Knox County Ch. 05

"What? Why are you angry?"

"I'm not."

He laughed. "But you are. I can see it in your eyes."

She turned back to face the painting. "I'm secondary in this, aren't I?"

He looked at the painting. "What do you mean? You're the focal point."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. What I meant was you'd have painted her either way. I'm only there because I happened to drop in when I shouldn't have. At a bad time. And you thought that would make for a great painting."

He looked from her to the painting, not understanding. "You don't understand," he stammered.

Her voice was quiet again. "No, I understand. And I'm sorry. I'm not angry; have no right to be. I know I'm not as pretty as her. Or as young, or as interesting. I just, I don't know . . . . "

He reached behind her and picked up a sketch pad. He flipped over the cover and held it in front of her. She looked down. It was her, sitting across the table from him at lunch. He flipped again, and there she was making him an omelette. She recognized the outfit in the drawing. She hadn't worn it since their first meal the morning after she'd arrived. He flipped it again, and there she was mopping. Again, and it was her, sleeping on the sofa, her arm draped over her face.

"Is this what you were talking about?"

She nodded, taking the sketchbook from her hands and flipping through it. There were more, a lot more, and she figured prominently in all of them.

"I've started a few of them if you want to see."

She shook her head.

"I just couldn't finish them. Until that night, that is. Until I could see into you, know you better."

She looked at him. His eyes were soft, and he smiled at her.

Roger cleared his throat, louder than before. "Fine, fine. Now that we've got that settled, what about this other girl? This Elizabeth?"

"What about her?"

"Do you think you can produce more with her?" He saw the glance from Cynthia and added, "We know you're ready for a whole series with Ms. Holloway. But what about with Elizabeth?"

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, I suppose so. She's pretty good at it, actually. Opens up pretty easily."

Emily chirped in. "And the two of you never . . . ."

Sean laughed and shook his head. "No, Emily." He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in close. "I only have eyes for you. You know that." Her arms hung limp at her sides and a frown played over her face.

Cynthia smiled.

* * *

Will sat in the tiny office. Stacks of files were piled on the desk, books and law journals stacked over most available chair and floor space.

"You have a great resume, Will," the man said. He was short, pudgy, dressed in golf shirt, plaid sweater, and khaki slacks. "Why do you want to come out here?"

Will smiled. "I don't want to work a hundred hours a week anymore. I've had enough of that. Now that I've got all of my bills paid and enough saved up, I want to practice law, not write briefs."

He nodded. "Yeah, I got tired of it too. Real quick. Quicker than you." Will raised an eyebrow. "Skadden Arps for four years," he said, naming the biggest mergers and acquisitions firm in the world. "Made a mint, damned near worked to death."

He hadn't expected this. He took a closer look on the wall behind the desk. There it was. The diploma said Yale Law School.

The man watched his eyes. "Will, we're not a bunch of hacks out here. There are some pretty good attorneys. Attorneys I'd put up against anyone in Milwaukee or Chicago. Like you, though, they don't want that life. Don't want to be married to their job and the demands of their partners. Armitage is plenty big enough for them, plenty enough excitement. And they get to go home at night, spend time with their families, golf, whatever."

Will nodded. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. He figured the attorneys wouldn't be as good. Not bad, mind you, just not top flight.

"Unfortunately," the man continued, "the payoffs aren't as big. The clients don't have as much money. But you help them anyway. You learn to give them good work for less--a lot less--than you'd get away with in Chicago. Understand?"

Will nodded again. "Then again, you can dress like this," he said, nodding down at his relaxed attire. "That," he jerked his chin at Will's business suit and striped tie, "is only necessary when you have court. Or meetings with clients. Slacks and clean shirts are usually acceptable outside the courtroom, and they'll be just as happy."

"What kind of law would I practice?"

"Everything. Wills, trusts, probate, some criminal defense, but not much. Then there's the divorces, real estate closings, some corporate work. Whatever they want, you do for them."

"But I've never done most of those things."

He nodded. "Neither had I. But you'll learn pretty quickly."

He tried to hide his concern. He'd never gone beyond antitrust and complex estate planning.

