One Fine Day

by Erica Abbott

Jill woke with a start. She was lying on her back, as in the memory-turned-dream, and a moment later she was aware that her hand was between her legs, her fingers wet. She could still feel the weight of Caroline on top of her, taste Caroline’s lips on her mouth.

  She rolled over, groaning, and grabbed a pillow with both arms, hugging it tightly to her body.

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline checked to make certain her office door was closed before she looked up the phone number and punched it into her office telephone.

  “Dr. Sorento’s office,” a crisp voice answered.

  “This is Caroline Prince,” she answered, keeping her voice down. “I need to make an appointment with Dr. Sorento.”

  “The doctor only takes referrals from other physicians,” she was informed.

  “Yes, I know. I was referred by Dr. Roger Fielding in New York. He was supposed to have arranged for my medical records to be sent to Dr. Sorento. I signed the releases.”

  She could hear computer keys clicking on the other end of the call. “How long ago did you request the referral?”

  “It’s been about two months now. He told me to wait until now to call for an appointment.”

  “Oh, I see it now. Yes, we received the records from New York. It looks like there were some others as well.”

  Caroline sighed. “Yes, there should have been some from Dr. Peter Graf, in Switzerland.”

  “Those have arrived as well. Let me see what our next available time is.”

  Caroline waited while more keys were tapped, glancing again at her firmly shut door.

  “We actually have a cancellation for two weeks from Friday, at two p.m. Will that work?”

  From underneath the budget reports Caroline dug out the print-out of her monthly calendar that Arthur had given her. She’d have to move a meeting with the costume designer, but that was easily done. “That’s fine,” she said.

  The voice gave her directions to the office, and Caroline provided her own office and cell-phone numbers. She entered the information on her computer calendar system, including the doctor’s phone number, in case she had to cancel. She marked the appointment as private, which meant that no one else would be able to see the information, although it would print out on her copy of the calendar. She trusted Arthur to keep her information to himself.

  Every time she saw a physician, she was torn between despair and hope. She was waiting for hope to win out. Maybe this time.

  She was elbow-deep into one of the budget reports when Arthur buzzed her. “There’s a Ms. Royce here for you,” he said.

  “Yes, she said she’d be by this morning. Send her in.”

  Terry offered her hand as Caroline came around the desk to greet her.

  “Ms. Prince,” Terry smiled at her. The first time they’d met, during the interview, Caroline could see that Terry had been a little dazzled in her presence. She needed Terry to relax a little.

  “It’s Caroline,” she said warmly. “We’ll be working together. I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you were able to take this project on.”

  They sat as they had before, on the loveseat by the coffee table.

  “Believe me, the pleasure is mine. And McKinney Public Relations’ as well,” she said. “They were thrilled to get this account.”

  “I’m sure if you recommend them, they will do a fine job. I already know you will. I loved the Post interview. It made me sound more interesting than I am, but mostly it was wonderful publicity for the Opera.”

  Terry laughed. “I’m glad you liked it. And I can tell you, it would be impossible to make you sound more interesting than you actually are.”

  Terry was looking at her as if assessing her in a way she hadn’t done before. On impulse, Caroline said, “Did you talk to Jill? About me, I mean?”

  Clearing her throat a little, Terry said, “Yes, a bit. She didn’t tell me much, but I know you were together. And she specifically told me not to discuss it with you.”

  Caroline felt relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. “I do appreciate your discretion,” she said, trying to find the right thing to say.

  Terry folded her hands together. “Look, Caroline,” she said, “if we’re going to work together, there are a couple of things I should probably tell you. Sort of to clear the air.”

  “All right,” Caroline said, cautiously.

  “First, I think it’s wrong that you’re in the closet. You could do a lot of good by being out and open. The more role models young lesbians have, the better. And society in general is better off, too.”

  Trying not to bristle, Caroline said, “I’m not exactly in the closet, Terry. My close friends know, my agent and manager as well. I’m not lying to anyone. I’m just not public about my orientation. It was, in my opinion, the right career decision twenty years ago.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly telling the truth, either. But that’s your business. I just wanted to tell you I’m not going to out you. I’m going to work for you, and just because I’m a writer doesn’t mean I have to tell everything I know.”

  Caroline relaxed fractionally. “I appreciate that,” she said, trying to sound conciliatory. “What else did you want to say to me?”

  Caroline could see Terry struggling for a moment before she said, “Look, you know that Jill and I lived together for a while. We’re not together now, but I really care about her. A lot. And, in my opinion, she’s never recovered from her break-up with you. I don’t know any details, and I don’t have to know them to see how badly hurt Jill was. She was never really able to let go of the past, I think. To let go of you.”

  Caroline tried not to look as shocked as she felt. “Jill told you that?” she demanded.

  Terry cleared her throat again. “No, she didn’t. And she wouldn’t. I’m just telling you what I think.”

  Caroline sat back, a little stunned. Was she really surprised? Jill had always seemed so tough, so self-sufficient, but Caroline knew Jill had loved her with her whole heart. She knew how much she’d suffered in the days after they left each other, but she wondered how much Jill was suffering still. Was this why Jill was adamant about not exploring a new relationship? “Why are you telling me this?” she asked Terry.

