In Your Corner

by Sarah Castille

  As soon as he steps outside, Mom starts laughing. She laughs until her eyes water. I’ve never seen my mother laugh like that before. She says although she still doesn’t fully approve of my choice of friends, Ray’s not too bad. My eyes water too.

  ***

  With the Farnsworth file under semicontrol, Ray plans a surveillance mission, trailing Bob and Clive around the city. He got a tip that they frequent a boxing gym, and he’s pretty sure they’ll have to take off their casts to fight. Although Ray wants to go alone, I insist on tagging along. After reading his reports for so many years, I want a taste of the action. The new Amanda isn’t tied to her office. Sometimes she likes a little bit of fun, and what is more fun than going on a stakeout with Ray?

  We trail Bob and Clive around the city in Ray’s Jeep until they pull up in front of an all-night boxing gym. Ray finds a side door, and we slip inside and hide behind a wall of lockers. A pang of nostalgia fills me when I see the makeshift boxing ring in the center. I miss Redemption. But more than that, I miss Jake with an ache that reaches into my soul.

  Why the hell have I been staying away from two of the most important things in my life? If I want to embrace the Amanda who asks for help, associates with unsavory characters, runs a law firm with mostly pro bono files, and goes on stakeouts in the middle of the night, I need to embrace that part of myself too. I can’t give up. I’ve dishonored myself by staying away. And that has to change.

  A cough from Ray wakes me up, and I turn my attention back to the ring. A middle-aged redhead with curves to die for throws her arms around Bob and greets him with a big smooch. Ray snorts under his breath, and I jab my elbow in his ribs to keep him quiet.

  “Silence. Name of the game,” I whisper.

  I am treated with the scowl to end all scowls. I stifle a laugh.

  Bob climbs into the ring and peels off his shirt. Then he peels off his casts and tosses them to the floor. Over in the far corner, Clive does the same. My heart leaps in my throat and I film the action on my phone while Ray takes pictures of them punching and grappling, unbroken arms flying in the air. The redhead slips into Bob’s corner and cheers him on.

  And suddenly, I know how to get Jake back. I will be in his corner. Every day. Every way. I will be in his corner.

  In my excitement, I drop my phone. When I step into the hallway to pick it up, Bob turns in my direction. His eyes widen and he shouts for Clive. Ray grabs my hand and yanks me up the stairs.

  “Discretion. Name of the game.”

  Bob and Clive chase us with a speed and agility belied by their supposedly broken arms. Ray and I race for the door and hit the pavement running. We throw ourselves into the vehicle and Ray peels away from the curb, burning rubber like he’s been doing it all his life.

  “My God.” My heart pounds in my chest. “Look what I’ve missed out on all those years at Farnsworth and Tillman. This sure beats an afternoon of drafting documents.”

  “Fuck, yeah.” Ray squeezes my shoulder, the extent of his excitement.

  The next day, Ray prepares a report setting out the details of the castless fight. Penny and I put together a photo slideshow and edit my video clip. We spend more time laughing than working. I send a copy of Ray’s report to Simmons & Clarkson, the attorneys hired by Bob and Clive. Frank Simmons calls ten minutes later to set up a settlement meeting.

  High fives all around.

  ***

  A few days later, I pack all my documents into my bag and drive out to the settlement meeting at Simmons & Clarkson. I have arranged through Shayla for the Redemption fighters to meet me there. Jake’s attorney has given me authority to represent him and Jake at the meeting.

  Anxiety ratchets through me as I drive. I haven’t seen anyone from Redemption since Jake saw me with Evil Reid at my office. I imagine he told them what happened, and I imagine their derisory faces when we meet. By the time I get to the office, I am so nauseous I can’t get out of the car. With my forehead resting on the steering wheel, I struggle to calm myself with slow, deep breaths. What will I say to everyone? How should I act?

  A knock on the window startles me and my head jerks up. Rampage. He’s smiling a goofy Rampage smile. “’Manda!’” he shouts. Then he waves a giant arm in the air. “Guys, ’manda’s here!” He opens the car door and pulls me out and into a huge bear hug. I hug him back. Suddenly I am swarmed by fighters. My hair is ruffled. I am squeezed. My back is thumped. Someone cops a feel of my ass. Tears leak from my eyes. They don’t hate me. I’m still part of the family. Everything’s going to be okay.

