only a few months, but she had dropped pointed hints as they progressed toward romance themselves. The first time they made love it had been apparent she wasn't what she'd called an inexperienced babe, and that was perfectly all right with him. However, conscious of inevitable comparisons, he had been spurred to new heights of intimacy with Della, but it wasn't his sizeable ego that needed to be assuaged. It was his heart and his mind that propelled the physical prowess that made her beg and scream and weep, the pleasure he gave her possibly his greatest pleasure.

"Don't be naïve, Perry, and don't patronize me. I will be tried by the fundamental morals of my generation. A lady simply didn't do what I did, and you are well aware of that. Not everyone is as broad-minded as you about a lady's past experiences."

"You've never been ashamed of your past. You said so again today." Of our past. He had to keep his mind on point. Stirring up the past right now would complicate an already complicated situation. Della knew it, which was why she continued to throw that damn contract in his face. But the thought of her in his arms, calling his name over and over, weeping tears of pure, perfect ecstasy was almost too much to brush aside at the moment. Even in her frumpy, rumpled suit and modest blouse she was enticing in a way he could never quite explain to his satisfaction. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to suspend the contract. Maybe they needed its boundaries to survive what was to come.

"I'm not. I made decisions based on what was right for me and kept to myself." Well, as much as she could, considering Perry's national renown. "But I'm being realistic. As hard as I tried to keep my private life just that, I have provable personal involvements with more than one man to whom I was not married. My moral character will be called into question in a way no man's would be."

Did you really make your own decisions, Della? Or did you merely go along with my decisions because you loved me? "It takes two to tango."

"Gads, you have been writing opinions too long."

"Gads? I may have been locked up writing opinions, but I know that gads went out with spats and spit curls." As well as the concept of a Jezebel…conversing with Della was a never-ending joy.

Della's laugh bubbled up from her belly, a sound impossible to hear too many times. "What are spats and spit curls?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Look them up in the encyclopedia, youngster." He squeezed her shoulders gently. "You are a lady and I'll take on anyone who says differently. "

She smiled. "Aren't you going to ask me the sixty-four thousand dollar question?"

"What question would that be?"

"That question would be 'Miss Street, did you kill Arthur Gordon'?"

Perry snorted. "Gads no. I know the answer to that question."

Della decided abruptly that she was indeed hungry and that only the aforementioned In-n-Out burger would satisfy that hunger. Deeply overwhelmed by Perry's belief in her innocence, she bustled around the room, gathering their empty mugs and the bit of litter accumulated in the past couple of hours, desperate for an activity to cover how simple faith and a reassuring squeeze had flustered her.

Perry remained standing by the window, silently watching Della. Was there anyone whose every movement was more dance-like and perfect? He thought not. Even when she was agitated, like now, her natural grace guided every movement. Her beauty, which could not be disguised by the shapeless, wrinkled skirt and chaste blouse, was still remarkable and he briefly revisited memories of her through the years, from gamine to gorgeous, and every description in between.

He was still at the window, completely lost to the passage of time, brooding, his mind ping-ponging in several directions toward thoughts that had practically nothing to do with the matter at hand despite his earlier determination, when he realized that Della was standing quietly next to him. She had slipped upstairs and changed into one of those raglan sleeved sweaters she owned in every conceivable color of cashmere, angora, and silk, and a pair of impeccably pressed jeans. The denim clung to her slim hips and outlined her age-defyingly pert derriere and he seriously reconsidered his preference for skirts on her. Della had always worn clothing well, her slender torso and long, elegant limbs making the simplest of garments appear more attractive than they were, and this particular style of sweater suited her like no other. A muse of the very talented dress designer Estelle Luddy for many years, Della often appeared in shows and print ads for her good friend's small but highly regarded boutique and been rewarded with several closets full of spectacular evening gowns as well as classic everyday pieces that to this day she continued to work into her wardrobe. And while he had delighted in filling even more closets with Chanel, Dior, Cassini, Armani, and Valentino, it was Estelle's sense of Della's beauty that pleased him the most and her designs were the ones he remembered best. Estelle's death nearly ten years ago had been the first of several terrible shocks for Della, and Perry noted that a few of her clothing selections since had been…surprising.

She noticed his unsettlingly familiar stare, the one that had always made her feel the way she needed to feel now – cared for, safe, admired…and possibly loved a little. Poised on the brink of what could be her most important case with Perry Mason, in every way possible, she looked up at him, as if those eyes would save her from everything. Everything, that is, but their owner.

His head dipped and he was this close to breaking at least two articles of the contract and clearing several hurdles in a series of magnificent leaps when the doorbell rang. Their faces remained tilted toward one another, neither one of them breathing, every trembling cell of their bodies willing the intruder to go away.

But the doorbell rang again, and then again, followed by a forceful pounding that shook pictures on the walls and sent Chief shooting out of the room.

"Della!" A man's voice shouted as fists pounded against the door. "Della, let me in!"

Della jerked her head to the side and stepped back from Perry, flushed and flustered, the lovely, breathless moment shattered. "Asher."

*Reference my previous story New Direction