Sparring Partners(73)

Mimi is saying, “I didn’t like the idea of you going to prison to see him.”

“I know. We had that discussion. I went.”

Mimi sits in her chair, a modern funky executive swivel with wheels, and she likes to roll around on the birch floor. They talk slowly and softly and seldom make eye contact once the session starts, once the initial pleasantries are dispensed with.

“And how did you feel when you saw him? What was your first thought?”

“There were so many.”

“No, there was only one first thought.”

“Oddly enough, I was struck by how good he looks. He’s seventy-one, been locked up for five years, but he’s trim, tanned, in shape. Then I felt guilty for dwelling on his looks.”

“Nothing wrong with that. You once found him attractive and the feelings were mutual.”

“Yes, and then I asked myself how I could’ve slept with this old guy for so long. He was married, everybody knew what we were doing. Why did I do it?”

“We’ve spent the last fifteen years talking about that, Diantha.”

“Yes, we have, and I still can’t believe it.”

“We can’t go back there, Diantha, or change what happened. We’ve moved on. That’s the reason I advised you not to go. Seeing Bolton again brought back memories and issues that you have confronted and vanquished. Now I worry that in many ways we’ll have to start over.”

“No, I’m okay, Mimi. I had my reasons for going. I wanted to see the great man in prison, dressed like an inmate, moved around in handcuffs, the works. I wanted to see him humiliated, stripped of all his assets and titles and trial lawyer glories. And for that reason it was worth the trip. I won’t do it again, but I’m glad I went.”

“He’s not exactly broke, from what you’ve said.”

“Oh no. Bolton is getting money these days from some old settlements. That brings up another issue.”

“And it is?”

“Compensation. Bolton owes me for what he did. He took advantage of a naive young lady who worked for him. I felt trapped and thought there was no way to say no. It was never entirely consensual.”

“Please, Diantha. You’re reverting and that’s dangerous.”

Diantha says, “I’ve made my decision, Mimi. I made it driving home from the prison. Bolton owes me, and it’s time to collect.”





(25)


Neither partner could remember the last attempt at a private meeting. They had worked so hard to avoid one. At the moment, though, the issue was too critical to dump on Diantha’s desk and hope for the best. The dumping had become routine and both partners were ashamed of it, though neither would dare admit this. And neither had the spine to stop it.

An agreement as to time and place took almost a week to iron out. They agreed initially that they would not meet in the office, but after that simple matter was locked up everything else became complicated. Kirk suggested a private room at one of his country clubs, but Rusty despised all of them and all of the members as well.

“What do you want, a strip club?” Kirk had retorted in an email.

Since both loathed the sound of the other’s voice, they avoided phones.

“Not a bad idea,” Rusty wrote back, hours later.

For several reasons, they did not want to be seen together.

Eventually they agreed to meet in a hotel suite in Columbia, two hours away. Of course they drove separate cars and traveled alone.

Since Kirk’s travel expenses were about to be picked through by his wife’s divorce lawyers, they managed to agree that the room would be reserved by Rusty, who, at the moment, was between wives.

They met at 3:00 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon and no one from the office had any idea where they were, no small feat for two important men who kept themselves surrounded by staff. Rusty arrived first, checked in, and found a diet soda in the mini-bar. Fifteen minutes later, Kirk knocked on the door. They managed to say polite “hellos” and shake hands. Both were determined to act civilized and speak in measured tones. Both knew that one stray word could cause a brawl.

They sat at a small table and sipped sodas. Kirk asked, “You talked to the old man lately?”

“Last week, briefly. You?”

“He called last night. Proud of his latest cell phone. Said next time not to send Diantha. He wants one of us. As you know, I had to beg off.”

“Yeah, sorry about the divorce and all. I’ve been down that road several times and it’s never pleasant. No chance of a reconciliation?”

“No way. We’re too far gone.”

“I hear she’s hired Scarlett Ambrose.”

“Afraid so.”

“It’ll get nasty.”

“It’s already nasty. I’m moving out this weekend.”

“Sorry to hear that. You know, I’ve had three divorces, nothing to brag about. But I managed to settle all of them without the messy fighting.”

“I know, I know. Look, we didn’t drive here to talk about our divorces. The topic is money. We’re both in rough shape financially. Because of the divorce, I’m probably in more of a jam. The law firm is bleeding cash and the future isn’t looking too good. Can we agree on this?”

Rusty was nodding along. A pause, and he said, “Meanwhile, the old man is sitting fat in prison and counting the days until he gets out. The tobacco money is piling up and we can’t touch it. Can we?”