Edwin looks tense. Even more tense is Kevin Kratz, whose facial tic, a twitching of the right side of his mouth, is running on overdrive.
One row back from us, in the third row, is Devlin’s table. He and Leisha are seated there with three other couples. I recognize two of the men and one of the women as assistant district attorneys. Among them is one of my closest allies in the turf war Devlin and I waged before I left the prosecutor’s office. From what I hear, he’s now Devlin’s best friend. I think of the many bridges I burned with the thoughtless manner of my departure. A wave of sadness sweeps through me.
After a moment, I feel Piper’s hand on my own. She leans toward me and whispers in my ear, “Are you all right?”
Before I can answer, a sudden silence seizes the room. For some reason, my eye alights on Kevin Kratz. His twitching has stopped. His face is frozen marble. Then he says something to Edwin, and I see Edwin’s left hand form into a fist.
I feel Piper’s hand on my own, pressing down hard. I turn to her and see that she’s facing the back of the room, the central door, where David and Marcie stand smiling, poised to enter.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Susan says. “What is he thinking?”
Piper continues to press my hand.
Then Kimberly Baldwin puts her two cents in. “Ooh la la. This is going to get interesting.”
David and Marcie glide across the room. David’s custom-made tuxedo is perfectly tailored to fit his broad shoulders. His diamond studs and cuff links sparkle in the light cast by the massive chandeliers. Marcie is stunning. She’s wearing a strapless, ombré, floral-print gown in hues of green and silver. Formfitting, the dress highlights her trim figure and generous bosom. Her lustrous raven hair kisses her bare collarbones.
“Would you look at that ice . . .” Kimberly says, referring to Marcie’s necklace, a five-strand beaded creation of emeralds accented with round brilliant diamonds that would put Harry Winston to shame. I glance at the necklace, but I’m more captivated by Marcie’s green eyes, which seem to gather in the emerald light of the stones; her irises have an almost otherworldly glow.
“Like they were the king and queen,” says Allen Cohen.
Susan and I exchange uncomfortable glances, shake our heads. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: Bad move. Bad freaking move.
I notice now that Piper no longer has her hand on mine. Instead, both of her hands are under the table. I’m guessing she’s rubbing them furiously, something she does when she’s especially nervous.
David and Marcie reach the HWI table, where no one rises to meet them. David leans down to Edwin and offers his hand. Edwin accepts it, reluctantly, his eyes filled with fury. Then Marcie leans down and pecks Edwin on the cheek, and she and David move around the table. Edwin’s date smiles nervously, and Brandon and Lauren Landis are cold but polite. Kevin Kratz’s wife certainly understands what’s happening but looks too bored and miserable to care. Then David and Marcie reach Kratz himself. David hovers over Kratz, staring down at him, without offering his hand. Kratz glances at Edwin, then, drawn by the force of David’s will, stands up and extends his own hand. David waits before accepting, then leans in and whispers something in our classmate’s ear. Kratz turns positively white.
The whole room has watched this little play unfold, and everyone is talking about what they’ve seen. At our own table, Kimberly Baldwin expresses her distaste for Edwin and her hope that David’s clever lawyers help him beat the charges, forgetting, it seems, that those clever lawyers are sitting with her. Susan gapes openly at Kimberly when she says this. Piper continues to lean forward in her seat, her hands beneath the table. From a table behind me, I hear references to Cain and Abel and Romulus and Remus. For my part, I’m still flummoxed as to why David, soon to face a jury likely composed of blue-collar workers struggling to make ends meet, would show up at a black-tie gala. He’s smarter than this. So is Marcie.
A few minutes later, just after our salads are delivered, the band stops. I notice Candace Stengel, the American Way chairperson, up on the stage. She gives the typical introductory remarks, naming the other officers and directors with her tonight, thanks everyone for donating their time and money, and makes a fuss over the politicians sitting in the front row. Then she says something about tonight being “especially special” thanks to a pair of exceptionally generous gifts made by two of our fellow attendees. “I first want to thank Kimberly Baldwin, who has reached out to the American Way during a tragically painful time in her life. It would have been easy for Kimberly, whom I count as one of my dearest friends, to have become cynical. But Kimberly, as we all know, is the eternal optimist and never one to be kept down. And she’s shown it to the American Way tonight by donating a hundred thousand dollars.”
Kimberly basks in the praise. But I know the reason behind her generosity isn’t to get accolades or do good—she simply wants everyone to know she’s still rich. Still in the game.
When the clapping dies down, Candace continues with a short speech about the American Way’s philosophy of focusing on the community, working with neighborhood groups to empower individual citizens through education, employment, and financial assistance. “American Way really defines what it means to be a grass-roots organization,” she says. “And here in Philadelphia, there is one company that has kept its boots on the ground and marched right beside us for more than a quarter century. That company, as most of you know, is Hanson World Industries, Philadelphia’s own homegrown Fortune 500 company. And I am proud—no, breathless—to announce that in addition to HWI’s annual corporate gift, one of its directors has today donated the unprecedented sum of one million dollars to our Educational Impact Fund.”
The room falls completely silent. All eyes move to the HWI table just below Candace at the front of the room. All eyes, that is, but mine and Susan’s. We’ve both figured it out, and we’re looking at each other.
Candace spends the next five minutes gushing about the generosity of David and Marcie Hanson. I study her face for some sly signal to her guests that her praise is tongue in cheek. But she betrays no crack in the apparent sincerity with which she sings tribute to my clever client and his Machiavellian wife. It can’t be easy for Candace, I’m sure. David has been charged with a young woman’s murder. But $1 million is $1 million. And Candace will put that money to good use.
As for the crowd, it is a squirming millipede. Legs crossing and uncrossing. Hands wringing, fingers fiddling. Pained, even cringing, faces. Most everyone clearly wants to stand up and shout: Candace! The guy’s a murderer! Take his money, okay. But shut up, already!