"Breach Of Promise" - читать интересную книгу автора (O’Shaughnessy Perri)

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“EXCUSE ME FOR JUST A MOMENT,” NINA SAID TO Lindy. She slipped her shoes on under the desk, pushed her chair back, and walked out the door, past Sandy, who was watching her quizzically, and down the hall to the women’s rest room.

“Why, oh, why?” she asked the rest room mirror, which maintained a prudent silence.

Nina threw cold water on her face and dried off with a paper towel. While running the rough paper over her cheeks, she started laughing. For just a nanosecond there in the office, before Lindy had spoken those crushing last words, Nina had thought she was going to have her first deep-pocket client, the kind that can actually afford experts and exhibits, investigators and appeals. And attorney fees. She had been mentally rubbing her hands together thinking of the fees like a greedy old Scrooge.

Instead of deep pockets, she now appeared to be talking to a black-hole client, a cast-off girlfriend who had squandered her rights years before.

“Palimony,” she told her reflection. Her reflection grimaced. Her cheeks were burning, and her long, fluffy brown hair had expanded and now threatened to take over the room. She wet her hands and tried to smooth it down.

As usual, the man had been careful and the woman had been in love. Lindy wasn’t going to have any proof of an agreement to share everything, just a lot of memories of sweet pillow talk over the years. Palimony cases were poison and every family lawyer knew it. She had handled a palimony appeal herself while still doing appellate work in San Francisco three years before, and she had lost.

The more she thought about it, standing there at the sink trying to squeeze her hair down, the madder she felt. Lindy didn’t yet understand that she had been given a swift kick in the pants and a bounce out the door. She was still talking about how she loved the guy! But how could she possibly understand what was coming?

Mike Markov and Jeff Riesner would crush her, then condescend to a paltry agreement to pension her off if she promised to be a good girl and shut up. If she was lucky, she would end up with enough money to join those other middle-aged women who filled the casinos and tennis clubs, unable to find fruitful employment, shell-shocked survivors who had lost twenty years of work experience as well as the relationship.

She was angry at Lindy for being such an idiot, and at herself for not asking right away about the date of marriage.

The worst thing about the whole situation was Riesner. She couldn’t take the case now, even with all the other problems, because she couldn’t take on Riesner and the team he would assemble without at least a fifty-fifty chance. He was too smart and too pit-bull ferocious. She wouldn’t have the resources or the law on her side. She would lose. She would be humiliated. This would be his chance to drive her law practice right into the ground.

Admit it, Nina, she told herself, you’re afraid of him and you don’t want to go up against him unless you’re pretty sure you can beat him. He’s too mean.

The other lawyers in town feared him, too. Lindy wouldn’t find a champion at Tahoe; no one would want to take on Riesner. The only lawyer he never fazed was Collier Hallowell, a deputy DA in town, who had referred to Riesner as their “resident dickhead,” she remembered. And even if Collier had not taken a leave of absence, as a prosecutor he would be useless to Lindy in this case.

Giving up on the unruly brown mop that blew in all directions around her head, Nina washed her hands, then pumped lotion from a dispenser and rubbed it in. It was so damn discouraging to see another good woman go down, though. Damn discouraging.

She went back down the hall trying to harden her heart. Lindy, sitting where she had left her, looked a little better. What had Nina been saying before she left? Oh, yes. Something along the lines of, you’re well protected, no problemo. Nina fell back into her chair. “Why didn’t you get married?” she asked.

“He had one nasty divorce already. That made him reluctant. He said we were married in every way that counts.”

“And you?”

“I wanted to marry him, and we did go through a ceremony in a church at the beginning, just privately, without any papers or anything…” Her eyes teared up. “But remember, Mike and I met in the seventies. Plenty of girls my age were not getting married. And my own divorce had been painful. At one point years ago, we came very close to getting married. Mike seemed ready. Then he was called out of town for two weeks. When he came back, he started making excuses.

“As time passed, I think the iron wasn’t hot enough. There was no urgent reason to get married. And he told me a million times that we shared everything, work, home, love. We had nothing to gain from making it legal.”

