In The Plan - 4. Chapter 4

4

Ben Carleson woke up thinking about the Hodges case. He didn't usually wake up thinking about work and didn't usually wake up this early. It was just after 6:00. But it wasn't

unheard of for him to wake up even earlier on a trial day or on a day he'd be meeting a new client. He also remembered he'd had a restless night's sleep, checking the clock several times in the dark to see if it was time to get up yet.

Normally, he woke up around 7:00, often wondering if his husband had gotten up ahead of him and how far past him Edward might be in their morning workout. They were both kind of addicted to exercise, Carleson to his morning bike ride, whether they were on Long Island or in the city. Indoors, Edward preferred a treadmill and weight machine. But if the weather was nice, and the temperature between 70 and 80, he'd run outside, saying it allowed his mind to wander. For the longest time, Carleson and another grade school and high school friend - not Jerry, who was a bit of a slouch - used to cycle long distance. They could easily do a hundred miles in five or six hours, especially when they were riding tandem, and they favored the North Fork, out to Orient Point, with its pleasant fields and vineyards. Carleson, Edward, and their now-almost grown children also took summer or holiday bike trips, though they were organized tours, not solo ventures, often of tourist spots in the United States or Europe. Carleson especially liked biking because - like his husband - he knew it left his mind free to think. Or mainly free - outdoors, he had to be careful not get hit by a car. So he never cycled in the city. Inside was safer but less scenic.

His husband wasn't in bed when Carleson woke, and they were at the house, rather than the apartment, so he walked down two stories to the basement rather than taking an elevator down eight. The house was quiet. When the kids were home, he'd often hear their music or TVs at that hour, or the sounds of their showers, his daughter's hair dryer, or his son's electric razor. Or the blender in the kitchen, where they both made quick smoothies. There'd once been a dog, when they were all younger, and Carleson still carried his picture in his phone. But after he'd died, their lives had grown too busy.

There was a small gym in the basement, a hodge-podge of workout equipment they'd all collected over the years, and Edward was already on the treadmill. He had a book in front of him and the TV on to CNN, so Carleson knew it was an uneventful news morning. If something important were happening, either nationally or internationally, Edward would skip the book so he could focus on the news. His husband could do a lot of things at once, but not remember them all in detail

Carleson leaned in to kiss Edward, and - without missing a step - Edward leaned out to receive the kiss. They were well practiced. Then Carleson hopped on his Peloton bike.

"Anything I missed?" he asked.

"Not really." Edward smiled and went back to reading, and Carleson knew not to interrupt. He couldn't see the title but suspected it was something for Edward's book club. That met weekly and was coming up. At least, Carleson thought so - he couldn't keep track. Edward also played Poker, Bridge, tennis, golf, and ran occasional triathlons. There was a film club in there, too, that met maybe every other week. The mixed group went to see movies their wives or husbands preferred to skip. Foreign films. Things with subtitles. Sometimes, Carleson wondered if there was anything Edward couldn't do. He was also a great dad, husband, son, brother, lawyer, and friend, and if that wasn't enough, he was great to look at and in amazing shape. Carleson wasn't quite so versatile, and - as he was constantly, gently, reminded by his friends - he'd definitely married up.

Edward finished his workout before Carleson did, nodded to him, and went upstairs. He didn't say anything because he could tell Carleson was trying to follow some limited reporting on a class action medical suit. His husband hadn't been directly involved, but it had caught his interest, and they'd talked about it the previous night. The reporters almost always got everything wrong, trying to simplify for the public. They mostly wanted to know how much money had been awarded, where the important issue was often precedent - what chance future, similar cases might have. Those were the ones that concerned Edward's husband.

Just before 7:00, finished with his workout, Carleson went upstairs. There was a shower in the basement, but he couldn't remember the last time it was used. Maybe when too many of his kids' friends stayed over, and they overran the upstairs guestroom and den. In any case, his razor, toothbrush, and clothes were all on the second floor.

