Once A Liar

“Peter.” She pulled her hand away gently. “How well do you know my father, really?”

“He’s my business partner. I think I know him quite well, why?”

“He’s a very calculating man.” She stalled and stopped herself before saying any more. “Just be careful, please.”

“What do you mean?” I was immediately intrigued. Somehow, I had managed to go on four dates with Juliette before we realized that I was building a partnership with her father, and now she was making dodgy implications that I was in danger. “What do I need to be careful of?”

“I wasn’t totally honest with you when I said I didn’t know you were opening Rhodes & Caine,” she confessed with an apologetic look.

“I figured as much. How could you not have known?”

“No, I didn’t know, my father never told me anything. He really does keep me in the dark with his business dealings. I mean that I had suspected you were talking about my father when we were having dinner after the Eileen Cutler lecture.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You seemed so taken with him, so hell-bent on becoming like him—I didn’t want to ruin your perceptions with the truth.”

“Juliette, what are you saying? What’s the truth?” I wanted to listen to her concerns, but I couldn’t imagine that associating with Marcus could be anything less than advantageous for me.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I know you’re busy preparing for this case, and there’s no reason for me to throw a wrench in it. I don’t want to compromise what we have going on.” She smiled warmly, clearly trying to shift her demeanor. “I’m really enjoying spending time with you.” She grabbed my hand again, this time with both of hers.

“Tell me,” I said. “Whatever goes on between me and your father has nothing to do with what goes on between you and me. They are very separate relationships, and it’s important you know that.” I kissed her knuckles. “I’m enjoying spending time with you, too.”

She expelled an exaggerated sigh and flopped back against the park bench. “Please be careful with him. I know how charming he is. I know how successful he is. But he’s a dangerous man, and he’s capable of...” Again, she stopped midsentence and began wringing her hands, leaning forward toward the children at the carousel. “Our relationship... It’s not good. We were close when I was a child and he was just getting a foothold in the legal world. But he changed. He became so...cold and—and I wouldn’t want that kind of thing to happen to you.”

“What makes you think it’ll happen to me?” Her sentiment was kind, but I worried she was telling me this only to keep me away from the grueling hours of work, and maybe taking out some of her issues with her father on me.

“You remind me so much of him. The way he used to be. He was so attentive and charming, like you. And this job was what changed him. It’s like he lost his humanity, lost all sympathy and compassion.” Genuine concern warped her beautiful face—she wanted to be heard.

“Don’t worry about me.” I patted her thigh, almost dismissively. “I understand that defense attorneys don’t have the best reputations, but we’re not all bad. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

We stood and began meandering slowly through the park together. I looked at her warnings as a sign of her affections for me, and I swelled with pride and excitement that this woman who I found so desirable was showing such an interest in me. I didn’t heed her advice against Marcus. I wasn’t worried about him.

* * *

One evening early on in the Bogovian trial preparations, Marcus took me out to the Penthouse Executive Club. I felt completely out of place—I never liked strip clubs much—but I didn’t want to disappoint him. He knew the doorman and we were escorted to an elevated VIP room, with an unobstructed view of the stage, two couches and our own small bar and bartender. Two beautiful women were waiting at the steps to usher us up.

“You ever been here before?” Marcus asked me as we sat together on one of the couches.

“Not to this one, but I’ve been to strip clubs before.”

“You like strippers, don’t you?” He held an emaciated blonde with enormous implants on his lap and pushed her face away from his.

I was never particularly interested in oiled-up women being paid to dance for me; I felt sorry for them. But I nodded anyhow.

“Of course you do. Who doesn’t?”

I looked around the club—dark, smoky, everything lit in purple and blue—and began to feel a sickness crawling up my stomach. Women all around me writhed and bounced and although they were putting on a great show, I couldn’t begin to believe that they felt anything more than degraded in there. I looked at their faces, wondering what they really dreamed of doing. Wondering what could have come of them if they didn’t find themselves in this place.

“You want a dance, Peter?” Marcus asked me, roughly swaying the stripper on his lap back and forth.

“I think I’d prefer just to have some drinks and watch the show, thanks.” I held up my cocktail and tried to focus on the stage.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and I heard a squeak of pain come from the dancer. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her down to the ground. She stumbled but complied, and her head flopped against the floor with her lower half still partially sitting on Marcus’s lap. When he stepped on her cheek with his shiny black Oxfords, I jumped from my seat and reached out to help her.

