The Attorney's Assistant (2) “No. Is he having troubles?” “Just with feeling ill, perhaps a little slower than usual.” “Well, when I came in to give him the results of some research a few days ago I did se him taking some Tylenol tablets, but I didn’t think much of it. He seems up to standard.” “He’ll be okay. He did tell me to tell you that the coveted pass word is on his desk. I’ll show you where it is.” Meg was taken aback for a moment, and then she remembered and smiled. Neal had been as good as his word. Her Friday went well. In the morning she made some breakfast for him, and afterward curled up in a chair to work on finishing her Hemingway novel. She took note of her surroundings, a brass lamp, some glass topped tables, a few large photographs on the white walls, pictures of what looked to be family, some of them older photographs. The room housing she and her book was very homey, a place that seemed warm and inviting. She liked the house over all: a roomy, well lighted kitchen, a small yet pleasant library, a living room, several bedrooms, a back yard holding a couple of fruit trees and some rose bushes. She relished in the peaceful surroundings and thought what a nice place the Graham’s owned. Neal had done well for himself, that was true. Later, after she had cooked a light dinner, Meg made her way to the library and found the paper written in clear, neat script the pass word and settled in to do some research on some cases she had been asked to look up. All was in order as night began to settle over the quiet little town. Some time later, she got up from the computer, headed into the kitchen for a Diet Pepsi. As she watched the liquid poor over the round ice cubes, she heard movement on the stairs. She came and stood in a position so she could see him. Neal held tightly to the rail with both hands, slowly, painfully putting one foot before the other. She watched him suddenly slip, tumble down the stairs and hit his head on the tiled floor. She was to him in a minute. “Are you okay?” she said unnecessarily. She knew he wasn’t. He lay there for a moment, stunned. “No I’m not okay. I don’t feel well. Kind of dizzy. My head hurts and I’m really dizzy. I think I have to go to the hospital.” “MS attack?” “Yes, I think so.” She put her arms under him, helped him stand, walked him to the couch and put a pillow under his head. “Call Doctor Johnson at Memorial Hospital. He’ll know when I can get in for my iv drip.” Meg did not lose her head. She went to the desk where Anna had put all the information onto a sheet of paper. She called the doctor. She was told to bring him in right away. She came to the attorney and said calmly: “What should I bring you from upstairs. We’re leaving for the hospital.” “Just casual clothes.” She ran quickly upstairs, packed a few things, came quickly back to his side. “Why did you come downstairs? You wanted something?” “I just wanted a drink. I just got dizzy on the stairs. “I’ll go get you a drink. Then we’ll go.” She ran into the kitchen, got some cold water from the refrigerator and brought it to him. She put the glass into the attorney’s hand, helped him guide it to his lips. “Having trouble with these hands today. Here, let me help.” She held the glass, helped him put it on the table next to him. When he had finished and was dressed, she put him into the car and drove him to the hospital where he was put on a Solumodril iv. She sat in a chair outside the room while he slept and tried to concentrate on a magazine article. When the procedure was done, she drove him home and put him to bed. She drove him back to the clinic on Saturday and Sunday, and met Anna at the door when she returned from her writers conference. Anna was only to glad that Meg had been in charge of things for the weekend. The big white house with the yellow trim was quiet as Meg slipped upstairs and packed her things and prepared to leave. “Thanks for your help, Meg.” “Any time. Anything else I can do before I go?” Anna shook her head. “I’ve got it from here.” Meg shook hands with the attorney’s wife, picked up her purse and headed down the steps and out the long driveway to her car. 4 Neal did not come to work that week, but returned the following Monday with a heightened respect for Meg. She did not think any less of him because he had fallen down a flight of stairs. He appreciated that she had not lost her head, that she had handled the situation efficiently and calmly, and most of all, he appreciated that she still respected him as a contributing, capable human being. He had known of her professional qualities as a researcher, had experienced her coolness in the midst of his forceful expression of emotion, and now she had seem him in a most vulnerable position and he knew that her view