“What kind of a lawyer?”
“A very good one.”
“I mean, do you have a specialty?”
“My specialty is whatever my clients need.”
“I didn’t know law was practiced that way anymore.”
“It isn’t, very often.”
“Are you with a firm, or on your own?”
“Both. I’m of counsel to a large firm, Woodman and Weld, but I mostly work out of an office in my house.”
She cocked her head and frowned a little. “I’ve heard of Woodman and Weld, of course, but what does ‘of counsel’ mean?”
“It’s a catchall phrase, usually applied to an elderly lawyer who doesn’t practice full-time anymore, but who the firm calls on from time to time for advice.”
“You’re not exactly elderly.”
“Not yet.”
“What does ‘of counsel’ mean in your case, exactly?” she persisted.
“It means that I’m not quite respectable enough to be a partner at Woodman and Weld. I’m at arm’s length, but they can reel me in whenever the need arises.”
“What sort of need?”
“Let’s say a valued client is arrested for drunk driving, in a car with a woman who is not his wife; let’s say the daughter of a client is beaten up by her boyfriend, but the family doesn’t want to prosecute; let’s say the son of a client rapes a nun. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds pretty sordid.”
“Sometimes it is. All sorts of people need all sorts of legal representation, and not everything a client needs can be directly provided by a prestigious firm. The firm, in fact, is as concerned about its own good name as the client’s. They want these cases to go away in the quietest and most expeditious manner possible.”
“I suppose it must be interesting at times.”
“It’s interesting all the time,” Stone said. “And it beats estate planning any day.”
She laughed again, and he enjoyed it.
“Vance is tied up for lunch,” she said, “so you’ll have to make do with me at the studio commissary.”
“Making do with you sounds good; you’re a lot more interesting than Vance and nearly as beautiful.”
She threw back her head and laughed until someone in the distance screamed, “QUIET!”
6
Back in the golf cart, they drove down the street past more soundstages and made a couple of turns, finishing up in front of a low building with a well-kept front lawn. A patio was filled with tables, and people in all sorts of dress-period, Western, and just jeans-were having lunch.
“Let’s walk through the main room and I’ll ask the maitre d’ if he has a table outside; it’s such a nice day.”
Stone followed her through a handsome dining room, and as they were approaching the doors to the patio, Stone heard someone call his name. He stopped and turned toward the voice. Louis Regenstein was at a booth in the corner of the room, standing, waving him over. Stone touched Betty’s arm and motioned for her to follow him.
“Stone, it’s good to see you,” Regenstein said, offering his hand. He gestured toward his companion. “This is Mario Ciano; Mario, this is a new acquaintance of mine, Stone Barrington.” The two men shook hands. “Stone, will you join us for lunch?”
“Thank you, but…”