The Devil's Advocate (19 page)

She joined two men at the bar who drew close to her as if she were a magnet and they were made of iron.

Kevin began to feel he and Miriam had entered a modern-day Roman orgy. He was fascinated, titillated, and amused. No wonder the associates were so excited about attending another party in the penthouse.

In the background, close to the windows, stood Mr. Milton and the associates, each holding a glass of champagne. Mr. Milton was wearing what looked to be a scarlet smoking jacket and a pair of matching slacks. As soon as he saw Kevin and Miriam in the open elevator, he said something to Paul Scholefield. Paul nodded at the disc jockey working the turntable, and the music was stopped.

Everyone quieted down. Mr. Milton stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present our newest associate and his wife, Kevin and Miriam Taylor."

The gathering broke into applause. Kevin looked at Miriam and saw she was beaming.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn't remember her looking more radiant, her natural look burning through the makeup. She squeezed his hand in hers.

"Thank you," Kevin said, nodding from left to right. Mr. Milton proceeded toward them, and the music continued. Everyone went back to what he or she was doing. Miriam looked about for Norma and Jean and saw them waving at her from the other side of the dance floor. About halfway across the room, on the left side, Helen Scholefield sat complacently, staring out at the gathering, a goblet of white wine in her hand. She sat so still, she looked like one of the alabaster statues.

"Welcome," Mr. Milton said.

"Miriam, may I present Mr. Milton," Kevin said. John Milton took Miriam's extended hand into his right hand and then placed his left over it. He smiled.

"They told me you were a very attractive woman, Miriam. I can see that was a gross understatement."

Miriam blushed. "Thank you. I don't have to tell you that I feel I know you already. Everyone I meet talks so much about you."

"All good, I hope." He pretended to scowl at Kevin.

"Nothing you could even question," Kevin said, raising his right hand. John Milton laughed.

"Let me get you two something to drink and then introduce you to some of my guests. And, not long after that," he said, still holding Miriam's hand, "we'll see if we can talk Miriam into playing the piano for us."

"Oh no. They told you." She shot a chastising look toward Norma and Jean, who were both watching and smiling widely.

"They didn't have to. I knew. Your reputation preceded you," he added quickly, and Miriam laughed.

"I think I'm going to need that drink," she said. Kevin laughed, and the three of them started across the room, stopping by a waiter so that John Milton could get them a cocktail before proceeding with introductions.

Kevin was impressed with the variety of professionals attending Mr. Milton's party.

There were lawyers from other firms, many of which Kevin had heard of or remembered from his college days when the law students would discuss ideal places to work. He and Miriam were introduced to two doctors, both heart specialists. He recognized a rather famous Broadway actor, known for his character roles. They met a well-known
New York Post
columnist and were eventually introduced to Bob McKensie, an assistant district attorney.

"Bob likes to visit the enemy camp once in a while," Mr. Milton joked, and then added in a mock-serious tone, "especially when we have a new star."

"I'm not a star yet," Kevin said and shook McKensie's long hand. To Kevin, McKensie looked Lincolnesque, standing at least six feet five, lanky but firm, something he could tell from the man's grip. McKensie had a narrow, dark face with deep, sad eyes and sharply cut features.

"Trouble is," McKensie said, "everyone who works for John Milton becomes a star sooner or later. Which makes work for the prosecutor's office that much harder."

John Milton laughed. "Listen, Bob," he said, "we don't make your job harder; we make you strive to be the best you can be. You should be thanking us."

"Listen to that logic," McKensie said, shaking his head. "See why he and all his associates are so formidable in court? Nice to meet you, Kevin. I understand you're going to handle the Rothberg case."

"Yes."

"As they say, see you in court." McKensie nodded to Miriam and went off to talk to other people.

"Rather serious fellow," Kevin said. "Doesn't he ever smile?"

"Hasn't got all that much to smile about these days," Mr. Milton replied, his eyes twinkling. "Now let me show you the rest of the penthouse." John Milton took Miriam's arm. He led them to the left, where the doorway opened to a corridor, off of which were three guest bedrooms, a study, three bathrooms, and John Milton's bedroom.

