Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks, Chapter Fourteen
Las Vegas at Night
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
December 16 & 17, 2007
He did not sleep with Cat, but he sat in the bar with her until four a.m. Terri waited up, a ball of white-hot fury. He had met her in a strip club in Las Vegas two years ago. He’d played a gig for a software convention with Epic, the corporate band that had just done the Warrick, Thompson party. High on adrenalin from the performance, he had wandered down the Strip until he came to “Elegance, A Gentleman’s Club,” and Terri.
She’d been working the pole when he came in. She eyed him immediately and hit her bump and grind routine a little harder to get his attention. He put a couple of twenties in her G-string, bought her a drink, and took her back to his hotel.
That December night as she railed about Cat, shaking her layered, bleached blond mane, and shooting daggers of molten, blue-eyed jealousy, he’d reflected that her chief interest in him was working with Epic. The band was a well-known, cover, dance-party outfit, designed to appeal to the well-healed mid-forties-and-up convention crowd. Marilyn Gordon, the owner and lead singer, had jumped on the corporate band concept ten years ago, and she’d developed a very successful operation to showcase her own considerable singing talent.It was Stan’s best-paying gig. He’d drop anything and run when Marilyn called.
But his work was dependent upon her whim. He had no power to influence her to use Terri although sometimes she would throw her a gig or two because she knew it would make life easier at home for Stan. In truth, Terri was a mediocre singer. But her full curves and provocative dance style drove the old guys crazy. So Marilyn used her now and then.
Terri had stopped screaming and was reciting Dr. Phil platitudes about relationships built on trust. Stan had heard them all before from the uncountable number of women who had passed through the revolving door of his life. He wondered if it ever occurred to Terri that his liaisons numbered in the hundreds. When one left, it was never hard to replace her. That’s what bars, strip clubs, and chat lines were for. Even though he was starting to develop the characteristic middle spread of the forties, his profession attracted women. He would never have any trouble getting laid.
Terri’s wrath began to wind down. Stan had yet to utter a word. He had learned this technique over the years. If he argued back, the fight would go on and on. If he remained silent, the current woman would gradually let her outrage die because his silence would tell her he had no intention of changing. So if she didn’t like his behavior, her only option was to leave. Eventually, they all did. But he could see, somewhat to his disappointment, Terri hadn’t reached the exit point. In the face of his silence, she had convinced herself to forgive him. And now she wanted makeup sex.
He didn’t. He had seen Carrie that night; and her long, soft body was the only woman he wanted. She had always been like a drug that he tried to resist, but never could.
She looked sexier in a suit that Terri did in her G-string. When she walked, her hips swayed under her straight wool skirts, a move that drove Stan wild. Women didn’t understand that their allure lay in the anticipation they created. Night after night at Jazz by The Bay, Stan had studied Carrie in her demure, black cocktail dress, imagining just how he’d unzip it very slowly, then ease it off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor, leaving her standing before him in her lingerie.
True the club had always been full of women, spilling out of their evening dresses. But they left nothing to Stan’s imagination. All the females in Stan’s world exuded fuck-me-now invitations in bold faced type. But Carrie Moon was different.
So very different.
She smelled faintly of lavender soap, not heavy, nose-clogging perfume. She not only loved his music, she understood how much time and study had gone into it.
The other women around him were not trained musicians. They had no real ability to know if he was a good or a bad trumpet player. When they said they admired his tunes, they were asking him to sleep with them. But Carrie had studied at one of the best schools in the country. If she thought he was good, her opinion meant something.
He had wondered, sometimes, if he’d had the chance to get a music degree what opportunities would have opened up for him. He’d saved and taken lessons from some of the best teachers in the business, but he didn’t have a conservatory certificate to put on his resume. His life had always been a scramble from gig to gig.
The sun was coming up. Fortunately, Terri had dropped off before she could follow through on her demand for sex. Stan rolled over and closed his eyes. If he could sleep, maybe he’d begin to forget about seeing Carrie. Maybe the drug humming in his veins would flush itself out of his system, and he’d be back to his old, feelingless life. That was the only safe way. But he was tired of being safe. Of all the women who had passed through his world, he had loved only two of them: Deanna and Carrie Moon.
* * *
November 1994
After the fiasco with Lara, Carrie didn’t come back to the club. Night after night, Stan went on stage, hoping to see her at her usual table in the second row. And night after night, he was disappointed.
