Idle Hands Ch. 01

He nodded a hello to a young man a few years older than himself, who he vaguely remembered from a work function his mother had dragged him to in the mistaken belief that it would encourage him to try harder in college.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm Alex, Rachel's son." He nodded towards the front of the courtroom. "Are the closing arguments going to start soon?"

"Just as soon as the judge gets back from her lunch break," the other man grinned. He extended a hand. "I'm Jeremy Edwards. I worked for your mom as an intern last semester. I heard she was going to give the closing argument today, so I asked my dad for the day off. I can't wait to see this."

"Me either," he replied. He was about to ask another question about the procedure when the bailiff walked in and called the court to order. After the judge had taken her seat, she looked at Rachel.

"Ms. Wainwright, are you ready to give your closing argument?"

"I am, your honor."

Alex's mother stood and walked around her table, facing the jury. Eight women and four men looked back at her. From their conversations over the past several weeks, Alex knew Rachel had tried to get as many young women as she could on the jury. Women who would be sympathetic to her message of care for the environment and criminal neglect by Antioch Chemical.

"I had a closing statement already written," she started, her voice so soft he had to strain forward to catch her words. "A closely-argued, logical chain, which proved the way in which a simple industrial accident cascaded into an environmental catastrophe. How the defendants did not have the proper monitoring equipment, and then, when the scope of the problem became apparent, chose to ignore it.

"It was a clear, lucid statement of the facts. But it was missing a vital element.

"So instead, let me tell you a story.

"In the old days, before the clever mind of mankind blessed us with the modern world; before indoor plumbing and central air and electricity; before internal combustion engines and printing presses and the internet, life was much simpler.

"In those days, hundreds of years ago, one of the central points of the community was the town well. It was dug with back-breaking labor, often fifteen or twenty feet deep. Women of the town would gather there every morning to haul away water for cooking and drinking, for washing and cleaning. It was one of the focuses of their lives.

"And it was crucial." His mother's voice, which had been calm and clear until that point, now sank low, vibrating with repressed passion. "Any attack on the well was an attack on the community as a whole, because the community could not survive without it. In times of war, invaders would foul the wells of their enemies, knowing an army could not live without water. In the fourteenth century, when the Black Death ravaged Europe, rumors spread that Jews were causing the disease by poisoning the wells of gentiles. In the mob violence which followed, thousands of Jews died.

"Which brings us to the actions of Antioch Chemical.

"By now, we know the facts, many of which the defendants have not chosen to contest. Because of negligence and incompetence, toxic chemicals were introduced into the Kankakee River. That alone would not be enough to put us where we are today. We live in an imperfect world. Accidents happen. The wise choice, the moral choice, the sane choice, would have been to notify the public, fix the problem, and make restitution."

She halted. Even from a dozen yards away, Alex could see the anger in her face. He leaned forward in his seat, studying her technique. Was it honest emotion, or the work of a trained lawyer with over fifteen years of courtroom experience to draw on?

"Instead," she grated slowly, her voice thick with suppressed fury, "they chose to do nothing. For months, toxic sludge spewed into the Kankakee. Arsenic, lead, cadmium...you've all seen the evidence and the reports.

"But rather than do the right thing, the good people of Antioch Chemical played a game. The name of the game was 'How Long Can We Get Away With This?' The issue was shunted from one department to the next. They wouldn't lift a finger until they had orders, signed in triplicate, lost, found, subjected to management review, lost again, and buried in seven levels of hellish bureaucracy which makes you wish for the Second Coming to arrive to clean out the mess." She took a deep breath. "And all of this, all of it, for the sole purpose of avoiding paying for the clean-up. If I might be permitted to quote again from the e-mail which was sent from the vice-president of finance to the vice-president of engineering-"

"Objection!" shouted an attorney from the defense side. "Repetitious."

"Overruled," the judge said calmly. "Control yourself, Mr. Kincaid. You know the rules about interrupting a closing statement."