After his shower, Carleson carefully picked his clothes. He pretty much always dressed well - now. When Edward first met him, he'd asked, "Who taught you to dress?" and it wasn't a compliment. The truth was no one had taught Carleson. His father favored flowered ties worn with plaid jackets - after he'd finally graduated from wearing bow ties, maybe in his fifties. Carleson's brothers were able to work in jeans, and when they had to get formal, one was too conservative and the other followed their dad. But Edward taught him well.

Carleson picked a suit and shirt. He'd take a tie with him but would probably leave it in the car. Still, every time he didn't have a tie, he needed one, and while he kept several spares stashed in his office and his car, they weren't always appropriate. Finally, he picked his shoes. Who could have guessed that, growing up, he'd get careful about shoes? Early in his marriage, Carleson had once made the mistake of promising Edward he'd never spend more than a hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. Now, when it became convenient, Edward had him carefully eat those words.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Edward heard the sound of his husband's shoes hitting the floor, and he smiled. It happened almost every morning they were in the house. Carleson would pick his shoes for the day, take them off their appropriate shelf, drop them to the carpet, then sit, with a shoehorn, and put them on. Occasionally, he'd pause to buff them, but he did that more often on weekends, when he had time. Two-or-three minutes after the shoes crashed, Carleson would trot down the stairs.

And that's exactly what happened: he found his husband sitting on a tall chair at the center island of the kitchen, working at his laptop. This was Edward's favorite position in the house for doing legal work, and, most days, he'd sit there for hours, negotiating his deals or drafting contracts. Often, he'd put on running clothes with the intent of working for a few minutes and then going outside. Then hours would pass, and he'd still be in the same position at the kitchen island. When Carleson would call, around noon, to say "hello" and ask how Edward's day was going, he'd typically reply, "I'm still on the island." Still, Carleson knew his husband always found a way to fit everything in, so he never worried about him finishing.

That morning as Carleson entered the kitchen, he began a routine which had become fairly regular between them - especially when he felt he was nicely dressed. He'd walk past his husband, around the island, then turn, mimicking a model. Then he'd walk to the far end of the kitchen, abruptly stop, pivot, then swing around, throwing another model pose. This was his Catwalk, just like the song. Edward would always laugh and comment on how nice he looked - ironic because Carleson knew his husband was to thank for all that went into his dressing. Edward had exquisite taste and was always coming home with new shirts, ties, sports jackets, and casual clothes for him. Carleson felt professionally confident because of his training and experience, but he knew he looked his best because he'd married the best.

After his "walk," Carleson kissed Edward again, now that he was more awake. Then he opened a Diet Snapple and sat at the kitchen table to check to check his own e-mail. Mainly, he used his phone because it was handier - and it was almost always beside him.

Once Carleson and his husband were both caught up, they chatted for a few minutes. Edward asked about Carleson's day. Carleson asked about Edward's. Edward had an office at their law firm but did most of his work out of the house or apartment, and that's what he planned on today. Carleson reminded him of the meeting at the hospital.

"Good luck," Edward said.

Carleson shrugged, then grinned - unworried. "Here tonight or the city?" he asked.

"We're having dinner with Brenda and Steve at 7:00."

"Here, then."

Edward nodded. They smiled again, then Carleson was off.

As he drove to the hospital, Carleson listened to WFAN Sports Radio. It was usually a toss-up between FAN and a rock station. Occasionally, he'd listen to oldies or country music, but today, it was FAN. While taking in the commentary, he considered a few ways his meeting could go. It could be tricky, or difficult, but Carleson preferred to be an optimist.

Promptly at 10:00, he walked into the hospital room. Doug Hodges was in bed. Pamela Hodges was standing beside him, along with a man who seemed to be about thirty. He introduced himself as Doug, junior - the Hodges' older son.

Doug, senior, had casts on various parts of his body - as well as lacerations and bandages on his face and arms. Plus, he was wearing an oxygen mask and was connected to various IV tubes. Carleson introduced himself to Pamela, shook hands with her and her son, then turned to Doug.

"Can you hear me all right?" he asked.