"Listen," the man continued, "it's fun. Really, it is. I was stuck in a shitty little office with no window for four long years. I pounded out endless memoranda and briefs on the narrowest, most boring crap you can imagine. Almost never met a client, rarely saw the inside of a courtroom. Now I get to represent who I want and I get to do it all. I get to help people I care about and make a great living doing it. It's better. Fifteen years ago, I was you. Now . . . well, now I'm happy."

"What're the hours?"

"Usually eight to five thirty, Monday through Thursday. We cut out a little earlier on Fridays. Some Saturdays, but only when they can't meet you otherwise or you get behind. Say once a month."

Will's eyes widened. His work week would be cut in half.

"Pay?"

"Seventy five a year starting."

His pay would be more than cut in half, he realized.

"I know that's nothing compared to what you're earning now, but it's a lot out here. Remember, you don't have to live in Chicago, pay a fortune for everything. Hell, you can get a great house out here for two hundred grand. And you work hard, get us some more clients? Me and Jerry have already talked. We'll make you a partner if you want. But only if it's good for all of us. Then you'll make a lot more."

The man looked at his watch and stood. Will stood with him and shook the hand that was now outstretched. "Me and Jerry have already talked, Will. The job's yours if you want it, okay?"

Will nodded.

"Don't mean to run, but I've got a tee time in a half hour. Don't want to be late, okay?"

Will nodded again. "I want it," he said, the words rushing out before he thought about them.

The man smiled widely. "Good. Glad to have you aboard. Go back to your firm, get shit in order there, and call us next week on when you can start. We'll hold it for you."

Will nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Will followed him outside and they said their goodbyes. He watched the man, his new boss, hop into his car and, with a wave, pull out and drive away.

Will looked up and down the street. It was early autumn now. He smelled the dampness of leaves recently fallen and a small chill in the air. He knew what he wanted to do, but he hesitated to give in. Fuck it, he thought, and hopped in his car.

He drove around town, looking for 2734 Maplecrest. The town was larger than he thought. The old part was laid out on a grid, and he crisscrossed those streets easily. He saw no Maplecrest there. He drove toward the edge of town, where he'd seen some new developments on his way into town. These weren't laid out in grids, though, and he had to drive up and down every street to cover them all. As seemed to be his luck, Maplecrest was the last street in the last new subdivision.

It was a clean street, he saw, like those in a thousand towns across America. Nice houses, sidewalks, almost no trees except those recently planted by the new owners of the architecturally similar, vinyl-siding clad houses. The house numbers were on every house, and he slowed as he reached 2734.

It was a duplex in a series of duplexes. Almost noon, he noticed, and he saw children playing in yards. In front of 2734 Maplecrest Lane, he saw a little boy playing riding a Big Wheel in the driveway. Sitting on the front steps, watching him while reading a book, was Elizabeth. He pulled over and put the car in park, looking at her. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long legs together at the knees and the book propped on her thighs. He watched her put the book down and reach into her pocket, looking at a cell phone before opening it and speaking. He couldn't hear her, too far away for that. After a minute or two, she flipped the cell phone shut and stood, saying something to the little boy. He kept riding, and she walked over to him and pushed him from behind into the driveway.

A few minutes later, he watched her car pull out of the garage and the door close behind her. The boy was in a car seat in the back. He watched the car swing into the street and head toward him. He froze, not knowing whether to duck down or not, not knowing what he would say if she saw him. As she drew nearer, though, her head went to the rear view mirror and she was saying something to her little boy.

She never looked at his car as she passed.

* * *

Aimee sat in the living room and watched them work. Tim had shown up an hour ago with two of his fellow officers and Troy, an old high school buddy, and told her he was going to go ahead and move his things out. She hadn't bothered arguing, but she stayed around to make sure he didn't take anything that wasn't on his list.

"Last one," Troy grunted, lugging one end of a dresser past her. Tim was still back there somewhere, and she hadn't seen him in fifteen minutes or more.

She got up and walked down the hallway. He wasn't in the spare bedroom, which was bare now, and he wasn't in the bedroom, now devoid of all of his shaving items and one of the pictures from the wall. She looked in and saw that everything was still in the master bedroom, untouched. Her chest tightened as she approached the last door.

She opened the door to the third bedroom, which they had set up as a den. He was at the desk, clicking the mouse in his right hand.