Harry watched him. “Miss her, don’t you?” He said after the second Friday without her. She’d been absent for ten days.
“Miss who?”
“You know.”
“A little.”
“Lara wasn’t a smart move.”
“Carrie was trying to get too close. I needed some space.”
“Well, you’ve got plenty now.”
Stan shrugged, picked up his horn case, and headed for his car. He threw the bag into the trunk, then turned down the path to the bay. He found the bench where he and Carrie had talked after the shows and sat down. He watched the ferry skim across the black water toward the lights of Coronado where the island glimmered against the night sky like a golden mirage.
“Get over it,” he told himself. Women came and went in his life all the time. He rarely felt anything but relief when the latest had had enough and walked away.
But Carrie haunted him. He could see her sometimes emerald, sometimes gray eyes looking up at him on stage, and her smile of delight when he hit a particularly high note as if he had done it just for her. And some nights, he had belted out the big ones to impress her.
And then there was the way she made love. It was different with a woman who loved you. Passion and fire. The way it had been with Deanna. At least, before the drugs took over her life.
He watched the ferry dock on the other side of the bay. One a.m. That should be the last run. He wondered what Carrie was doing. Probably at work in that black hole of a law firm. She had risked everything in the most important year of her career to save Harry and the club and Stan’s gig. And then he’d pranced in with Lara.
But he had feelings for her. After Deanna died, she had made her interest him in him very clear. He’d wanted it to work because he felt as if he could hang on to Deanna through her.
But Lara wasn’t Deanna. She had a cold, calculating edge that had not been part of his wife’s makeup. Stan always felt if a better deal came along, Lara would be quick to jump ship. Still, she was from his world, unlike Carrie.
No, that wasn’t completely true. Carrie knew music. She had to have been a really fine musician to have won a place at Julliard. Lara’s singing wasn’t in the same class at all.
Stan wished he could hear Carrie play. Harry had told him he’d invited her to sit in at the club. Fat chance she’d take him up on the offer now.
Across the bay, Stan could see that the ferry had made its last run. The lights were out; the boat was moored at the dock. The wind picked up and sent small waves slapping at the boats in their berths on his side of the water. Slap, slap. The boats bobbed in the black water.
He got up slowly and headed up the path to his car. The aching in his heart had deepened. Tomorrow was Sunday and his day off. He wondered what Carrie was doing tomorrow.
The entire ebook of Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks is available for purchase at Amazon. com, http://www.amazon.com/Ride-Your-Heart-Til-Breaks-ebook/dp/B00RDJQB8Q. Deborah is also the author of the award winning novel, Dance For A Dead Princess, http://www.amazon.com/Dance-For-Dead-Princess-ebook/dp/B00C4HP9I0
Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks, Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
December 2007
Don’t screw up. Alan’s words echoed in Judge Karen Morgan’s head twelve years later on Christmas Eve as she stared at Central Park from the window of her suite at the Plaza. Don’t screw up. Don’t try to find Stan. Carrie Moon is dead, and you can’t bring her back. Being the Honorable Judge Karen M. Morgan a/ka/Mrs. Howard Morgan is safe. Being Carrie Moon is certain death. Be safe. Don’t die. Don’t screw up.
“What if I don’t want to be safe?” she asked the empty room because on Christmas Eve, Howard was ensconced with his junior associate at the firm’s New York office, obsessively preparing for his trial to begin again on January 2.
“What if I want to screw up?” She demanded of the winter-bare trees across the street. And then, the most horrific question of all, “What if I want to die? What if I’ve wanted to die every day for twelve years?”
* * *
November 1994
But she hadn’t wanted to die that Wednesday. She could barely keep her mind on the Burnett file that morning. All she wanted was for night to come and to be back in Stan’s arms.
Around noon, she finished correcting the documents, left them with her secretary, and headed home to her condo to shower and change. She felt the first trace of unease when she looked at her answering machine and realized Stan hadn’t called. She had thought he would to ask her to come to the club that night. Was he angry because she had to leave so abruptly that morning?
She grabbed her black Nordstrom’s cocktail dress and a change of clothes for the next day as she headed out the door to return to work. She wasn’t going to show up on Thursday in Wednesday’s clothes. She would make sure she was at the club no later than ten. Surely as nervous as the Burnett accountants were about the sale of the securities to the public, they wouldn’t send her yet another set of numbers that night.
