Lawyer Up (3 page)

He forced the notion away. He'd learned from his ex not to trust his own feelings. Stick to material evidence—things he could see and logically understand. That was the job of a lawyer. Unlike his emotions, unlike love, reason had never steered him wrong. Ruefully, he conceded that he had to check out her story to know those facts.

“Sure,” he responded. “I'll make the call.”

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet.

The bright relief in her eyes and glowing smile she bestowed on him almost crumbled the wall Jon was actively trying to build between them. Without another word, he turned to leave. “Thank you so much,” Jon heard her repeat to his back as he walked out. Shutting the door behind him, Jon tried to shake off the image of the forlorn woman and those luminous eyes, reminding himself aloud to “Stick to the facts!”

ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU

Back in the holding cell, Beth wondered how long it would take for Mr. Bateman to post bail. Her stomach grumbled loudly. She had missed breakfast. At least the jail wasn't so crowded now, she thought, sitting on a vacant bench. Ignoring her hunger, she tried to focus on what she could do to help her case. But stuck in jail without family or close friends, there didn't seem to be much she could accomplish.

Beth was still in shock. Her scrambled mind stuck on the fact that she'd actually been arrested for “loitering for prostitution.” The absolute absurdity of the situation made her laugh out loud, a slightly hysterical edge to the sound.

“What's so funny?” asked one of the few remaining inmates.

“Nothin',” she responded quickly, not making eye contact.

Berating herself for her stupidity, Beth regretted every careless choice she'd made last night—from not covering her uniform with her trench coat, regardless of the extreme heat wave, to sitting at that bus stop to deal with the broken heel on her boot. She should have just kept limping home without stopping. Maybe she could blame it on her exhaustion after an eight-hour shift that ended at two in the morning.

How else could she have failed to notice that this particular bus stop in the middle of Hollywood's red-light district was a hot spot of soliciting hookers? She'd been too upset about the evening's poor tips and the broken boot, wondering if her cheapskate boss would make her pay for it, to think straight. Then all hell had broken loose, and before Beth even realized what was happening, she'd found herself swept up in a police raid complete with flashing lights, blaring sirens, and the slammer van that had quickly deposited her and the other arrested prostitutes in the Hollywood jail.

And all because of a broken heel!

But Beth knew that wasn't all of it. Staring miserably down at the dirty concrete, she acknowledged that her sad descent into misery was a result of every bad choice she'd made over the course of her short life. Once again, Beth considered calling her ma back in Gum Springs, Alabama—a hick mountain town on the tail end of the Appalachians—but she hadn't spoken to her once since leaving four years ago. Her strict, Bible-thumping ma had told her to never come back:
“Bethi-Ann, you're on your own if you choose to go to sinful
Hollywood.”

Others in her scrabbling, extended family had laughed at her dreams of becoming an actress, so she had secretly saved money from her meager waitress tips and then quietly left, determined never to return. Her ma's parting words still rang in her ears, the irony laughable as she sat on the hard jail floor.
“With that trampy body, you'll be whoring in no time.”
Well, Beth wasn't a prostitute—just arrested as one.

After arriving in Hollywood, the first obstacle had been her dirt-road accent. She'd managed to get an audition with a talent scout only to be told her twang was too dense, even for Southern roles. The agent had given her a vocal coach's business card, but Beth had tossed it in the nearest garbage can. With no money for expensive lessons, she'd taught herself to speak Yankee on her own, mostly from television. Then she'd adopted the stage name Beth Marsh to go with her new sound. She was proud of her achievement, even if it had made no difference in the end.

When her limited funds ran out, Beth had found a waitress job, which devolved into a series of ever-worse positions over the years. Since she didn't have a high school diploma or references, the first one hadn't exactly been a fine dining establishment. However, just like back home, the customers seemed to think they had the right to touch her every chance they got. She learned the hard way that—unlike movie heroines who always come out ahead—pouring cold water on a customer got her fired.

Her few girlfriends had commiserated, but their advice had been to use her large “assets” to get better tips. When he wasn't trying to cop a feel himself, her current boss, Rob Larson, was no different. As the owner of the Pretty Starlets Diner, he wanted his girls friendly and sluttishly dressed to attract the male patrons leaving the surrounding strip clubs.

Beth had stumbled along waitressing while waiting for her big Hollywood break, but the second obstacle had proven insurmountable. At one time, she'd considered her ample bosom her best feature—styling herself as a buxom femme fatale—but she had quickly learned that men saw her differently.

