Trial by Fire

Chapter 13

The drive back to the city was exhilarating on the winding road, as they watched dusk fall over the ocean and the sun set. They had stayed at the beach longer than they meant to. Dahlia couldn’t wait to go back again. It was their secret place, their refuge, just as it had been his until now.

They stopped for an early dinner at the Zuni Café and ate oysters and pasta. They talked about some of the big cases he had worked on, both for and against major corporations. He came to life when he talked about them. He loved his work, just as she did hers. They were a powerful force together. The dinner was delicious, and the atmosphere was lively and fun and very San Francisco.

“You’re practically a native now. I come here a lot when I’m not at the beach.” The restaurant was a straight shot up Market Street from where he lived on Mission Street, which had previously been a bad neighborhood and had been turned into a cluster of extravagantly expensive apartment buildings and offices. And after dinner, he drove her back to the hotel. She turned to him with an invitation in her eyes.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked him. He nodded, and left his car with the doorman. Francisco looked happy to go home to his toys and soft bed, and fancy new digs. He had waited in the car while they had dinner, and they brought him some boiled chicken, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He had come up in the world since his lucky adoption.

She let them into the suite, where the maids had already turned down the bed. The rooms were invitingly lit, and it felt like coming home. He stopped her before she sat down, and gently took off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt, and shed his own at the same time. They walked into the bedroom together, with their agreement to live fully and treat the next six weeks they had as a gift. The lights were dim in the bedroom, and Dahlia got onto the bed and Mark followed her, and they sealed their agreement with hours of lovemaking, while Francisco lay snoring on the couch in the other room, having sensed that he wasn’t welcome. It was everything they had both avoided for years, lovemaking that was worthy of the name, not just sex that was a satisfying athletic adventure, born of experience but devoid of sentiment or passion. Mark spent the night with Dahlia, which was something he rarely did, but it was all permissible in the next six weeks. Mark already realized that it would be his first and last venture into love, and he didn’t want to miss a minute of it. They made love again before they fell asleep, and in the morning as the sun came up. He stayed for breakfast, and then left her and promised to come back later to pick her up. They were going to walk in Golden Gate Park, as far as she could, and he wanted to drive her past some of the prettier spots in the city and take her to his apartment and cook dinner together.

He could barely bring himself to leave her, but he wanted to change clothes, and he had some calls to make, one in particular. The woman he’d been seeing once a week for the past three months was another dead end he already knew would go nowhere, but she was intelligent and being with her helped pass the time. She was also a lawyer. He felt honor-bound to tell her now that something had come up, and that there was no point pursuing what they both knew but hadn’t said was a waste of time for both of them. She was no more in love with him than he was with her. He wanted to make the call now, before his involvement with Dahlia went any further. He wanted to do things cleanly with Dahlia for the next six weeks.

After he left, she had a long conversation with Francisco, who had climbed back into bed with her after Mark left, and she found herself thinking of Philippe, and the contrast between the two men. Mark was everything that Philippe wasn’t. He was free and open and loving and made love to her with emotion and abandon, not technical precision and skills he had honed over a long history of sexual exploits independent of his wife. She knew little of Mark, but what they had was honest and clean. What she shared with Philippe never had been. Everything about Mark was genuine and real. He said he was afraid to love, and yet every look, every gesture, every kiss brought them closer, dangerously so. She felt like she was cheating on Philippe. He had history and the priority, and in six weeks she’d be back in Paris, and Mark would be out of her life. Almost as though she had conjured him, Philippe called her. It was one in the morning for him, and Mark had just left her bed. She felt instantly guilty when she heard Philippe’s voice.

“Are you all right? Why are you calling so late?” she asked him, feeling strange, as though he could guess what she’d been doing.

“Jacqueline went to a wedding in Brittany this weekend. I’m alone so I thought I’d call you. What are you up to?” She told him about the trial coming up and about postponing Alex’s wedding. She’d been meaning to let him know, but she hadn’t yet. “So, when are you coming back?” he asked her.

“Right after the trial if there is one. The last week in August. I’ll meet up with the children in Saint-Paul-de-Vence for their last week there. I’m letting them have the house for the whole month since I’m in California.”

“I want to see you when you get back.” He sounded bored, but not like a man who loved her. He never had been. He loved no one, except maybe himself, she remembered now. And he wasn’t there to help her. He wasn’t calling her regularly to check on her or ask how she was. He called her when he felt like it. Mark was reminding her of what love could be like, but their relationship was finite, set to expire in six weeks. It was a short-term love affair, and she had been with Philippe for six years. Both men had their merits, and both situations. She had longevity with Philippe, on his terms, but they were her terms too, she had agreed to them, and didn’t hope for more with him. Her flame with Mark would burn white-hot and then be extinguished when she left, by their mutual agreement. He was going to show her all that love could be, and then be gone, when she left, so she could miss him forever. She wasn’t sure which situation was better, except that Mark was honest, and Philippe wasn’t. Maybe that made all the difference. Philippe was a liar, and she was a liar with him. So why did she feel like she was cheating on him? Habit maybe.