  After Bob and Clive arrive, we all squeeze into Frank Simmons’s boardroom. I set up the projection equipment, and he pulls down the screen. Rampage asks for popcorn. I tell him he isn’t allowed any carbs until after the big fight event coming up, but if he’s good, he can have an extra scoop of waxy vol in his protein shake. He thinks I’m being serious and thanks me.

  The movie starts. Everyone claps and cheers when Bob and Clive make an appearance in the ring. Someone whistles when Bob’s girlfriend gives him a kiss, and Bob growls.

  “Wait for it,” I whisper. “Wait for it…”

  Then my favorite movie scene ever. Bob and Clive strip off the fake casts in preparation for the fight. The room erupts into chaos. I have to pause the video so everyone can high-five everyone else. When I turn the video back on, the now cheerful audience jeers and catcalls at the poor fight techniques and the shoddy state of the ring. The video ends with a montage of photos of Bob and Clive, castless and free, which Penny and I have set to “So Long and Good-bye” by Deception. Blade Saw wipes a tear from his eye and tells me it was a beautiful film. Obsidian is disappointed I didn’t ask him to narrate.

  Bob and Clive make a hasty exit with their attorney. A few minutes later, the attorney returns with an offer to withdraw the lawsuit and pay our costs. There is a unanimous acceptance of the offer, a frenzy of feet pounding down the stairs, and then a riot in the street as the fighters go crazy. I am hoisted in the air and tossed around like a grapple dummy. Rampage squeezes me so hard, my ribs crack.

  “’Manda, ’manda, ’manda.” He gets everyone to chant. Fuzzy suggests we keep it down or someone might call the police. Obsidian yells “Fuzzy,” and Homicide Hank collapses in hysterics.

  We retire to the Protein Palace for a celebration. I order a big plate of grass with a side of steamed veg. I drink shot after shot of slime and waxy vol. It doesn’t taste so bad.

  The only thing missing from this perfect moment is Jake.

  ***

  The next night, I return to Redemption.

  “’Manda.” Rampage ruffles my hair. “We missed you. Good to see you back. I told Fuzzy you were coming. He was really pleased. He rubbed his hands together and smiled like this.” He gives me the most evil, terrifying smile I have ever seen.

  With a gasp of horror, I step back toward the door. But I am too late to run.

  “WESTWOOD,” Fuzzy bellows from the gym. “I can see you. Don’t you even think of running away. You get your sorry ass in here now. That’s an order.”

  “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t worry, ’manda.” Rampage pats me on the back. “We’re family here. We won’t let him hurt you.” He pauses and grins. “Much.”

  After I change, I sneak into the back of Get Fit or Die and pray Fuzzy doesn’t notice me until well after class.

  “Westwood. Front and center.”

  Stomach clenched, I jog up to the front of the class. Fuzzy throws a deceptively friendly arm around my shoulders. “Westwood here missed almost a month of classes. What do we think of that?”

  “Sir. Unacceptable, sir,” the sycophantic class yells, no doubt grateful to be spared Fuzzy’s evil attentions.

  “Who thinks she should get down on the mat and give us fifty to prove she’s still fit enough to attend this class?”

  Ever
yone cheers. Even me. Because ha ha Fuzzy, I might not have been coming to Redemption, but every night I did my push-ups.

  I position myself on the mat, take a deep breath, and go for it. By the time I hit thirty-five, my muscles are feeling the burn. At forty, I’m starting to tremble. Forty-five and sweat drips off my forehead. But I force myself to keep going. The class cheers me on. Unbelievably, Fuzzy squats down beside me and, in a low voice, says I’m doing great and he’s proud of me.

  When I get to forty-nine, I catch a glimpse of Jake in the crowd—or is it Jake? Blond hair. White gi. Black belt. I blink to clear my vision, but when I look up again, he’s gone. My body seizes, and my arms shake. But I’m a fighter, just like him. So I pretend it is Jake. And he’s cheering me on. I go down, and then inch by inch, I force myself up.

