Jack of Spades by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online

no longer so reassuring to me as it had been, Grossman spoke for another half hour outlining his strategy for the hearing on Monday, which involved some emergency detective work, and reiterating his advice that I stay away. “The plaintiff will see you and no doubt recognize you and this will be exciting to her. If she’s mentally unbalanced as we think she is, it could provoke an ugly scene. It’s exactly what stalkers want—forcing a confrontation with the rich and famous.”
    Stalker? Rich and famous? Grossman’s words swarmed about me like buzzing gnats. I was trying to feel a small dim stir of pride at being called, however extravagantly, rich and famous; I was trying not to feel panic at hearing stalker .
    So far as I knew, so far as the summons indicated, and our brief phone conversation suggested, C. W. Haider wasn’t (yet) “stalking” me.
    The woman lived on Tumbrel Place, however, not far from the courthouse and municipal buildings. By my estimate, less than five miles from Mill Brook House.
    This was a new fear, which Grossman had unwittingly put into my mind— stalker .
    Better to make the preemptive strike, friend.
    Better to kill at once.
    As if he’d just thought of it Grossman asked if I had ever spoken with “C. W. Haider”—on the phone, for instance?
    Now the seasick sensation deepened. For of course I should not have called the person whose name was on the summons as a complainant—I’d known better, and yet I had called her. Shamefaced now I told Grossman that yes, unfortunately I had called the woman yesterday afternoon, soon after receiving the summons. “I’d just wanted to know what the charge actually was—what I’ve been accused of stealing. The conversation did not go well.”
    For a stunned moment, Grossman was quiet. That so verbal a man was without words was not a good sign.
    “The woman did sound unbalanced—it was hard to understand her. She has a strange, high, wild laugh . . .”
    My voice trailed off, weakly. I felt like a child who has not only disobeyed an elder, but stupidly disobeyed.
    “Well. This is unfortunate, Andrew. You should never have tried to contact the plaintiff, of course. I would have thought that someone of your intelligence and experience . . .” Grossman paused, pointedly. I did not want to imagine the expression on his face.
    Guiltily I tried to explain: “I’d meant only to ask a few questions. It was a short exchange. I spoke very courteously.She said that I’d taken things ‘out of her house’—and that it ‘had to stop . . .’”
    “You didn’t threaten her, I hope?”
    “Of course not. I would not ever threaten anyone.”
    “We can pretend this didn’t happen. That might be for the best. If there were a trial—(which I’m sure there will not be, please don’t panic)—the phone record would be put into evidence, and you couldn’t deny it. But this isn’t a trial, and no one is sworn in. And you won’t even be there. So let’s just hope for the best. Maybe she won’t mention a call.”
    Still I blundered, shamefaced. Badly I wanted to regain Elliot Grossman’s regard for me. “The worst of it was, I’d known beforehand that I shouldn’t have called her. But I guess I hoped that she would listen to reason. That she would see that I’m a nice person . . .”
    I could not bring myself to tell him— I wanted to avoid calling a lawyer. I am afraid of lawyers.
    “Andrew, you should know that your legal adversary does not want to perceive you as a nice person and there is nothing you can do to convince her that you are not her enemy but a nice person . It wasn’t a smart move to contact her, my friend, but at least you told me. I’m grateful for that. As long as you didn’t threaten her, or try to cajole her into withdrawing the complaint, and she hasn’t recorded the conversation—I think we will be fine.”
    Grossman’s voice had shifted its tone. He was businesslike, brusque.
    “I’ll call you immediately after