The Twelve Apostles, page 5
“Always as a supervising engineer?”
“No. I started out doing a variety of jobs, mostly construction.”
“Always on-site jobs?”
The witness nodded. “Usually.”
Spencer half-smiled, keeping his manner friendly. “And you were the supervising engineer on the Chesapeake Building and its attached parking garage, isn’t that right?”
The witness nodded. “I testified to that.”
“Yes, you did,” Spencer agreed. He stepped back as if studying the witness, as if the engineer were an interesting piece of sculpture. “Were you at the Chesapeake Building when the parking structure collapsed?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“I was on a company job in Saudi Arabia.”
Spencer nodded. “When did you hear about the collapse?”
The witness shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. The communications out there aren’t too good. Probably I read about it when they flew in the newspapers to us. The papers were always a few days old when we got them.”
“Didn’t your company contact you?”
The witness shook his head. “No.”
“Now, you do know that fifteen people were killed and many more injured when the parking structure collapsed, do you not?”
The engineer frowned slightly, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Didn’t your company fly you right back to the United States? You were the supervising engineer on that structure when it was built, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I had been the construction engineer. But that job had been over for a long time.”
“So you just went on with your work in Saudi Arabia, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you fly back two days after the accident? Didn’t you fly to Rome and then back to your company headquarters in Atlanta?”
“Objection. Multiple questions. Let counsel ask one question at a time.” The opposing lawyer’s voice was lazy, almost friendly.
“Sustained,” said the judge, ill-concealing his boredom.
“Did you fly back to the United States just two days after the accident?” Spencer picked up a paper and pretended to study it as he waited for the answer.
The witness looked startled, and glanced briefly over at the other lawyer. “Well, I think I did fly home about that time, now that you mention it. But I had some family business to take care of.”
“And your fare wasn’t paid for by your company?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t return because of the collapse of the Chesapeake parking structure and your company wanted to talk to you about the quality of work you had done on that building?”
Spencer held his breath. The answer would decide the case.
“No. I came home for family business.”
Spencer exhaled slowly, carefully concealing his exaltation. “And that was your only purpose?”
“Yes.”
It was really over. The witness had lied. It was a stupid lie, an unnecessary lie. And Dan Spencer could prove it false through telegrams, airplane tickets, and company memos. Spencer would now carefully strip away the man’s credibility until the jury would refuse to believe anything the witness said. He would do it so expertly that the opposing attorney could never repair the damage.
It was up to the jury to decide if the building had been improperly built or whether the material provided by Spencer’s client was defective. The entire case hung on this man’s testimony. And the witness had made the mistake of lying about an unimportant point. It would destroy him.
Just as in a chess match, the opposition had committed a fatal error. And no matter how they might try to recover, the end was now inevitable: it would be check and match.
Spencer allowed himself a brief moment to plan through the next careful step. Destroying the witness would be like an elaborate dance, and each movement had to be precise. He would win the case, and winning was the only thing that counted, at least with Nelson and Clark.
Dan felt great relief, almost relaxation, as he slowly and deliberately began to verbally roast the squirming man in the witness chair.
Katherine Thurston did not like dictating machines. The advantages of using dictation equipment in conjunction with word processors had been pointed out to her, and despite the fact that she fully appreciated the efficiency of the new technology, she still preferred to dictate to a live stenographer.
Her secretary and stenographer, who was as short and thin as Katherine was tall and voluptuous, was careful to get every word, every comma. Katherine Thurston permitted no margin for error.
Although they were physically different, with completely opposite personalities, the young secretary, an insecure woman afraid of almost everything, still admired Katherine Thurston. And although she feared her, she realized that this fierce woman had hammered her way to the top in a male-dominated world.
They were preparing the first draft of a complicated set of bylaws for a corporation being formed to protect the interests of several foreign movie firms. Millions were involved, and the instruments had to be perfect. Katherine Thurston had a well-earned reputation as a perfectionist. She was an excellent all-around attorney, but it was her strict attention to intricate detail that had established her credentials. She had become the first woman main partner in Nelson and Clark, breaking a barrier and causing ripples throughout the legal world, not just in New York, but in all large firms across the nation. had admitted a woman—at the time it had been big news—even the American Bar Journal had reported the startling event.
She had earned the right: top of her class, editor of her law school law review, clerk to a U.S. Supreme Court Justice. Before she was thirty Katherine Thurston had carved out a remarkable reputation as a hard-eyed, steel-nerved attorney with a legal mind like a cobra. Even her marriages had helped advance her career. The first, to Senator Sam Field, had provided her with public exposure and visibility. She knew she was a handsome woman, not quite pretty, but with an imposing presence and a strong body that seemed to photograph very well. She had worked for the government for a while; then, with her husband’s help, she had secured an associate’s position with Nelson and Clark.