  Success! I jump up and raise my arms in a victory salute.

  The crowd cheers. Fuzzy thumps me on the back. I don’t see Jake in the crowd, but he is with me just the same.

  The rest of the class is as miserable as I could have ever imagined. Fuzzy rides my ass something fierce. He is constantly breathing down my neck, cursing my ineptness, threatening to make me take the class again. I smile at every curse. Laugh at every insult. And the more pleasant I am, the meaner he gets. Then he pulls out all the stops. Circuits, weights, sprints, and an endless number of starfish jumps. By the end of the class, I never want to see the ocean again.

  But the class was not the only reason I came to Redemption tonight. And when Shayla waves me over to the practice ring, my stomach ties itself in a knot.

  By the time I reach the ring, Razzor is already in his corner, air boxing his immense shadow. With a force of will I never realized I had, I stand outside the opposite corner. Jake’s corner. And there he is, his gi draped over his muscular body, hair damp and curling at his temples. So handsome. Breathtaking. I drink him in with a never-ending thirst.

  His eyes flicker over me, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Instead, he climbs into the ring and prepares for his fight.

  I stay in his corner until Razzor is moaning on the mat. Then I slip away.

  Over the next week, I dash out of the office whenever Shayla calls to tell me Jake has booked the practice ring for the evening. He never acknowledges my presence, and I never push. But I am always there. Every fight. Every night. I hammer my message home, just like Ray told me to do. I am in his corner. And I tell Shayla I will be there until the week before the big fight event, when the fighters cloister themselves to physically and mentally prepare for the fight.

  When the house sale finally goes through, I donate my navy and gray furniture and furnishings to the community legal aid clinic, and Makayla, happy and relaxed after what she calls a “sexcation,” takes me on a shopping spree in antique stores and country chic emporiums. Ray’s couch remains the focal point of the reception room. Penny now recovered and determined to see Vetch pay for what he did to her, replaces her screensaver with a picture of Ray on the couch. Ray is not amused.

  Alone at night, I flip through the pictures on my phone. Me and Jake renovating the house. At Redemption after his fight. A photo of us with Penny, Fuzzy, and Shayla at the Slugs concert. My heart squeezes in my chest, an ache I carry with me all day. And then I put the phone away and think about tomorrow and the hope it brings.

  ***

  The day before the big fight event, I return to Farnsworth & Tillman, LLP.

  Farnsworth has agreed to meet me after being hit with my one-two punch of a court order from his golfing buddy judge to deliver up his personnel and HR files, followed by a hint that I might have evidence of inappropriate advances toward other associates and a computer hack traceable to his firm. Mom offers to come with me or to hire someone to represent me. I tell her this is one fight I have to fight alone.

  Mom says the sentiment is nice but the reality is that I’m a junior associate going up against a seasoned partner with a ruthless, cutthroat reputation. As a result, she spends two days coaching me, ensuring I am prepared for anything and everything Farnsworth could throw my way. By the time she’s finished, I am more than ready to step into the ring.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull open the immense glass door leading to the lobby. The firm is built around a central atrium, and above me, associates beaver away at their desks. The murmur of voices and the occasional bark of laughter echo through the vast space. I inhale the familiar scents of lemon polish, leather, and money as I walk toward the reception desk, my heels clacking on the marble tiles. How many times did I walk through this lobby on my way to my office? Why did I never notice the austerity, or the cold, corporate colors, the garish, gold F&T logo in metallic mosaic tile on the wall, or the grim faces around me?

  As I walk toward the security desk, my hands tremble and sweat trickles down my back. My steps slow. Maybe Farnsworth has already found a way to refute the new evidence. Maybe he’s waiting with a team of associates and boxes of documents and a smirk on his smarmy face.

  Heart pounding, I grind to a halt. Maybe this is all part of the game.

  Footsteps ring out behind me. A firm hand on my shoulder freezes me in place. Soft lips brush over my ear and an arm snakes around my waist holding me tight. “You’ll do great, baby. I know you will.”

