The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [90]
Pajamae was wearing Boo’s denim overalls, a white T-shirt, white socks, and white sneakers; her hair was in cornrows; and she was licking her ice cream cone.
She said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“So how do you like living in Highland Park?”
Pajamae glanced at Boo, who shrugged. How did this woman know that she was living with Mr. Fenney?
“I like it just fine, thank you.”
“You tell your mother to come see me, my name’s Sissy. I’ll make sure she’s as well dressed as any woman in Highland Park.”
“My mama’s in jail.”
The lady snapped up straight with a confused look on her face. “Jail? Aren’t you the new black family’s little girl?”
“I don’t have a family. I only have Mama. And Louis, he’s like an uncle only he’s not.”
Boo said, “What new black family?”
“The black family that just moved into town, the first black homeowners in the history of Highland Park.” The saleslady was now staring at Boo when a hint of recognition crossed her painted face. “You’re the Fenney girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you with that hair. Where’s your mother been lately”—her thin eyebrows raised a notch—“and your handsome father?”
“My mother’s being weird and A. Scott’s been real busy.”
“Helping my mama,” Pajamae added, and the lady’s head swiveled to her. “They say she killed the McCall boy, but she didn’t.”
The saleslady slapped her hand over her mouth. “She’s your mother?”
Pajamae licked her ice cream cone and said, “Unh-huh. Mr. Fenney, he’s her lawyer, so everybody’s mad at him.”
The saleslady’s face suddenly looked like that boy’s face that day in the projects when he tried to get a freebie from Mama and when she refused, he called her a “white man’s whore.” As he turned to run away he ran smack into Louis—and that black boy’s face turned white. Just as this lady’s face had turned two shades whiter. She must not have known what to say, so she said, “Maybe you girls should leave now.”
“Mr. Ford wants to see you,” Sue said.
Scott grabbed his message slips and walked to the staircase. He greeted his fellow partners along the way, but all he got in return were odd stares, averted eyes, and shaking heads. No doubt they had seen his network interview last night and didn’t care for it. Fuck ’em. He found Dan standing by the window in his office.
“Dan, what’s up?”
Dan turned; his face looked like he hadn’t slept last night.
“Come in, Scotty. Shut the door.”
Scott did as instructed and said, “Dan, can you talk to Ted at the bank? He’s being a real asshole. He called the notes on the Ferrari and my house.”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Scotty, as of right now, you’re no longer a partner in the firm.”
“You’re demoting me?”
“I’m firing you.”
Dan’s words knocked the air out of Scott as fully as a football helmet in the solar plexus. Scott stumbled back and fell onto the sofa. Dan returned to the window and stared out, his hands clasped behind him. Scott struggled to find words.
“You said I was like a son to you.”
Without turning from the window: “You were. But when my son embarrassed me with that homosexual nonsense, I disowned him. Now I’m disowning you.”
“Why?”
Dan turned to face Scott; he was now an angry father figure.
“Your little spectacle last night! For Christ’s sake, Scott, what the hell were you thinking?”
“McCall tried to destroy me, that’s what I was thinking!”
“So you go on national TV and accuse the senior senator from Texas of obstruction of justice? Extortion? Bribery?”
“I was just trying to do the right thing!”
“The hell you were! I know you too well. You were giving McCall a little Scott Fenney payback. You weren’t doing it for the hooker; you were doing it for yourself. And even if you were doing the right thing, it’s no better. I told you, Scotty, this firm doesn’t exist to do the right thing; no law firm does. We don’t do the right thing; we do what’s right for our clients.