“For such a simple thing?”
“For such a simple thing: depositions, motions, discovery, countersuit. And Acorn is not invested in it emotionally. Whereas the Acorn principals will never think of it other than at the end, you will obsess and your dreams will be monopolized. For them, depositions will be fun. They’re sadists when it comes down to it. You’re analytical and perhaps brave. You won’t collapse in deposition, but no matter that you might do well, you’ll still be angry, frustrated, insulted, and your blood pressure will double.”
“But what about the merits of the case?”
“Sixty/forty for you. I would side with you. But it could go either way. It depends upon the judge and, believe me, we have what my associates here call doofusses.”
“So what do you advise overall?”
“Take the blow and get on with your life. You may not thank me if you follow my advice, because you won’t know. But if you go ahead with the suit, I promise, you’ll curse yourself.
“Do you know why I asked your age? Not just from curiosity and to gauge who you are and what you might know, but because I’ve had clients, and not just a few, who spent the last years of their lives drowning in the nonsense and unhappiness of a lawsuit. You might end up like that bunch of Jews in California who because they wanted to open a casino called themselves the Snickers Tribe.”
“Snickers? For the feet?”
“No, Snickers. It’s a candy bar.”
“A bar of candy? Why would they …?”
“It’s hard to explain, but, needless to say, they didn’t get a casino license because they weren’t really an Indian tribe.”
“So why did they say they were?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer. You’d have to ask them. All I can say is that they spent a lot of money on legal fees.”
“I see.”
“Don’t be crestfallen. Among other things, this has been half an hour – five hundred dollars – and I won’t bill it.”
“I insist,” Jules said, looking around at the office. “With this kind of overhead, you must have so much pressure to bill.”
“I do, but I’ve never had a client who at a thousand dollars an hour talked about Verdi and waves in the ocean. Tomorrow I’ll cut half an hour off lunch.”
Lights Corruscating Through the Dusk
ONCE AGAIN, JULES was running in the park. It was sunny, the weather tranquil and bright. Convinced that the only thing left to him was physical strength, he attended to it. The day before, the music faculty had told him by email that his teaching load and his salary, such as they were, would be further reduced. And Cathérine had written that Luc had a persistent fever, slept most of the day, and cried often, not from pain but for help. Jules was trapped in New York because changing his ticket would cost several thousand Euros more than he had already paid, and as the hotel was irrevocably paid up as well he would stay on until his originally scheduled flight out, economizing by eating at supermarkets and from street vendors. That kind of saving hardly mattered. He’d kept a ledger of his expenses in a little notebook. With the recent change in exchange rates, by the time he walked in the door at home he would have spent nearly €40,000, not a single Euro of which would be reimbursed. Half his savings were gone. In addition to what was left he had some gold coins, Jacqueline’s jewelry, and a tiny Daubigny, which together and with luck might bring €50,000. The piano was worth quite a lot, although he didn’t know how much.
He could live solely on his pension, semi-impoverished like so many others, and give the rest to Cathérine for Luc, but that would be only a fraction of what was needed. He would stay in Saint-Germain-en-Laye even if not in the Shymanski house. Saint-Germain-en-Laye was his home. Jacqueline flowed through it like air, and to leave it would be to break a connection yet unbroken.
When the Shymanski house was sold, Jules would probably end up in a small room above a store, with loud neighbors, traffic sounds, no view, and persistent cooking smells. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Jacqueline had deserved to see her grandchild, and yet she had not. She had deserved to live, and yet she had not. She had deserved to go gently, and yet she had not. Luc deserved to have a childhood and not to suffer and die early. Jules had failed them and could think of nothing except to keep up his health and strength so that if an opportunity arose he might seize it.
But he ran too hard. He wasn’t as fast, and he no longer sailed effortlessly as he had after his prodigious sleep. By the time he reached the northern end of the park, having almost sprinted down the hill, it got easier, so he picked up his pace, all the while trying to think of what might arrest the downward trajectory of his life.
As the road turned south, it climbed what was known, if not to Jules, as Heartbreak Hill. Although he had run it on the first day in New York, in Saint-Germain-en-Laye he was used to level ground or, in the forest, rolling rises. This was different, a steep hill with sharp rock outcroppings. Though everyone tried not to, everyone slowed here. Three quarters of the way up, Jules began to feel lightheaded. It was pleasant, but as it intensified he grew alarmed. If only he could crest the hill, he thought, his lightheadedness might cease. Soon after, it became painful, and the world darkened as if in an eclipse. Apart from the strain of ascending, he felt all right. It wasn’t his heart. He was running automatically, and soon he could no longer hear either his steps or the wind. Then he was flying through total darkness as his feet left the ground and there was no gravity … until he hit the pavement without even extending his arms to break the fall. First his head struck, followed by his chest, as his body slid forward with continuing momentum. His left cheek burned as it scraped the asphalt, and what felt like warm water gushed around his face. This was not unpleasant, and he enjoyed it until he lost consciousness.