by Anna Premoli
But Ryan just laughed at her.
“Ah, so now it’s just a question of money, is it? Whoever has the richest daddy can do whatever they want and then just walk away, scot-free?”
And it was obvious that his accusation was not just referring to Liz.
“Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate, Ryan?” she asked in a threatening voice.
“Nothing! Why, what did I say?” he asked, well aware that he had struck a nerve. He had deliberately chosen his words to get at her.
Amalia leapt to her feet. Her face was dark, but this time the foundation had nothing to do with it.
“Sarah, would you please take the assistant D.A.’s colleague for coffee?”
The trainee didn’t need to be asked twice: Alex and Sarah vanished at the speed of light, leaving Amalia and Ryan glaring at each other.
“Just what the hell is it that you want from me?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips belligerently, now that she had got the witnesses out of the way.
The Assistant District Attorney remained immobile and sat observing her in silence, presumably trying to get her to lose her cool by simply keeping his mouth shut. Smart move, she had to give it to him. But if the mother of all hangovers hadn’t been enough to take her down, Ryan and his bag of two cent tricks certainly weren’t going to, so she stood there pretending to be bored enough to induce him to talk.
After a few seconds, he realized he had to change strategy and his lips curved into a hint of a smile which perhaps he hoped would make her angry.
“I don’t want anything from you. Except the proper sentence for a rich girl who thinks, wrongly, that she can do whatever she likes.”
“And what if she’d been poor, then? In that case, I’m damn sure you wouldn’t have objected to her doing a few hours of community service…”
The fact that Ryan didn’t deny it made her lose her cool. She felt like a volcano that was about to start spraying out molten lava, and it took all of her self-control to remember that this was not a personal matter and that she mustn’t just grab him by the neck and start shaking him.
“So tell me – after all these years, do you still have a problem with rich people?” she taunted. “And there was me thinking that it was just the impetuousness of youth.”
At that point Ryan jumped to his feet too and leaned menacingly across the table towards her.
“I have no problem at all with rich people. Only with arrogant ones. It’s just too bad that the rich ones are often the arrogant ones. What do you think, is it just an unlucky coincidence?” he asked pointedly.
Amalia gave a nervous laugh.
“Oh, my God! You really don’t even realize that you’re one of the most self-righteous people on the face of the planet, do you? Do you want to know something? You are far worse than any rich snob! Because you’re a poor snob, and a pretty damn pompous one at that. Is there some rule that a rich person is automatically worse than a poor one? What is it, some new federal law no one has told me about?” she asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Back in their law school days, Ryan had been very good at keeping his cool – his self-control was famed on campus, and she imagined that he had probably cultivated it with care over the years – but at that moment Amalia realized that she had in her arsenal an extraordinary and unexpected weapon: there was something about her that made him completely lose his mind. Almost literally. For a moment she almost thought she could see smoke coming out of his ears.
Bye bye Ryan, you self-control freak…
“Hey, listen, little Miss my-family-funded-the-construction-of-the-Yale-library…” he hissed in what was, for him, an unusually agitated tone.
But Amalia immediately cut him off with a peremptory gesture. “Oh, you’d rather not have libraries, would you?” she asked sarcastically. “All those books not to your liking, huh?”
“Oh, don’t talk crap!” he spat back.
She made a further gesture of annoyance. “You’re the one talking crap, bringing all this up again! Centuries have gone by and we are still here discussing the damn library! Is it my fault that my great-grandfather chose to use his money to build it instead of blowing it all on women and booze? Would that have been more ‘ethical’ in your eyes, ‘Irish’?”
It was a nickname his friends at university had called him, and it had come out before she had been able to stop herself.
Ryan paused for a moment to observe her.
“Stop twisting my words, Amalia.”
“And you stop twisting my family’s money, then,” she answered. “It’s only money.”
Ryan let out a sigh.
“And that’s just where you’re wrong my dear – money is never just money. Never.”
4
In his mind, Judge Wyatt was already running through the pleasures of the coming weekend: he was going fishing and to hell with everything and everyone, including his wife. In fact, especially including his wife, who was a constant pain in his backside and who seemed to specialize in making his life a misery. So he wasn’t too keen on the idea of listening to people arguing over the nonsense detailed in the files stacked on his desk: that day, all he wanted to think about were bass leaping out of the water and his brand new fishing lines – according to his old fishing crony Fred, who was an expert on lines and tackle and who never missed a trick, they were absolutely sensational.
“The next case,” he instructed the court registrar, picking up the first file from the pile and watching Amalia Berger make her way towards him with the new Assistant District Attorney. Not exactly the easiest of people, he thought impatiently even before noticing the hostility on their faces. But he would have realized that there was deadlock even without looking at them – as he called them to the bench the air turned electric.
He would have to remember to never put off these two pains in the ass until Friday another time. With all that open animosity and negativity, they ruined his mood and threatened to cast a cloud over the weekend. It was like putting together two incandescent particles which just can’t wait to produce a blast. And a loud one, at that.
