Change of Heart by Sally Mandel Page B

chest. The sweat-soaked nightgown weighed heavily on her legs, and her pillow was clammy under her head. She reached for the brass bell on her night table and rang it sharply. With the movement, something through the center of her arm twisted as if it were being wrung by giant hands.
    As she fell back to wait for Margaret to bring the medication, she thought that it had to happen this way. Hubris. That’s what tonight was, and here came Agony Jones to tell her how he felt about her presumptuous expedition into the forbidden territory called love. She could almost hear him intoning, with words like thunder, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me!”
    Okay, okay, Sharlie answered silently, I get the point. And lying there contorted with pain she raised a white fist to that deep resonant voice and thought, Agony Jones, you bastard, who the hell do you think you are—Charlton Heston?

Chapter 9
    The phones jangled steadily, but Brian was deaf to them. In fact, sometimes in the night the absence of their ringing woke him from a restless sleep. Now, however, it was his intercom, buzzing at him like a gigantic enraged mosquito.
    Oh, Jesus, not Mrs. Salvello, he thought with dismay as he heard the gravelly voice on the other end of the receiver. She’d brought the firm an age discrimination suit, an action Barbara believed would one day prove historic. In the meantime Brian endured regular doses of Mrs. Salvello’s admiration.
    â€œBut, Mister Morgan, you know all those judges personally. You can get the date moved up, can’t you? I mean, my nerves, I just can’t take much more of this. And my daughter’s mixed up with this man. She’s only sixteen, and he’s a junkie or a pimp, you should excuse me. Just this weekend she looked me straight in the eye, and you won’t believe this, Mister Morgan, I mean, I’ve been a good mother, and I believe in discipline, I always have, it’s not as if I spoiled her or let her get away with anything when she was a kid, I mean, Mr. Salvello didn’t mind giving her a good strapping when she deserved it.…”
    Normally Brian could put his attention on hold and go on working through the verbal deluge. Eventually the client would run down and, in a voice choked with gratitude, thank him for his understanding and wisdom, which had consisted of a few well-placed hmm’s and oh really’s. Meanwhile, he would have proofread a brief, signed his correspondence, and skimmed the law journal. Mrs. Salvello paid one hundred dollars an hour to talk about her daughter’s sexual digressions and then reported to all her friends what a brilliant attorney she’d hired.
    Today, however, her percussive narrative pounded away inside Brian’s head like thousands of tiny hammers. He longed for an hour of peace to think about Sharlie, and imagined himself saying, Hey, Mrs. Salvello, you think you got problems? There’s this beautiful girl who’s very sick and will probably never hit twenty-seven and you sit there babbling about your daughter, who’s most likely brain-damaged because dear old Mr. Salvello bashed her head in when she was a kid for showing her little bottom to Anthony down the block.
    â€œMrs. Salvello?”
    The voice at the other end ran on for a few more phrases just out of momentum, then came to a halt in midsentence.
    â€œâ€¦ and you’re such a … What?” she said, baffled.
    â€œI’ve got to be in court in a few minutes. Could you call back another time? Unless there’s something urgent …”
    â€œWell, I guess there’s nothing urgent, I mean, I know you lawyers are very busy, and I’m sorry I bothered you about my daughter. I mean, someday when you’re a parent … you don’t have any kids, I can tell that. Well, you give me a call when you have some news for me, and I’ll just wait. I’m a very patient person. Mr. Salvello always said