At five minutes after ten, Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester, legal counsel to the Philadelphia Bulletin, presented himself at the door of the Theodore Roosevelt Suite.
“Mr. Bolinski,” Colonel Mawson said, as he enthusiastically pumped the Bull’s hand, “I’m one of your greatest fans.”
“And I of yours, Colonel,” the Bull said. Before the sentence was completely out of the Bull’s mouth, Mickey O’Hara realized that the Bull no longer sounded like your typical Polack Catholic product of West Philly. “I can only hope that the presence of the dean of the Philadelphia Criminal Bar does not carry with it any suggestion that larceny is at hand.”
Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson beamed.
“Bull,” he said, “—may I call you Bull?”
“Certainly,” the Bull said. “I do hope we’re going to be friends.”
“Bull, the truth of the matter is that I pulled a little rank. I’m a senior partner in the firm, and I took advantage of that so that I would have a chance to meet you.”
“I’m flattered,” the Bull said, “and honored to meet you, Colonel.”
“The honor is mine,” Mawson said, “to meet the man who is arguably the best tackle football has ever known.”
“This is my wife, Colonel,” the Bull said, “and I believe you know Mr. O’Hara?”
“A privilege to meet you, ma’am,” Mawson said.
“May we offer you some coffee, Colonel? Or perhaps something else?” Antoinette said.
“Coffee seems like a splendid idea,” Colonel Mawson said. He nodded at Mickey, but said nothing and did not offer his hand.
This was followed by a ten-minute tour, conducted by Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, down Football Memory Lane. Then came a detour, via Bull’s mentioning that he represented Lenny Moskowitz, lasting another ten minutes, in which the intricacies of premarital agreements were discussed in terms Mickey couldn’t understand at all.
Finally, the Bull said, “Colonel, I really hate to break this off, but Antoinette and I are on a tight schedule.”
“Of course,” Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson said, “forgive me.”
He reached into his alligator attaché case and came up with a manila folder, which he passed to the Bull.
“I think you’ll find that brings us to a state of agreement,” he said.
The Bull read the document very carefully, while Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson hung on every word of Mrs. Bolinski’s tour guide of the better restaurants in the Miami/Palm Beach area.
“With one or two minor caveats,” the Bull said, “this appears to be what I discussed with—what was his name?”
“Lemuelson,” Colonel Mawson said, “Steve Lemuelson. What seems to trouble you, Bull?”
“I’d like to add a phrase here,” the Bull said.
Colonel Mawson scurried to Bull’s armchair and looked over his shoulder, then read aloud what the Bull had written in: “…it being understood between the parties that the annual increase will ordinarily be approximately ten percentum of both compensation and reimbursement of expenses, unless the annual rate of inflation has exceeded four percentum, in which case the annual increase in compensation will ordinarily be ten percentum plus seventy percentum of the rate of inflation, according to the latest then published figures by the U.S. Department of Commerce.”
Colonel Mawson grunted.
“You see the problem, of course, Counselor,” the Bull said.
“I think we can live with that, Bull,” Colonel Mawson said.
Mickey didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.
“And then here in fourteen (c) six,” the Bull said, “I think a little specificity would be in order. You can see what I’ve penciled in.”
And again Colonel Mawson read the modified clause aloud, “A Buick Super, Mercury Monterey, or equivalent automobile, including special radio apparatus, satisfactory to Mr. O’Hara, including installation, maintenance, and all related expenses thereto pertaining.”
Colonel Mawson paused thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Oh, I see. Well, that certainly seems reasonable enough.”