“Ms Berger, I am pleased to see that your alarm went off this morning,” he greeted her sarcastically.
But it was obvious that she had been expecting his little joke.
“I’m sure you will be pleased to hear that I have changed my alarm clock, your honor” she replied. “No more soothing sounds of nature, just a loud buzzing noise. My new alarm clock could wake the dead.”
“Very good,” the judge congratulated her. “Now, back to the case – have you reached an agreement?” he asked hopefully. He really did not want to prolong the debate. If everything went smoothly, maybe he could set off earlier than usual and miss the weekend traffic up to the Hamptons.
But Ryan O’Moore’s face had darkened.
“Well, Your Honor…”
Wyatt had already figured out where this was going.
“Yes or no?” he cut in, icily.
The Assistant District Attorney gave a resigned sigh. “No,” he said, looking him straight in the eye.
The courtroom held its collective breath for a moment as it waited for the reaction of an obviously displeased Judge Wyatt. He peered at both of them carefully, clearly ready to blow his top at the slightest provocation.
“And may I ask why not?” he asked menacingly.
“Because the Assistant District Attorney keeps making absolutely ridiculous demands,” interjected Amalia.
Ryan, however, was not of the same opinion.
“Your Honor, the truth is that it is the counsel for the defense who is completely out of her mind. Erm, by which I mean, completely unreasonable in this matter.”
“Your Honor, the Assistant District Attorney insists upon obtaining an exemplary punishment which would cause huge damage to my client. Miss Stubbs is only eighteen years old,” she reminded them.
“Exactly – she’s eighteen years old. Not thirteen,” added Ryan impatiently
, looking at her askance.
“She’s just a student!” snapped back Amalia, raising her voice.
Ryan moved towards her, approaching the judge.
“Do you mean to say that being a student automatically dispenses a person from their responsibilities?” he asked doubtfully. “So presumably an eighteen year old shop girl wouldn’t be entitled to use the same excuse, then?”
Judge Wyatt banged his gavel loudly, and the two snapped out of their personal feud. If he’d been allowed to, he would have thrown it at their heads: he could feel his anger mounting by the second, and the reason for this was the attitude of the two people standing before him.
“Have you at least tried to reach an agreement?” he demanded, assuming the tone that he usually reserved exclusively for his very spoiled grandchildren.
Amalia gave a bitter laugh. “Oh yes – from three in the afternoon until eight in the evening.”
“Five hours?” asked Judge Wyatt, unable to hide his dismay any longer. “You debated a trivial case like this for five hours without reaching any agreement?”
“Five very unproductive hours. I would say in no uncertain terms that they were the most pointless five hours of my life,” replied Amalia very seriously. Ryan, barely managing to restrain himself from commenting further, glared at her.
Wyatt felt a nagging itch start to climb up his spine. “Well I hope that you don’t think that you’re going to keep me here for that long!” he exclaimed with growing alarm. “I have better ways to spend my time! Ms Berger, let’s hear what it is that you’re proposing.”
Amalia brightened, happy to have been called to speak first.
“Well, with the former assistant district attorney we had agreed that one hundred hours of community service would be a more than adequate penalty for Miss Stubbs. And of course no criminal charges…”
Ryan couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“Sure, of course… Why don’t we give her a medal of honor while we’re at it?” he asked.
Wyatt interjected quickly. “A little less sarcasm please, Mr O’Moore. What exactly are you proposing?”
“Six months detention,” Ryan said categorically.
“Have you lost your mind?” exploded Amalia, glaring at him. “You want to lock the poor girl up in jail for six months? Are you crazy?”
Judge Wyatt watched as the situation escalated without doing anything to prevent the inevitable catastrophe: the two were off in their own world and were no longer listening to him at all.
“What do you mean, poor?” Ryan reproached her. “She’s anything but poor!”
“I mean that Liz Stubbs is poor!” fought back Amalia determinedly. “It’s her father who’s rich!”
“What, no trust fund this time?”
“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare!” Amalia yelled.
“Why, what are you going to do about it? Next thing you’ll be saying that you’re poor…”
“Of course I’m not – unlike Liz, I happen to have a job!”
And they probably would have gone on much longer if Wyatt hadn’t really lost his temper. The image of the perfect bass had disappeared from his mind and it was all their fault. He picked up his gavel and threw it accurately through the narrow space that divided the two, startling them both. Shame he was such a good shot, it would have been nice to take one of them out. Or maybe even both of them with some kind of ricochet shot. The thought almost made him smile.
“Enough! This little show you two are putting on is frankly embarrassing! I can’t remember ever having seen anything like this before – and I’ve seen plenty in my career, let me tell you! Ms Berger, it is obvious that you have a problem controlling your anger. Do something about it, and quickly! And you, Mr O’Moore, I do not know how you were used to behaving in court back in Chicago, but here in New York we do things differently. Sort yourself out. As far as I’m aware, we’re not in hell and you aren’t some avenging angel who has descended amongst us to impose extreme punishments. What’s your plan, to fill all the prisons in the country with drunk drivers? I’m sorry to have inform you that our prison system wouldn’t be able to cope with such a large number of criminals – especially at weekends!”