“You mentioned a ceremony?”

“We just kneeled in a church together, and promised to love and cherish each other forever. To share our lives.”

“No priest or pastor?”

“No.”

“But you have the same last name.”

“I started using the name Markov within a few months of moving in with Mike. We were trying to start the business in Texas and dealing with all these bankers. Everyone thought we were… you know. People still do.”

“Did he introduce you to other people as his wife?”

“Of course he does. I am his wife.”

“Lindy. Listen closely. This is important.”

“I’m listening.” Lindy’s fingers tightened on the desk.

“Forget what I said before. Your situation is a very difficult one.”

“He’s not himself at the moment. He’s acting crazy. This will all blow over,” Lindy said.

“Listen to me. Mike’s left you. He’s fired you, and he’s about to throw you out of your home. Do you honestly think it’s going to blow over?”

“He won’t do that. He can’t.”

“I think he can,” Nina said. “Unless you have a letter, a contract, something in writing, or some very credible witnesses who will swear that Mike told you half of everything was yours.” She waited, crossing her fingers mentally.

In vain. Lindy coughed, then adjusted herself in the chair, looking troubled. “I don’t have anything like that. But he always called me his wife. We were married in the eyes of-”

“Not in the eyes of the State of California. California doesn’t recognize common-law marriages. You have to go through the process and get a marriage certificate.”

Something must have penetrated the fog of Lindy’s denial. Every jittery line of her body registered alarm. “Do you mean-could I really lose everything?”

“The burden would be on you to prove that you and Mike had such an agreement. It’s difficult, because there’s a presumption that the assets in his name are his property.”

“But Mike wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I imagine he’ll offer you something,” Nina said. “What we have here is often called a palimony case, though you won’t find that word in any statute. It’s not unusual in this country for a woman to live with a man without being married, and it isn’t even so unusual anymore for her to go after some assets after termination of the relationship.

“But I can think of a long list of people who have sued the rich and famous and come out of the litigation feeling like Titanic survivors, only poorer. In general, they lose. I happen to have done some work on a similar case a while back and I still remember some of the defendants in other cases.” She named a few of the many that came immediately to mind: Lee Marvin, Rod Stewart, Merv Griffin, Martina Navratilova, Clint Eastwood, William Hurt, Joan Collins, Bob Dylan, Alfred Bloomingdale and Van Cliburn. “Jerry Garcia’s estate was sued after he died.”

“Do they always lose?”

“Not directly. Most cases end up settling out of court, being dropped, or lost on appeal,” said Nina. “The problem is that often the case boils down to her word against his, and that’s not enough to meet the burden of proof.”

“I’ve slept with him all these years! I was his wife in every way. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“I hate to sound so blunt, but an agreement to provide money in return for sexual services is not compensable. A relationship like that is called a meretricious relationship.”

“But he promised we would share everything. He promised he would marry me someday. I always operated based on that idea. It’s a breach of promise!”

“Actually, if you sue Mike, you can’t sue for breach of promise.”

“But that’s exactly what he did. He made promises and broke them.”

“Unfortunately, California doesn’t permit a lawsuit to be based on a breach of promise of the type you’re talking about,” Nina said. The last series of questions and answers between her and Lindy had been rapid-fire, as Lindy’s distress grew more intense.

“I don’t believe any of this is happening,” Lindy said. “We have always been so close. To quote John Lennon, which he used to do all the time, ’I am he.’ We’re practically one person. Anything that separates us is temporary,” she said stubbornly.

“What you need to look at,” Nina said gently, “is what is happening right now. You may be right about Mike. People do change their minds. Meanwhile, you have to decide what you want to do, if anything.”

“I can’t just sit back. If that means I have to fight him, I will,” she said. “I’ll fight for what’s right.” She looked at Nina. “There’s something else I should probably tell you. When I got in to work this morning, one of my friends there took me aside just long enough to tell me he suspects Mike’s moving company assets. I didn’t believe him, but if you’re right about him preparing for a lawsuit…”

“That’s more evidence that he probably is.”