AH the rooms were large. The bathrooms were tiled and plush, each with its own whirlpool, just as the associates had described.

"I don't like this railroad car arrangement," John Milton said as they walked down the corridor, "but I didn't feel like ripping everything out to start all over.'*

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Miriam exclaimed, especially when they stopped at one of the bathrooms.

John Milton gazed at her a moment and then winked at Kevin. "Later, if you want, feel free to use a whirlpool. It's first come, first served."

When they reached John Milton's bedroom and looked in, Kevin understood why Paul and the others talked about the luxury and hedonism of the penthouse. The heavy oak bed at the center of the room was enormous. The mattress, box spring, and bedding all had to be custom-made. It looked like a bed Henry VIII might have had constructed.

The posts were large and tall. An artisan had carved mythological figures into them—

unicorns, satyrs, cyclops. Kevin was reminded of some of the furniture in John Milton's office. Perhaps the same craftsman had built this bed.

The bedspread and oversized pillows were done in a pattern of scarlet and white, which matched the room's decor—scarlet and white drapes, ruby lamp shades, and white walls with spiraling bursts of red that looked like explosions of stars. The same white rug covering the floor in the large room covered the floor here.

Above the bed was a ceiling of mirrors. When they gazed up, it looked as if they were liquefied and spilling down toward the center of the room. The distortions must make for interesting erotic pictures, Kevin mused.

"I gather red's your favorite color," he said when he saw how John Milton was smiling at him.

"Yes. I like sharp, clean colors—reds, whites, stark black. I suppose it's my leaning toward clear and unclouded things. I hate it when people say someone or something is neither good nor bad. Life is much simpler when we identify everything for what it is, don't you think?" he asked Miriam.

"Oh yes, yes," she said, still intrigued with the furniture, the closets, the artwork, and the great bed. In the wall directly across from it was a built-in giant television screen.

"Well, I've kept you two from the party long enough. Let's go back and have some fun, eh?" He snapped off the bedroom lights, and they returned to the gathering.

Both Kevin and Miriam thought it was a wonderful party. Conversations were stimulating and interesting. People were discussing the new shows on Broadway and off-Broadway. Kevin got into a heated political discussion with some lawyers and a state supreme court judge. He and Miriam danced with each other and with other people, especially Ted and Dave and their wives.

But Helen Scholefield never moved from her chair. Whenever Kevin looked over, he found her looking at him. Finally, he made his way across the room and said hello. He noticed Paul standing beside Mr. Milton. They were both watching him closely.

Probably worrying about her, Kevin thought.

"You don't look like you're having a good time," he said. "Can I get you something to eat or drink, ask you to dance ..."

"No, I'm fine. You should worry about yourself... and your wife," she replied, without any sarcasm or anger.

"Pardon?"

"Are you having a good time, Kevin Taylor?"

He laughed. "You can just call me Kevin. Yes, as a matter of fact. This is quite a party."

"It's only the beginning. The party hasn't even begun yet."

"No?" He looked around. She was staring up at him, glaring at him the way she had at the elevator the day he met her. It made him nervous, self-conscious. "So ... tell me, are any of these paintings yours?"

"Yes, some of mine are here. They're from my early days, though. I was painting only what Mr. Milton wanted me to paint then. You can be sure he didn't want me to do the painting that's in your apartment. Is it still there?"

"Oh yeah, sure. I find it... interesting."

"Keep looking at it, Kevin Taylor. It's the only hope you have," she said just before Paul stepped up to them.

"Helen, how are you doing, honey?"

"I'm tired, Paul. Would you mind very much if I slipped away?"

Paul turned instinctively in Mr. Milton's direction.

"Mr. Milton shouldn't care," she added quickly. "He has new entertainment." She turned to Kevin and looked at him pointedly.

Kevin glanced at Paul with confusion, but Paul only shook his head. "No problem, honey. You go on down to our apartment. I won't stay late."

