John A. Vikara

 

“Yes, I know it’s one in the morning in California,” John Marsh said loudly into the telephone mouthpiece. “If you would’ve answered my messages yesterday than I wouldn’t have had to try to reach you at what you consider an ungodly hour. I told you I have a busy day and I won’t have time to play your silly games later.”

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Shirley Hampton-formerly-Marsh screamed back. “You wake me in the middle of the night to give me your itinerary and expect me to bring my sons to –“

“Our sons!” John’s voice jumped a few decibels. “Yes, I expect you to bring our sons to the airport to meet me.”

“My lawyer says I don’t even have to talk to you but let me tell you this, if you don’t show up for that hearing on time, you’ll never see those boys again.”

“Your lawyer is a jerk. If he practiced here in Massachusetts I’d wipe the floor with him in a courtroom. You illegally took our sons out of state, and the notice of the hearing that he ordered wasn’t delivered until yesterday. I was not given the proper time to prepare. You – “

“Well, Mr. big shot Boston attorney, here in L. A. the courts say you were served properly and you’d better respond. Now I’m going back to sleep.” The line went dead.

John hung up the receiver and stared at the blank cream-colored wall across from the bed he was sitting on. Things had gone so well yesterday up until when Barbara, his secretary, had discovered the subpoena mixed in with a batch of old paperwork ready for the shredder. The frantic calls to California to attempt a postponement were fruitless. The fabricated story of a tardy delivery was practically laughed off by court clerks and officials. Calls to Shirley’s message service went unanswered and messages left with her attorney’s secretary were also ignored. They had him by the short hairs; they knew how very well to work the rules of their jurisdiction and time was on their side. John had waited at the Boston courthouse for a verdict on one of his cases, something he was passionately involved in and had to see to the end. Barbara, in panic and desolation over her blunder, had arranged plane, rental car, hotel and all other necessary accommodations for John’s hastily planned trip.

When John had returned to the office flush with a positive verdict, he had found a letter of resignation from Barbara next to the summons and the envelope with his plane ticket and schedule.

John dialed Barbara’s number for the third time, each time hanging up when Barbara’s recorded voice asked the caller to leave a message. This time he would do just that.

As soon as the beep sounded, he said, “Barbara, please pick up. I have to speak to you now. Please reconsider and be at the office in an hour. I don’t hold you responsible. You would never knowingly ignore a summons. I know you… Barbara, you more than redeemed yourself by making all those rush arrangements for me. I… I don’t know what else to say. I still need your help. Please. The Amirs are coming in to sign their acceptance paperwork. I need you to assist me.”

Beginning to feel he was talking to himself, he hung up. He was on his own. He quickly showered, cut himself shaving, hastily dressed in a blue pinstripe suit and called for a cab.

“Can you give me a hand with my bags,” he asked the cab driver in the bright yellow Chevy parked in front of his apartment building.

The cabbie, a dark curly-haired man, hurried from the driver’s door to the brown leather valise, suit bag and brief case sitting on the sidewalk. “I will be happy to assist you, sir.” He placed the luggage in the trunk compartment and hurried back to the driver’s seat.

John gave his office address to the man and they steered into the early morning traffic. Ten minutes later John was still monitoring the traffic flow, trying to gauge the time he had to complete his tasks and still make his flight. It would be awfully close. He nervously fingered the band aid over his cheek bone and squirmed to see his image in the rear view mirror. His normally age-lined face was even more drawn beyond his forty-two years and his short sandy hair was still a bit frizzled from the shower.

“Are you alright, sir?” the cabbie asked, seeing John’s sad brown eyes staring back from the mirror.

John sat back and glanced at the driver identification below the transparent partition. “Yes, Omar. Thank you, but I’m going to have a very busy day and my nerves are a little frazzled.”

“Do not worry; I will get you to where you are going with no problems.”

“I’m sure you will. Tell me, Omar, can you wait for me for about a half hour after you drop me and then drive me to the airport?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, but I must move onto my next call. I am dispatched to two other calls besides yours.”

“Too bad. I’m really in a hurry and every minute counts.”

“What I can do, sir, is deliver your luggage to the airport and have it checked in. My next call happens to be at the airport and I know all the skycaps there, so if you just give me your flight number I will have someone take care of that and have your baggage receipt left at your airline counter.”

