by N. M. Silber
“No, Your Honor. I wouldn't want to become predictable,” I replied with a smile. Judge Channing wasn’t exactly a fan of mine, by the way. “It's the defense position that the Commonwealth has not made out the charge of attempted homicide. Mr. O'Neal allegedly shot Mr. Anthony in the leg at close range. Clearly if he had intended to kill him he would have aimed higher.”
“He would have aimed higher. I see. Mr. Pierce, your response?”
“Your Honor, Mr. O'Neal shot Mr. Anthony using a nine millimeter handgun on a crowded street in front of at least thirty witnesses. The Commonwealth has presented sufficient evidence to bind all charges, including attempted homicide, over for trial.”
“I'm sorry, Ms. Ginsberg, I'm going to have to go with Mr. Pierce on this one. The fact that your client is a lousy shot doesn't provide a defense. All charges are held. Schedule it for trial.” They led my client away and I headed back to the defense table to gather my things. Mr. Pierce came over to hand me the copy of the order. That was different. Prosecutors weren’t usually that polite. Instead of walking away he stayed there – so close I had to look up to talk to him. Wow, he was tall.
“He would have aimed higher?” he asked with amusement.
“Look, when you represent a guy who shoots somebody in front of sixty witnesses let's hear what you have to say, okay?” I turned around and leaned over to put the order in the file and when I turned back I caught him totally checking out my ass.
“Thirty witnesses,” he said, and quickly looked up at a group of cops coming in the door. I couldn’t help myself, I totally checked out his beautiful body and when he looked back, of course he caught me doing it. I yanked my eyes away from him and cleared my throat.
“Thirty, sixty. What difference does it make? Were they nuns too, by the way?” When I glanced back I saw him trying to stifle a laugh.
“I must admit that I admire your creativity.” I wondered if he meant it or if he was just teasing me as usual. I looked at him directly again and I saw his eyes drop to the bottom lip I was gnawing on nervously. I couldn’t handle the way he was looking at my mouth like that so I turned to gather the papers on the defense table. I was always freaking gathering something when he was around! I really needed to have sex again soon, and God, I hoped that I wasn’t thinking out loud again.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierce. I try. I'll be doing a second show later this afternoon. Just wait until you meet Tiny,” I said, starting to pack up my files. He couldn't hold back anymore. The laughter escaped but he politely covered it with a cough. I glanced up and caught sight of his beautiful mouth and my eyes lingered there. I wanted that mouth on so many parts of my body.
“Did you say something?” My gaze flew back up to his eyes. Shit!
“Month. It’s been a busy month,” I mumbled and bit down on my bottom lip to prevent myself from saying anything else out loud. His eyes dropped to my mouth again and they actually seemed to get a little darker. I was starting to sweat and feel a great deal of tension in the room that had nothing to do with Mr. O’Neal’s poor aim. I had to get the hell out of there. I went to grab lunch before I grabbed Mr. Pierce and found out if he tasted as good as he smelled. Jesus! I felt like I needed a cold shower.
Commonwealth v. Kaminsky
At one o'clock we were back in front of the judge. “Okay, Ms. Ginsberg. Can't wait to hear what you're going to come up with this time,” Judge Channing said. Nothing like a vote of confidence from the judiciary.
“Your Honor, we all know that retail establishments sometimes discard unwanted or defective merchandise. It was perfectly reasonable for Mr. Kaminsky to have mistakenly believed that the merchandise in question here had been abandoned.”
“Uh huh. Mr. Pierce, what do you have to say?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor, nobody discards twenty-seven HD flat screen TVs.”
“You know, Mr. Pierce, I'm inclined to agree. All charges held for trial.” Judge Channing banged his gavel and Tiny was escorted away by two rather wary-looking deputies. I was fairly sure Tiny wasn't anybody's bitch in the jail. I headed back to the defense table again.