But Senator Sam hadn’t been equal to her appetites. He was relieved when she began to take a series of lovers. Sam was left alone in Washington to keep up with the committee work of Congress while his tall, sturdy wife found the freedom to indulge her growing passions among the men, of all ages and types, of Manhattan. Finally, her activities, although generally discreet, began to sift back to Washington in the form of nasty little gossip items. She was photographed at various public functions, always with a different man.
Finally, and most reluctantly, Sam Field asked for a divorce. It was done quickly, and while there was publicity, it was over so fast and without a hint of scandal that the item was quickly dropped from the newspapers. Senator Field’s career survived, as did her own.
It was her second marriage that provided the real springboard for her legal speciality—entertainment-industry law. Noel Thurston was ten years her senior, a man of aristocratic bearing and manner. Tail, lean, with silver-gray hair, he was the picture of the perfect cosmopolitan man. And he owned a majority interest in a movie production and distribution company, a string of legitimate theaters, plus a winner’s record as a top Broadway producer.
Noel Thurston, besides being magazine-ad handsome and magnificently rich, also possessed a quick intelligence with a rich and sardonic sense of humor. His mind was equal to her own and they genuinely liked each other. Plus there was no fear that Noel Thurston would ever feel exhausted or threatened by his wife’s sexual appetites. Noel, very quietly and discreetly, was thoroughly gay. There was never a hint of his homosexuality, either in gesture, movement, or speech. Urbane and witty, he happily flirted with actresses and aspiring starlets who had no idea that they were completely wasting their charms if they responded in kind.
Katherine knew and understood her husband, as he did her. It was a perfect marriage. They doted on each other, enjoying many evenings together when they could discuss the complicated happenings in their personal lives—a pleasure they both looked forward to and enjoyed. Sometimes they would even compare notes on their current lovers. The only rule they had between them was that Katherine would never advance on any of Noel’s companions, and he, in turn, promised he would never try to turn the head of any young man in whom his wife might have an interest. They both had spectacular sexual prowess, and they both sought out interesting men. Thus, by agreeing never to compete, they roamed the world like two happy hunting animals, each going for its own meal but grateful for the other’s company.
Both were equally discreet. Katherine Thurston would never think of picking up with some young stranger, and Noel carefully kept away from making advances to any new and unknown chorus boys, no matter how attractive. They chose as carefully as a quality butcher selects prime cuts—never hurried, making important judgments on personality, emotional stability, and physical potential—and then they quietly made their selection.
Katherine knew that among the office staff she was known as “Katherine the Great.” Her eye for a new male associate seemed unerring, and, like her namesake, she made sure her favorites received preferential treatment. Katherine looked much younger than her fifty-two years. In her years with Nelson and Clark she had been responsible for building the careers of a number of associates and participating partners. She knew the office staff jealously referred to this selected handful of young lawyers as the Palace Regiment.
Katherine paused in her dictation. Her secretary looked up.
“Marie, I think I’ll need some help in the provisions about foreign law. Isn’t that new associate, Simons, supposed to be something of an authority on international law?”
“I really don’t know, Mrs. Thurston. He’s new and I don’t know much about him.” That was a lie. Marie made it her business to find out all about the new young men. Charles Simons, like so many others in the firm, was from Harvard. And to Marie’s dismay, he was married and had a child on the way.
Katherine Thurston sat back in her huge, high-backed leather chair and swiveled around to look out her window on Manhattan, gazing down at the concrete canyons below. The scene seemed to throb with life. “I recall we were told that Mr. Simons had a background in international law. It was one of the reasons he was hired. I think I will consult with him before I go any further on this draft. Marie, step out and see if you can have him stop by to see me for a few minutes.”
Marie swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” She closed her notebook and left the office, returning to her own desk. She knew that Katherine Thurston was an expert herself in international matters. Much of her work with film companies concerned distribution rights and royalties in other countries. Marie wondered if Charles Simons would accept his new status. Marie, an attractive young girl, often wondered at the power of Katherine Thurston. Men always seemed to obey her. And Marie knew it wasn’t just Katherine Thurston’s power in the law firm. There was something primitive and compelling about her that men—all men—seemed to find irresistible.
Office legend had it that Katherine the Great always began the conquest by making oral love to her intended victim. The legend said she was very good at it, and that no man who had received her favor could ever completely forget the pleasure. Then, so it was said, Mrs. Thurston took her time in perfecting the conquest, languidly leading her new lover in each subsequent encounter into all the various fields of lovemaking, encounters that took place not only in the office, but at her apartment, and on weekends at her summer place on Cape Cod. But eventually she always changed from a seductive temptress to a dominating iron mistress, conquering her prize and finally reducing him to her love slave, anxious and willing to carry out her whims in any way she found amusing or pleasing.
No one knew the origin of the legend. Marie presumed that some of the Palace Regiment had talked, perhaps after too much drink, or perhaps compared notes after they had all been drawn into the whirlpool of sex created by the insatiable Mrs. Katherine Thurston. And none of them ever escaped her.
Mrs. Thurston buzzed.
