you feeling today?
MORTY : The air conditioner is on the fritz; how do you think I’m feeling?
ISABEL : Warm?
MORTY : I’m schvitzing like a three-hundred-pound marathon runner.
ISABEL : Thanks for that image. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool?
MORTY : That’s your answer for everything.
ISABEL : It’s only the second time I’ve said that to you.
MORTY : Right. That’s Gabe’s 1 answer for everything.
ISABEL : I think you should have an ice-cold beer.
MORTY : That’s your answer for everything.
ISABEL : What’s new, Morty?
MORTY : I had a tuna sandwich for lunch.
ISABEL : Please, go on.
MORTY : You talk. You and the Irish bartender still together?
ISABEL : I talk to you once a week like clockwork and you ask me that every time.
MORTY : I’ll try to cut back to every other week.
ISABEL : Thank you.
MORTY : Got any interesting cases on your plate?
ISABEL : Nothing that’s got my full attention—although I spotted a rather handsome blonde leaving my brother’s house in the middle of the day. It shows some promise.
MORTY : Leave your poor brother alone. She could be the Avon lady for all you know.
ISABEL : Only she was there a week earlier and I haven’t noticed David wearing any makeup.
MORTY : Hang on—that’s my other line.
[Sound of clicking.]
MORTY : Hello. Hello?
ISABEL : It’s still me, Morty.
MORTY : This damn thing.
[Sound of clicking. Long pause.]
MORTY : Izzele, I got to go. That was Ruthy. The air conditioner repair guy will be here in five minutes. I got to put some pants on. Talk to you later, bubbele.
FREE SCHMIDT!
Rae phoned from Maggie’s office while Maggie was at a dinner meeting. My sister begged me for a ride and said she was out of cash and couldn’t take the bus and her boyfriend/driver was busy. I phoned David’s cell to see if he could pick her up, but he said he was busy.
“Doing what?” I asked. “Maggie has a business meeting.”
“I’ll have a popcorn and a Coke,” David replied.
“Are you at the movies?” I asked.
“I got to go, Izzy.”
“What are you seeing?”
“Talk to you later,” David replied, and hung up the phone.
Rather than trouble my parents, who I knew were working a surveillance together, I just drove the few miles to Maggie’s office and accepted my fate.
Once again Rae was holed up in the file room, reviewing case files of the potentially wrongly convicted. The contrast between the sloppy adolescent girl, all denim and unkempt dirty-blond hair, and the single-minded focus of a professional sifting through legal files made for a ridiculous sight. Rae lay flat on her back, her heels hooked on an open file cabinet and her head resting on a stack of files. Without even a single pleasantry, she launched into another lecture.
“Have I told you the story of Levi Schmidt?” she said, not even lifting her head to make eye contact.
“Yes,” I replied, hoping for an abrupt end to the conversation. The conversation ended; Rae’s brief sermon followed.
“When Levi was fifteen his girlfriend was found murdered after a drunken night of partying. Not an unfamiliar phenomenon for you, I would guess. The drunken part, not the murdered girlfriend.”
“I got that.”
“The police, convinced that Levi was their one and only suspect, brought him in for questioning. At the time he was drunk, having drowned his sorrows in his parents’ liquor supply immediately upon hearing the news of his girlfriend’s death. Levi was held for forty-eight hours without being charged, questioned relentlessly, and deprived of sleep. Eventually, he confessed. According to Levi, the police promised that he could go home as soon as he signed his confession. All Levi wanted in that moment was to crawl into bed and stay there forever. He signed the confession, which was stupid, but it was a lie.”
“Rae, I understand your commitment to this—”
“The cops convinced Levi that he was going down for the crime. He was the last person to be seen with his girlfriend,
MORTY : The air conditioner is on the fritz; how do you think I’m feeling?
ISABEL : Warm?
MORTY : I’m schvitzing like a three-hundred-pound marathon runner.
ISABEL : Thanks for that image. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool?
MORTY : That’s your answer for everything.
ISABEL : It’s only the second time I’ve said that to you.
MORTY : Right. That’s Gabe’s 1 answer for everything.
ISABEL : I think you should have an ice-cold beer.
MORTY : That’s your answer for everything.
ISABEL : What’s new, Morty?
MORTY : I had a tuna sandwich for lunch.
ISABEL : Please, go on.
MORTY : You talk. You and the Irish bartender still together?
ISABEL : I talk to you once a week like clockwork and you ask me that every time.
MORTY : I’ll try to cut back to every other week.
ISABEL : Thank you.
MORTY : Got any interesting cases on your plate?
ISABEL : Nothing that’s got my full attention—although I spotted a rather handsome blonde leaving my brother’s house in the middle of the day. It shows some promise.
MORTY : Leave your poor brother alone. She could be the Avon lady for all you know.
ISABEL : Only she was there a week earlier and I haven’t noticed David wearing any makeup.
MORTY : Hang on—that’s my other line.
[Sound of clicking.]
MORTY : Hello. Hello?
ISABEL : It’s still me, Morty.
MORTY : This damn thing.
[Sound of clicking. Long pause.]
MORTY : Izzele, I got to go. That was Ruthy. The air conditioner repair guy will be here in five minutes. I got to put some pants on. Talk to you later, bubbele.
FREE SCHMIDT!
Rae phoned from Maggie’s office while Maggie was at a dinner meeting. My sister begged me for a ride and said she was out of cash and couldn’t take the bus and her boyfriend/driver was busy. I phoned David’s cell to see if he could pick her up, but he said he was busy.
“Doing what?” I asked. “Maggie has a business meeting.”
“I’ll have a popcorn and a Coke,” David replied.
“Are you at the movies?” I asked.
“I got to go, Izzy.”
“What are you seeing?”
“Talk to you later,” David replied, and hung up the phone.
Rather than trouble my parents, who I knew were working a surveillance together, I just drove the few miles to Maggie’s office and accepted my fate.
Once again Rae was holed up in the file room, reviewing case files of the potentially wrongly convicted. The contrast between the sloppy adolescent girl, all denim and unkempt dirty-blond hair, and the single-minded focus of a professional sifting through legal files made for a ridiculous sight. Rae lay flat on her back, her heels hooked on an open file cabinet and her head resting on a stack of files. Without even a single pleasantry, she launched into another lecture.
“Have I told you the story of Levi Schmidt?” she said, not even lifting her head to make eye contact.
“Yes,” I replied, hoping for an abrupt end to the conversation. The conversation ended; Rae’s brief sermon followed.
“When Levi was fifteen his girlfriend was found murdered after a drunken night of partying. Not an unfamiliar phenomenon for you, I would guess. The drunken part, not the murdered girlfriend.”
“I got that.”
“The police, convinced that Levi was their one and only suspect, brought him in for questioning. At the time he was drunk, having drowned his sorrows in his parents’ liquor supply immediately upon hearing the news of his girlfriend’s death. Levi was held for forty-eight hours without being charged, questioned relentlessly, and deprived of sleep. Eventually, he confessed. According to Levi, the police promised that he could go home as soon as he signed his confession. All Levi wanted in that moment was to crawl into bed and stay there forever. He signed the confession, which was stupid, but it was a lie.”
“Rae, I understand your commitment to this—”
“The cops convinced Levi that he was going down for the crime. He was the last person to be seen with his girlfriend,
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