of his competence and abilities had not changed. Now, this morning, he passed her desk on the way to his office. “Good morning, Meg.” “Good morning.” He sat in his wheelchair, smiling, clear-eyed. “Shall I order lunch today?” Neal shook his head. “No. We’re in meetings all day. Court day tomorrow. I brought my own. I have a lot of computer work today.” “Well, if you need me to type, call me.” He looked down at his hands, neatly manicured, placed on the controls. “Okay. We’ll see how it goes.” “Is it okay if I ask you how you’re feeling?” “You are always welcome to ask that. Getting better, not so worn out, that iv drip is nasty stuff you know. I’m okay. Bored as hell at home, had to come back to the madness of justice!” Meg laughed at that, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward him. “I like your answers, Mr. Graham. While you were out, Michael Sims gave me some research to do for your upcoming case. Since you’re supposed to contact some witnesses I’ve prepared the document for you with the names and phone numbers. Miss Miller wanted me to drop them by your office, but since you’re here, I’ll give them to you now.” Neal’s eyes darkened for a moment as he reached out and took the paper, holding tightly to it, hands still a bit unsteady. “That case,” he commented briefly, holding the paper in both hands and turning it so he could see the first name, “is going to be a virulently nasty case. Welcome back to work, Neal. Step right out of the iv drip and into the hell of this most unwelcome case.” He turned to go to his office. “Thanks for your hard work, Meg.” He stopped for a moment, cast a glance over his shoulder. “And thank you for being around last weekend.” “Glad to help.” 5 Three months later, Neal asked her to accompany him as a combination secretary and personal assistant out of state for the prosecution of the same case he had taken on after his MS attack. “You remember that piece of paper with the names and phone numbers you handed me the week after I came back to work?” She nodded. “That case as I predicted has grown quite nasty and we’re moving it to the Eastern District Federal court in Missouri. We want you to assist us if you care to.” “Care to? Well, I’ve never seen the Federal court building in Missouri,” she said smiling only a little, ”when do we leave?” “there is one thing,” he said as they sat in his office, a place almost like home to her now. “Yes?” “Well, since that attack I’ve had a bit of unsteadiness in the hands, causing a problem with the injections and sometimes I have pain in my ankles. It’s just the way things are right now. So I need some help. Are you up to it? I specifically asked for you because I have the utmost confidence in your professional attitude about this.” “You mean you want me to poke that needle into you? I’ll be glad to do it.” The attorney and the girl shook hands. “Oh, and another thing.” “Yes?” “Well, it’s kind of an unprofessional thing. I think under the circumstances it would be okay if you called me Neal.” Meg packed her bags, set her affairs in order, and accompanied Michael Sims and Patricia Johnson the two other attorneys on the case, and her boss to Missouri. 6 In the last six months of trial, as the prosecution meticulously laid the foundation for its case, and the defense attorneys argued among themselves and behaved badly, or cast aspersion on the prosecutor’s best arguments, the days had been tedious and predictable. But as the judge dismissed the court today, Neal could feel the concentrated efforts of his team and assistant and his own body and mind threatening to overwhelm even his granite resolve. He had watched in stunned silence as several of the prosecutions’ witnesses had unwaveringly stayed on track under the brutal attack of the defense. Beneath his unflappable calm, Neal ached for those witnesses, feeling the brutal sharpness of the defense’s probing. He knew that he had prepped them for this very moment and so it was with a great sense of relief that this day had ended. The prosecution’s case, from his own perspective, was in tact. Yet the lead prosecutor could not relax. There was one more piece of the puzzle to put into place, one more lynch pin which might weigh the balances in his favor. Thinking of it now as the courtroom emptied, he put his reluctant hands to his eyes and rubbed them wearily. Then he motioned for Meg to come to him. “I’m going to need your help tonight. Tomorrow I question our star witness and I think it’s important that we meet tonight. I need to make sure he’s ready for this. I need to concentrate all my energy on him and so I really need you to take notes for me.” Meg caught a note of apology in his voice and only a slight regret in his face. “I know you had plans tonight.” “No