"I've made a back up, you know. And printed them all. Hard copies."

He looked up, then back to the screen. She walked to the desk and looked down. He was flipping through the photos saved on the hard drive. Pictures of flowers, family gatherings, and Tim couplings with strangers were all mixed in together, in the chronological order in which they'd been taken and uploaded to the computer. He took the same time, may two or three seconds, with each picture, regardless of subject matter.

She watched the images click past them. Watched four pictures from her sister's wedding lead into a night with some redhead he's only been with once. Then some flowers, pictures of a cookout, and Jenny sucking his cock. She felt her stomach tighten. This had been her life. All of it. Not just his cheating, but the other things as well. All at the same time.

"What're you-- "

"I'm sorry, Aimee."

"You've said that."

Troy stuck his head in the door. "You coming?"

He looked up and forced a smile. "Give me a sec, okay?"

Troy nodded and disappeared.

He looked up at her. "You were right," he started. "I'm a prick. A bastard. I know that. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Things you said, things mom said." He laughed. "Troy made the point pretty clearly. I fucked up. Bad."

She said nothing. She didn't want to have this conversation. Neither of them had yet saved enough for an attorney, but they'd managed to get most everything split up without acrimony, and she didn't want to go into this anymore.

"I don't want you to hate me. You'll never take me back. I know you won't. That's not what this is about. I just want you to know that, well, that I know I fucked up real bad and lost the best thing I ever had. Okay?"

The prick, she was starting to cry. She nodded, her voice trying to laugh as she spoke. "That Troy's observation?"

He gave a silent laugh. "Almost word for word."

"He's right," she said, trying to will herself to stop crying. "I won't ever take you back. If there'd been only one, then maybe. Maybe we could've worked it out. But this?" Her hand waved at the screen. "It's just too much, you know?"

He nodded. "I know." A tear formed and ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away before going on. "I'm going to miss you, baby. And I'll always miss you, and always know how bad I fucked up. But please say you don't hate me. Be mad, think I'm a prick, say you don't forgive me. I understand all of that. But not hatred." She turned her back, then she felt him standing behind her, his arms encircling her and pulling her in to him. "Please."

She turned into him and hugged him back. "Goddamnit, Tim." She was crying into his shirt. "I don't hate you. Okay? Just don't ever do this to anyone else. If you do, and I find out, then I'll hate you, I promise."

He kissed the top of her head. "I won't."

He broke the hug and left her there, crying alone in her empty home. Why did she have to be his learning curve?

* * *

Sean was seated at the table, Roger to his left and Emily on the other side. He looked up when Elizabeth walked in, a beaming smile spreading his cheeks. He stood and hugged her.

"Elizabeth, good to see you again."

She hugged him back. She seemed hesitant, he noticed. When he broke the hug, he held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She avoided his gaze. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, looking down. "Bad night is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked at Roger and Emily, then back at him, shaking her head again.

He guided her to a chair, holding if for her and pushing it in when she was seated. "Later," he whispered in her ear. She nodded.

He stayed behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "Elizabeth, this is Roger Hollister and Emily Cuthbert. They're my agents."

Her head turned to them. "Pleased to meet you."

Roger nodded back.

"We're the ones that hired you," Emily said.

He felt the muscles in her shoulder twitch.

"We'd like to propose an arrangement," Roger intoned.

Her body went rigid beneath his hand. "Are you all right?" he asked, squeezing his shoulder. She didn't look back at him, but he saw her give a quick nod.

"What kind of arrangement."

"We'd like to hire you. For Sean," Roger said.

"I'm thinking of getting out of the business."

"Hear us out, please."

He saw her head swivel to his. "No," she said. "I'm done being hired out, okay? I'm done with it."

Sean kneeled beside her chair, and she turned to face him. He saw fear in her eyes. "Please," he said, his voice little more than a whisper, "just hear them out."

She stared at him for a moment, and he kept his eyes on hers. Her eyes softened some, but the fear remained. She nodded, then turned back to Roger.

"Okay, what's the proposal."

"We've seen the painting. Of you. And we want to hire you to pose for more."

She said nothing, but he felt the tension leaving her shoulder.

