A Conflict of Interest (23 page)

She shudders, and let’s out a cry that is unmistakably of pleasure. We move slowly for a few minutes. Her breathing, short gasps, increases in intensity and speed as we do.

I know she’s close, and I slow down to hold her off.

“What?” she says breathlessly.

“Can you go on top? I want to be able to see you better.”

She doesn’t answer, at least not verbally, but rolls around my body until she stretches over me. Her palms flatten on my chest and she begins to rock slowly; within seconds we’re again at full speed.

“Abby,” I whisper.

She opens her eyes and smiles broadly. She looks absolutely radiant. I’m about to say something else, but she closes her eyes again. Her head rolls back on her shoulders, and she swings her hair around like a lasso. I can feel her tighten around me, which is followed by a short shriek, and then a longer wail.

She goes on for longer than I could imagine. When she finally subsides, it’s my turn to experience that exhilaration, and I release into her. The moment I do, however, I’m consumed with shame.

I could blame the alcohol, of course, but that would only be partly right. I knew it was heading in this direction, and I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. And not just when I ordered a third round, but from the very beginning—the late night messages, the intimate talks, the
dinners, the shared rides home and the voicemails. Every day the voicemails. I had thought maybe I could have the affair without the sex, as if that was somehow better, rather than worse. At least now there’s a clarity to my actions and I can no longer hide behind the technicality that I haven’t broken my marriage vows.

I start to get dressed, searching in her covers for my underwear, when Abby asks me to stay. “It’s not even eleven o’clock,” she says. “You normally don’t get home this early.”

I’m not going to be convinced, however. I can’t wait to get out of her apartment and to somewhere safe. The irony is not at all lost on me that for months now, Abby has been my safe haven from the troubles in my life. Now, in one fell swoop, I’ve made being with her the most dangerous place of all.

Rather than join Elizabeth in bed, when I come in to the apartment I go directly to the Pink Palace. Charlotte sleeps without a blanket, often on her knees with her backside in the air. I can’t imagine how she can be comfortable that way, but she’s snoring lightly, completely at peace. Belle the bunny’s ears peek out from under her arm.

I sit at the corner of the bed and stroke Charlotte’s soft curls. It was a bargain, I tell myself. One time. One time only, and then I’d know. What I was missing. What I longed for. I won’t need to do it again because I’d have that memory to fall back on. Rather than repeat the act, I’d just remember it again, and it would be like being with her.

First I thought Abby and I could be lovers without making love. Now that that’s failed, I take solace in thinking we can go back to the way things were before. I know it’s another lie, but I’m praying I can make it come true.

I
s something wrong?”

I had hoped to get out of the apartment before Elizabeth woke up. Six o’clock turned out not to be early enough.

I’m almost fully dressed. All that remains is for me to fix my tie and grab my coat and I would have made it to freedom, but now I’m going to have to engage her.

“No, why do you ask?” I say.

“You seem a little stressed.”

“You can tell that by the way I’m tying my tie?”

“I heard you come in last night, but you went straight into Charlotte’s room. Now you’re leaving at the crack of dawn. It doesn’t take a mind reader to recognize that something’s going on with you.”

“I’ve got a meeting with Ohlig this morning that I’m not looking forward to, that’s all.”

“Did something happen?”

There’s no reason not to tell her about Ohlig and my mother. Their affair isn’t covered by attorney-client privilege, and it would not only allow Elizabeth into my thoughts, something she complains I exclude her from too frequently, but also provide an explanation as to why I’m out of sorts this morning. I’m afraid to share with her my mother’s infidelity for fear it reveals too much about my genetic makeup. Fruit of the poisonous tree is the expression in the law. Once a piece of evidence becomes tainted, everything that flows from it is equally inadmissible. It’s not a perfect analogy, but it works. If I tell Elizabeth about my mother, we’ll start talking about the reasons people cheat, and that’s not a discussion I want to have with her.

“Just the usual stuff,” I say instead.

I access my voicemail within seconds of leaving my building. There’s a message, and my heart lifts, hoping it’s from Abby. It is. The computer voice reveals she left it just after we said good-bye last night.