Her résumé photos had secured several auditions, but they all turned out to be for porn flicks. Laughing, one director urged, “Honey, with those luscious, natural melons, you could make lots and lots of money. Just take your clothes off and you'll have all the acting work you could possibly want.” In all the intervening years, she'd never landed a single
real
acting job and, eventually, had come to hate her “best” feature.

Today, Beth found it hard to feel proud of her upright principles. They hadn't gotten her anywhere, and she wondered if acting in porn would really be so bad. At least she would be paid, and she sure as shit wouldn't be sitting in a dirty jail arrested for prostitution.

Stop! That's not something I would ever want to do.
Take her clothes off and let strange men fuck her with cameras rolling? That wasn't why she had come to Hollywood.

As the day dragged on, Beth became concerned she would spend another night in jail. All the remaining women had been transferred to a larger facility, but the deputy told her that since bail would be posted at any moment, they'd decided not to move her. Eating a meager dinner of a sandwich and watered-down lemonade, she tried to ignore the other women as the holding cell started filling with new inmates.

The call for “lights out” came and went, and still she sat there. The room grew darker as the overhead lights dimmed, but they never really went out. She tried to get comfortable since clearly she'd be spending another night in jail.

Suddenly Beth giggled, finding the entire situation ludicrously funny.
If
only
they
knew
the
truth!
She would have made a terrible porn actress for the same reason guys thought she was a waste-of-time girlfriend, which accounted for her nonexistent love life.

I'm as rare as an ice cube in the desert.
She laughed at her own joke, louder this time.
A
twenty-six-year-old virgin arrested for
prostitution!

Sucking in a hiccuping breath, Beth attempted to calm herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she laughed, her mirth verging on hysteria. It wasn't as though she was holding out for true love—just someone kind who cared at least a little for her. She giggled again.

“Shut up, bitch!” yelled someone from across the cell while other inmates frowned at her for disturbing their sleep.

Biting on her hand, Beth managed to stifle her snickers. Then she swiped at a tear, determined not to show weakness. Finally, unable to sleep upright, she moved to the floor and sat curled in a tight ball with her back against the wall and her head resting on her knees. For the second night in a row, she fell into an exhausted sleep on a cold concrete floor.

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO CONSULT WITH AN ATTORNEY

“It's going to be another blistering hot day in the City of Angels!” The radio DJ sounded way too cheerful for such an announcement, Jon thought as he pulled his car out onto the street. He glanced up at the clear blue sky and saw that the sun already glowed white-hot in the early morning. At least it wasn't too sweltering to have the top down.

As he drove down Franklin Avenue, his cell buzzed in his pocket, and Jon fumbled to shove his Bluetooth in his ear while silently condemning California's hands-free law. “Hello!” he yelled over the engine and street noise.

“Hi, Jon,” said Al Simmons, his mentor and a senior partner at his law firm. “I'm going to be tied up in court all day and wanted to touch base with you. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.”

“You know that we consider you a rising star at the firm. However, I'm afraid that doesn't let you off the hook in following company policy.”

“Of course. What's up?”

“I know you find pro bono work less of a priority than billable hours, but aside from it being the firm's policy to provide some sort of community service, you're now head of the new associates. It's important that you set a good example. We've looked the other way because…well, you know, we wanted to cut you some slack after your divorce, but it's employee review time, so…”

“That's why you called? Don't worry about it. I don't—”

“Jon! I'm not worried, but
you
should be. I've emailed several times about this, and I get crickets in response. You may not realize it, but the firm has let other promising lawyers go for not following company policy, whatever the policy. So I need you to take this seriously and get something ASAP. Do you understand me?”

He could hear the threat in his boss's voice. Jon had put it off time and again—in the middle of his marriage falling apart, it hadn't seemed important—but yesterday morning after receiving yet another pointed email from Simmons, he'd realized his job was at stake. So, when he'd driven by the Hollywood police station the day before, Jon had followed some gut instinct and turned into the parking lot. He knew it was somewhat unusual, but he didn't want the longer-term commitment that came with volunteering at a legal aid society. He wanted something quick and easy…and different—something not ho-hum but new, fresh, and totally unlike his typical clients.

Regrettably his new,
totally
different
pro bono client had been stuck in jail for a second night because he'd been urgently called into court yesterday afternoon on another case. He hadn't even had time to send a reply to his boss.