Carrie’s apprehension grew all afternoon as her secretary put through call after call. None from Stan. Most were from the Burnett accountants, questioning the numbers they had already provided.
But they didn’t send her any new ones, so she was able to take her clothes and slip away happily at seven to go home once again and dress for the club. She was glad she didn’t have to change in the Warrick, Thompson ladies’ room after all because she wanted to look her best for Stan.
The set was just beginning when she hurried to her usual table. Harry brought her wine without even taking her order. Carrie caught her breath at the sight of Stan on stage in his white dinner jacket. She waited with joyful anticipation for the first moment when his eyes would seek hers across the distance that separated them.
But that moment never came. Like the previous evening, he stood on stage so that he never directly faced her. When he made eye contact, it was with a stunning, sapphire-eyed brunette, cleavage spilling out of sliver lame at the Table of Five. Carrie had never seen her before.
She sipped her wine carefully, feeling her heart sink with every sip. As she listened to Stan play, she slowly began to understand that what she had thought was the beginning of all her dreams coming true had been only a one-night stand.
When the band broke at eleven thirty, Stan went straight to the Table of Five with his scotch. He aggressively sought the place next to the brunette, and they all laughed and joked together until the break was over.
Carrie was so stunned by his rejection that she couldn’t summon the strength to leave even though she wanted to. She felt Harry Rich’s sympathetic eyes on her; but she knew if she met his gaze, she would burst into tears.
When the break ended, around eleven twenty, Stan proceeded to the stage with the brunette in tow. Harry, who was at the piano, and Kristin, who was also on stage ready to sing, gave him surprised looks.
Stan kept the broad grin on his face that he had worn since the minute he sat down by the brunette. He motioned for Kristin to give him the microphone, and she obeyed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I asked a special singer and friend, Lara Beaumont to come down tonight to help me with this song.”
Carrie was now transfixed by her hurt and humiliation. She watched in agony as Stan made his careful mouthpiece placement, breathed deeply, and sent the first haunting notes of “I Can’t Get Started” into the audience. Instead of Kristin doing the vocals, Lara sang the lyrics, gazing at Stan with wide blue eyes.
It was one of the most horrible moments of her life. Carrie placed her half-finished second glass of wine on the table and tried to stand up. She wasn’t in the least drunk. She was completely overcome with hurt and despair.
Stan had known exactly what he was doing when he asked Lara Beaumont to the club. He knew Carrie would come back, eagerly anticipating another night with him. And he was sending her the message to go away.
Forever, she thought miserably, as she finally managed to get to her feet. She noticed that Harry’s worried eyes were riveted on her from the stage, and she remembered his words, “Stay around. Show him he can’t drive you away.”
I can’t do that, she thought, as she struggled to breathe. Disappointment sat on her chest like a fifty pound weight.
Even though the tune hadn’t ended, she turned and walked toward the exit, trying to keep an even pace so it wouldn’t look as if she were fleeing. With her back to the stage, she could no longer control her tears. By the time, she reached the outer lobby, she was sobbing long deep sobs that shook her whole body.
She almost ran to her car. She sat in the driver’s seat with the window down, listening to the rest of the tune. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Huge applause followed when it ended.
She did not know how long she would have sat there if she had not seen Harry Rich crossing the parking lot to find her.
“Carrie? Are you ok?” Then he saw her tears. He opened her door and held out his hand to her. “Come, tell me about it.”
She got out and leaned against the car, trying to regain enough composure to talk.
“Want to go walk by the bay for a few minutes?”
She shook her head. “No, here is fine.”
“Something’s happened between you and Stan.”
She nodded and told him about the night before. His dark eyes were full of sympathy as the story unfolded. “I did what you said, Harry. I fought for him. I went after him. But what can I do about tonight? I can’t fight this.”
Harry sighed. “Stan’s never been one to know what’s good for him. Lara Beaumont isn’t.”
“Are they – involved?” Karen could barely make herself utter the question.
“Off and on, after Deanna. She was a friend of hers. But Stan and Lara never last. They wind up fighting.”
Jealousy ripped through her as she thought about the two women Stan had let into his life.
“So what is tonight about, then?”