“I wish you were here with me,” he said. But only until Monday when Jacqueline returned. He was comfortable just the way things were, and Dahlia wasn’t. She didn’t know if she would ever feel the same way again about their arrangement. It wasn’t clean, but it was all he had to offer, and he never pretended to offer more.

“Oh, I got a dog, by the way,” she said, laughing.

“Why would you do that?” He sounded puzzled.

“I fell in love with him.”

“Ah. Good. Then you won’t fall in love with anyone else. Keep the dog.”

“I intend to,” she said quietly and firmly, thinking of Mark too. She had no intention of giving him up for a married man who was spending the summer with his wife, even though he said he didn’t love her. But he didn’t love Dahlia either, and suddenly what he was offering wasn’t enough. She had something to compare it to now, and it didn’t compare favorably.

“See you when you’re back,” he said. It was only weeks away, although she and Mark had just begun. And already she could feel the rush of the sand in the hourglass pouring down.

She sat thinking after they hung up. Philippe didn’t know what had happened, but suddenly everything was different. She had changed.

—

When she saw Mark that afternoon, Philippe slipped out of her head and disappeared into the mists. Mark said he’d made some calls, checked his emails, and talked to his daughters.

“And I called the woman I’ve been seeing for the past few months that I told you about. It wasn’t working and never would. She knew it too. And I wanted a clean slate with you,” he said honestly, as they walked slowly around Golden Gate Park, near where the buffalo were grazing.

Dahlia looked surprised and impressed. “Did you tell her about me?”

“No. It wasn’t working before I met you. I was just being lazy about it. I wanted to be clean with her.” It was something Philippe never had been. Dahlia didn’t mention the call from him. She hadn’t figured out how to deal with him yet, and didn’t want to make promises to Mark she couldn’t keep. She didn’t want to lie to him. Not even once.

—

They spent the afternoon in the park with Francisco, and then they went to his apartment. She was stunned by the view. It was in sharp contrast to the beach house. It was serious, sophisticated, and elegant. It looked like an English gentlemen’s club perched in the sky, with a panoramic view of the city. She loved his taste, and his treasures. He had a beautiful collection of old books and antique silver he’d inherited from his parents, and wonderful paintings and family portraits. It had the same ancestral feeling to it as her house in Paris, except her decorating was more feminine. It felt like a miracle that they had found each other.

They cooked dinner together that night and wound up in his big comfortable bed that embraced her just as he did, and made her feel safe. Whereas other men she’d met had felt dangerous to her, even Philippe, Mark made her feel that she was safe from the world, without making her feel invaded or suffocated. They were there by choice. Not by default, but as a privilege. They were equally impressed by each other. And she didn’t frighten him as other women had, because he knew when it would end. And how attached could you get in six weeks? He kept telling himself that in six weeks, they’d both be ready to let go. Dahlia wanted to believe him, and that there would be no pain involved. It wouldn’t be the shocking agony of Jean-Luc dying. Their letting go would be expected and natural. The perfect summer romance in a foreign country, and then she’d go home, and they’d each lead their lives and go on. In the meantime, the meshing of their bodies was extraordinary, beyond what either of them could have imagined or hoped.

—

Mark had early meetings the next day, so he took Dahlia and Francisco back to the hotel and hated leaving her there. He almost changed his mind and stayed, but he had a seven a.m. conference call with New York, and needed to be at his desk in his office.

Dahlia played with Francisco when she was back at the hotel. He had been very well behaved all weekend, and at Mark’s apartment. And at midnight, she called Agnes at her office. Everything was falling into place for the wedding, and the guests had been notified of the postponement. As she had hoped, they were getting more acceptances than they’d had before. After she answered all of Agnes’s questions, she had her connect her to Delphine.

“Hi, darling, how was your weekend?” Dahlia asked her.

“Busy. How was yours? You’re not too lonely there waiting for your meetings and hearings?”

“No, I adopted a dog,” Dahlia said, and Delphine sounded surprised.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better. I can start to put weight on it now, that’ll be easier.” She didn’t say a word about Mark. That was a private side of her life her children didn’t need to know. She wanted her two worlds kept separate.

“Has Alex apologized?” Delphine asked, still upset about how she treated their mother.