Lindy seemed to make a decision. “Listen. I’ve got some money. I want you to get going on this. Get an associate. Get whatever you need.” She took a checkbook out of her pocket. “How’s a hundred grand as a retainer? I know you’ll need more as you hire people. Write up an agreement with a schedule of payments, and I’ll sign it.”

Nina examined the check. A hundred thousand dollars. So much money. “Lindy, I…”

“Please, Nina. To tell you the truth, I don’t think this thing will go very far before he comes back to me. He needs me. Once he comes to his senses, he’ll remember that. But I can’t sit back and let his momentary insanity ruin my life. It’s not right for him to take everything. It’s not right for me to have to beg for crumbs. And remember, this is not just about me. I’ll bet there are a lot of women in this boat.”

“I’m sorry, Lindy,” Nina said as gently as she could. “But this kind of case costs a fortune. And unfortunately, you can’t use your old business accounts.” She handed the check back.

Lindy’s face turned gray. She couldn’t just throw her checkbook at Nina and get what she wanted. Everything in her life had changed in an instant.

“Where will you find that kind of money?” Nina asked.

“Hold on,” Lindy said, pulling out another checkbook. “I have about twenty thousand in my personal account. Take that.”

“I can’t do that. You’ll need it to live on.”

“Please.”

“I have to do some research,” Nina said, “and some thinking before I can give you a decision.” She couldn’t take the case, but Lindy needed some time to adjust herself to her new situation. “I realize you have to respond to these papers right away. I’ll call you tonight or at latest tomorrow morning.” She stood up, averting her eyes.

Lindy sat there, as deflated as the red party balloons back on the boat must be now. “Okay. If you have to,” she said. Reluctant to end an argument she had not entirely won, she took a long time to gather her things and leave. Sandy, who had been hovering at the door, showed her out.

Then Sandy came into Nina’s office and sat down in the chair just vacated by Lindy, turning two dark pebble eyes on Nina, her broad face smooth and unwrinkled as Truckee River rock. Today, her single long braid of black hair was laced with a strip of leather. In the outer office the phone rang but she gave no sign of hearing it.

“Well?” she said. “Good party? Does she have some work for us?”

“I knew that party was a mistake,” Nina said. “And don’t pretend you weren’t listening.”

A minute stiffening of Sandy’s shoulders signaled Nina that she had guessed correctly. “I missed a lot, although I caught the shattering climax,” Sandy said. “What happens now? You can’t exactly divorce a man you never married.”

“Eight letters,” said Nina. “Starts with a p.”

“Paranoia?”

“You’re good. But let’s hope not.”

“Hmmm. Give me a minute.”

“I’ve got court at ten. I’ve got to get going.”

“I’ve got it,” she announced as Nina put her hand on the doorknob. “Paramour. She takes a lover and shows him what he’s missing.”

“Well, not exactly what I had in mind, but that’s a possibility.”

The pebbles flashed with light. “Not palimony.”

“Bingo.”

“But the plaintiffs never win those cases, do they?” said Sandy. “Speaking strictly about money, which we don’t do often enough, you’re on the wrong side.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Who’s the lucky guy representing Mike Markov?”

“The lucky guy would be Jeffrey Riesner.”

Sandy made a sound low in her throat. Her eyes narrowed to a squint.

While she grappled with this latest abominable turn of events, Nina escaped out the door.

That afternoon, Nina hit first the on-line computer resources, and then emptied her pockets of change at the copy machine, collecting everything she could find in a cursory overview at the law library.

Palimony. The word had been coined in the seventies when Michelle Triola sued the movie actor Lee Marvin for a share of his earnings after a relationship without the benefit of marriage. Unfortunately for Ms. Triola, although the jury awarded her some money for “rehabilitation,” an appeals court had thrown the decision out. She got nothing, but Marvin v. Marvin had put the concept onto the legal map, and that was almost as good as setting a precedent.

Nina skimmed the cases she already knew and a few she didn’t. Liberace’s estate had been sued by his lover, a young fellow who felt stiffed, so to speak. It was hard to take some of the cases seriously. There was a border area of frivolous cases in which aggrieved lovers simply felt entitled to something after their partners died or moved on. The cases were full of the ingredients the press loves the most: romance and fame.

