The party was winding down, and Don observed comfortably from his chair in the corner. He toyed with the notion of picking up a book, but thought it might be rude to be found reading at his own party. Throwing parties, he reconciled, was never about the host anyway.
Martha found him and sat on his lap, taking his drink from his hand to place it on the table on the end. "Thank you," she said, kissing him.
"What for?"
"For having our friends over. I know you've been busy with your big trial, so I know what it means to say yes. And also..." She brought her soft hand to his face and caressed his dark, well-trimmed beard with her long, dark-red fingernails. "Well, just thanks."
Don didn't need to say anything, and he knew it. His balls felt heavier when she talked to him like this. Sometimes he forgets why he became a lawyer, and she reminds him.
She smiled one more time, and then something else caught her attention and she was gone. "Let me get that for you," she was saying as she walked away.
The lights were dim in the condo, and he saw the lights of downtown Manhattan bouncing off of the peach-colored walls of his penthouse suite. Some folks were crawling, they were so drunk, and the sun would be up in mere hours. The music had ended, and some of the more chatty ones were still lounging around the coffee table in the den.
"It's people," one girl named Sarah was saying. "All they have to do is learn how to be nice. That's all. Is that so hard?" Others were nodding and offering up mumbling approvals. She went on for about five minutes longer, and by that time Don had been standing by the window.
There was a homeless woman on the streets below, sitting at a bus stop. He knew the woman well, and he had no pity on her.
He turned when someone said his name. She said it a few decibels louder than she had been speaking to get his attention. "Not that we mind, though," she continued. "We need people who don't trust anyone. Otherwise, how would the legal system work at all?"
Don remained silent, and did not move from his spot by the window.
"He trusts some people," he heard Martha chime in. "Just not very many." The others laughed. Don was not amused, but he wasn't irritated. Not like usual.
Don was surprising even himself by his recent tendency toward acceptance of things he didn't like. He was not a compromising man and he was often ill-tempered, but he was coming to find that removing himself from the situation of his discontent made him far more sane, hospitable and generally happy. His wife had much to do with that, though. She was far more egalitarian.
The woman below was gesticulating wildly to people who weren't there. He was still watching her when he heard someone say, "I would never do that in public. Not me. Have some self-control, you know?"
Don looked over to find two girls with their heads buried in a tabloid. They were giggling, and one sat back to take a puff of her cigarette. She is lying, Don thought. Smoking is her tell. Whatever it is, she would certainly do it.
Don walked over to them and asked to look at the magazine. The page they were looking at featured nipple slips and other wardrobe malfunctions. Some were topless completely, or wearing very thin clothing, and see-through dresses.
Don looked down at the girl. Her name was Harmony. Another puff of smoke came out slowly, and she crossed her arms.
She stared back at Don, who was studying her. Bleached white hair, zebra-striped mini-skirt and combat boots. And a face that stonewalled Don and his every attempt to read her.
Don handed the magazine back and sat down in his chair. He took a drink, while the others went back to talking.
Harmony brought the conversation back to Don with an insult: "I don't think Don wins because he's smart. He wins because he lies. You have to be a good liar to be a good lawyer, don't you Don?"
Don was only hoping the poor girl would attempt to challenge him, and his pride got the better of him when he accepted. She was playing with fire.
"And how easy do you think it is to lie?"
She knew on some level that she should not have challenged him, and she knew it from that question.
"Pretty easy. You just say something that isn't true. If you act like you believe it, then no one will suspect a thing."
"And how easy is that?"
"I don't know, I'm not a liar like you."
"Ahh," he said with a smile. She thought she was doing well. "But you said it was easy. Tell me, if I were to tell a lie and convince you to believe me, how easy would it be for that lie to be sustained? How long would you believe it before the lie leads to another lie, and how long before the whole lie collapses?"