“Stan’s usual behavior. He got close to you last night, and now he has to push you away.”
Karen leaned against the car and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself against the waves of love and jealousy tearing through her. When she opened them, she looked straight into Harry’s deep concern.
What am I supposed to do now?”
He shook his head. “Give Stan some time to process all this. When he’s thought about it, he’ll wish he hadn’t done it.”
“But he looked so happy on stage. Triumphant, even.”
“That’s Stan. Proving to himself he can drive you away. Go home now and get some sleep. I don’t think you’ve had much for the last twenty-four hours.”
He opened the door, and she got in. She smiled and waved as she pulled out of the lot. Harry was a good man, and he had deserved her help.
San Diego’s streets were deserted at eleven forty-five. Karen felt as if she were the only person left on earth. By the time she reached the first red light, she realized she had no idea where she wanted to go.
If she went home, she’d cry all night. But she wanted to avoid feeling the pain because if she let herself feel it, she would be overwhelmed. Work, she thought. If I go back, I’ll be so occupied I can’t feel anything.
* * *
Alan Warrick walked into her office at nine the next morning.
“Karen, are you all right? You haven’t been home!”
She looked up at him calmly from the stack of documents she was proofing. She didn’t care that she was still wearing the black dress or that her hair was loose around her shoulders, or that her face was still marred by tear tracks. “I’m fine, Alan. I’m just making up for night before last. No big deal.”
She could tell he was far more concerned about this disconcerting display of raw emotion than about her personal well-being. A tear-stained face and the previous night’s cocktail dress were completely unacceptable in Alan’s world.
She had to erase all traces of emotion. She leaned over, picked up the phone intercom, and buzzed her secretary. “Alice, I’m heading home now to shower and change. I’m leaving the Burnett documents on my desk with some corrections for you to make. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
She gave Alan a confident smile as she gathered her brief case and headed for the door. She didn’t feel confident about anything, but she knew acting that way would dispel Alan’s concern she intended to make a habit of showing up at work with her heart on full display.
* * *
Her condo was dark and had the musty smell of a closed house. She had left last night, excited about the prospect of another evening with Stan. Now she felt she was crawling back in defeat.
She opened the drapes covering the sliding glass doors to the deck that overlooked the Pacific and pressed her forehead to the glass. She watched the steady rise and fall of the waves in the morning sun. Their rhythm reminded her of Stan’s love making and the rise and fall of their joined bodies, releasing that strange, almost frightening wild energy that had permeated every pore of her being.
She couldn’t bear the thought of Lara Beaumont in her place in Stan’s bed. The tears she had held back through the wee hours so that she could read the Burnett accounting files now formed and overflowed. The pain of disappointment and lost love tore through her chest, and settled around her heart.
Impulsively she turned from the window and hurried to her bedroom. She opened the closet door and stared at the dull rows of navy, gray and black business suits. After a few minutes, she reached up and pulled the long leather case from the top shelf.
She went to the bed, sat down, and opened it. Her fingers caressed the flute’s cold silver. She quickly twisted the joints together, held the instrument to her lips and let her breath warm the metal for a few moments before she blew the first note, low deep and pure. The ice around her heart began to thaw.
She ran through the major and minor scales, playing them faster and faster as if speed would purge the pain in her soul. Her fingers were surprisingly nimble, despite not having played for a long time. But her lips and tongue lasted only through half the scales she wanted to play. Defeated, she held the flute tightly to her chest and wondered how she had lost her own soul.
She closed her eyes and imagined the backstage smell of every concert hall she had ever played in. She breathed in the blend of old fabric, cork grease, and valve oil. She remembered what it was like to be surrounded by dozens of violin and viola bows, moving restlessly up and down over the ever-changing twang of tuning strings while, unperturbed, clarinets, oboes and flutes ran dizzy ladders of major and minor warm-up scales. Low brass blatted pedal tones. A French horn brayed a hunting call into the chaotic cacophony. She smiled. And then there were the trumpets, the pure egos of the music world. She imagined their high, clear notes cutting through every other sound.
She had been alive then, always on the edge of nerves, yet enthralled by rush of adrenalin that gave her the performer’s high. Being near Stan brought it all back, and let her relive those clear, pure moments when she had been doing what she had been born to do. She wanted to cling to him to avoid losing forever that lost part of herself.