  I don’t need to turn around. I know that voice. I hear it on every street corner and in every café. I hear it as I drift to sleep every night. I hear it in my dreams.

  “Jake.”

  I close my eyes and lean my temple against his cheek, soaking in his warmth. Although I desperately want to turn around, I know I’ll cry if I do, and I can’t let Farnsworth see I am anything other than cool, calm, and collected.

  “I’m fighting tomorrow.” His breath is warm in my ear.

  “I’ll be there.”

  His hand finds mine and he slips something into my palm. And then he’s gone.

  For a long moment, I remain motionless, remembering the feel of his arm around me, his heat, the softness of his cheek, the steady beat of his heart.

  Finally, I raise my hand. He’s given me a picture. Me. In Redemption. My arms raised after my fifty push-up triumph. And on it, he has written, “In Your Corner.”

  ***

  The meeting takes place in room thirteen. My lucky room.

  Farnsworth postures and swaggers. He threatens to bring to light every sordid detail of my past, every sexual encounter I’ve ever had, every man I ever propositioned. I tell him I never had to proposition men. They came to me. Just like he did. But he was one of the few I turned down. His face turns an interesting shade of red, almost purple.

  Undaunted, he stalks around the meeting room. He says he will ensure I am humiliated and embarrassed, my reputation in tatters, and my bank account empty when he’s done with me. He says I’ll have nothing left. Not even self-respect.

  I tell him I will live on love, but of course he doesn’t understand.

  Then I check my watch. I tell him I have a full schedule this afternoon, which involves kicking Reid’s ass in court again, and if he has no more stories to tell, perhaps we can get on with the settlement meeting.

  He tells me Evil Reid is no longer with the firm. Given the complaint Mom filed with the California State Bar, I am not surprised.

  My mouth waters when I shove a thick, blue—I told Penny it had to be blue—file folder across the table. “Take a look.”

  Farnsworth takes a look. He pales when he sees the evidence I have collected about his penchant for propositioning vulnerable associates and the evidence Ray has collected tracing the hack on my computer to his firm, and the police report matching the fingerprints of his PI, Eugene Clements, to the fingerprints the police took from the break-in.

  He pales even further when I give him my settlement terms: the equivalent of five years’ salary donated to the community legal aid clinic and the local battered women’s shelter and a pub
lic apology.

  Farnsworth offers more money instead of the public apology. He also offers to retire early. This is not a big sacrifice on his part, since my mom told me had been talking about it for the last year. In the end, I accept his offer on the condition that the money is used to set up a self-defense program for women at the firm. I tell him I know a good teacher with an expertise in kickboxing.

  That night, Mom invites me home for a celebratory dinner. The lights are on when I arrive. My parents are both there. The rich, tangy scent of spaghetti sauce fills the air. These are not normal things in Amanda’s world, but I don’t complain.

  Mom gives me an awkward hug, and I thank her for all her help. She tells me she’s expecting me to call whenever I need her and she’ll always be there for me. My father and I stare at each other. After a long, heavy silence, he says I have, in a way, actually upheld the family tradition and done one better. Albeit my firm isn’t a big law firm, I made partner before I turned thirty-two. Not only that, it’s a damn good firm. They aren’t the exact words I wanted to hear, but they’re good enough for me.

  Chapter 24

  BAM. BAM.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to a real MMA fight.”

  An excited Penny bounces around the reception area as I rush to finalize the settlement agreement. Farnsworth is going out of the country tomorrow, and I need everything signed before he leaves. Ray stretches out on the old Victorian couch, folds up his newspaper, and sighs.

  “You better keep your ass in the seat at the fight, or I’ll tie you to the fucking bench. I heard about you at the Slugs concert. There’ll be none of that on my watch.” He taps his chest, then points at his eyes, then points at Penny. Maybe he was in the mafia.

  Penny freezes mid-bounce and her eyes narrow. “If I want to dance around the cage, that’s my business.”

  Ray swings his feet down and glares. “You just try to dance around the cage, Pen. I’ll be all over your ass. We gotta find you a man who will look after you. A good man. Someone who’ll treat you right.”