“Marcus—Jesus Christ!” I blurted. He stared into my eyes with a stony cold look.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, with mock surprise in his voice.

“Yes, Marcus, please let her up.” I extended my hand to help her to her feet, but Marcus held back my arm. I had never seen him like this. He was my hero, my mentor, he didn’t behave like this; he was supposed to be a gentleman, noble, a man of the law. I shoved Marcus’s arm away and took the hand of the stripper, getting down on my knee to help her up. I was ashamed. I didn’t want to be associated with him in that moment.

“Let go, Peter,” he snapped at me. Conflicted, aware that my career and future sat squarely in Marcus’s hands, I let go of her arm.

“Marcus, this poor woman,” I began, not yet stifling my instinct to protect her.

“This isn’t a woman, Peter.” He pulled her back up, and I could see her wince. “This isn’t a person—that’s what I’m trying to explain to you. This is an object. A thing. The sooner you can see that, the sooner you’ll be a real criminal defense attorney. Until then, you’re just another hotshot upstart. Her pain and humiliation mean nothing to me, and they should mean nothing to you.” He roughly released her, and she scuttled quickly down the steps. My breath caught in my throat. I was disgusted.

Marcus wiped his hands on a napkin and gazed at the dancers onstage as if nothing had happened. I looked at my mentor, this legendary defense attorney, and finally saw exactly where his success came from.

Juliette was right, and I should have listened to her warning. It wasn’t his gentlemanly behavior and legal wizardry that made him the most successful criminal defense attorney in New York. It was his inhumanity that allowed him to reach the top.

And just as Juliette warned, it was the same inhumanity I was expected to achieve if I wanted to reach Marcus’s level.

NOW (#u6589a2b9-2b55-5642-ba4f-7e0824597b39)

I am supposed to be playing the role of father now that Jamie has moved in, and since I skipped out on dinner yesterday, Claire demanded that I stay home and interact with my son instead of heading to the office on a Sunday afternoon.

“His first night was incredibly awkward,” she says, “and of course it was. He didn’t even eat dinner. He just went up to his room like you did.”

“Remind me how this is my fault, Claire?” I say, still getting ready to go to the office.

“You should have been here. You should have welcomed your son on his first night in your house. You didn’t make any effort at all.” Claire isn’t looking at me. In fact, she hasn’t made eye contact all morning.

“I have to work, Claire. How do you think I afford to provide all of this for him? Sometimes I won’t join you for dinner. You’ve always understood that. He’s just going to have to understand it, too.”

“Oh, stop it, Peter. I know you weren’t at work. I called the office while Jamie and I waited for you, and Anna told me you’d left hours ago. Don’t feed me your lies.”

Caught but unconcerned, I continued to focus on tying my tie.

“He didn’t mention anything about his room. I tried so hard to make it welcoming for him. It’s like I shouldn’t have even bothered,” Claire pouts. She’s not talking to me anymore, just speaking her mind aloud and airing her frustrations into the mirror. I watch her shake the negativity off herself, still determined to make strangers into family.

“Peter, please at least have lunch with us today before you go into the office. For me. I got your note yesterday, the one that said I get to be a mother now? Well, you have to be a father now. It’s Sunday. Please. Stay for lunch.” She turns and rushes down the stairs.

I stand on the landing outside my bedroom and wait until I hear the murmur of chatter in the kitchen before I gently make my way down the steps to Jamie’s room. I’m curious to see what it’s like to have him in this house.

Jamie is impeccably tidy, and I am impressed with the way he’s made his bed and folded his clothes in the closet. I walk around and look at the pictures sitting on the bookshelves, photos of me with bigwig CEOs on fishing trips, of me shaking the hands of politicians and criminals on the steps of courthouses. A photo I don’t recognize is propped up against a frame; a picture of Juliette in a long yellow gown. As I lift it out of the way, I see it’s obscuring a picture of me with my arm around John Gotti holding a giant fish. I lay the photo back in front of a different frame.

I sneak down the stairs to the parlor floor and hear Claire and Jamie chatting in the kitchen. I peek in through the slightly propped door.