And, considering the pot of money involved, how they would love this one.

For some time she lost herself in the suit filed by Kelly Fisher, the model who had been Dodi Fayed’s lover before Princess Diana, and who had actually been able to sue for breach of promise in a French court. As Nina had told Lindy, there would be no such luck in hard-nosed California. There had to be some kind of contract to share income and assets, and the contract had to be provable. At least, that was how the issues had been decided in the past.

As she sat at the library conference table straining her eyes on the fine print of opinions, she thought to herself that she had never seen the word “love” in any of the thousands of pages of California laws. “What’s love got to do with it,” she hummed to herself as she read.

Love was yin, traditionally the province of women, female, subjective. Law was yang, male, objective. She felt uncomfortable about Lindy’s position. Show me the hard evidence, the lawyer in her said. Promises of marriage, sex, talk of love, midlife crises, affairs-the legal system had washed its hands of these. She didn’t want to be associated with such sloppy emotional matters herself. A woman lawyer had to take special care to be more objective than anybody else.

Yet these matters were now inextricably intertwined with a huge amount of money, and the legal system was being used to keep the money in the hands of Mike Markov. It wasn’t right. Her anger worked on her, as it always did, seeking a productive outlet. But what could she do all by herself in a fight against these big boys?

She found herself thumbing through the Civil Code, skimming mindlessly through the sections on marriage. They wouldn’t be applicable to unmarried people, but what were Lindy and Mike if not married? Lindy was much more than a girlfriend.

Frustrated, Nina thought, we need more laws to cover this, and caught herself just in time. Her entire wall was covered with the Annotated Codes of the State of California, with so many new ones passed each year that no one could keep up.

All right, make an old law fit, she thought. She went through the statutes again. This time her eye caught on a humble little statute that would probably be repealed as obsolete the first time some modern lawmaker noticed it: Civil Code section 1590 said, Where either party to a contemplated marriage in this State makes a gift of property to the other on the basis or assumption that the marriage will take place, in the event that the donee refuses to enter into the marriage… the donor may recover such gift…

Nina repeated that to herself. She thought of dowries, of handsome men in high collars, of jilted fiancés.

Suppose Paul gave me a wildly expensive diamond engagement ring, she thought, but I refused to marry him after all. The ring would have to go back, or at least, the jury could give it back to him if he took me to court.

Say she gave him something. I will give you my fortune if you marry me, she said to herself, trying to paraphrase the code into words she easily understood. She still didn’t quite get it. She tried again. I promise you something, and in return you marry, or promise to marry, me. Yes. That’s what the code said in plain language.

She thought again about her interview with Lindy, about what Lindy had said.

Looking down at her legal pad, which had more doodles than notes, she saw that she had drawn a pair of wedding bells with a ribbon on top. Musical notes made a circle around them.

Certainly bells had begun to ring in her brain.

She planted a big kiss on the homely phrase before copying it down.

At five o’clock she slammed closed her last book of the day, then drove to her brother Matt’s to pick up her son. Matt and his wife, Andrea, lived with their two children in a neighborhood known as Tahoe Paradise, only a few blocks from where Nina and her son now lived. Matt ran a parasailing business in the summer and a tow truck business in the winter. Andrea worked at the local women’s shelter, a way station through which a steady and burgeoning stream of battered women and their kids flowed.

Tucked into a clearing in the woods in a small wooden house with a stone fireplace that smoked for most of the year, they lived the way people had lived a hundred years ago at Tahoe, the only visible nod to suburbia being the struggling lawn that was now, with all the rain they had been having, a silky-looking iridescent green patch.

She pulled the Bronco up to the house, removed her shoes, and marched across the damp grass. Might as well enjoy it. Winter was just around the corner.

Andrea opened the door before she could knock. “Nina! We expected you for lunch,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I just got busy. Is Bob still here?”

“He and Troy are up in Troy’s room working on the computer.”

