“Kay!”
Mark grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the seat. I angrily shook him off and sat rigidly in my chair, glaring at him. It was in a Georgetown restaurant many years ago that I had snatched off the heavy gold bracelet he had given me and dropped it into his clam chowder. It was a childish thing to do. It was one of the rare moments in my life when I had completely lost my composure and made a scene.
“Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “I don’t blame you for what you’re thinking. But it isn’t like that. I’m not taking advantage of our past. Just listen for a minute, please. It’s very involved, has to do with things you know nothing about. I have your best interests in mind, I swear. I’m not supposed to be talking to you. If Sparacino, if Berger knew, my ass would be nailed to the nearest tree.”
I didn’t say anything. I was so upset I couldn’t think.
He leaned forward. “Start with this thought. Berger’s after Sparacino and, right now, Sparacino’s after you.”
“After me?” I blurted out. “I’ve never met the man. How could he be after me?”
“Again, it’s all got to do with Beryl,” he repeated. “The truth is, he’s been her lawyer since the beginning of her career. He didn’t join our firm until we opened the office here in New York. Before that, he was on his own. We needed an attorney who specialized in entertainment law. Sparacino’s been in New York for thirty-some years. He had all the connections. He brought over his clients, brought us a lot of business up front. You remember my mentioning when I first met Beryl, the lunch at the Algonquin?”
I nodded, the fight in me fading.
“That was a setup, Kay. I wasn’t there by accident. Berger sent me.”
“Why?”
Glancing around the restaurant, he replied, “Because Berger’s worried. The firm’s just getting started in New York, and you’ve got to be aware how hard it is to break into this city, to build up a solid clientele, a good reputation Last thing we need is an asshole like Sparacino driving the firm’s name into the gutter.”
He fell silent as the waiter appeared with the salads and ceremoniously uncorked a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Mark took the obligatory first sip and glasses were filled.
“Berger knew when he hired Sparacino the guy’s flamboyant, likes to play fast and loose,” Mark resumed. “You think, well, it’s just his style. Some lawyers are conservative, others like to make a lot of noise. Problem is, it wasn’t until some months back that Berger and a few of us began to see just how far Sparacino was willing to go. You remember Christie Riggs?”
It took a moment for the name to click. “The actress who married the quarterback?”
Nodding, he said, “Sparacino masterminded that one from soup to nuts. Christie’s a struggling model doing a few TV commercials here in the city. This was about two years ago, at the same time Leon Jones was making the covers of all the magazines. The two of them meet at a party and some photographer snaps a picture of them leaving together and getting inside Jones’s Maserati. Next thing, Christie Riggs is sitting in the lobby of Orndorff & Berger. She’s got an appointment with Sparacino.”
“Are you telling me Sparacino was behind what happened'” I asked in disbelief.
Christie Riggs and Leon Jones had been married last year and divorced about six months later. Their tempestuous relationship and dirty divorce had entertained the world night after night on the news.
“Yes ” Mark sipped his wine.
“Explain.”
“Sparacino fixes on Christie,” he said. “She’s gorgeous, smart, ambitious. But the real thing she’s got going for her at the moment is she’s dating Jones Sparacino gives her the game plan. She wants to be a household name. She wants to be rich. All she’s got to do is draw Jones into her web and later start crying in front of cameras about their lives behind shut doors. She accuses him of slapping her around, says he’s a drunk, a psychopath, fooling around with cocaine, smashing up the furniture. Next thing you know, she and Jones are splitting and she’s signed a million-dollar book contract.”