"Thank you, your honor," Rachel said with a polite nod. Alex bit his lip to keep from laughing. God, she was playing the entire room like an instrument.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted," she continued calmly, "here is the quote from the e-mail to engineering. 'We would be financially negligent if we poured resources into a project from which we will receive no income. This will have an adverse effect on our quarterly and yearly profitability. We advise against this proposal.'" Her fist clenched as she crumpled the piece of paper into a lopsided wad and dropped it contemptuously to the floor.

"And that is where the moral vacuum of Antioch Chemical becomes apparent. Money, money, money. Nothing but money was important. Let the world drown in poison, let fish choke to death on toxic waste, let the very water we need for life be hostile to our touch as long as the profits roll in. That is the same type of thinking which let thousands of people in Flint be poisoned by lead in their water, because no one in the entire state of Michigan had the courage to stand up and say 'enough'."

His mother's voice dropped. "The four horsemen of the apocalypse were once called Pestilence, War, Famine and Death. I now rename them. They are Pollution, Poison, Cowardice, and Greed." She took a deep breath and sighed. "The Kankakee will never be regarded as one of the foremost rivers of this country. It has none of the majesty and grandeur of the Mississippi. None of the beauty of the Hudson. It does not roam for over a thousand miles like the broad Missouri, or carve out mighty canyons like the Colorado.

"What it is, instead, is ours." Rachel's voice was a steely blade in the silent courtroom. "It belongs to the people of Illinois. And these cold, calculating men and women took it away from us. It will be years, perhaps decades, until the Kankakee is restored to its rightful place. Our children's children may, may see it as it should be. If they are lucky. For us, the future is far grimmer.

"In a few minutes," she continued, "you will hear another story. It is a sad, tragic story about accidents and mistakes, about greedy lawyers and opportunistic landowners. About how no one is really responsible. About how the poor corporate officers of Antioch Chemical are the true victims here. About how this case is no more than a money-grab by a few dozen disaffected landowners and their lackeys."

Her lips curled in a contemptuous sneer. "Don't you believe it. It may be true that money does not cure all ills. But here and now you have a chance to send a message. To all of those who would defile our one and only planet. Our truest legacy to our children. And that message is no more. No longer will we allow you to poison us. We are not content to live with filthy water, dirty air, putrid food. We will not stand idly by as dead fish wash up on the shores of the Kankakee at Wilmington. We will not sit voiceless as trees rot and fall into the water, dead years before their time. They fouled our well."

Her voice sank into a whisper, echoing through the silent room.

"No more."

*****

After the defense consul's stammering, ineffective closing statement, the judge sent the jury to their deliberations. Rachel packed up her notes and her laptop, readying herself for a long wait. It would be days, maybe longer, before the jury came back with a verdict. She would spend her time shuttling back and forth between the courtroom and her office, preparing for some of the other cases she was assisting with.

Two familiar forms caught her eye, and she smiled. "Hey, guys," she said, walking to the bar which separated the audience from the actual courtroom. "So, Jeremy," she said, looking at her former intern. "What did you think?"

He shook his head. "You killed that company today. Even if they survive the verdict, no one will forget what you said." He grinned. "But that's just what you intended, isn't it?"

"More or less," she agreed. She eyed her son, who was looking at her with an expression which approached awe. "What's the matter, honey? Disappointed in your mom?"

He shook his head, his expression disbelieving. "And you say you don't understand actors," he said quietly. "God. You were an actress. The entire room was your stage. I wish I had a movie camera in here. You had every eye in the room on you. They didn't dare look away.

"You didn't thunder, Mom. You didn't need to."

"Thanks, honey." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He suffered the gesture, rolling his eyes. "Listen, no one knows how long this is going to take. So you might as well go on home. I'll see you tonight. As for you," she said, eying her former intern. "I'll see you at the cookout on Sunday, right?"

"I suppose so," Jeremy replied. "I don't want to think about what you'll say about me if I dare blow it off!"

*****

The next day was warm and cloudless. The sun shone brightly in a sky of robins-egg blue, and a soft breeze carried the smell of growing things. May was a beautiful time in northern Illinois. The trees were in full bloom, the grass green and lush, and the choking humidity of July and August had not yet descended on the region.