"No later than you usually stay, I'm sure," she replied dryly. She stood up. "Good night, Kevin Taylor," she said and started away. Then she stopped and turned back, tilting her head to one side before speaking. "You do like all this, don't you?"

Kevin smiled and lifted his arms a bit.

"How can anyone not help but like it?" he replied.

She nodded, confirming a thought. "He chooses well," she said.

"Go on down, Helen," Paul snapped. She turned obediently and continued toward the elevator. "I'm sorry," Paul muttered, looking after her. "I thought bringing her to the party might help cheer her up a bit, but she's just so depressed. She's taking something the doctor prescribed, but it's not helping. I'll have to speak to him tomorrow."

"It's too bad. If there is anything Miriam and I can do ..."

"Thanks. You guys just have a good time. It's your night. Don't let this put a damper on anything. Come on, let's go into Mr. Milton's study. Ted and Dave are in there." Paul glared in his wife's direction, scowling and shaking his head as she got into the elevator.

She stood like a statue, with a puzzling Mona Lisa smile on her face as the doors closed.

Kevin looked for Miriam and saw her moving toward the dance floor with Mr.

Milton. He waited for them to start.

"Look at the boss. From here he looks twenty years younger."

"Yeah," Paul said, his face returning to a relaxed smile. "What a guy. Come on."

Paul followed him across the room. Just before they stepped into the corridor, he glanced back and saw Miriam turning and twisting her body more suggestively than he had ever seen her do in public before.

"Come on," Paul repeated, and Kevin continued down the corridor to the den where the other associates waited.

From the smiles on Ted's, Dave's, and Paul's faces, Kevin realized the gathering in the study was not spontaneous. After Ted poured him another glass of champagne, this time from a bottle of Dom Perignon, Dave cleared his throat.

"We wanted to get away from the crowd for a few private moments with you, Kevin," he said. "But first things first." He raised his glass. "We three would like to take this opportunity to welcome a new member to our legal family. May his talents, wit, and knowledge reach their full strength in the courtroom battles yet to come."

"Here, here," Ted and Paul added.

"To Kevin," Dave said.

"To Kevin," they repeated, and everyone drank.

"Thank you, guys. I want to say how much I appreciate the way you and your wives have made things easier for me and for Miriam. I really want to be a part of this. My only fear is that I won't live up to your and Mr. Milton's high expectations."

"Oh, yes you will, buddy," Paul said.

"We all started with that feeling," Ted said. "You'll be surprised how quickly it passes."

They sat down because Dave had a new joke to tell. When he was finished, their laughter spilled out and into the corridor. More champagne was poured, more stories related. Kevin had no idea how much time had passed, but suddenly they all stopped talking because they heard the sounds of the piano.

"That must be your wife," Dave said. "We heard she can play well."

They got up quickly and joined the crowd that had surrounded Miriam and the piano. Mr. Milton was standing on her left side, his hand on the piano top, looking out at the audience. He wore a look of pride, as if Miriam were his daughter or even ... his wife.

Kevin drew closer. Miriam's fingers were flying over the keys with a movement and a grace he had never seen before. The expression on her face was somber, and she sat firmly, with a demeanor of confidence. There was no hesitation, no tentativeness, no uncertainty. She looked like a professional pianist.

And the music. It was wonderful. Kevin didn't recognize the piece and wondered if it were something she had prepared just in case she was talked into doing this.

Only she didn't look like someone who had had to be talked into it. She looked like someone hired to play. When he looked at the faces in the crowd, he saw expressions of deep appreciation and awe. People nodded to each other, their eyes widening. It was as if Miriam were another one of Mr. Milton's finds.

But she wasn't, Kevin thought. This was strange. He began to feel a bit overwhelmed and regretted drinking so much champagne. He had lost track of how many glasses he had drunk, yet, when he looked at the champagne in his glass now, he felt an irresistible urge to sip it. It seemed to turn from a blush to blood-red right before his eyes.

He saw Diane staring at him and smiled at her. She nodded toward Miriam and raised her eyebrows. Suddenly the room took a spin. He staggered but kept his balance by taking hold of a high-back chair to his right. He closed his eyes and shook his head.