“You were right. That was pretty good,” Mr. Pierce said, handing me the order again. His hand brushed against mine this time and I jumped like I had just stuck my finger in a socket. He looked at me like I might be really be dangerous after all. Nice, Gabrielle – very subtle.
“I predict that I'll be breaking out the 'right to a trial defense’ again,” I said, trying to not act any weirder than I already was.
“You don't think he'll be willing to plead guilty?”
“Probably not. He firmly believes that claiming to be a complete idiot will get him off.”
“You're very funny,” he said, leaning against the defense table right next to me again.
“Mr. Pierce, in my line of work, one either laughs or cries and I would rather laugh.” Oh Jesus H. Christ! I sounded like a country western song.
“You can call me Braden.” He was looking at me kind of intently like he was curious to see how I would react. I felt my cheeks getting warmer and my heart started pounding like a drummer on speed. I was starting to wonder if I had high blood pressure or something. This couldn't be normal.
“You can call me Gabrielle then,” I said, staring directly into those incredible blue eyes and hoping that my face didn't look as pink as it felt. We were only inches away from each other and I could feel the heat from his body. I was looking up at him and he was looking down at me and I felt that tension there again, but just then the judge called out.
“Mr. Pierce, I hate to break up your conversation with Ms. Ginsberg but we need a prosecutor to be involved in this prosecution.” I looked over at the bench and saw that there was already another case waiting.
“Goodbye, Gabrielle,” he said with a smile. Why did my name sound so damned sexy when he said it? I placed my wheeling briefcase full of files on the floor. My toned muscles didn't just come from walking everywhere. I could probably bench-press a Buick.
“Goodbye, Braden,” I muttered and made my escape.
* * *
It was Friday and I wouldn't get to see him again for at least two days. I headed back to my office, probably the only one of the two hundred plus attorneys who worked there who wasn't thrilled that the weekend had finally arrived. I contemplated my plans for the next day. I could rearrange the kitchen cupboards, maybe catch a matinee, slit my wrists. The possibilities were endless. Jess was already at her desk when I got back and I unpacked my files as I thought more about my little exchange with Mr. Pierce — Braden.
“Mr. Pierce told me to call him by his first name and he also told me that I was funny.”
“Oh really?” she asked, spinning around in her chair and sounding diabolically intrigued like some evil genius in a James Bond movie. “So admit it, maybe I was right.” She had the “I told you so” look written all over her face.
“I don't want to hear it until I have some proof. Thanks to you planting your dubious theories in my head, I've gone from just lusting for him to pining for him too. I'm like Pepe Le Pew on Acid every time he gets near me now,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We could go out to O'Malley's with the other public defenders later,” she suggested. “A lot of prosecutors go too on Fridays. Maybe he'll be there.”
“And what then? I can gaze at him from afar over a pitcher of beer?”
“You can flirt with him. Maybe you could get something going that way.”
“Because you know that picking up a guy in a bar is the best way to start a healthy romantic relationship. I’m not looking for a one-nighter Jess.”
“You don't have to go home with him. Just flirt with him and see what happens.”
“Just flirt with him and see what happens – those are famous last words if I ever heard them.”
CHAPTER THREE
O’Malley’s managed to seem upscale and still feel like the fun dive bar that every lawyer everywhere had hung out in when they were in l
aw school. There was a large old-fashioned, central bar area, surrounded by tables lining the walls. When the place started filling up and the jukebox was playing, people tended to crowd into the open space between the bar and the tables to socialize and dance.
We had just walked in, and were navigating through the crowd, when we passed near a table surrounded by prosecutors laughing and drinking. We were en route to a table surrounded by public defenders laughing and drinking. After a week in the criminal justice system, laughing and drinking were necessary components for maintaining one's sanity. We had almost passed the prosecutors’ table when I heard Mr. Roth call out.