"Do you know who he is?" Emily asked.

Elizabeth shook her head.

"He's an artist, honey. A great artist. Very famous in some circles."

Elizabeth craned her head back, looking up at Sean. He shrugged back at her.

She looked back at Roger. "So that's it. You pay me, and I sit here and let him draw me. Nothing more expected, no strings attached.."

Emily nodded. Roger said, "Precisely."

"And you'll pay me how much for this?"

Roger looked to Emily and raised an eyebrow. Emily looked at Roger, then back at Elizabeth. "How much were you making for . . . well, for what we originally retained you for."

"For a whole weekend?" Emily nodded.

"My cut was three grand."

Emily looked back at Roger. Roger leaned back in his chair, his fingers playing with his lips.

"Did you work every weekend like that?"

"Does it matter?"

He shot a glance at her. Sean saw the negotiator coming out in him. Then he saw Elizabeth lean forward, folding her arms on the table in front of her.

"I'm paid for my time. Doesn't matter to me how I spend it. You want me to spend it sitting around, posing for pictures, that's fine. But it's still my time."

Roger nodded. He looked up at Sean, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me," Sean said. "Not my bailiwick. You're in charge of the monies. I'm just the artist."

Roger looked back to Elizabeth. "If we retained you, guaranteed you, three weekends a month just to sit here and pose, how much would you want?"

Sean watched her push the chair back on its hind legs, curling her knees up to the seat and cradling them in her arms. She was thinking, and Roger stared as he waited for her answer.

After a few minutes, she spoke. "Two thousand."

"A month?"

"A weekend."

"But that's preposterous!"

She leaned in, and Sean sensed it was for the kill. "You were willing to pay thirty-five hundred just so he could get his rocks off. That's almost two full weekends. He's as good as you say, six grand a month should be nothing compared to what you'll make."

Roger leaned in. "Then you'll be prepared to sign full releases? You'll waive all claims for any monies he earns--we earn--from any works he produces?"

"Of course."

Roger leaned over the table, extending his arm. "Until we get the papers drawn up, I want you to shake on it."

She leaned over and grasped the hand, pumping it firmly.

She sat back and looked up at Sean. Thanks, she mouthed at him.

"Everything all settled?" Sean heard from behind him.

Cynthia was standing there, looking down at the little boy she was holding to her hip. The boy leaned over and held his arms toward Elizabeth. She pulled back from her chair and walked to them. "How are you, baby?" she said, taking the boy in her arms and holding him tight.

Sean looked back to Cynthia and saw the look in her face. It was maternal, but mixed with a healthy dose of sadness and longing.

"Have you been good for Ms. Holloway?"

The little boy nodded, his face earnest. Cynthia reached her hand out, stroking his hair.

"He was adorable."

* * *

Before going to bed, Cynthia checked her cell phone. She never answered it during the day, but she always checked it before going to bed. She had almost no calls anymore, her last one being nearly a week before when Alexis called to chat and check up on her.

She flipped it open and saw that she had one message. It was from that morning, from David.

She felt her chest tighten. What did he want? She called her voice mail.

"Hi Cyn, it's David." There was a long pause, and she thought he'd hung up. Just as she was getting ready to hit stop and erase, his voice continued. "Listen Cyn, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. A whole lot of thinking. I was wondering if, well. . . ." There was another long pause, and she waited it out this time. It was almost a minute before he spoke again, and his voice was low. "I wanna talk. I'll be around, so whenever you can break free give me a call. Maybe we can, you know, meet somewhere or something? I-- " The message ended, cut off, she knew, by the duration.

She replayed the message twice more, trying to read his voice, trying to pick up something more. At the end, when he was cut off, what was he going to say? She looked at the time readout on the phone, which read 8:11 PM. He'd be awake, she knew, but it was Saturday night. She didn't want to call if he was out on a date. She decided he could just not answer when he saw her number flash on his phone. She dialed.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" He sounded groggy.

"Am I waking you up?"

There was a pause. "Cyn?"

"Bachelor's life got you all tuckered out at eight o'clock on a Saturday?"

She heard him yawn. "Sorry. No, I worked all day, catching up on some things."

She felt what? Relieved? She realized she did. She'd be happy to end the conversation here.