The entire ebook of Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks is available for purchase at Amazon. com, http://www.amazon.com/Ride-Your-Heart-Til-Breaks-ebook/dp/B00RDJQB8Q. Deborah is also the author of the award winning novel, Dance For A Dead Princess, http://www.amazon.com/Dance-For-Dead-Princess-ebook/dp/B00C4HP9I0
And check out Deborah’s latest book review at Deborah’s Book Reviews, http://deborahsbookreviews.com
Chapter Twelve
LOVE SONG
CHAPTER TWELVE
November 1994
Through her tears, she watched him vanish up the path toward the parking lot. Go after him. Fight for him, her heart said. Show him you won’t desert him. Show him it’s safe to love you.
He had already left when she reached her car. She drove the few blocks to his loft at Fourth and G. By some miracle, there was an empty meter in front. She got out and hurried up the steps to ring the bell.
Answer. Please, answer, she prayed. Her breath came in short, harsh sobs as she stood waiting for a reply from upstairs.
None came.
Karen rang the bell, more insistently this time. She counted ten seconds and rang the bell again.
Then suddenly the iron security door swung open, and Stan was there. Without a word, he pulled her inside and into his arms.
* * *
December 2007
As the American Airlines jet began to taxi toward take off in the late December twilight, two days before Christmas, Judge Karen Morgan sat back in her first class seat and closed her eyes. One week since she had seen Stan at the Christmas party. Seven miserable days of coming home to the blank answering machine. No call. No message. So why did she expect one? She had told him the truth: Carrie Moon was dead. Why then did she think he would come after her and insist she wasn’t? Because she so desperately wanted him to? Because she had once fought for his love in an effort to rescue him from a life of numbness and emptiness, and now she wanted him to do the same for her? But the odds were against it. She ordered a scotch straight up and closed her eyes.
The jet sped east through the darkness, but Karen was back in the lift in Stan’s building as it creaked upward toward his loft. Her nostrils were full of the cool salty breeze, sweeping over her hot arms and face, damp with perspiration and desire. And she could smell the familiar dark, masculine scent of Stan, the mixture of sweat and sex that surrounded him after hours of performing.
Sometimes, Karen reflected, as she listened to the big jet engines labor, life brings you to a split second when you suddenly understand everything is about to change forever. In the twinkling of an eye, as you stand poised on the edge of the inevitable, you pause to burn into your memory what life is like at that moment – the moment before change engulfs you. That sliver of time before the future arrives to transform your life forever is as tiny as an atom, yet as wide and deep as a black hole in space. You stand poised for less than a breath upon the rim of this vast knowledge that all the events of your life have happened for only one purpose: to bring you to this moment of irrevocable change.
* * *
November 1994
Stan said nothing as he held her tightly against him as the elevator lumbered upward. When it stopped, he pushed aside the iron bars to allow them to exit.
He led her down the hall to his loft. As they stepped inside, he pulled her into his arms and brought his mouth down on hers in a crushing kiss.
* * *
Karen Morgan shivered at the memory of that night and downed a huge gulp of scotch. Where was Stan at that moment? It was Friday night, so he was probably playing another gig. The old stab of jealousy bit through her heart as she remembered him flirting with the blonde singers last week. Did he ever remember how they had made love over and over again that first night, each time more intensely than the last?
No, Karen answered herself. She was certain Stan didn’t remember. He had more than likely made love to so many women in the last twelve years that the details of his first night with Carrie Moon had long ago disappeared completely from his psyche.
But then, why had he called? If women were nothing more for him than interchangeable Lego pieces, why had he picked up the phone after twelve years? Curiosity, most likely. Certainly not to apologize. Stan would never apologize for what he had done to them both.
* * *
November 1994
On that first night, Carrie finally dozed just as the first tentative light filtered through the long loft windows. She tried to fight the impulse to sleep, knowing she had to be at her desk by seven a.m. to make up for not going back to the office at midnight. But the combination of exhaustion, satiety, and the joy of being surrounded by Stan and his warmth overcame her.
She woke to bright sunshine and Stan’s kiss.
“Wake up, sleepy head.” He pulled her close and made love to her yet again. But afterward, as she lay cradling Stan in her arms, she felt a rising tide of panic. What time was it? Would Alan have missed her?