Maria Ochoa parked in the Wainwright's driveway around one o'clock and looked at the house covetously through the cracked windshield of her car. Someday, she swore. Someday I will live in a house like this. I will not always be the orphan girl from Honduras, cleaning up after others. I will find a good man and he will provide for me. And I will take care of him and have his babies.

But for today, Maria, I think you must clean. With a sigh, she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out the open-lidded case which held her cleaning supplies. Rags and polish for the furniture. Various cleaners for the counter-tops and the tile in the bathrooms. Paper towels and scrub pads and heavy rubber gloves to protect her hands from the harsh solvents. Luckily, the Wainwrights provided the larger pieces of cleaning equipment, such as the vacuum, so she did not have to drive around in the big van today.

She opened the front door with the key and stepped into the dim foyer. To her eyes, the house had seemed unbelievably luxurious the first time she had seen it, nearly three years ago. But by now, she was used to the casual wealth which the Wainwrights had access to.

Sweep and mop the downstairs first, she thought, setting down her cleaning case in the kitchen. And start the laundry. Then I will vacuum and clean the bathrooms. Then upstairs. Then the basement. She opened the hall closet and pulled out a broom, dustpan, mop, and bucket. In a few moments, she was sweeping the hard stone flags of the kitchen floor, her body repeating the motions it had made thousands of times, her mind elsewhere. The dark gray of her uniform clung to her body, but her calves were bare, and the air in the house was comfortably cool.

She had finished the kitchen and was sweeping the polished hardwood floor of the dining room when she heard a soft voice behind her.

"Hello, Maria."

She turned quickly, startled. Rachel Wainwright stood a few steps away, holding a glass of water.

"Senora Wainwright! I'm sorry. I did not know you were at home."

"And why should you?" the older woman smiled. "It's easy to get lost in this barn of ours. Heck, sometimes the only way I have of knowing if the kids are here is if their cars are in the garage."

Maria smiled shyly. She had not spoken to Rachel much. She was almost always at work when Maria was cleaning her beautiful house. "Are you taking a day off?" she asked. "Or are you sick?"

Indeed, Rachel did look a bit rumpled. Her clothes, while well-fitting and fashionable as always, were slightly disheveled, as if she had been laying down for a nap while she was fully-clothed. And her face was flushed, red spots of color showing brightly against the ivory of her cheeks, the skin at her temples slightly damp. Maria's hands, driven by a compulsion towards order which was instinctive, itched to straighten her clothes. A woman so powerful and beautiful should not look like she had just rolled out of bed.

Unless she had just rolled out of bed, her mind whispered. She tried to ignore the sinful voice of the devil, sending up a quick prayer to the Holy Mother.

You can tempt me, Satan, she said. But I will not submit.

Rachel smiled in response to her question. "No, I'm waiting for the jury to come in on the case I'm working on. I just finished up the closing argument yesterday. Now it's in the hands of twelve men and women. Who knows which way they will decide? I couldn't handle going to the office today. I'm about ready to jump out of my own skin."

She took a drink of water and looked at Maria consideringly. She dropped her eyes, uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze. When Rachel spoke again, her voice was softer.

"Tell me, Maria. How long have you been cleaning my house for me?"

"Over two years, senora." A faint panic tickled the edge of her mind. "Are you happy with the work I do?"

"Of course I am," Rachel replied, her face open and friendly. "You take better care of the place than the kids and I ever could. I am not the domestic type," she said with a wink that made Maria giggle. "And the kids...well, Sarah is perfectly happy to deal with anything that has to do with cooking, but if you put a mop in her hands, I have no idea what she would do. And Alex could live happily in one room for the rest of his life, as long as he had his movies and books.

"But I was thinking," she said, stepping closer to Maria, "of a more...permanent...arrangement. How much do you earn per hour right now?"

When Maria told her, she blinked angrily. "That's it? For all the work you do? I pay your employer three times that. Easily."

"Please, senora," Maria said, almost stumbling over the words in her haste. "Don't complain to my boss. I need this job."