“Yes?” Marie answered.
“Marie, before you call Mr. Simons, check and see if this is the night of the monthly partnership meeting. I believe it’s tonight.”
“It’s scheduled for tonight,” Marie replied.
“Good. The way things are heating up around here I’m actually beginning to enjoy those damn meetings. They’re not nearly as boring as they used to be. Now get Mr. Simons for me, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Marie tried to characterize the mood she heard in Katherine Thurston’s voice. It wasn’t just mere arousal. It reminded her of the pleasure one often sees in cats just before they are to be fed.
3
“Damn it, peak them napkins up like tents! Jesus, boy, can’t you learn nothin’?” The busboy was new. The monthly partnership dinner was the worst possible time to introduce a new worker into the intricacies of the law firm’s protocol. But they were shorthanded and there was no other option.
“I did peak ‘em, but the things keep falling over,” the busboy pouted.
“When you speak to me, boy, you say Mr. Smith. I runs things here.”
The boy’s black face showed his resentment of the older man. “Mr. Smith.” He half growled the name.
“Look, maybe you don’t get the picture here. This is Nelson and Clark. They maintain a complete kitchen and two dining rooms. This one is for the twelve bigwigs. They call them the Apostles, but don’t you ever call them that, hear?”
The busboy merely shrugged.
“This here dining room is usually open only for lunch. There’s just this one long table and twelve chairs. So all we have to worry about is keeping twelve people happy, you understand that? That’s our main job in life, just making sure everythin’ is perfect for them. That means food, service, and table,” he said, as he demonstrated how to peak the napkins.
“Downstairs they got the regular dining room. That’s for what they calls the participating partners. Different menu down there. Although the food’s good both places, up here is always better. They can have visitors downstairs—guests, you know. But never up here. This room is only for the Apostles.”
“So what?”
Smith’s thick black face scowled in response. “I been working here almost twenty years. The hours are real good, the pay’s not bad, and the work is easy. Now these people they got a couple of cooks, and a staff of waiters and busboys for just these here two dining rooms. God knows they don’t make no money off ‘em. They tell me it’s a matter of tradition and convenience.”
“Be better off if they went down to McDonald’s,” the busboy said.
“These people, they don’t eat at no McDonald’s, boy. These are quality people. Now if they don’t like the way this operation is run, they’ll just close it up and start eating out at them fancy restaurants and clubs. God knows, they all got money enough for that. But if we make sure everythin’ is just right, and we keep them happy, then you and me have nice steady jobs. Do you understand that?”
The busboy shrugged. “Suppose so. But if this here room is only for lunch, how come we serving dinner here tonight?”
Smith, outfitted in a neat black waiter’s uniform, nodded as if the question had great significance.
“These people”—he gestured at the twelve chairs—“has a monthly meeting. The first Tuesday of every month. They has drinks, a nice dinner, then they sets to argue about the business of this here law office.”
“Argue, like in fight?”
“Oh, they used to be polite enough, but lately they have really been getting a little loud. This law firm is a big operation, boy. They makes millions every year. A couple hundred people work here. It’s a big business. These people”—he again pointed at the empty chairs—“they runs the business. And I guess things haven’t been goin’ too good between them.”
“You ever listen in?” The busboy grinned.
The other man looked shocked. “This here is a private meeting. I help set up the drinks, then we serves the dinner and clears the table. Then everybody except the twelve of them gets out. Still, lately you can hear sounds like shouting, all the way down to the kitchen.”
“Maybe this job of yours, maybe it ain’t too solid anyway?”
The older man chuckled, his face suddenly placid. “Boy, if this firm breaks up, you can figure the whole country is going down the tube. This here is the most famous law firm in the country. No matter how they argue, ain’t no way these people are going to be so foolish as to break this business up. They all got too much to lose.”
The young busboy looked over at the well-stocked portable bar. “Maybe they get to drinking too much. Ain’t nothin’ to start folks fightin’ more than a touch too much booze.”
“Naw, not these people. They all uptight at these meetings lately, so nobody drinks much. They got a couple who can really handle that stuff, but they never do any serious drinking at the meetings. Like I said, these are quality folk, they ain’t about to fuck up no major business decisions because they been drinking themselves silly.”
The young man pointed at the bar. “Still, that there is a lot of expensive booze.”
“Everything is always first class here. Each of these people prefers a special drink. After all these years, I know what each wants. They usually has one, maybe two, drinks before dinner, but that’s all. Now, come on, you seen how I fixed that napkin. Get the rest set up. They’ll be wandering down here soon.”
“They don’t all come at once? Their offices are all on the floor above, right?”
The older man nodded. “Yeah. But they don’t socialize much together. Everything is pretty formal. They start coming in, usually one by one, then they breaks up into little groups and starts talking business. Then I starts serving dinner.”
“Doesn’t sound like no friendly bunch to me,” the busboy said. “Sounds like they don’t really like each other much.”
