"I'm sorry. I'm up to my ears in deadlines and I lost track of time. I apologize."
There was silence for a moment as she considered the apology. "Will this become a habit, Mitch?"
"It might."
"I see. When do you think you might be home?"
"Are you scared?"
"No, I'm not scared. I'm going to bed."
"I'll come in around seven for a shower."
"That's nice. If I'm asleep, don't wake me."
She hung up. He looked at the receiver, then put it in place. On the fifth floor a security agent chuckled to himself. "'Don't wake me.' That's good," he said as he pushed a button on the computerized recorder. He punched three buttons and spoke into a small mike. "Hey, Dutch, wake up down there."
Dutch woke up and leaned to the intercom. "Yeah, what is it?"
"This is Marcus upstairs, I think our boy plans to stay all night."
"What's his problem?"
"Right now it's his wife. He forgot to call her and she fixed a real nice supper."
"Aw, that's too bad. We've heard that before, ain't we?"
"Yeah, every rookie does it the first week. Anyway, he told her he ain't coming home till in the morning. So go back to sleep."
Marcus pushed some more buttons and returned to his magazine.
Abby was waiting when the sun peeked between the oak trees. She sipped coffee and held the dog and listened to the quiet sounds of her neighborhood stirring to life. Sleep had been fitful. A hot shower had not eased the fatigue. She wore a white terry-cloth bathrobe, one of his, and nothing else. Her hair was wet and pulled straight back.
A car door slammed and the dog pointed inside the house. She heard him unlock the kitchen door, and moments later the sliding door to the patio opened. He laid his coat on a bench near the door and walked over to her.
"Good morning," he said, then sat down across the wicker table.
She gave him a fake smile. "Good morning to you."
"You're up early," he said in an effort at friendliness. It did not work. She smiled again and sipped her coffee.
He breathed deeply and gazed across the yard. "Still mad about last night, I see."
"Not really. I don't carry a grudge."
"I said I was sorry, and I meant it. I tried to call once."
"You could've called again."
"Please don't divorce me, Abby. I swear it will never happen again. Just don't leave me."
She managed a genuine grin. "You look terrible," she said.
"What's under the robe?"
"Nothing."
"Let's see."
"Why don't you take a nap. You look haggard."
"Thanks. But I've got a nine o'clock meeting with Avery. And a ten o'clock meeting with Avery."
"Are they trying to kill you the first week?"
"Yes, but they can't do it. I'm too much of a man. Let's go take a shower."
"I've taken one."
"Naked?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about it. Tell me every detail."
"If you'd come home at a decent hour you wouldn't feel depraved."
"I'm sure it'll happen again, dear. There will be plenty of all-nighters. You didn't complain in law school when I studied around the clock."
"It was different. I endured law school because I knew it would soon end. But now you're a lawyer and you will be for a long time. Is this part of it? Will you always work a thousand hours a week?"
"Abby, this is my first week."
"That's what worries me. It will only get worse."
"Sure it will. That's part of it, Abby. It's a cutthroat business where the weak are eaten and the strong get rich. It's a marathon. He who endures wins the gold."
"And dies at the finish line."
"I don't believe this. We moved here a week ago, and you're already worried about my health."
She sipped the coffee and rubbed the dog. She was beautiful. With tired eyes, no makeup, and wet hair, she was beautiful. He stood, walked behind her and kissed her on the cheek. "I love you," he whispered.
She clutched his hand on her shoulder. "Go take a shower. I'll fix breakfast."
The table was arranged to perfection. Her grandmother's china was taken from the cabinet and used for the first time in the new home. Candles were lit in silver candlesticks. Grapefruit juice was poured in the crystal tea glasses. Linen napkins that matched the tablecloth were folded on the plates. When he finished his shower and changed into a new Burberry glen plaid, he walked to the dining room and whistled.
"What's the occasion?"
"It's a special breakfast, for a special husband."
He sat and admired the china. The food was warming in a covered silver dish. "What'd you cook?" he asked, smacking his lips. She pointed and he removed the lid. He stared at it.
"What's this?" he asked without looking at her.
"Veal piccata."
"Veal what?"
"Veal piccata."
He glanced at his watch. "I thought it was breakfast time."
"I cooked it for dinner last night, and I suggest you eat it."
"Veal piccata for breakfast?"
She grinned firmly and shook her head slightly. He looked again at the dish, and for a second or two analyzed the situation.
Finally, he said, "Smells good."
Chapter 8
Saturday morning he slept in and didn't get to the office until seven. He didn't shave, wore jeans, an old button-down, no socks and Bass loafers. Law school attire.
The Capps agreement had been printed and reprinted late Friday. He made some further revisions, and Nina ran it again at eight Friday night. He assumed she had little or no social life, so he didn't hesitate to ask her to work late. She said she didn't mind overtime, so he asked her to work Saturday morning.
She arrived at nine, wearing a pair of jeans that would fit a nose guard. He handed her the agreement, all two hundred and six pages, with his latest changes, and asked her to run it for the fourth time. He was to meet with Avery at ten.
The office changed on Saturday. All of the associates were there, as well as most of the partners and a few of the secretaries. There were no clients, thus no dress code. There was enough denim to launch a cattle drive. No ties. Some of the preppier ones wore their finest starched Duckheads with heavily starched button-downs and seemed to crackle when they walked.
But the pressure was there, at least for Mitchell Y. McDeere, the newest associate. He had canceled his bar review meetings on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and the fifteen notebooks sat on the shelf, gathering dust and reminding him that he would indeed become the first member to flunk the bar exam.
At ten the fourth revision was complete, and Nina ceremoniously laid it on Mitch's desk and left for the coffee room. It had grown to two hundred and nineteen pages. He had read every word four times and researched the tax code provisions until they were memorized. He marched down the hall to his partner's office and laid it on the desk. A secretary was packing a mammoth briefcase while the boss talked on the phone.
"How many pages?" Avery asked when he hung up.
"Over two hundred."
"This is quite impressive. How rough is it?"
"Not very. That's the fourth revision since yesterday morning. It's almost perfect."
"We'll see. I'll read it on the plane, then Capps will read it with a magnifying glass. If he finds one mistake he'll raise hell for an hour and threaten not to pay. How many hours are in this?"