“Of course not. She never does. And she won’t this time.” Dahlia didn’t expect it. Alex’s style was to burn the village to the ground, kill all the locals, and move on, without apology.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Delphine offered. She was the peacemaker.

“No, you have too much on your plate as it is. I’m all right.”

“How’s the wedding shaping up? The postponement,” Delphine asked her.

“Agnes has it all in control. Thank God, we did the civil ceremony in May. It would be hard to do both now.” With the division of church and state, French weddings happened in two parts: a civil ceremony at the mayor’s office in each arrondissement, usually attended by family and close friends, with a luncheon afterward, and on a separate date, sometimes months apart, the official church wedding, in full regalia, with bridal gown, officiated by a priest. They’d had Alex and Paul’s civil wedding, with a lunch at the Salon César Ritz at the Ritz Paris and in the garden, with fifty people present. It had been perfect. So technically, they were already married, with the big hoopla to come on September first now, with the Dior dress Alex was in love with.

“How’s Emma doing?” Dahlia asked Delphine about her younger sister. She was so quiet that the others rarely mentioned her. “I’ve had some text messages, but not many.”

“I’ve called her a few times to make sure she was okay with you away. She says she’s painting like crazy. I haven’t seen her,” Delphine said, feeling guilty. Her mother was the one who kept them all in line, bonded and together. Without her presence, they got busy on their own paths, and lost track of each other, except for Delphine and Charles because they saw each other at work every day.

Charles walked into her office seconds after Delphine had hung up. He had a question about the expenses of one of her projects, which Dahlia had approved before she left.

“Have you called her since she left, by the way?” Delphine asked him about their mother.

He looked vague and slightly embarrassed before he answered. “Yes, sure, of course.”

“For business or to ask her how she is?” Delphine asked him pointedly.

“Both. Do I have to make separate calls? Why? Did she complain?”

“She never complains about any of us and sometimes she should. She’s stuck in California with a broken leg, which must be painful, threatened with a massive lawsuit, and possibly a trial, far from home and from all of us. The least we can do is call her and make her feel supported.”

“I do. Well, actually, I usually text her,” he admitted.

“That’s not the same. She’s not going to tell you in a text that she’s lonely or scared, or her leg hurts. You should call her once in a while, just to say hello.”

“I’ve been busy with Catherine,” he said vaguely. “And I talked to Mom about the potential lawsuit. I didn’t know about a trial. She didn’t tell me.”

“That’s why Alex’s wedding is being postponed. The trial is to determine if there was negligence, and to award the other woman damages. Apparently, the woman in the car Maman hit is lying and trying to make her look responsible, so she can get a big settlement. And Maman can’t leave San Francisco until the trial in order to prepare for it and possibly reach a reasonable settlement.”

“I thought the wedding was postponed because the dress wasn’t ready or something. You know how Alex is.”

“Yes, I do. And she was awful to Mom when she called her.”

“That’s not new.” Charles wasn’t impressed or surprised by his sister’s behavior.

“No, but it’s incredibly mean of her, and selfish. And I’m sure Emma hasn’t called her either, she’s too busy painting. She forgets everything else when she is. We should make an effort till Maman gets home.”

“Okay, I’ll try, I’m sorry. So, what about that Creative bill I got for mock-ups?” he asked her, and they spent the next half hour talking business, which Charles preferred.

—

In the morning, when she stepped out of the shower, Dahlia got a call from her youngest daughter out of the blue. Emma was elated when Dahlia answered.

“I just got a gallery! I’m going to have a show!”

“That’s fantastic!” Dahlia said, smiling broadly. She loved hearing from her children. She felt so disconnected stuck in California. It was as though she was on another planet, far from Paris. She’d only been gone for a month, but it felt like a century. And she was particularly pleased for Emma, and proud of her. She worked very hard on her paintings, and she had wanted a gallery for a long time.

“And it’s a good gallery, Mom. They love my work.”

“That’s so exciting.” They talked for about twenty minutes and Dahlia loved connecting with her. She was still smiling when Mark called her to tell her that the car rental’s insurance company wanted to take her deposition before the trial.

“When?” she asked him, instantly nervous about it.

“This week or next, as soon as possible. It’s normal for them to do that. They want to know what they’re up against, and what kind of witness you’ll make. You’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you. They’ll want to depose Ms. Nicasio too.”

“At the same time?” she asked, with a knot in her stomach. Her romance with Mark was wonderful, but the rest of what she was facing, and the reason she was there, wouldn’t be. Mark was just a bonus, but the main event was unnerving. And she had the mediation hearing ahead of her too.

“We’ll go over the deposition carefully beforehand. And I can object to what their lawyers ask you.” It was run-of-the-mill to him, but not to her. She had never been in a lawsuit, nor been deposed. “How are you, by the way?” She could hear the smile in his voice when he asked her.