“Al, let me reassure you that I've just acquired a public defending project, and I'm already working on it. In fact, I'm heading there now.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. I'm back in the office tomorrow, and I'll want you to tell me about it then.”

“Absolutely.” Jon got ready to end the call.

“Jon? I think of you as a friend, so I hope you don't mind me asking, but how are you doing? We were all relieved when Val moved to another firm, but I could tell it was a very difficult time for you.”

“Thanks, Al, for asking. I'm doing okay, really. I've got a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder when it comes to women, but I'll get over it.” He didn't want to talk about it with his boss, even if he was a sort-of friend. “Hey, I've got to go now…traffic. Good luck in court today.”

“Thanks. Bye.” Al ended the call.

I'm doing okay, really.
That was his standard line when friends or family inquired, but was he?

Following his acrimonious divorce, Jon had devoted himself to the firm, working tirelessly to win cases and lead the company in billable hours. He wondered if it was as apparent to others as it was to himself that all those late nights and weekends were just a way to avoid the loneliness of an empty apartment and an empty life. His efforts had resulted in him being appointed head of the new hires, a promotion of sorts. Now Jon felt tired but was afraid to slow down. That would let the loneliness he constantly pushed aside seep back in. He sighed. There was no time to worry about that now. He had a “project” to finish.

He pulled into the jail's parking lot and checked his watch. Eight o'clock. His client should be up by now, he thought, climbing out of the car and then grabbing his briefcase. The petite woman had filled his thoughts throughout the preceding day. At times he'd wondered if she'd played him—all those copious tears—but she had seemed genuinely distraught. Not that he was a very good judge, Jon reminded himself. He could tell she was gorgeous underneath that sleazy garb and jailhouse grime, but he kept wondering how a woman who looked that good could fall so low.

His sleep had been disturbed too, and her repeated appearance in his dreams had made him restless…restless and hard. He needed to get this quick-and-dirty case done and move on, he thought, and next time he'd find a man who needed his help.

IF YOU CANNOT AFFORD AN ATTORNEY, ONE CAN BE PROVIDED TO YOU

Beth had woken up early, the noise and hard floor making real sleep impossible. It felt like she'd lived in the jail for weeks rather than just two nights. It was only eight. It could be hours before her lawyer showed up,
if
he came back.

There was nothing to do but wait…and think. She had surely hit rock bottom sitting here surrounded by prostitutes and drug addicts, but Beth knew she could go lower if she didn't make some changes starting right now. It was time to grow up and take charge of her life. It was also time for her to be completely honest with herself.

I
am
not
going
to
make
it
as
an
actress. It's not going to happen for
me.

So then what? Refusing to be defeated, Beth searched for something to hold on to, anything to make her feel better before she started bawling again in front of everyone. She seized on her one accomplishment since arriving in Tinseltown: she had taught herself to speak without an accent. She let herself feel proud for a moment—she had done that all on her own. Sitting a little straighter, Beth counted her other skills: she was a good waitress and smart, even if she hadn't been behaving that way recently.

With a spark of hope, she realized that by closing the door on her childish dream of stardom, she could move on and make a plan to better her life, starting with getting a decent waitressing job. It had taken the shock of finding herself in jail to realize just how low she'd allowed herself to fall. Next, she would resume preparing for her GED. She mentally patted herself on the back for having already bought a used study guide. Once she was free of this mess, studying would become her second most important goal. If she was really going to change her life, then improving her education had to be a priority, she decided. Last, she would officially change her name to Beth Sikes.

“Breakfast time,” called the jailer, interrupting her musings. Everyone rushed to the bars to get their allotment of juice and a PB&J sandwich. When it was her turn, he added, “Your lawyer's here now. You should be out any minute.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

Returning to her seat, Beth felt better already. It was a new day and she had a new plan. It wasn't much, but she could build on this small start to ultimately improve her life.

After breakfast, Beth's bail was finally posted. She was released and her belongings returned. She checked her purse, grateful to see her cell phone and money inside. Feeling dirtier than ever before in her life, she wanted a hot shower and something that wasn't gross to eat.

Mr. Bateman waited for her in the lobby. “Come on,” he called.

As she walked toward him, Beth wondered how she could have labeled Bateman just “good-looking.” The man was gorgeous! She felt breathless and skittish in his presence. Worse, she felt even scuzzier standing next to her immaculately and finely dressed high-priced lawyer.

As he led her through the lobby and out the door, Bateman added, “I got you released on two-thousand-dollar bail. I paid the bail bond myself, so you owe me two hundred dollars.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much! I've only got about ninety bucks on me, but…” Beth dug into her pocketbook for the money, but he held up his hand to stop her.