The consternation that the judge saw in both their faces was heartening, as was the fact that they were standing in silence actually listening to him at last. But Wyatt had one last trick up his sleeve.
“Miss Stubbs, please rise,” he turned to the girl who had been sitting at the table. She did as he asked fearfully and without uttering a word. “So, seeing as we have to stop this madness of drunk driving – and, if you will allow me some fatherly advice, this habit of getting drunk as well – the court sentences you to two hundred hours of community service. In addition, you will have to attend a family counsellor who will assess your progress. In exchange for your agreeing to these terms, you will come out of this unfortunate affair with a clean criminal record. Are we in agreement?” he asked in a tone that didn’t invite any comments.
“In perfect agreement,” she said. She might be spoiled, but she wasn’t stupid.
“And now you two lawyers,” the judge said, shifting his attention back to Amalia and Ryan. “Given the unseemly performance to which you have subjected us, the court sentences you to fifty hours of community service each. To be served together,” he added with a hint of malice and with great satisfaction. Deep down, he felt as though he’d hit on a genuinely brilliant way of getting back at them for killing his weekend buzz: it was evident that there were few things that those two would do less willingly.
Ryan took the news with shock.
“Your Honor…” he tried to interject.
“Yes, Your Honor…” repeated a puzzled Amalia.
But to their misfortune, Wyatt was a judge who had handled plenty of bellicose lawyers in the past. What, did they think they were the first ones he’d come across? For some reason, all the nutters seemed to end up in his courtroom.
“Anyway,” said the judge, with a thoughtful air, “aren’t you two supposed to already know each other?”
‘Well, yes,” agreed Ryan, who wasn’t following Wyatt’s reasoning.
“What are you, ex-lovers who had a nasty break up?” the judge asked them impertinently. The question was clearly aimed at provoking them, the tactic being to distract them sufficiently from any complaints about the punishment he’d just given them.
The ears of the entire courtroom strained hard to try and hear what was going on.
“Absolutely not!” said an offended Amalia.
“Of course not!” said Ryan.
At least on that point they seemed to agree. It was a start, if nothing more.
“Then, if that is all, I declare the case closed. I’ll be in touch to inform you of the community service that has been assigned to you all. And now, get the hell out of here – I still have a lot of work to do.”
There was really too much animosity between them for a dumb case like this, thought Wyatt as he watched them leave the courtroom. Oh yes, there was definitely something interesting brewing there.
And who knows why, he felt certain that he would soon be seeing both of them again.
*
The Berger family was just like all the other high society families in Manhattan: everyone minded their own business and they paid little or no attention to gossip. Annabelle and Eric Berger, Amalia’s parents, only encountered one another rarely, and usually only at the dinners that for years Jackie had insisted on organising – Amalia’s grandmother had decided that once a month they had to have dinner together like a real family. Even though her parents lack of interest in her no longer upset Amalia as much as it once had, Jackie still thought it was a good idea for them all to maintain a semblance of normality. Even if it was an artificial one.
That night though, Amalia was so depressed by the events of the day that for a moment she had considered phoning Jackie to tell her she wasn’t coming. After all, they could get along fine without her,
that was more than certain. But then she thought about her grandmother, who was the only person there that was worth seeing and who she had pretty much hung up on earlier in the week. She steeled her nerve and decided that, however down in the dumps she was, she would show up at Jackie’s apartment.
Her grandmother might be eccentric, but she lived on the Upper East Side with a perfectly boring view of the park. After all, there were limits even to her unconventionality! When she was ushered into the grand dining room, she realized that she was the last to arrive: her mother and father were already there, busily exchanging small talk, each with a drink in hand. A double. Well, it was true that the occasion demanded it.
“Oh, there you are, dear! I’m so glad you made it!” her grandmother said happily as she saw her walk in, and hurried over to kiss her. Jackie was truly a force of nature: she might be tiny and skinny, but her sheer strength of character always made her seem taller than everyone else in the room. She shone with a light that doubtless derived from her rapier-like intelligence. A trait that seemed to have skipped a generation in her family, thought Jackie’s granddaughter with just a touch of malice.
“Here I am,” she said, helping herself to a glass of dry white wine.
“Amalia, you look absolutely awful, dear,” her mother suddenly exclaimed.
What, were they going to start criticising her before she’d time to knock back a glass or two and dull her senses a bit? God, she really must look awful if even her mother had noticed. Annabelle Berger wasn’t exactly what you’d call the most observant woman on the planet – or at least, she wasn’t when it came to her daughter.
“It’s been a very trying week,” Amalia replied patiently.
“You really should do something about those bags under your eyes,” Annabelle insisted. “You’re too young to look like that. Do you want me to give you the number of my new doctor?”
Amalia shuddered at the thought. “No. All I need is a good night of restful sleep. No alternative medicines please, I’m begging you.”