Doug slowly turned his head toward Carleson, tried to smile, and tried to put his hand out to shake. Carleson stretched and gently took Doug's hand. He wasn't sure he should actually shake it.

"I'll try to keep this as short as possible," he began, including Pamela and Doug, junior, in his gaze. He wanted to get in and out quickly, without further interrupting their now unfortunately interrupted lives. "Basically, what I do is represent clients who are injured due to the fault of others. I do this on a contingency basis."

He waited for them to nod, then went on.

"I don't take a fee unless I recover compensation for my clients. This is fairly standard with personal injury attorneys," he said, smiling, "and the fee is one-third of any recovery. It doesn't matter if I settle the case or take it to trial. The fee is always the same - one-third. Finally, personal injury law is my speciality. It's all I practice."

They seemed to understand that, too, and Pamela Hodges and her son nodded at each other.

"That's what Jerry Novotny told us," she said to Carleson.

"Good," he agreed. "Now let me explain the three elements we're talking about here. Liability. Damages. And insurance."

He quickly covered each of them, but slowly enough for Pamela and her son to indicate that they were following before he went on. He also got probable smiles from Doug. When he was finished, he asked if they had questions. When they didn't, he added that he assumed they were going to interview other personal injury attorneys.

"Why would we do that?" Pamela Hodges asked immediately.

Carleson gave her a friendly grin. "It's only normal," he assured her. "For something this serious" - he gestured toward her ex-husband - "would you ask only one doctor?"

"No, of course not," she replied, and this time, Carleson nodded.

Now came the hard part for him. He'd already set up a polite way to leave by fairly mentioning other attorneys, but he didn't want to go without closing. He could say, "I just need to step out of the room for a moment," and give them a chance to talk, or he could actually leave the hospital and wait for them to get back to him. Pamela Hodges had done that once, after talking with his friend Jerry, and Carleson was feeling pretty solid about this. And while he absolutely didn't want to seem insensitive, he also didn't want anyone else taking the case - or even learning about it.

From being in the profession as long as he had, he knew hospitals were feeding grounds for all sorts of low liers - attorneys trying to sign new clients without having a chance to honestly represent them. It wasn't even uncommon for emergency room staff to call "investigators" when seemingly fertile personal injury cases came into the hospital. Of course, they wanted a cut. And whether emergency room personnel got kickbacks from other law firms was between them and the firms, but Carleson didn't play that way. Still, it didn't mean he was naive as to how the industry worked, so he needed to stay above that and sign clients at the earliest honorable opportunity. That's exactly why he stayed in the room and waited to see what would happen.

Meanwhile, he said it was a pleasure to meet them, despite the extreme circumstances, and he made sure they understood that it would be a privilege for him to represent Doug in court. He was beginning to ask about the details of the accident, which he'd neither researched nor pushed for, when Doug Hodges cut him off. He looked across his bed at his ex-wife and son, then slowly turned his head back to Carleson.

"Thank you for saying that about asking another attorney," he slowly got out. "But Jerry Novotny said you're my guy. So you're my guy. Where do I sign?"

"You're sure you don't have any questions?" Carleson insisted.

Doug Hodges didn't even hesitate. "Nope. Don't think so. Just give me the contract."

It was at that moment that Carleson knew the kind of person he was dealing with. Just as Jerry had said, Doug Hodges was a stand-up guy. So Carleson took out his ready retainer, and Doug signed.

Before he left, Carleson told Doug to concentrate on getting better and that he'd take care of everything else. He told him not to talk with anyone without having Carleson present, and that he, Pamela, or any member of their family could call him, day or night. "My cell phone is never far from me," he assured them He also made sure they each had a copy of his card.

Carleson didn't press Doug on any further details, but before he left, Doug told him what little he could remember. Sitting in the passenger seat. Reaching for the seatbelt. Realizing there wasn't one. He didn't go into how he knew the driver or even tell Carleson his name. But Carleson knew he could easily find that information.

Leaving the hospital, he was absolutely sure he had a "whale."