“You can pay me back later after you can get to an ATM. I don't want to leave you with no money in your purse.”

Beth was stirred by his generosity. No one, from her boss to her roommate, ever treated her as thoughtfully as that. Like the bright sun now shining down and warming her face, it warmed her bleak spirit.

Then Bateman added, “And…umm, sorry to be crude, but regardless of what the warden suggested, I don't want
any
in-kind services as payback. Just cash, okay?”

Beth stiffened…and chilled. It sounded like he still thought she was a prostitute. Then there was the fact that she didn't have any money in a bank—or anywhere—to pay him back. Worse than being broke, she
owed
money. Already living on the edge, she'd fallen behind in rent after a bad toothache necessitated several trips to the dentist. She sighed. Might as well tell him now and get it over with.

“Mr. Bateman, I'm sorry, but I don't have enough money to pay you back right now. I promise I will allocate some of my tip money every night toward paying you all I owe you, but it might take a while.”

Starting to walk again, he tossed out, “Is that what pimps call it these days…tip money?”

“Why are you doing this at all, if you're going to act like such an ass?”

Bateman jerked to a stop, and instantly Beth regretted her outburst. Was she about to lose her free lawyer? Well, maybe she'd be better off with someone else. Once again, she wondered why he was choosing to help prostitutes, especially when he seemed to dislike them. Perhaps she should ask for a court-appointed attorney, but then she remembered what she'd overheard when the guards talked about Bateman's odd visit to the jail.

He was an expensive lawyer at a prominent firm, and he
always
won his cases. Bateman might be a jerk, but she wanted a jerk that would win, not a nice but overworked, underpaid public defender. Turning toward her lawyer, she girded herself to apologize, abjectly if necessary, but Bateman spoke first.

“You're right, Ms. Sikes. That was uncalled for and I apologize. Now, how about I give you a ride to your apartment?”

That such an important man would apologize to someone like her, someone he thought was a criminal, impressed Beth as well. Though she hardly knew the man, the apology seemed to show he was honorable, maybe trustworthy, and in her lowly world on Hollywood Boulevard, that was a rare trait.

Remembering how they had both stared transfixed that first time, seeming drawn to each other, made Beth wish they could have met under different circumstances. The thought strengthened her resolve to change her life. The next time that providence put a man like him in her path, she wanted to be ready and worthy.
If
there
is
a
next
time
, she thought sadly.

She followed him through the parking lot to his car, a sun-faded beemer convertible that had a slight dent in the fender. It surprised her that such a supposedly important lawyer drove an older car, but it was still nicer than anything she'd ever ridden in. She looked up as he opened the top and thought how good it felt to be out with the sun on her face.

After starting the engine, he said, “Your paperwork said you live on Palm Street near Western Ave. I'll escort you all the way to your door. I want to know exactly where you live, because if you're a no-show at your court hearing, I
will
find you. Both my two thousand dollars and my reputation are at risk—and I value my reputation. Do you understand?”

Beth nodded. Was he always this distrustful? She wondered why he wouldn't at least give her the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty—wasn't that how it was supposed to go?

“By the way, I did call the restaurant to confirm your story. Did you think I wouldn't?” he asked with a scowl. “They'd never heard of you.”

“What!” Beth cried, now understanding Bateman's continued mistrust. “I work there! I really do, and Rob owes me two weeks' pay. That lying asshole is trying to cheat me.”

Slamming a foot on the brake at a red light, Jon muttered under his breath, “She should be an actress. Certainly is a convincing liar.”

That finally did it. Grateful or not, desperate or not, she was sick and tired of him not believing her.

“
I
am
telling
you
the
truth
!
” she yelled. “Take me to the restaurant now and I'll prove it.”

Pulling onto her street, the lawyer replied that he didn't have any more time to spend on her case today. Beth decided that after showering and changing into clean clothes, she would walk to the diner to find out what the hell was going on and get her pay. She needed that money to give her roommate.

Beth was surprised that Bateman parked, rather than just dropping her off. Apparently he really did want to see exactly where she lived. She was embarrassed that the fancy lawyer would see her nasty neighborhood and decrepit apartment building, but when Bateman followed her to the entrance, she realized it would be hard to put him off. Beth unlocked the front door and he followed her up the three flights.