Nina reached out to squeeze Andrea’s arm. “How’s everyone doing? Have they been at it since they got home from school?”

“Pretty much.”

“Did Bob do any homework?”

“I doubt it.”

“Uh-oh. It’s going to be a long night.”

“They work awfully hard. He needed to do something besides the usual grind.”

“I wish he’d gone outside to play. It’s so beautiful this time of year,” Nina said, breathing in the pine air, feeling the kiss of a breeze.

“Like mother, like son,” said Andrea, leading her into the house. “Put ’em in a dark room with a computer and they’re as happy as Bill Gates.”

“We’re not going to hit you up for dinner. I’ve got to get him home.” Nina went upstairs to get Bob.

Other than the difference in size, Troy and Bob looked identical from the rear in their California boy uniforms, Van’s two-toned suede sneakers, emblemed T-shirts, baggy plaid shorts, hair a modified monk style. Troy, a year younger, turned around to say hi when she came in. Bob continued to stare hypnotically at the screen in front of him.

“Hey, Mom. Come and look.”

From the time he could talk, Bob had demanded that she witness and convey her blessing upon his every act. She wondered if this was unique to male children. Bob’s cousin Brianna, who was younger, seemed more self-contained than either of the boys. Nina applauded the improved Web page, then bribed and threatened him out the front door. “Where’s Matt?” she asked Andrea as they stood in the doorway and Bob ran down the path to the car.

“Packing up the last of the parasails, and if I know him, paying a final tribute to summer’s end with a little ride around Emerald Bay. Hey, isn’t that where you went on the Dixie Queen last weekend?”

“Yes, it is.” Nina gave her a brief rundown of the party and its grand finale without naming its participants.

“Did you see the little island in the middle, Fannette?”

“Yes.”

“I heard the most interesting gossip about that place last week from a woman whose grandfather created some of the handmade wrought iron light fixtures at Vikingsholm.”

“That’s the Scandinavian-looking mansion on the bay across from the island.”

“Right. Built by Lora Knight, who also built the teahouse on the island.”

“What gossip?”

“Before the teahouse was built, a sailor built a tomb in the rocks.”

“Who for?”

“Himself.”

“Is he buried there?”

“Nope. Drowned in the lake. His body was never recovered. You know Lake Tahoe,” she said. “It’s too cold for bodies to float.”

“So what happened to the tomb?”

“She said tourists used to visit it, but that by the time the teahouse was built, nobody knew where it was or what had happened to it.”

“You’re trying to spook me.”

“It’s the solemn truth.”

“Well, one fine day, let’s get Matt to load up the boat and check that place out. Can you go on the island?”

“There’s no dock anymore. You have to swim from a boat, or kayak there. Besides, his boat is chronically ailing.”

“First chance I get, I’m going.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I recognize that gleam in your eyes. Something wicked has come your way.” Andrea was looking at her appraisingly. “You always look happiest when you’ve got some horrible problem at work.”

“True,” Nina said. “Horrible problems are my beat.”

Andrea laughed in a girlish treble that went with the curly red hair and the blue jeans and the flannel shirt.

“Andrea, have you ever met Lindy Markov?” Nina asked.

“Of course. She’s involved in some charities and nonprofits around town. She gives fund-raisers at her house. Everybody comes, partly because of their curiosity about her home, which she’s happy to satisfy in the service of her pet causes.”

“Have you been there?”

“Yep. Cost me two hundred bucks, too. A worthy cause, but money we couldn’t afford.” Andrea made a face. “Oh, Lord, how Matt moaned. A dent in that untouchable college fund for the kids. He practically cried. But sometimes there are more immediate problems that need attending.”

“Andrea, you’re such a good soul.”

“No. I found help when I was desperate.” Andrea had weathered a rough relationship with her first husband, the father of her two children, and a shelter like the one she now managed had helped her get free. “This is just another token dime to the dollar.”

“Where do the Markovs live? What’s the house like?”

“Near Emerald Bay on Cascade Road, on one of the most magnificent estates on the lake, bar none. They must have acres of lakefront property. Mrs. Markov has been generous with the shelter. Wish we had more like her. She propped up a lot of women who needed help.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked. You make her sound like a saint.”

