The judge, who has an iron bladder, doesn’t give us a recess until three thirty, and as I’m hurrying to the ladies’ room, John Darco blocks my way.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the mogul demands.
“Going to the restroom, sir.”
“No, I mean in there. With my son. That lawyer is killing us, and you’re just sitting there.”
“We’ll get our chance.”
“But the witnesses are saying horrible things about Steve. They’re making him seem like a spoiled rich kid who does whatever he wants.”
I find myself speechless. It’s as if there’s something blocking my throat, cutting off my words. I need the Heimlich maneuver. Somehow I clear my throat and force my voice to work. “We’ll shoot that down when I cross-examine them,” I say. “Believe me, they’ll see him as a Boy Scout when I finish.”
“In the meantime, they’re taking all these shots, and the jury is sitting there lapping it all up.”
“Steve is very good looking.” That’s the best thing I can think to say about him. “I made sure we have young women on the jury. Trust me, they’re going to side with him.” Even as I say the words, I realize I’m a traitor to my own gender. I hope college girls aren’t that stupid. I hope they see right through him.
But my whole case rests on their being hypnotized by his blue eyes.
How did I get here?
I check my watch. “Mr. Darco, I have to hurry.”
He raises his finger and points in my face. “If my son loses this case, I’m never doing business with your firm again. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir, I do. It’s just that this is a tough case, since he actually did bring the alcohol and ram his car into the BK.”
I know right away that I shouldn’t have reminded him of that.
“I’m warning you,” he says.
“Yes, sir.” I feel like I need to bow, but instead I skirt around him and hurry into the bathroom.
When I return to the courtroom, Steve isn’t there. I hope he makes it in time. While I’m waiting for him, his father comes back to me. “I was thinking,” he says in a whisper. “You need to dig up dirt on those witnesses. They’re college students. There must be a ton of stuff you can use against them.”
“We’ve looked for things to discredit them,” I say. “There isn’t much.”
“Then make it up!” he hisses. “They’re practically kids. You can say whatever you want and they can’t prove differently. Knock them into the dirt if they testify against my son.”
I’m a little sick. “I can’t lie, Mr. Darco. I don’t want to be disbarred.”
“Real lawyers know how to do it without doing it,” he says through his teeth. “Do your job.”
Steve rushes in as his father returns to his seat. His shirttail is out, and his dirty hair has fallen back into his face. He reeks of marijuana.
I gape at him. “What did you do? Get high in the bathroom?”
“No. I just ran out to my car for a minute.”
“They’ll smell you from the jury box!”
“Hey, you told me to quit drinking. It’s legal in Colorado.”
“It’s not in Missouri. We still have five minutes. Go wash your hands and face.” I dig into my bag for the gel I gave him this morning. “Slick some more of this on your hair to cover the smell.”
His eyes are red and a little puffy. I’ll have to make it look like he’s been crying. I’ll pretend to comfort him when he gets back. I wait, practically holding my breath. As the jury is reseated, Steve stumbles over a shoelace as he heads back to the table.
My days are numbered. I’ll be in the unemployment line by New Year’s Day.