"My name," said the woman in front of her, whose clothes cost more than Maria made in a week, "is Rachel. I would be pleased if you used it. I am not some bitter old lady who needs to be reassured about how important she is.

"My husband is coming home in a few days," she said. Maria blinked at the sudden change of subject. "He's a good man, but no better than I am when it comes to housework. In fact," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "he may be worse. He's an artist, and has a terrible habit of leaving his tools and brushes scattered all over.

"So I am wondering," she said, "if you might want to work for my family full-time. You would do what you already do, but we would be the only household you work for. You would have to quit your existing job, of course, but I can certainly improve on your salary. Heck, I would probably save money, considering how badly your boss is shafting the both of us. In addition to taking care of the house, you would also be responsible for my husband's workshop, if he chooses to move back here. And sooner or later Sarah is going to move out. She does a lot of the cooking for us now, so we are going to need someone to prepare meals."

"I can cook!" Maria said eagerly. Her head spun. This was a dream come true! "I love making good food! Although," she said, her voice faltering slightly, "my meals may be different than what americanos are used to."

Rachel laughed. "Sarah is always trying out new recipes on Alex and myself," she said, taking Maria's hand. Her skin was dry and feverishly warm, the fingers seeming to tremble slightly. "I think we can live with what you make for us. Although if you ask, you might find that Sarah is willing to teach you some of the recipes we're used to. And it would only be one meal a day, most times. We can take care of our own breakfast and lunch.

"What else?" she continued. "Oh. Right. If you like, you can move in, as well. Rent-free. There is a small apartment over the garage which we've never used. It has its own kitchen and bathroom, and is hooked up to all our utilities, so you can avoid that expense. It's unfurnished, but we'll help you move your things up there if you like. It has its own entrance as well, so you would have complete privacy. You wouldn't have to worry about us barging in when you wanted to be alone."

Maria's mind was a blank. "Why do you do this for me?" Her accent deepened as her emotions threatened to take hold of her. She felt close to weeping. She had been living hand-to-mouth ever since she had graduated from her crumbling high school on the south side of Chicago. For years she had cleaned the houses of the wealthy, getting a tantalizing glimpse of how they lived before being forced to exit, again and again.

"Why?" Rachel answered. "Because I can." Her hand gripped Maria's. "Too many people spend their time pushing others down. I want to lift others up.

"However," she said, "there are a few conditions we must set."

"Anything!" Maria said eagerly.

The black-haired woman smiled, laying a finger on her lips. "Be careful what you say. I might hold you to it." The look on her face made Maria's stomach do a slow flip. She set her glass down on the table and moved closer. The click of the glass on wood was loud in the sudden silence.

"First of all," she said, "We simply must do something about this uniform. It is very unflattering for a woman with a body as lovely as yours." She casually reached up and started to unbutton Maria's thick, heavy blouse. Her eyes were wide and avid, the pupils dilated.

Maria's breath came fast and deep. She knew she should pull away. Should run out the door and drive off. Should report this to her boss and to the police. But she did nothing. She stood, trembling and helpless, like a rabbit under the gaze of a hawk.

In moments her uniform was unbuttoned to the waist. Rachel pushed it off her shoulders, letting the garment fall loose to drape around her middle. Her cheeks burning, she tried to cover her body with her arms, but failed utterly.

"Oh, stop it," Rachel said gently. "Why do you try to hide your beautiful body? I know women in my office who would kill for one like yours." She walked around Maria slowly, her hand trailing along the skin of her belly, her back. Her skin was strangely hot as she caressed the length of her spine.

"Lovely," she said, satisfied, as she came around to her front again. "But this," she continued, letting her hand graze the plain white cotton of Maria's bra. "It won't do. When you come to work for me, I want something more." As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached behind Maria and unclasped her bra. Her breasts sprang loose, wantonly exposed to her view.

"Oh," Rachel sighed. "Yes, that is so much better. Can you do this for me, Maria? Can you choose to not hide your beauty, but flaunt it? Show me and my family the blessings which have been bestowed upon you?