“I should be able to leave here by two.”
“See you around four, then.” They hung up.
Suddenly, he felt very much better about the following evening.
40
B RUCE GOLDSMITH STARTED PACKING HIS briefcase. “Millie, get in here!” he shouted. His secretary came in with a pad. “Where was Moyle staying?”
“At the Ritz-Carlton; he’s got a club-level room reserved.”
“Change it to a suite, a big one; the client can afford it, and have a car meet me at the airport—a Mercedes, not a Lincoln.”
“Right,” she said, making notes rapidly.
Goldsmith’s partner, Lester Moyle, walked into the office. “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
“I’m taking the San Francisco deposition,” Goldsmith said.
“The hell you are; that’s my client.”
“And who gave her to you?”
“Listen, Bruce, I don’t know what’s going on, here, but this is very high-handed, and I’m not going to put up with it.”
“Les, shut up and give Millie your notes; I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not; I’m doing the deposition.”
“That tears it for me, Bruce,” Moyle said. “I’m sick of your prima donna act. You want to buy me out of the firm?”
“That’s fine by me, you little prick,” Goldsmith rejoined. “You know the formula by heart, I expect; figure out what your share is worth and draw up the agreement. Fax it to me in San Francisco, and I’ll sign.”
“I’m taking my clients,” Moyle said.
“The hell you are; read our contract. You walk out of here, you do it alone. If you try to take a single client with you, I’ll lock you up in a lawsuit that’ll set you back years, and you know I can do it. Now get out of my office.”
Moyle stalked out of the room, swearing.
“Anything else?” Millie asked.
“Yeah, what was that woman’s name—I did her divorce from the winery owner a couple of years ago? She took her maiden name back.”
“Madeleine Cochran.”
“Right. Get her on the phone for me.”
Millie went back to her desk; a moment later the phone in Goldsmith’s office buzzed. “She’s on the line,” Millie said.
Goldsmith picked up the phone. “Maddy? How the hell are you?”
“I’m all right, Bruce; what a surprise to hear from you.”
“Well, I haven’t been west for a while, but I’ve suddenly gotten yanked into a deposition in San Francisco, and I’ll be there tonight. Why don’t you and I have dinner, and we’ll catch up.”
“Uh, Bruce, you’re still married, aren’t you?”
“Barely; I’m filing for divorce as soon as I get back. It’s been hell; I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
“I don’t want to poach another woman’s game, Bruce. I still feel guilty about that one time during my divorce.”