“She’s no saint. Just generous.”

Nina heard the horn on the Bronco. “I have to go.”

“Wait. Is Mrs. Markov in some kind of trouble? Anything to do with that scene on the boat you witnessed?”

“You know I couldn’t talk about it if she was.”

“Well, I just want to say, please let me know if there’s anything I can to do to help her. She’s one in a million.”

Bob honked the horn of the Bronco again and Nina trotted out to the car and caught sight of him in the driver’s seat. His head nearly scraped the ceiling. In three years he would be driving. The thought was appalling.

“Mom, Christmas is coming,” he said as they approached the corner of Kulow.

So it was. She hadn’t given it much thought, but like most kids, Bob had.

“There’s this program I want for the computer. Troy and I can use it on our website to make things three dimensional.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, swinging the Bronco into their driveway. “You be sure to ask Santa for it.” Bob knew the truth about Santa but liked keeping on with the fairy tale, protective of their few family traditions.

“It’s kind of expensive.”

“Oh?”

“About three hundred dollars.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll just hope Santa can bring it, and if he doesn’t, I won’t be disappointed.”

“Bob, since we bought the house, this year is going to be tight. Isn’t there anything else you want?”

“Just one thing. It’s what I really, really want.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t want to know.” He got out and slammed the door. Nina could see Hitchcock inside the house, scrabbling at the window and barking a greeting.

“I do. What do you really want?”

“I want to visit my dad.” He ran for the door, slipped his fingers under the potted plant to extricate the key, and unlocked the door while she stood on the driveway feeling as if she had been hit with a snowball the size of a snowman.

Bob’s father, Kurt, a man she had loved once but never married, now lived in Germany. A ticket to Germany would wipe her out.

So this would be one of those holidays where she would worry that she could not do right by Bob. She worked too hard, she worked long hours, she lived in a little cabin, and she couldn’t be both mother and father. And she couldn’t afford to give him what he really, really, wanted.

At eight-thirty, while Bob was in the shower, the phone rang.

Sandy, who never called Nina at home, spoke. “I was cruising around the Net,” she said, chewing on something. Nina wondered, not for the first time, where Sandy lived. She had never been invited to find out. “I was thinking about that Mrs. Markov.”

“What’d you find?”

“A case. I wasn’t sure you knew about it. Maglica v. Maglica.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Down in Orange County. You ever hear of the Maglite?”

“A little flashlight? I use it to take the dog out for a walk.”

“Well, there you go. The guy invented it. And he and his so-called wife built up this huge company. They had a falling-out and she sued him.”

“For what?”

“Breach of contract. She asked for half the company. Unlike these other cases in this old brief of yours I’ve been looking at, this one went to a jury.”

“And?”

“The jury gave her eighty-four million dollars, mainly for her services to the company.”

“Wow.”

“Of course, I’m just a badly paid peon without a brain in her head getting it all wrong.”

“Oh, stop it, Sandy. It sounds interesting. Give me the Web address and I’ll look it up before I go to bed.” Sandy gave it to her.

“Are you taking the case?” Sandy asked.

“I’m still deciding. Most signs pointed to no, but then I got the glimmer of an idea at the law library-too soon to talk about, though. And now this case you’ve found shows somebody has won at least once in a similar lawsuit.”

“Markov’s another Maglica,” Sandy said.

“What’s so special about this case that you’re spending your evenings doing research without being asked?”

“Lindy Markov helped some girlfriends of mine a few years ago without putting them through a lot of bureaucratic bilgewater. Now she needs help.”

“And here’s another thing,” Nina said. “She needs a firm in Sacramento or San Francisco, a firm with the resources and capital to carry the case. There’s so much money at stake.”

“But…”

“Think about what your average thug will do for fifty bucks on the street.”

“I’d rather not,” said Sandy.

“Now multiply that take by a couple of million… and consider how far our friend Jeffrey Riesner might be willing to go to mug Lindy Markov.”