“Hey you,” her voicemail begins, “I already miss you. Your smell. Your touch. I can’t say it was worth the wait because I’ve wanted you that way for so long, but God, it was amazing. Thank you.”

I know that I’ve lost the bargain. I want her more than ever now.

I arrive at the office before seven, but it’s already a buzz of activity. I want some quiet time, so I shut my door. I replay last night in my head, trying to experience it all over again, until I’m awakened from the fantasy by a knock.

“Come in,” I call.

Abby opens the door. She has an unabashed smile, the very picture of joy. For the second time I feel a pang of shame.

“You’re here early,” she says. “I was going to leave you a note, but this is so much better.” Clearly, she is not suffering from the same hangover that I am, and I’m not referring to the effect the alcohol had on me.

“I had trouble sleeping last night, and so I decided to come in early today.”

“That sounds like we should talk,” she says.

“No, if it’s okay with you, I’d just rather be for a little bit. We can talk later, if you want. But for now, I’d rather not.”

“I’m going to make you a deal that I think you’re going to like, Alex.”

“Isn’t the line that it’s an offer I can’t refuse?”

“If you prefer. Anyway, I can only imagine how you’re turning inside. So, if you want to chalk it up to one of those
we-both-wanted-to-know-what-it-was-going-to-be-like
kind of things, and now we know that it was pretty damn spectacular, so we never have to go there again, I’m okay with that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll live. I understand that you’ve got a lot of stuff on your plate right now, and the last thing you need is me making demands. Okay?”

This is more than okay. In fact, I can’t imagine that she could have said anything that would have been of greater relief. She’s essentially granting my greatest wish. We can pretend that last night didn’t happen. I am having my cake and eating it too.

“I appreciate that, I really do. And you’re right, things are a little … complicated right now, wouldn’t you say? I mean, we’re about to start a trial defending the guy my mother was cheating on my father with, and at the same time I’m cheating on my wife with you. This is going to be hard enough for me without pining for the next time we’re going to make love. There’s only so much my mind can take.”

“Okay, Alex. Like I said, we can go at your speed. I’ll keep my hands off you during the trial, and after that, you can tell me what you want this to look like. Deal?”

And that’s how we leave it. We are once again lovers in every way other than the most defining.

A few hours later, Ohlig enters my office in the company of my assistant. I had earlier told the receptionist on my floor to have Ohlig cool his heels until I was ready for him. As power plays go, it was a little juvenile, but it apparently did the trick because Ohlig seems put-out.

“What’s with all the heightened security, counselor?” Ohlig says when he enters my office. “It’s like the Corleone compound after Bruno Tataglia got whacked. So now I’ve got to wait in reception?”

I’ve already decided not to engage in any small talk. As soon as he’s seated, I begin.

“Michael, there’s no way to say this without being straight up.” I lean into him, the way he sometimes does with Abby to show he’s totally fixated on whatever she’s going to say next, and allow a long silence, waiting for him to offer something unsolicited. It gives me some professional pride that he’s been trained too well to fall for such a trick. “I need to know about the relationship you were having with my mother.”

Ohlig’s expression is one I’ve seen before on countless clients. It isn’t surprise, shame, or embarrassment, but calculation. He’s playing out in his mind whether he can pull off a lie or should come clean with the
truth. I’d estimate that more than 90 percent of my clients who perform this calculus choose to lie.

“It’s true, Alex. Your mother and I were, as you say, in a relationship.”

I expect more, some type of explanation about how it began, or why they chose not to tell me. Anything. But he has answered the question in full and is not going to volunteer extraneous information; again, just the way I’ve prepared him to testify when he’s cross-examined by Pavin.

“Why didn’t you tell me? For Christ’s sake, I’m representing you and you’re having an affair with my mother? Michael, you flat-out lied to me.”

“Not telling you that I was seeing your mother was not a flat-out lie. At most it was a sin of omission, and one she swore me to.”

