Read Online While Other People Sleep by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marcia Muller
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parties, sleeping with men under the guise she's me, snooping around the airport for Hy's plane—and there's no legal way to stop her?”
“Well, we could file a civil suit and attempt to show that she's damaged you professionally, caused you to lose clients, but we'd need a whole lot more documentation than the situation with the art dealer. Other than that, it's difficult to prove damage when you're a public figure.”
“A what?”
“Shar, your name and picture have been in the paper how many times? To say nothing of that
People
article. And then there were those TV and radio talk-show appearances—”
“I did those to build business!”
“Doesn't matter why. Those things have made you a public figure.”
“But—”
“Listen, I could—with the help of a plastic surgeon and a wardrobe adviser—stroll across the street to Palomino tonight and claim to be Harrison Ford. I could drink everybody under the table, puke on the floor, insult all the customers—and Harrison wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about it.”
“But he's a
movie star,
and I'm just—”
“The definition of public figure varies widely, depending on who's doing the defining.”
“Jesus!”
“Okay, calm down. That's the downside. On the upside: The woman's seriously angry about something. She's escalating her activity. She's bound to make a mistake soon. If she does any of the following to you, we'll go after her: if she uses your name in an attempt to defraud someone, if she undertakes an investigation while pretending to be you, if she commits credit-card fraud, if… well, you get my drift.”
I got his drift, all right. I raised my hands to my face, which was already burning with anger, and rubbed my eyes. “God, I hadn't even
thought
of those possibilities! Oh, Hank … !”
“I know, it's a hideous situation. People can harass you and stalk you and try to assume your identity, and you have no real recourse. If you know who they are, you may be able to get a judge to issue a restraining order, but what's a restraining order to a head case?”
Hank paused, his eyes going bleak and sad. “I don't know what to tell you, Shar, except that Anne-Marie and I will be behind you all the way when you need us. It's an ugly, scary world these days, and the good guys all too often don't have enough legal tools on their side to protect them.”
“So how do
you
deal with that situation?”
“Me, personally? I watch my back and the backs of the people I care about. I try to be the kind of attorney who protects those in the right, rather than one who turns the scumbags loose on the world. I'll tell you, there was a time when I was in danger of slipping over to the other side; the money was too good, the power too seductive. But Anne-Marie and Habiba have changed all that. My wife's an idealist who'd cut my nuts off if I sold out, and Habiba … Well, I want to do my bit to make this world a place where she can grow up unafraid.”
Monday night
T ed had told Neal he planned to work late, but at five-thirty I found him putting his desktop in order. “Going home?” I asked.
“Yeah. I'm beat.”
He did look tired, his dark eyes shadowed and the lines around his mouth deeply pronounced. This was the Ted I'd caught glimpses of at the height of the AIDS epidemic when many of his friends were dying; but back then he'd taken pains to hide his distress, putting on a cheerful front while providing comfort for those in need of it. Now his trouble, whatever it was, showed plainly.
On the off chance he might confide in me, I said, “You haven't looked too well lately. Is something wrong?”
He hesitated, face conflicted, then shrugged. “Nothing I can't handle.”
“I'd like to help.”
“I know. Just let it go, Shar.” He pushed the chair up to the desk, raised a hand in farewell, and left the office.
I waited only a few seconds before rushing back to my own office for my purse and the keys to the inconspicuous agency van.
Ted
“Well, we could file a civil suit and attempt to show that she's damaged you professionally, caused you to lose clients, but we'd need a whole lot more documentation than the situation with the art dealer. Other than that, it's difficult to prove damage when you're a public figure.”
“A what?”
“Shar, your name and picture have been in the paper how many times? To say nothing of that
People
article. And then there were those TV and radio talk-show appearances—”
“I did those to build business!”
“Doesn't matter why. Those things have made you a public figure.”
“But—”
“Listen, I could—with the help of a plastic surgeon and a wardrobe adviser—stroll across the street to Palomino tonight and claim to be Harrison Ford. I could drink everybody under the table, puke on the floor, insult all the customers—and Harrison wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about it.”
“But he's a
movie star,
and I'm just—”
“The definition of public figure varies widely, depending on who's doing the defining.”
“Jesus!”
“Okay, calm down. That's the downside. On the upside: The woman's seriously angry about something. She's escalating her activity. She's bound to make a mistake soon. If she does any of the following to you, we'll go after her: if she uses your name in an attempt to defraud someone, if she undertakes an investigation while pretending to be you, if she commits credit-card fraud, if… well, you get my drift.”
I got his drift, all right. I raised my hands to my face, which was already burning with anger, and rubbed my eyes. “God, I hadn't even
thought
of those possibilities! Oh, Hank … !”
“I know, it's a hideous situation. People can harass you and stalk you and try to assume your identity, and you have no real recourse. If you know who they are, you may be able to get a judge to issue a restraining order, but what's a restraining order to a head case?”
Hank paused, his eyes going bleak and sad. “I don't know what to tell you, Shar, except that Anne-Marie and I will be behind you all the way when you need us. It's an ugly, scary world these days, and the good guys all too often don't have enough legal tools on their side to protect them.”
“So how do
you
deal with that situation?”
“Me, personally? I watch my back and the backs of the people I care about. I try to be the kind of attorney who protects those in the right, rather than one who turns the scumbags loose on the world. I'll tell you, there was a time when I was in danger of slipping over to the other side; the money was too good, the power too seductive. But Anne-Marie and Habiba have changed all that. My wife's an idealist who'd cut my nuts off if I sold out, and Habiba … Well, I want to do my bit to make this world a place where she can grow up unafraid.”
Monday night
T ed had told Neal he planned to work late, but at five-thirty I found him putting his desktop in order. “Going home?” I asked.
“Yeah. I'm beat.”
He did look tired, his dark eyes shadowed and the lines around his mouth deeply pronounced. This was the Ted I'd caught glimpses of at the height of the AIDS epidemic when many of his friends were dying; but back then he'd taken pains to hide his distress, putting on a cheerful front while providing comfort for those in need of it. Now his trouble, whatever it was, showed plainly.
On the off chance he might confide in me, I said, “You haven't looked too well lately. Is something wrong?”
He hesitated, face conflicted, then shrugged. “Nothing I can't handle.”
“I'd like to help.”
“I know. Just let it go, Shar.” He pushed the chair up to the desk, raised a hand in farewell, and left the office.
I waited only a few seconds before rushing back to my own office for my purse and the keys to the inconspicuous agency van.
Ted
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