“That’s wonderful, Omar. Then how about after you drop off my bag, you call your dispatch and tell them you’ll swing by after your other two fares to pick me up instead of me having to call again?”

“I will try that, sir. Either way, one of our vehicles will be waiting for you when you are ready.”

“Great.” John settled back into his seat. “Are you married, Omar?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Children?”

“Two boys, nine and ten-years-old.”

“Wow, almost identical to my two.” He paused, trying to arrange his words. “Do they… uh, experience any discrimination at school or from boys who are of a different ethnicity?” It was a loaded question but his attorney instincts guided him passed his discretion.

Omar stared at the rear view mirror. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“Well, Omar, I’m an attorney and I specialize in discrimination cases against Islamic-Americans. I was just wondering if you had the same problems as my clients. There’s been too much derision since the bombings and attacks in the Middle East. Some people feel that every Muslim is a member of al-Qaeda. ”

“We get by,” Omar said with a tilt of his head. “My boys are taught to respect America and all the different people who live here and most of the time that helps them overcome their problems.” He glanced in the mirror again. “Are you… of the Muslim faith?”

“No. I’m originally from New York and I grew up a few blocks from Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a large Arab-American community. I had several friends from that neighborhood and learned the customs and traditions. If it could be like it was when I grew up, your sons and mine would be playing together without any intolerance.”

“How very nice, sir. I would like that.” Omar turned the cab into the curb in front of their destination. “If I ever need –“

“Let’s hope you don’t, but just in case.” John passed a business card with the fare and a twenty dollar tip through the opening in the divider. “My flight information is written on the back of my card. Make sure you keep those boys of yours on the track they’re headed. And don’t ever put yourself in a position where you might lose them.” He slipped out the curbside door leaving Omar with a quizzed expression.

“Remember,” John said leaning into the front open window, “I have to be at the airport by seven-fifteen, seven-thirty the latest. It’s imperative that I catch that seven-forty-five flight or… Well, never mind my troubles.”

“The airport is only about fifteen minutes away. Either I or one of my fellow drivers will be here. I promise.”

John reached in and shook Omar’s hand. “Thanks. Oh, listen, do you need anything extra for the bag handlers?”

“No, sir. You’ve been very generous with your tip to me. I will take care of it.”

John turned and headed into the brick and marble façade office building. His suite was on the second floor and he took the back steps two at a time. His clients were waiting for him in front of the translucent glass double doors.

“She didn’t show up,” he said aloud. “Oh boy.”

The Amirs, both about John’s age, turned to the sound of his voice. Mr. Amir was of medium height and was dressed in a black suit and tie and wore a kufi. His wife, slightly shorter, wore a black dress and a hijab, traditional Islamic headwear. They both bowed slightly and smiled.

“Good morning,” John said bowing his head as he walked. “I’m terribly sorry, but my secretary is ill or she would’ve been here for you.”

John unlocked the door and extended his hand, inviting the Amirs to enter into the waiting area. He rushed passed the empty reception desk and opened another door. “Please, let’s use my conference room for our discussion.” He again extended his hand through the open doorway.

The room was paneled in dark oak, decorated with brightly colored still life paintings as contrast and housed a ten-foot long mahogany conference table flanked by high-backed mahogany and maroon leather chairs.

“Please sit wherever you wish,” John said. “I have to find your file and then I’ll be right back.”

He rummaged through a pile of papers in Barbara’s in basket before remembering that the file was in his office. As he started to turn away, something caught his eye in the scattered stacks of paper. It was a carbon copy of a form with the heading: Notice of Service. He pulled it from the sheaf of papers and read the content. “Goddamn!” He blurted. “No wonder.”

John carried the paper to his office and dialed Barbara’s number on his extension phone. The answering machine message came on after three rings. At the beep, he said: “Barbra, I know what went wrong. Please pick up if you’re there.” He waited for a minute, and then continued. ”The summons concerning my custody hearing was delivered while you were off for those two days you had to tend to your mother’s illness and that flaky temp the pool sent me was running the office. She signed for it, but was probably overwhelmed and just threw the damn thing into a pile of papers, somehow separating the package, and forgot to tell me or didn’t know the significance of it. Barbara, please come in. I’ll need you to file the Amir’s paperwork while I’m away. You’re the only one I can depend on to do it right.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got less than an hour before my flight. If I miss it, you know I won’t make the hearing. Please –“ The closing beep sliced through the earpiece. “Damn it!”