“Well if it isn't Ms. Albright and Ms. Ginsberg!” We paused and moved in closer to them. My stomach started contortions that would have made the U.S. Diving Team proud when I saw Braden sitting there, leaning back in his chair with his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie and collar loose. You could sell postcards of that sight, baby.
“Hello, Mr. Roth,” Jess called out above the noise. “Drowning your sorrows?”
“Celebrating my victories, Ms. Albright. Perhaps you don’t recall my impressive courtroom performance earlier?” Mr. Roth was also a very handsome guy but in a different way than Mr. Pierce. Braden was a golden boy but Adam had dark good looks – dark hair, brown eyes, and always just a touch of five o’clock shadow. He was one of those guys who always looked like he may have come directly to work from some woman’s bed. And in Adam’s case that was a definite possibility.
“Someone catch me. I'm going to swoon,” I shouted dryly. And one can actually shout dryly – trust me. Mr. Roth needed to occasionally have a woman fail to worship him and I was happy to oblige.
“Such a saucy mouth on this girl,” he said with a laugh, looking over at Braden. Their colleagues paused in their revelries to pay attention to this little exchange. Two attractive public defender women had ventured close to a table full of semi-drunk male prosecutors. That didn't happen every day. It was like one of those scenes from a wildlife documentary. You know, the ones where the baby gazelle decides to drink from the nice cool stream right next to the pride of hungry lions.
“You think I have a saucy mouth huh?” I decided that now was as good a time as any if I wanted to try my hand at some flirting. “What do you think of my mouth, Braden?” I asked, turning to him. By some small miracle I actually managed to sound calm and even a bit playful. The guardian angel of the socially awkward was obviously smiling down on me.
“I rather like it,” he answered with a flirtatious smile, as his eyes very obviously dropped to my lips, this time in a practiced way that probably had women dropping their panties for him left and right under other circumstances. I heard some suggestive laughter and there were a few comments from his friends that I didn't quite catch – probably for the best. Dusty Springfield was singing Son of a Preacher Man in the background and it helped to set the saucy mood.
“There you go, Mr. Roth,” I said, as I walked over to stand right in front of him, leaned down, and looked him directly in the eye, our faces inches apart. “Some men can obviously handle my mouth.” Jess let out a startled laugh behind me. I stood up, smiled and started to walk away. After a second of stunned silence, their table erupted into laughter. Wow, I really was kind of saucy wasn't I? I was several feet away when I heard Braden call out and my heart slammed into my chest wall.
“Hey Gabrielle!” I turned around and quirked an eyebrow inquisitively. He gave a devastatingly sexy smile and then said loudly enough to be heard over the crowd, “I can handle your sharp tongue too!” More raucous laughter echoed around him and I dug down deep and found courage that could only be developed after three years of exposure to sadists who enjoyed destroying self-confidence (law professors.)
“Behave or I’ll make you prove it!” I called back loudly, smiling as if I had issued a challenge, and then I turned back around and kept walking. Mercifully, I didn't trip over anything. That one went over very well at the prosecutors’ table, incidentally. I thought for a minute that they were going to either give me a standing ovation or start shoving dollar bills in my stylish but sensible suit skirt. Jess looked over at me with an expression of stunned delight.
“Who are you and what have you done with Gabrielle Ginsberg?”
“So, that was kind of flirty, wasn't it?”
“Kind of? That gets at least an R rating,” she giggled. I looked up and saw Mark waving at us.
“Hey Jessica, Gabrielle!” He had obviously heard that little exchange because he was looking over at their table and laughing with obvious surprise. But then most of the crowd had probably heard it. Jess and I changed course and headed over to join Mark at his end of the table.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“It's certainly been interesting so far,” Jess answered, giving me a slightly bewildered look.
“Have some beer. I'm driving,” Mark said. We filled up two plastic cups from a pile sitting next to a pitcher. “So, what's this about Braden and your tongue, Gabrielle?”
“They were teasing me and I just teased back a little,” I said dismissively, taking a sip of beer.