“That’s exactly what I have been thinking,” Sandy said. “Now listen. He had a palimony case out of Placerville some time back. And here’s what he did.” Sandy avoided saying Riesner’s name the way some people avoided curse words. “He associated in this dude from L.A. who handles all the Hollywood people. Winston Reynolds. He’ll want to do that again for this case.”

“Unless we beat him to it,” Nina said.

“You see the beauty of it. Slip the big gun away before he even notices your fingers in his pocket.”

“Mom!” Bob yelled from the bathroom. “Bring a towel, quick! Bring a bunch of towels!”

“Hang on, Sandy,” she said. “What’s the matter?” she shouted holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

“Oh, man,” he said, “too late. Oh, man, oh, man.”

An hour later, after the flood in the bathroom had been cleaned up and Bob was finally in bed, Nina threw on a sweater and took the dog out for his last walk. The moonless night blazed with stars, a sight she had forgotten about while living in San Francisco in the days before she became downsized and divorced. She could hardly believe that she was into her second year of solo practice, hanging in there and even developing a reputation.

Hitchcock ran with his nose to the ground, nuzzling at the foot of the tall trees and around the bases of the dark cabins. His black fur blended into the dark. Cassiopeia and Orion splashed across the sky. She gazed up, waiting for a shooting star with the same feeling of anticipation she had been fielding all day. Why was it when you wanted to see one of those silver streaks lighting up the black sky, you never saw it? That kind of thing liked to tickle and tease the corners of your peripheral vision, and never gave any warning.

At the door to her house, she hurried in to catch the phone.

“Nina,” Lindy said, “I couldn’t wait till morning. A friend gave me your home phone number. I know it’s late. I promise I won’t talk long.”

“A friend, eh?” A flinty-eyed friend built like the Rock of Gibraltar, Nina bet. She had a strict rule about giving out her home number, but Nina was beginning to understand about how it must be for spectacularly successful people like Lindy. The usual rules did not apply to her. She assumed a smooth pathway over obstacles and found one, or threw money down to create it. “What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to insert the brisk professional note back into her voice that a barking dog awaiting his ball had a way of dispelling.

“I borrowed some more money,” Lindy said. “Five thousand. Could we start with that? I may be broke, but I still have my friends. Alice Boyd just took out her checkbook and wrote me a check, and some other women have offered to do what they can.”

“But Lindy, I’m a sole practitioner. I’m really sorry but that won’t be enough.” She felt terrible. She really wanted to help Lindy but five thousand wouldn’t scratch the surface of the kind of expenses they would incur. Nina didn’t see how she could take the case under the circumstances without bankrupting herself.

“I believe I can get my hands on at least another twenty thousand, maybe even thirty before the trial. And then, when we win…”

“You mean if.”

“When,” Lindy said firmly, “we win, I’ll pay you ten percent of whatever I’m awarded by the court.”

The words rang in Nina’s ears. Ten percent. If the court awarded her half the Markov assets, that would be in the realm of ten million dollars. Cut that in half to be realistic, and you still came up with an unbelievable figure.

Her fingers clenched the phone. She was unable to speak. So here it was, streaking across a black sky. Her big chance. A case with a heart to it, and issues that were unresolved in California law. Something that might set a precedent for other women like Lindy, who had worked behind the scenes only to be left with nothing. A case that might make her rich.

A case with one big flaw: a client with no money.

Even if she could somehow scrape together the money to keep them afloat as they prepared for a trial, how could she justify taking such a risk? If Lindy lost, Nina could lose everything.

But an opportunity like this one wouldn’t come knocking again. She had lived long enough to know that.

She had some assets left. And there had to be lots of ways to get the money they would need. Maybe she could associate someone else in who would assume some of the risk for a big payoff…

Lindy was talking. “People are so amazing. Everyone’s doing what they can for me.” She sounded moved. “I treasure my friends.”

“I guess they treasure you, too.”

“If that’s true, I’m lucky,” Lindy said. She didn’t say anything else. She waited for Nina.

“Meet me at my office at nine tomorrow morning,” Nina said. She hung up, pushing away a nasty little feeling that told her she had no business taking this case.