  Terry leaned forward, her gaze on Caroline intense with emotion. “I want you to help her get over this. Cut her loose. Emotionally, I mean. Jill is a really terrific woman, and she deserves to be happy.”

  With you? Caroline thought, ungenerously. She wondered if Terry was really advocating for Jill’s sake, or whether her argument was tainted with self-interest. “Terry,” she said with some force, “no one knows better than I do how much Jill deserves happiness in her life. Jill and I will work out our relationship as we need to, I promise you that. Now, may we discuss your ideas for the public relations plan?”

  She saw Terry blink at the abrupt dismissal. “I…of course,” she managed. She rummaged in her briefcase for a pad and pen.

  Caroline said briskly, “I’d like you to schedule interviews with the staff as you see fit. But I’d like you to start with our three new artists, the singers we’re going to use this season from our Young Artists Program.” She gave Terry the names.

  Terry tapped her pen against the paper. “What can you tell me about them? I mean, is there any approach I should use? Or perhaps an approach I should avoid?”

  Caroline had given this more than a little thought. “Anna is a lovely woman who’s worked hard for a long time for this chance. Perhaps the focus should be on the amount of sheer determination it takes to have a career in opera. She’s unlikely to be a star, but she will be successful in her own way. I think you’ll enjoy interviewing her. Robert is another matter.” She paused a moment before continuing, “You find him more of a challenge. He may be on the brink of a fine career. He certainly thinks he is.”

  Terry chuckled. “I got it. He won’t be the first person I’ve ever interviewed with an exaggerated sense of his own importance. I did an interview with a Northminster c
ity council member last week who is convinced, I think, that he’s God’s gift to his political party. What about your third singer?” She consulted her notes. “Naomi Snow?”

  “Ah, Naomi,” Caroline said. “She is an enigma. I should tell you that she has one of the finest mezzo-soprano voices I’ve ever heard, and I have heard a great many of them.”

  “Oh, my,” Terry said. “A star in the making?” She sounded excited at the prospect.

  “At least.”

  “Why is she an enigma?”

  Caroline sighed. “I don’t know. She’s very…afraid, I think is the correct word. And before you ask me, I have no idea what the issue is. She’s certainly not afraid of her talent.”

  Terry cocked her head curiously. “Are people ever afraid of their talent?”

  “More often than you might think. It’s a gift, to be sure, but it takes responsibility as well. Some people aren’t up to the work, and the dedication, it takes to manage talent properly. But that’s not Naomi’s issue. What I can tell you is this. She’s very reticent about revealing her background in any way. I’m imagining she will be happy to talk about her work, but you will have a difficult challenge getting her to tell you anything about her past.”

  Terry all but rubbed her hands together. “I have my ways. And I love a challenge.”

  Caroline said, in amusement, “Have at it. But be careful with her, all right? I don’t want you to upset her. She’s incredibly gifted, and like most great talents, may require some gentle handling.”

  Terry met her eyes. “Did you? Require special handling, I mean?”

  Caroline thought for a long moment. Had she? She had certainly cultivated, as best she could without lowering her standards for excellence, a reputation for being easy to work with, unlike many of her colleagues who believed that “soprano” was synonymous with “egomaniac.”

  “No more than your usual prima donna,” she answered Terry lightly. “But Naomi doesn’t have my many years of experience in the spotlight. So go gently, please.”

  * * *

  Jill stood in the doorway of Walter’s office. Walter was on the phone, his back to her. She considered going back to her own office, but he’d summoned her, so she decided to wait.

  He turned around in his chair, still listening to whoever was talking to him. He saw her and gestured toward his visitor’s chair. Jill came in and sat down as he continued his conversation, which consisted on his end of an occasional “Yes” and “I see.”

  She glanced around the office. Walter had one of the prized corner western views, the Rockies spread out a few miles away. They were a light blue-purple this morning, with a few of the higher peaks on the back ranges still sporting some late spring snow.

  Walter had ignored the frequent attorney design choice of leather-bound law books on bookcases, and gone with paintings and prints that had a decidedly nautical theme. There was a beautifully framed original oil on the opposite wall where he could see it from his desk, a painting he had once described to Jill as his prized possession. The artwork was a small Winslow Homer that depicted a lonely rowboat on a sea lit by an orange-red sunset. Jill often wondered why a man raised in a state filled with beautiful mountain scenery was obsessed with seascapes. But she thought the painting was gorgeous. It reminded her of Satie’s Gymnopedie, serene and yet moving.

  Walter swiveled in his chair again, planting his elbows solidly on his desk as he said into the telephone, “Turner, you know that outcomes vary tremendously by jurisdiction. And you also know it would be entirely improper to contact members of the commission prior to the public hearing.”

  Ah, she could tell he was talking to one of their biggest and most troublesome clients. Turner Grant was a real-estate developer who managed to keep several divisions in the firm busy, from property to corporate to litigation. Walter had apparently been called in to soothe the unhappiness of a client who paid the firm several hundred thousand dollars last year.