Glancing down at him, she saw that Bateman was taking in everything. His presence made her see the building from the eyes of an outsider, and she was aghast at the rundown state of the place—stained carpeting, musty smell, and peeling wallpaper. The inhabitants they passed climbing the stairs were scummy-looking, but worst of all, Beth realized she looked no better—or cleaner—than they did. She just hoped that her roommate wasn't home. Beth really didn't want him to witness the scene that would unfold when she couldn't fulfill her promise to repay all her debt.

Reaching her apartment, Beth turned and thanked Bateman for the ride home.

“I'll just wait until you're safely inside,” he replied. While the comment sounded gentlemanly, Bateman clearly didn't trust her. She sighed and retrieved the apartment key from her purse, but when Beth tried to put it into the lock, it wouldn't go in.

“That's strange.” She tried it again.

“What's the problem?” Bateman asked.

“I don't know. It won't go in,” she murmured, making another attempt.

“Let me try,” he said, reaching for the key. Reluctantly, Beth stepped aside. Now he would undoubtedly go in and see that the inside didn't look any better than the hallway. Bateman raised the key, but suddenly the door was pulled wide open. Beth's roommate, Sandy, stood in the doorway looking angry and barring the entrance. She glared at Beth, demanding, “Where have you been? I thought you'd run out on me.”

“No, of course not. It's a long story. Just let me in, please. For some reason my key isn't working.”

“I changed the lock, and you're not stepping one foot inside unless you pay me all the back rent you owe plus this month's in advance. That's three months…as well as the cost of the locksmith. Then maybe I'd consider letting you in.” Sandy held her hand out, as if expecting it that very second, but her eyes flicked to Jon standing quietly behind Beth. They widened, taking in his expensive suit and fine leather shoes.

Why wouldn't Sandy let her in the apartment? Something was very wrong, and shivery unease trailed down Beth's spine.

“Sandy, I'm sorry, I ain't got it…I mean, I don't have it on me.” Where was she going to get more than fifteen hundred dollars? Her boss only owed her about nine hundred. “Look. You wouldn't believe what happened. I've been in jail, but it was all a big mistake. Just let me in please, and I'll explain.” Her roommate didn't budge an inch, and Beth's alarm skyrocketed.

“I always wondered if you were hooking on the side in that outfit”—Sandy glanced at Beth's uniform—“and with all those really late nights. Guess you finally got caught.”

“No, it—”

“Doesn't matter. It's my apartment, and I'm done. Should've known better than to take on a roomie without any good references.” Sandy started to close the door.

“Please, no!” cried Beth, surging forward, but Sandy held firm. Getting desperate, Beth's voice grew loud. “You can't do this to me. I have rights!”

“No, actually, you don't. You're not on the lease, remember? In fact, we don't have any kind of written agreement. I've been letting you share
my
place, and you haven't paid me
any
rent for two months now.”

“Please, Sandy, I don't have anywhere to go.”

“Not my problem.”

“Just give me one more chance. I ain't got it now, but I sure as shootin' promise I'll find a way to pay you back.” Sandy just shook her head no. “Well, at least let me in to get my things.”

“What about me? I was really very nice, letting you stay here as long as I did. I needed that money, and you left me high and dry. It didn't look like you were ever coming back, so I solved the problem in the only possible way you'd left me…by selling your stuff, and then I posted a—”

“
What?
You sold my things?” Beth screeched. She had never been so angry in her entire life, and she lunged at Sandy. Beth had barely moved a foot before Jon wrenched her to a stop, pulling her backward until he had her locked in his strong arms, her back pressed against his hard chest.

“Don't,” he ordered, tightening his arms. “It will just make your situation worse.”

Beth struggled against his grip. “Bitch! That was everything I had in the world.”

* * *

Jon could tell that Sandy looked remorseful, but then she told Beth, “I asked for the back rent so many times, and you promised me over and over. Then you just disappeared. I tried calling your cell several times.”

Then Sandy's eyes trailed over to Jon. Pointing her finger toward Beth, she told him, “I'm sure you can understand why I assumed that she'd skipped out on me, and I just sold the stuff this morning, mostly junk. It wasn't nearly enough.”

He watched as Sandy's gaze lowered to his arms wrapped around Beth, a scheming look on her face that he didn't like. “I don't know if you're her pimp or just a customer, but I'll bet you can drop that kinda money without it even denting your wallet. How about it? You pay her past debt and loan her this month's rent, and I'll let you both in so she can start paying you back immediately. But only you, 'cause I'm not letting Beth bring in customers off the street.”