John hung up. He opened the Amir file, thumbed through the sheets of paper and hoped to God that he could now get back the woman who had arranged this file so perfectly.

He carried the file into the conference room. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t provide you with coffee or any other refreshments. I’ve been in such a rush that I haven’t had a chance to have anything myself.”

“Please do not concern yourself,” Mr. Amir said. “We are fine.”

John sat in a chair directly across from them at the middle of the table. “I also would again like to thank you for coming here at such an early hour. I don’t like to inconvenience my clients, but this was the only time I could see you and still be able to meet all the deadlines for filing.”

“Please, no apology necessary.”

John pulled several forms from the file and stretched to place them and a ball point pen in front of the couple.

“You are sure that we will not be harassed any longer by our community?” Mr. Amir asked.

“Positive. An order will be issued to your community board of commissioners and, barring an appeal, you should receive your monetary settlement before the end of the year. We have done something that will set a precedent. Congratulations, you’ve won a victory for all Americans. ”

“The credit goes to you. You are the one who worked so hard to defend our rights.”

“My pleasure. Now, as I told you before, I’m pressed for time. I thank you again for your patience and cooperation to wrap up these loose ends. I need your signatures on the lines where specified by the stick-on arrows.”

The gentleman scanned the documents intensely, seemingly knowing what the legal jargon meant and what he would sign. “We trust our attorney,” Mr. Amir said. He turned to his wife and nodded. They both signed where indicated and then Mr. Amir slid the papers and pen across the polished surface to John.

“As you know, I’m leaving for California and these papers must be signed by both you folks and me,” he said as he scrawled his signature on the pages. “They must be filed within a week of the verdict or they’ll get lost in the system. I didn’t want to delay your settlement because I wasn‘t here and I don’t know how long my trip will be. Now the process can be expedited while I‘m away.”

“We thank you for your concern and for going out of your way in this manner.” Mr. Amir stood, followed by his wife.

John escorted them to the hallway, shook hands and watched them until they disappeared around the stairwell landing. He turned back into the waiting room, thought about calling Barbara again but decided he didn’t have the time. He retrieved the file from the conference room, placed it in a manila envelope and sealed it. He used a felt tip pen to mark AMIR FILE in large letters and placed it in the center of the receptionist desk. It was a gamble but his inner voice told him that Barbara would be back and she would take care of the court filing.

He turned off the lights, locked the front door and headed down the stairs, hoping that Omar or one of his fellow drivers would be waiting for him.

There was a yellow Chevy taxi in front of the building but with its hood up and its driver peering into the engine compartment. It wasn’t Omar. John approached the driver and asked, “Were you supposed to pick up a John Marsh here?”

“To go to Logan?” the short, rotund man wearing a Red Sox baseball cap asked.

“Yes. What’s the problem. I don’t have much time. I’m –“

“Ahh, I don’t know.” He reached toward the engine and jerked back after touching a hot surface. “Those damn towelheads who they hirah as mechanics couldn’t keep a kiddy cah running right.”

“Look, my friend, I don’t need to hear any insulting language. If you can’t get the car going then get your dispatch on the radio. “

“Radio ain’t working right eithah.” The driver shook his injured hand. “Sorry, mistah, I didn’t know you was an A-rab. You don’t look it.”

John ignored the rudeness, looking up and down the street for another taxi. Everyday I see cabs zooming through here but today they have to be on vacation. He hoped Omar would show up like the cavalry. He wasn’t going to make the flight. I’ll call another cab or hitch a ride or…

A horn blared and John’s head snapped to the sound. A vintage white BMW was behind the taxi. At first, he thought the horn was meant for the taxi, but no… That’s Barbara’s car. She loved classic automobiles. He smiled. She was the cavalry, the returning runaway daughter and the homecoming queen all rolled in one.

He ran to the BMW and swung open the passenger door. “I can’t believe your sense of timing,” he said as he slid onto the black leather bucket seat and slammed the door closed.

“I finally decided that no matter what I did, I couldn’t leave you hanging like that,” Barbara said. “Was that your cab?”

“Yes. Let’s get going, please. I don’t have much time.”

“What about the Amirs?”

“I took care of it. You’ll have to file the papers that I left on your desk. Please, let’s go.”