trouble,” Meg replied, catching the weariness in his manner and abandoning her own selfish plans for reading her Hemingway novel. “I’ll just get the lap top and follow you down stairs.” “Thank you Meg.” It was clear to Meg as she and Neal exited the office three hours later that this meeting had taken its toll on the federal prosecutor. His strength tonight was flagging. The steady click click of her heels echoed back to both of them as they made their way to the underground parking structure and to the car. Neal fished in his briefcase for his keys and silently handed them to Meg. Tonight she would drive the four miles back to the hotel. In the parking structure of the hotel, Meg hopped out of the car and came to lend him discrete assistance. She took the black brief case out of his hand. They did not talk. She let him hold on to her till he got his balance. He got into the wheelchair, and together they walked toward the lobby. The majestic double doors opened for them and they headed inside and up to the seventh floor. They separated at his room. She entered the room next to his, came through the bathroom and opened an adjoining door. She slipped into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, listlessly looking down at his hands. Without being asked, she bent and helped him remove his shoes. He lay down on the bed, exhausted. He lay very still, almost as if he couldn’t move, the day, the emotional testimony, the little things cascaded down upon him. Tonight Neal was grateful for a hotel and a bed, and a pillow to hide his eyes from everyone’s demands and requests. He sighed deeply as her hands started on his shoulders and massage the tension out of his back. He slowly relaxed, feeling the much needed haze of sleep falling over him. He barely heard Meg as she moved quietly around the room, putting his briefcase on the desk, leaving the cane he required within easy reach. “I’m going to go eat. I’ve got my cell phone. Please call me if you need anything; anything at all; legal documents, food, anything.” Several hours later, he awoke slowly, at first not quite knowing whether it was night or morning. He stretched, slowly clearing the fog of sleep, and didn’t think he had the energy to communicate with the legs that were refusing more and more to obey him. His eyes felt as if they had sandpaper in them. After another moment of quiet, he sat up slowly, turned himself so that his feet were positioned on the floor. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: wrinkled white shirt, tie askew, wrinkled slacks. He turned his head to focus his gaze on the clock on his desk and noted that it was 10:00. The case would be over in a week or two and he wanted to write up his summation. Did he have to do it tonight? There were little bits of ideas running around in his head and he at least wanted to get them down so that he could remember them so Meg could polish them. He leaned heavily against the wall, got himself up, made is way to the bathroom with the help of his trusty cane. He washed his face, came back to the table on which Meg had deposited his briefcase. He felt a bit refreshed, but knew he wouldn’t be up too long. Tomorrow was shot day, he would require extra assistance in the morning and he was scheduled to question the prosecution’s star witness. He briefly examined all the mounting stresses of tomorrow and as he had done for his entire life, quickly got to work tackling them. He wriggled his lap top toward him, opened it and began to work. He was typing steadily when the phone rang. “Graham, here.” “Neal?” He could hear noise in the background, people talking, music. “It’s Meg.” “Of course, Meg. You’re calling from a restaurant?” “No, from the hotel lobby bar. I’m on my way upstairs. I hope you don’t mind my call, you didn’t call me of course.” “I just woke up. I’m working on my summation.” “This late?” she chided, almost like Anna, he thought, and smiled a bit. “Yes, well we have the team meeting Friday and I want to get started on organizing my closing arguments.” “Sounds like you, Neal, always a step ahead of everyone else. I wanted to call to se if you were okay. If you needed anything? Are you hungry?” He thought about that for a moment. “yes., I am,” he suddenly realized. “Ham and cheese on rye, light Mayo, French fries, coleslaw light dressing? Coffee?” His stomach growled. He chuckled, a warm sound in the cool room. Meg imagined his warm brown eyes sparkling. “It all sounds great but the coffee. I need my beauty sleep so I can slog through hell tomorrow. Meg,” he said thoughtfully, “you better come in at 5:00 tomorrow morning. Things might take a little longer.” Neal slowly emerged from sleep to wrestle with the insistently ringing phone. “Good morning, counselor” came