Jess told him about our little back and forth exchange and he laughed again and looked at me, like he didn’t recognize me and he was trying to figure out who I was.
“So, flirting with Braden, huh?” he asked, sounding both amused and surprised.
“Just being saucy.” I smiled.
“Oh she was totally flirting with him,” Jess corrected, giving me a conspiratorial look. She was so proud of me – I could just tell.
Mark looked back over at the other table. They were off to my side, and I didn’t want to turn and look directly at them, but he seemed to be sharing some kind of unspoken communication with someone over there. I thought I saw him nod subtly and shrug. I wished that I knew what they were saying to each other. I took a deep breath and sat there for a second to let what I had just done sink in.
I couldn’t believe that I had actually pulled it off! I had flirted with Braden Pierce. Geek girl had flirted with gorgeous guy, senator’s son, the man who had his own fan club among the members of the Women’s Bar Association. I felt mad, bad and dangerous to know! I had a feeling that it would be one of those moments I would relive mentally for years. Like the time that I had refused to pay the ten cent fine because the library had closed early the day before and the drop box was locked. In the world of a ten-year-old that was Civil Disobedience at its finest. (I was such a rebel.) I might never actually get to go out with this incredibly hot man, but for one brief moment in time, I was the sexy confident woman in the room. Inner-Gabrielle pumped her fist in victory. It was Miller Time.
Now that the adrenaline was hitting me full force, I was feeling a lot of nervous tension and without really thinking about it I downed a couple of cups of beer in rapid succession. That’s a nice way of saying that I probably could have won a chugging contest at a frat house. Not long after I finished the second one, a waitress stopped over and handed me a piece of paper. It was a note. She told me that if I wanted to reply she would deliver it for me. By the look she was giving me I had a feeling that a monetary donation to her effort would be involved. I looked down and read while she waited, shifting her weight back and forth impatiently.
Dear Gabrielle,
I’ve never seen you this saucy before. You’re not under the influence are you?
Sincerely,
Braden T. Pierce, Esq.
Assistant District Attorney
Oh great! He thought that I was drunk! So much for confident and sexy. I showed the note to Jess and Mark who found it highly entertaining. In fact, Mark almost did a spit take. That doesn’t just happen in movies. Trust me. I thought he was done drinking by the way. He looked up at their table and laughed openly. Oh, he thought that was funny did he? I responded directly below and gave it to the waitress to deliver, along with a generous tip.
Dear Braden,
You’ve never seen me outside of
court before. Are you implying that I am behaving in a drunk and disorderly manner?
Regards,
Gabrielle S. Ginsberg, Esq.
Public Defender
Just then another group of public defenders from our office came pouring through the door. Someone called out to inform us one of our colleagues had won a trial and it was time to drink and bond. I sighed and prepared. Here came the shots. I heard laughter coming from Braden’s table when my reply arrived. About five minutes later, the waitress, who was probably making some good money with this, had returned with another note written below the other two.
Dear Gabrielle,
I assure you that I am making no such implication. In fact, I like the way you’re behaving very much. I’m, frankly, intrigued by your threat to make me prove that I can handle your tongue. I must confess it makes me want to misbehave.
Best,
Braden T. Pierce, Esq.
Assistant District Attorney.
Oh shit! He was flirting back – big time! Now what? I hadn’t planned this far ahead. Actually, I hadn’t planned at all. I was winging it and flying blind here. While I desperately tried to think of how to answer that, a round of tequila shots arrived at our table along with salt and lime.
“Salud,” Jess said and downed her tequila. I remembered again why I didn't usually go out with my colleagues on Friday nights. When there were more than two hundred lawyers in your office someone was always winning a trial.
“Viva Mexico,” I said and drank mine distractedly in one swallow.
“Take mine, Gab.”
“I can’t, Mark. I hardly ever drink anymore and I just had two cups of beer and downed a shot of tequila within less than half an hour.”