“You’re giving me technicalities?” I say, my voice now rising. “At my mother’s funeral I asked you when you’d spoken to her last and you made it seem as if you’d barely spoken to her in weeks. You spoke to her the day before she died! From my conference room, no less.”

I see the same darting in Ohlig’s eyes as before, the tell that he’s still not sure whether to lie or not. But he must know that I couldn’t make such a specific allegation unless I have proof.

“Yes. Your mother called me at your office. She said she was going to be all alone on Thanksgiving and it was my fault. Well, yours and mine. The goddamn men in her life, as she put it. She was upset on the phone, I’m not going to lie to you about that. But I saw her that night and everything was good after that. I swear.”

“You should have told me.”

“With all due respect, what you were told about your mother’s personal life was her decision, not mine. She didn’t want you to know.” He smiles as if to convey that we’re still friends. “You may be my lawyer, Alex, but first and foremost you’re her son.”

Ohlig’s delivery is smooth, as if he’s been preparing this speech for some time, and I’m sure on some level he has. It’s clear to me that when he questioned Abby about what phone lines were tapped, it wasn’t because he was worried about something being incriminating on the tapes, at least not in a legal sense. He was concerned I’d find out about him and my mother.

“It’s difficult to talk to you about this,” he continues, “but if you must know, your mother was fine with what was going on between us. She understood that I wasn’t going to leave Pamela. She was just happy for the time we were spending together. And as for my not telling you about us, like I said, that was her decision, but now I realize that was wrong on my part, and so I’m sorry.”

I have no interest in his apology. “When did it start?” I ask, pointedly.

“Alex—”

“Just answer my question: Did it start before my father died?”

If he lies to me about this I’ll know that he’s likely lying to me about everything. Of course, the converse is not necessarily true—if he comes clean on this it just may be that he suspects I already know the truth, which, of course, I already do.

“As I’m sure you can understand, life can be complicated, and sometimes it gets messy, and we make choices and do certain things that, in hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have.”

“Not my question. It’s pretty simple—before or after?”

“Before,” he says quietly, breaking eye contact.

“Did he know?”

His eyes come back to meet mine. “No. He didn’t know. Alex, I’m very sorry. I know that I was wrong to betray your father the way I did, and that’s something I’m going to have to carry with me for the rest of my life. I deluded myself into thinking that if your father and Pamela never found out, then no one would be hurt. Your mother made me happy and I like to think that’s how she felt about me.”

“Right up until the time that she killed herself over you.”

“What?” he says, sounding shocked by my allegation. “That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it? Why else would she be swimming in the ocean alone? Did she give you her suicide note?”

I’m staring at him, my jaw clenched. If I were a different type of man, I would have already hit him.

“Alex, you have it all wrong.” This he says calmly, as if he’s trying to soothe me. “Your mother’s death was an accident. She had no reason to be upset with me. Things between us were fine. Believe me, if your
mother was upset, especially if she was suicidal, I would have known about it. You know your mother, she’s not the type to have kept that kind of sadness to herself.”

“I’m not sure I can represent you,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Are you serious? I have a pretty definite conflict of interest here.”

“You can’t just walk away from me, Alex.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Michael. I thought my father would have been pleased by the fact I was helping you, but if he knew what I know, he’d tell me to run for the hills.”

“Well, maybe what I should have said is that I don’t really have the luxury of letting you withdraw. I’ve got two million bucks with your firm, and otherwise I don’t have a pot to piss in, now that every last nickel I have is frozen. My guess is you’ve spent most of the retainer already, and so whatever I get back—if your firm gives anything back—won’t be enough to hire someone else of the caliber I need.”

“Again, Michael, that’s not my problem. You might have thought about that before retaining the son of the woman you were cheating on your wife with.”

He takes a long breath, and then lets the air escape through his mouth. “Alex, have you ever asked yourself why I sought you out? Don’t get me wrong, you’re a top-notch criminal defense lawyer, but you don’t need me to tell you that I could have retained someone else who would have been equally well credentialed. Hell, I might have even been able to get Aaron Littman’s attention with a two-million-dollar retainer. So why do you think I picked you?”