Meg’s cheery voice. “Morning? Already?” “Yes, already. Are you awake?” He grunted. She chuckled, a routine familiar to them both. Neal hung up the phone and tried to sit up. He flinched as sharp pains stabbed through his ankles. He was glad he had asked Meg to come in an hour early this morning. The long day yesterday and his body’s temperamental distractions were going to conspire against him, but he clenched his hands in determination, today they would not detour him. A soft knock sounded at the connecting door and Meg came in to find him still lying against the pillows, pain etched into his brown eyes. “Troubles?” He pointed to his ankles. Then he pointed to the syringes on the night stand. “Where’s the Tylenol?” he asked only half teasing, “Let’s do that before we get started here. Not only do I need it for the side affects but today is going to be one that could be classified as a headache.” “Well are you ready, counselor? Sit up. Take your time let’s go to work.” Neal smiled a little as Meg took two bottles off the night stand, one with Betaserone in powder form and one with water and put them into his hands. “Breakfast?” “Please.” She ordered his usual eggs and potatoes, sausage, and fruit cup from room service while the bottles absorbed the heat from his hands. Then he gave them to her. “Please mix them. I’m not quite there yet.” He flinched as the stabbing pain bit into the instep and ankles.” “Are you doing the first one?” she wanted to know. He nodded. “Okay, here goes.” Meg took the bottle with the white powdery medicine and the other with sterile water, and screwed on the adapter to the water bottle. He watched her mix the medication and the water. She brought the syringe to him. He took the syringe into his hand, placed it in the fleshy part of his right thigh, watched the needle enter the site, breathed in sharply as the warmed medicine went under his skin. He exhaled his breath, and waited calmly for a few moments. Slowly, he pulled out the needle and sighed with relief. “It worked! You know even after having MS for fifteen years I still cringe when I see needles.” Meg prepared an injection of 1500mg of trillasate for the pain. Her hand ever so gently placed the needle on the injection site while his hand continued to monitor the site he had just used. They both flinched as the medicine entered the muscles. His eyes widened and he caught his breath, exhaling it through his clenched teeth. “Damn, I never get used to that.” He sat on the queen size bed, taking deep breaths, waiting for the stinging sensation in his thigh to lessen. He took a band aid Meg held out to him and lay back, waiting for the medication to dull the pain in his feet. Meg had brought the paper in and he immersed himself in the sports section. He grunted. “They lost again!” Meg chuckled a bit, walking to the closet and preparing his clothes. He dressed himself in the morning, but she laid them out in order to facilitate his time. She went to the sink and filled the room’s small coffee pot and set it in motion. Neal sat up, finally feeling as if he could get out of bed. Meg heard him stir, glanced and saw that he was holding on to the wall for support. He put his feet on the floor, testing their stability, and apparently satisfied, held onto the wall for support. Walking was going to be the challenge of the day. The U.S. attorney put his hand to the light switch and just before disappearing into the bathroom, spoke once more, this time in a more lighthearted manner. “Meg, I think I’m going to need that coffee for extra kick today. Every lawyer’s starter.” He disappeared and she heard the water running as she glanced around the room, putting the briefcase and items in one place so they would be easy to grab as he left the hotel room. After a while he emerged from the bathroom and dressed. It was only 7:30 and the phone was already ringing. Meg brought the cell phone to him. “Graham here.” “Shoes?” she mouthed to him. He nodded, talking to one of the other attorneys on the team. Quietly, efficiently, she got the shoes and bent to help him on with them. She tried to be as gentle as she could, but saw a flash of agony once or twice as she slipped them on. “You can’t be serious,” Neal said, his voice only hinting at dismay, “We can’t have forgotten that one! I’ll just send Meg for it, pick it up from the Fed Ex office. Yes, that will work.” He hung up the phone and transferred himself to the wheelchair. Being sure that everything was ready to go at a moment’s notice, he was now ready to enjoy the coffee and relax before getting another grueling court day underway. Meg pored it for him and set it in front of him. “You need me to go to the Fed Ex office?” “Yes, we forgot a document. It’s being sent by Springfield.” “Now?” She