“I was better before I heard about the deposition,” she said honestly.

“I promise you’ll be fine. I’ll set the date with them today. Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”

“I’d love it.” It made her realize that without him, she’d be sitting in her room, worrying, waiting for the days to pass. Mark added a whole exciting other dimension to her life. She had something to look forward to every day now. It was an odd contrast of terrible times and wonderful times all blended in together. It made the time with him even more special.

—

He called her back that afternoon with the date for the deposition. It was set for two o’clock on Friday afternoon.

“Why don’t we leave for Stinson after that? We can go straight from the deposition, and spend the weekend, as long as it’s not smoky.” It startled her to be reminded of the fires again. Every time the direction of the wind changed, the smoke covered the city or dissipated, but the fires were continuing to burn. It had been two and a half weeks, and the fires were still only five percent contained, with hundreds of thousands of acres burning north and east of the city. It had begun to seem unreal. It was on the news every night and looked like a rerun of the night before. Nothing changed except the air quality in the city, from orange to red to magenta and back again.

—

Their dinner that night was relaxed and pleasant. Mark talked about his day, to the extent he could, and she told him about her conversations with Delphine and Emma, and about her gallery show.

“It feels so strange. I feel so cut off here. I can’t go to the office. I’m barely working. I can’t see my children or do anything to help them. It’s like I’m dead. I feel useless. I haven’t had this much time on my hands since I was a kid. And all I can do is wait for the deposition, the mediation hearing, and the trial. And thank you for taking me out. I know the room service menu by heart now. And with this damn leg, I can’t even exercise.” She was used to being active, going at full speed, and she was living a waiting game now, under stressful conditions, with a lot at stake. Mark was sympathetic to the situation she was in and wanted to help make the time pleasant and easier for her, and he loved seeing her. He’d been looking forward to it all day.

They spent a long time over dinner, and she relaxed being with him, and then they went back to the hotel, and as soon as they walked into her suite, Mark put his arms around her, and she forgot everything except him. They were floating in a universe all their own. Afterward they sat on the couch in the thick terrycloth hotel robes, and ate chocolate-covered strawberries, and he opened a bottle of champagne. He felt like celebrating every time he was with her. She smiled when he said it to her.

“Maybe we’ll be celebrating my going to jail for negligence,” she said nervously.

“You’re not going to jail. We’re trying to keep you from paying an exorbitant settlement unjustly. No jury is going to convict you of negligence, Dahlia, and it will never get that far. This is all a game of chicken, a poker game, of seeing how far they can push you until you crack and start coughing money. I’m not going to let that happen, and I have a strong feeling that there’s fraud involved. Their injuries are not excessive, yet she claims she can’t work and her daughter can’t go back to school in September. Our investigator is very good, and if she’s lying, it’ll come out, and I don’t think her lawyer will push this all the way to trial. These things usually die on the courthouse steps. It’s unnerving, but we just have to stick it out, and they’ll get reasonable at the eleventh hour. We’re not going to give her five million dollars, and a jury won’t either. She didn’t lose her legs or her life or her daughter. This all hinges on a technicality of who hit who first, and I believe your story and not hers. Aside from the fact that you’re more credible and I trust you, your version makes more sense. It’s going to come out right in the end. Trust me.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close, and she smiled up at him.

“I don’t know why I got lucky enough to meet you at the pet rescue. I got you and Francisco out of it,” she said.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that.” Francisco looked up at them and wagged his tail, and Mark patted him. He was falling in love with him too.

They went back to bed and made love again, and eventually fell asleep watching TV.

Mark got up early the next morning. She ordered breakfast for him, and after that he went home to change and go to work. He grinned at her as he left her suite.

“It’s been years since I did the walk of shame in the morning before I go to the office. I kind of like it. It makes me feel young again.” She laughed and kissed him, and he left with a wave. “See you tonight.” It was crazy. She was fifty-six years old, and he was fifty-eight, and they were having a passionate love affair. It certainly improved the situation she was in.

She walked carefully from the door across the room, putting her weight gingerly on her cast. She could put her weight on it now. It had been nearly three weeks since the accident. Nearly three weeks since she and Mark had met, and nearly three weeks since her whole life had changed. It was almost as though her life in Paris didn’t exist for the moment and had been put on pause, while she led this parallel life with a man she hardly knew and had fallen in love with. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her, and she loved it.

Mark was smiling as he let himself into his apartment, thinking that he had six more weeks of this to look forward to. The sweetest weeks of his life so far. And then she would fly away. He couldn’t think of that now, he was too happy to care. And her leaving didn’t seem real to either of them yet. They were savoring every moment they had.