“I just wanted to apologize again for something that could cost you your family.”

“You didn’t get… No, you couldn’t have heard my last message since you were probably on your way here.” John explained his discovery of the misplaced summons notice as Barbara pulled around the disabled taxi.

Barbara had a smile of relief, listening to John and maneuvering through traffic. A section of her auburn hair glowed red from rays of the easterly sun that weren’t blocked by the lowered sun visor. She was about half John’s age and was primly dressed in a green suit outfit. “Wait, what about your luggage?” she said loudly as her foot jerked off the accelerator and the BMW slowed.

“Another taxi driver already delivered it to the airport. Now please hurry. There’s a fifty dollar bonus in it if I make the flight.” He smiled and saw Barbara glance at him and smile back as the car gained speed. They were both returning to their normal selves.

The BMW departed I 90E and entered the airport. Within two minutes they were at the terminal. John pecked Barbara on the cheek before stepping onto the sidewalk. “I’ll call you later today,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

Barbara crossed her fingers. “Everything will work out okay.” She saw a uniform approaching to shoo her away from the No Standing zone so she waved and pulled from the curb.

John looked at his watch as he pushed through the glass door into the terminal. Seven-fifteen. He spotted the American Airlines counter and hurried to it. “Hi. John Marsh. Flight eleven. I’d like my boarding pass.” He slid the ticket from the envelope and placed it on the counter.

The pretty blond dressed in her airline’s red, white and blue colors looked at the ticket and began writing and snapping papers below John’s sight. “It looks like you’ve already checked your baggage. Here is your boarding pass and your baggage check left by one of the skycaps. You’d better hurry, sir. They’re ready to make the last call. Gate B32. That way.” She pointed toward the concourse. “Have a nice flight.”

He tried not to run but found himself thinking of his sons. She’s not going to take them from me. I’m going to use every tactic I know to put her in her place. He reached the security check area winded.

He had no carry-on items and wondered if he should’ve kept his brief case with him to cram for the hearing. He was ushered passed the conveyor belt to the metal detector. He passed through and was asked for his boarding pass. A blue uniformed young man perused the pass and ticket, gave them back to John and sent him on his way.

He glanced at his watch as he approached the departure gate. Seven-forty. Wait! They were closing the door to the boarding ramp. “Wait!”

John held the ticket and boarding pass in his outstretched hand like a relay racer about to hand off the baton.

“Boy, Mr. Marsh, that’s cutting it close,” another tri-color outfitted blond said as she looked at his ticket. “But you made it. And here…” She reached to a small desk and turned back with a newspaper. “…is your complimentary copy of today’s Globe.”

“Thank you.” John descended the ramp and stepped through the door of the airplane to the smiles of two flight attendants. “Good morning. Is the coffee ready?”

“As soon as we lift off, sir,” one of the attendants said.

“Great.” The engines of the Boeing 767 were already running. He found his seat on the aisle, noting that the aircraft was only about half full of passengers. There was no one in the two seats next to him and only one man in the row across the aisle. He settled in, fastened his safety belt and took a minute to close his eyes and relax as the engines increased power and the aircraft bucked into reverse. Yep, that was sure cutting it close.

He unfolded the Boston Globe and glanced over the front page before opening the paper, knowing he wouldn’t be obtrusive in spreading it out. On page four he found what he expected would be buried inside. The piece was short, mentioning his name and the positive outcome of the trial. He was sure there would be articles that were more extensive and even devoted columns in the future because of small verdicts such as his. That small victory could be the beginning of the end of the unfair condemnation of these people.

He looked at the passenger across the aisle from him and seeing he was Middle Eastern, John wanted to shout out his victory, to tell the man what he had done for his people. He nodded a greeting but didn‘t get a return gesture. The man turned away, fixing his stare toward the front of the airplane as they began their taxi onto the runway.

Feeling slighted, John turned his attention back to the newspaper. He hoped that on this day, what he started could hone relationships that bred cooperation instead of hostile glares. He knew that although it happened yesterday, today was both the day of the announcement and the day he would reunite with his sons. He would always remember this day. As the airplane began its path down the runway, gaining speed and bumping along the concrete surface, his eyes rose to the top of the page and the date. He also hoped that because of what happened in that courtroom, everyone would come to remember September 11, 2001.