interrupted herself to hand him the required cream and sugar. “Yes. We’ll need it by about 10:00.” “It’s already done.” Neal waved to the empty chair at the table across from him. “Help me finish this?” “Thanks.” Meg sat down, drew the pot toward her, poured the dark brew into a cup and took a sip. “You’re ready for the meeting tomorrow?” “Yes. I have all the exhibits that were brought in last night. And the list of witnesses, too. We can go through all that with the team tomorrow. And then it’s over. I don’t have to tell you how hard this one has been.” Meg remembered the exhaustion in his face last night. She remembered him leaving the courtroom night after night with his hands and mind occupied with papers and ideas. She remembered him falling into bed at night, but looking pert and neat in the mornings. “I know. I know.” Neal Graham and Meg Anderson appeared promptly at 7:30 in the hotel restaurant on Friday night. The attorney held to Meg’s arm to help him out as the team filed into the restaurant through the small aisles and the tables. They took their seats and ordered coffee. She could see a visible relief on their faces as they finally settled in for what promised to be a relaxing and informative meeting. “You were stellar, yesterday,” Pat said to Neal. “Those guys were brutal. Damn!” “I knew they were going to be brutal that’s why I worked with him so much. It paid off.” A discrete glance passed between Neal and Meg, they both knew how stressful that had been “Hey, can we not talk about this for five minutes,” said Michael Sims, “Today is Friday, and tomorrow I have to look through exhibits for Monday. I’m questioning the guy’s daughter.” Graham chuckled. “We understand, Mike. We all need a break.” “You’re going to lock yourself away for the weekend,” Pat said to Neal. “Part of it, anyway,” he responded easily. “Sunday there’s a Mozart concert I thought I might try to catch it. I need a breathing space that’s for sure. So,” he said, “how about the Cubs?” The attorneys stalled Neal’s attempt at changing the subject from law to sports by looking at the menu which had been presented to their table. After settling on steak dinners with all the trimmings, they all sat quietly, waiting. “You asked about the Cubs?” Mike Sims said, taking a swallow of iced tea in a frosted glass, “my opinion is that the Twins will do better.” “Okay,” Neal relented, “I haven’t followed them much, I’m going to take a peek at the standings and the scores tonight when I get back upstairs.” When the plates were all positioned in front of the hungry group, they all fell silent, contemplating and then enjoying the four star hotel’s excellent food. When the second round of coffee appeared, Neal reluctantly turned their attention to the final details of the case. Meg settled in to take notes. “Next week,” the prosecutor outlined, “Mike is questioning our last witness. Pat is conducting final recross of our witnesses after the defense gets its turn, then Barring further complications, surprises, and you know there’ll be one at least, I present closing arguments. Then,” he said holding a forkful of green beans, “the defense presents its case which shouldn’t take long according to what they’ve said, and then Mike is rebutting that part of it. It’s all up to the jury. Then we go home.” Two weeks later, it was all over. The case proceeded as Neal Graham had outlined it. It went to the jury who deliberated for four days. A verdict was presented on Friday of the following week and on Saturday the attorneys and Meg piled into a van and drove back to Iowa. Demoine and surrounding suburbs was a welcome sight to all of them. When they got back to the rental company, each one separated to their own vehicles. “Thanks for all your help,” said the lead prosecutor to Meg who transferred notes from her files to his briefcase. I needed you this trip. It was a bit hard on all of us, the witnesses, the documents, the grueling pace…” “And the injections?” she teased. “The injections? Well, you passed the test! Tell the MS society we got the right one to help out.” “I will But I’ll keep my day job if you don’t mind!” “I’m sure no one will mind,” Neal said putting out his hand to her. “See you in the morning.” “OH, yes, in the morning,” she replied quietly, taking his hand and holding to it longer than professional etiquette dictated. A bond had formed between them, cemented by shared experiences. “Just let me know when you need me again. IN the meantime I’ll be there bright and early and I’m sure Liz will have plenty of work for me to do.” They parted company then, and she walked across the parking lot, both of them glad to be heading home.
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Copyright © 2007 Shelley J Alongi |