  She tuned out the rest of the conversation, Walter alternating between reassuring murmurs and gentle rebukes. One reason Grant needed a law firm like Worthington & Steele was his tendency to run roughshod over procedural niceties that got him sued regularly.

  A box that used to hold copier paper was tucked into one corner of the office, and Jill noticed that a few of Walter’s personal items were missing from his desk and the small bookcase behind him: an award from the state bar association in the form of a gavel, a couple of certificates of appreciation, his personal photographs. It hit Jill that Walter was really leaving, that he wouldn’t be right down the hall anymore. He’d been there when Jill joined the firm, and she thought he’d be there forever. Losing him was going to be hard.

  Walter finally hung up and turned to Jill with a snort. “The man is an idiot,” he said succinctly. “He’s been in the business for twenty-five years and he still thinks he can influence a public decision-making body before the hearing. It would save us a lot of time and trouble if we could just assign an associate to follow him around with a Louisville Slugger and whack him when he starts to do this nonsense.”

  Jill smiled. “But without defending him in all those suits, it would cut the firm’s business by thirty percent.”

  Walter laughed. “You have a good point there. I always like it when my partners think like business owners.”

  “You wanted an update on the Rocky Mountain Opera matter?” Jill asked.

  “Yes. I had a brief conversation with Jack Parsons yesterday afternoon about a different matter, and he mentioned that the artistic director was going to call you about some problem with the opera house.”

  “She did,” Jill said. “We met and discussed it face-to-face.”

  “Good. Always important for clients to see their new attorney is giving them personal attention.”

  She had a brief flash of giving Caroline very personal attention and shook the thought away.

  “Problem?” he asked, seeing her slight head shake.

  “It could be. There was a restrictive covenant in the deed that provides, and I quote, ‘the property will be used solely for production of opera,’ end quote.”

  “And?” Walter cocked his head to listen.

  “And the RMO has scheduled a show at the beginning of next fall which, although it features operatic works, is not, strictly speaking, an opera.”

  Walter drummed fingers on his desk. “And the Foundation is claiming violation of the covenant.”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “I take it the RMO can’t just cancel the production and call it good.”

  “Apparently not. It would cause the opera some embarrassment and money to do so, and Bill Emerson’s associate suggested to me that the Foundation would press the point anyway, claiming that even scheduling the production violated the covenant. They clearly see this as their opportunity to get the property to revert to them.”

  He turned in his chair to stare at the view. “Not so hard to determine why,” he mused.

  “No, it’s not,” Jill agreed. “The land downtown alone is worth millions, and the opera house has been restored and remodeled extensively. There is a lot of money at stake.”

  He turned back to her. “To whom does the property revert?”

  She followed his line of thought. “The Appelbaum Family Trust or ‘any successor organization.’ No loophole there, I’m afraid.”

  He sighed. “So what do you think?”

  “I’ve got Kim doing some research on Westlaw,” she said, referring to the computer-assisted legal-research database to which the firm subscribed. “I have a thought, but I’d like to read the case law before we discuss it.”

  He was frowning at her. “You’re using a second-year associate on this? I’m not sure I agree with your decision there, Jill. You’ve got Bryce, who has several years more experience, and Gary as well.”

  How blunt could she be? Jill wondered. He was still looking at her, expecting a response. “I had a number of reasons for that,” she said neut
rally.

  Walter wasn’t willing to let it go. “Perhaps you should share them with me,” he said, his tone making it clear that the request was not a mere suggestion.

  Jill suppressed a sigh and tried to dodge the direct answer. “Kim has excellent research skills, and I want to give her some more experience. You always talked about how much the partners should be responsible for developing our associates. You were a good role model for me, Walter, and I want to set the same kind of example.”

  He folded his hands. “A commendable attitude, but you’re not really explaining to me why you’re not using Bryce or Gary on this.”

  “I’m not impressed with Bryce,” she said bluntly. “He doesn’t have the proper work ethic, in my opinion. He’s not meticulous, he’s not open to client questions, and he doesn’t communicate well.”

  “You have some opinion on him, I see,” Walter said, steepling his fingers.

  “I do.”

  “I take it that if Murray becomes my successor and you take over real property, you’re not going to recommend retaining Bryce.”

  “Not unless he has a major attitude adjustment. I’m willing to work with him on that. But I have to tell you, I’m not optimistic. Frankly, my efforts so far to point out to him some potential areas of improvement have been unsuccessful.”

  “I see,” Walter said, and Jill had trouble reading his reaction. “I suppose I don’t have to wonder why you’re not using Gary.”

  She didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t expect an answer. Was he really going to let her off the hook so easily?

  “You’ve never liked Gary,” he said suddenly, surprising her.

  “It’s not a matter of liking him,” she responded slowly. “I can, and have, worked effectively with a number of people I don’t really like, coworkers and clients as well. That’s not the problem.”

  He gave her a hard look, one she hadn’t seen since she was a new associate. “I always thought you were jealous of my relationship to Gary,” he said, at last.

  Jill was astonished. “Walter, I’ve never been jealous of Gary,” she said. “He’s your family. I’m not trying to compete with that.”