Unlike last night when she had remained as close to Stan as possible after they had finished making love, she slid away from him and sat up.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
The hands of the clock on the beside table were irrevocably placed at ten a.m. Carrie caught her breath. She had never arrived that late for work in nine years and two law firms.
He watched her eyes travel to the clock. “Late for work? Then I guess you don’t have time for one of my famous breakfasts?”
She shook her head and began to get dressed.
* * *
At ten thirty, Karen walked into her office, uncomfortably aware she was wearing yesterday’s clothes, had not showered, and smelled like Stan and sex. Alan sat behind her desk, going over the documents from the overnight secretarial pool. The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened.
He looked up and surveyed her from head to toe. Karen wanted the floor to open and swallow her.
“I see you didn’t make it home last night.”
“I – ” For the first time in her association with Alan Warrick, she didn’t know what to say.
“We were concerned when you weren’t at work by eight.” Every word was a nail hammered into her professional coffin. “We called your apartment and got no answer. I decided I’d better start going over these documents to keep the deal on time.”
A flash of anger surged through Karen. “My being late this morning isn’t going to delay the IPO. We still have two weeks before the sales date.”
“And Burnett keeps changing its numbers on its assets. I hope you are paying attention to the changes.”
Her anger deepened. She wanted to take Alan by the throat and scream that she was entitled to a life away from Warrick, Thompson and that sleeping with the man she loved didn’t mean her brains had become mush. Instead, she summoned her cool, professional tone.
“I’m quite aware of the changes, Alan. That’s why these documents were in overnight secretarial. I appreciate your pinch-hitting for me, but I’m here now and ready to look these over.”
Even though Alan was one of the name partners, that tone from Karen always made him back down. It reminded him she possessed the true securities expertise. He was merely a litigator who knew enough to get him through whatever trial happened to be the case du jour in his life. Even if she showed up late in last night’s clothes, she knew the securities code inside and out. She would be hard to replace. He didn’t want her to know that, of course, but he did.
Beaten by her commanding tone, Alan yielded her chair and headed for the door. He turned back, however, before he left.
She kept her eyes on the documents, hoping he’d take the hint and go. But his gaze remained on her until she looked up.
“I gather last night wasn’t about scouting properties for Waterfront Development?”
“Last night was not about anything to do with you, Alan. Or the firm.”
He frowned. Obviously he wanted the whole story, and obviously he wasn’t entitled to a word of it. Beaten again, he sent a parting shot across her bow as he turned to leave. “Remember what’s at stake this year, Karen. Don’t screw up.”
The entire ebook of Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks is available for purchase at Amazon. com, http://www.amazon.com/Ride-Your-Heart-Til-Breaks-ebook/dp/B00RDJQB8Q. Deborah is also the author of the award winning novel, Dance For A Dead Princess, http://www.amazon.com/Dance-For-Dead-Princess-ebook/dp/B00C4HP9I0
Ride Your Heart ‘Til It Breaks, Chapter Eleven
BEGUINE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
November 1994
“Damn!” Alan Warrick stormed into her office at three o’clock on Tuesday.
Karen looked up from the piles of Burnet IPO documents unperturbed.
What’s wrong?”
“Look at this! Just look at this!” He thrust a stack of papers into her hand.
She glanced down and realized they were Harry’s books. “Where did you get these?”
“His accountant had them messengered over in response to the letter I sent last week. Son of bitch, the guy is meeting the damn lease terms. He’s showing a profit. What the hell are we going to do now?”
Still deadly calm, Karen said, “There’s nothing we can do. We’re not responsible for making these facts. Our job is just to report them to Waterfront Development.”
“Like hell it is!” Alan stormed at her. “We’re Warrick, Thompson, not some guy with his solo shingle out front. We’re the ones who get the client what he wants.”
“Within the bounds of the law,” Karen observed.
“Yes, damn it, yes. Ok.” Alan took the documents back and stared at them for a few moments. Then he thrust them at Karen again. “Look, can’t you find anything wrong with these? You’re the accountant. I’m just a trial lawyer.”
If you only knew what I did to them in the first place, she thought. But she maintained her poker face. She pretended to study Harry’s books for a few minutes. Then she said, “Sorry, Alan. Nothing wrong here. He just has a little investment income that takes him through the low months. And that’s held in the name of the club. You won’t get to first base trying to evict him using these.”
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