Chili pulled Samantha into her arms and kissed her hello. “After winning the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world, and Huey’s wedding gift of a partnership, it’s safe to say I’m permanently hooked on quack.”
Carsen Taite works by day (and sometimes night) as a criminal defense attorney in Dallas, Texas. Her goal as an author is to spin tales with plot lines as interesting as the true, but often unbelievable, stories she encounters in her law practice. Her first novel, truelesbianlove.com, was a pure romance. Her second novel, It Should Be a Crime (August 2009), is a romance with a heavy dose of legal drama, drawing heavily on Carsen’s experience in the courtroom.
Privileged and Confidential
Carsen Taite
“I want a divorce.”
She watched me closely as if trying to gauge my reaction, but years of practice kept me from showing my shock. I leaned back in my chair and gazed at the woman seated on the other side of my desk. I never expected to hear these words. Frankly, I’d never expected Linda to marry in the first place, but she had wasted no time after she announced she had fallen head over heels into blissful romance. Within two months of meeting, she and Joan had dashed off to Toronto and acquired a marriage license. Many of our mutual friends predicted sure disaster for their rushed relationship, but I’d known Linda for well over twenty years and my perspective was quite different. In all that time, she’d expressed a reluctance to dive into love, especially the commitment part. I figured that whatever was driving her to hurry her relationship with Joan along was a strong and powerful force, destined for longevity. Despite my personal history with Linda, I was stunned by today’s announcement, so stunned I forgot the fact she had actually called my secretary to arrange this meeting. I reached across the desk and grasped her hand.
“What happened?”
“What hasn’t happened?” Linda said, looking oddly dispassionate. “She isn’t who I thought she was. She made herself out to be a caring, responsible person. She is cold and careless. We’re not emotionally or financially secure and she doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t care about anything. She’s not the person I fell in love with.”
Twenty years of love and friendship between us and I still wasn’t sure what to say in response to this cut-and-dried summation of her marriage. Part of me wanted to dig for detail and engage in familiar gossip, as friends often do, but this situation was different from all the other times we had dished over our failed love affairs. Linda and Joan had become a singular entity to me and my partner, Sydney. Since marrying Joan, Linda had transformed from the friend whom I went out with on girls’ night into merely a component of the happy foursome we had all become. To talk about the failings of one of our group signified a destruction of the cohesive unit. I defaulted to what I knew best and delivered a professional assessment on the status of her two-year relationship.
“You can’t get a divorce.”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t really married.”
“The hell we aren’t.”
“Sure, you’re married in Canada, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing here in Texas. Texas doesn’t consider you married, so you can’t get a divorce. One of you would have to establish residency in Canada or somewhere else that recognized same-sex marriage in order for you to get a divorce, and you’d have to go through legal channels there.”
“Fuck,” Linda spat out, her opinion about my legal advice clear. “That’s no help. What am I supposed to do?”
“Does it really matter so much to you if you’re married somewhere else? You can accomplish a separation without going through the hoops of a divorce.” I delivered these rational statements without a second thought. I took a dim view of what I called pseudo-marriage, much to the dismay of my long-suffering partner. Sydney had finally stopped hinting we should elope to Canada, Massachusetts, or California when she realized I could not wrap my mind around legal trappings that were anything but. I told her every day how much I loved her, and it was true. Sydney was my world. I loved her more than I could ever show and more than words could ever express. But marriage, in its current hazy, “some places it’s real and some places it’s not” state was out of the question to my logical attorney mind. There were so many ways I could show Sydney my love that I refused to buy into the notion that marriage had to serve as the pinnacle of our romance.
Linda’s next words snapped me out of my reflections. “What if I want to get married again?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. Certainly she was trying to add some levity to the situation. A blunt retort about not making the same mistake twice welled up from my core and pushed its way toward the surface. The earnest expression on her face caused me to bite back a lecture. I could almost hear Sydney’s soothing counselor voice in my ear: “Honey, everyone doesn’t have to share your opinion. It’s okay to accept our differences.” She had a way with me.
I stifled my words and coughed away the laughter. “If you want to get married again, legally,” I forced myself to say the word, “then one of you will have to live in Canada for a while. If you’re serious about divorce, I can refer you to a barrister in Toronto so you can get the full details. In the meantime, you can take the necessary steps to separate your property, which is the gist of what you can legally do to accomplish a split here.”
“Why haven’t you ever gotten married?”
The non sequitur caught me by surprise for many reasons, primarily because I thought she should already know the answer. But now that I thought about it, I had tempered my rants about marriage in her presence, out of friendship mostly. She had been so giddy about the prospect of a wedding it had seemed a shame to rain on her parade. And it had only been in the last few years that everyone began rushing off to obtain trusty certificates and declare their vows in distant locales. We would have never had a conversation about marriage in our early days. It wasn’t even on our radar.
Linda was still waiting for my answer and I conjured up a vague response. “Just hasn’t seemed right.”
“Maybe you just need the right person to make it right,” she said quickly.
I’ve been told by many, Sydney included, that when I’m working on a case I have a singular focus. Meals, proper wardrobe selection, and a host of other personal matters take a backseat to puzzling out the problem I’ve been hired to solve. Now might have been one of those times, but Linda’s tone had become sultry and she held my hand in hers. I recognized the look on her face. Combined with the other signals, I knew she had her sights on new prey. However, this time “new” was a relative term.
I drew my hand away, but she pressed closer to the desk.
“Seriously, Reed, remember how great we were together? Why didn’t we give forever a chance?”
Because we were practically children when we dated? Because you cheated on me? I had a long list of reasons Linda and I wound up being no good together. Back then I thought our breakup was devastating. Ostensibly, we were the perfect couple. Young, good-looking professionals, we were happy lesbians with bright futures. But we were too blinded by the shiny shell of our relationship to recognize the lack of substance between us. If I’d known then what I knew now, we wouldn’t have made it past our second date. Despite my present knowledge that we’d wasted a year together, each seeking something the other could never give, I couldn’t bring myself to burst the bubble of her memories with my callous conclusions.
“That was a long time ago.” Lame, but the best I could do.
“It’s not too late.” She purred these words into my ear. In my trip down memory lane, I had missed her movement around my desk. Now her hand was no longer in mine, it was sliding around my waist as she stood behind my chair leaning in. Vague wasn’t going to work. I wrenched away and jumped up.
“Whatever the hell you’re doing, you need to stop it. Now!” I glanced at the door, half wishing my assistant would hear my raised voice and charge in. Immediately ashamed for wanting rescue, I realized I needed to
confront Linda’s overtures head-on. “You need to go.”
She looked as astounded as I had felt at her initial demand for a divorce. She had apparently expected me to melt in her arms and skip away with her to an idyllic ever after.
“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” Linda said. “I came here looking for advice and you’re going to throw me out?”
“Apparently, you came here looking for more than advice.” She was already setting up a plausible denial about her advances, but I was in no mood to play along. “I don’t think I’m the one to help with any of your needs right now.”
“Well, that’s rich. I’ve always been there for you, but now that I need a lawyer, you’re trying to turn me away.”
It was true, we had always supported each other over the years, both during and in between relationships, but Linda had never been so inappropriate as to make an advance when she knew I was involved. There had been plenty of times, back when I was young and insecure enough to take back a partner who had once betrayed my trust, when I would have welcomed her advances. That version of me no longer existed. I was impossibly confident now, in part because of my rock-solid faith in Sydney’s unwavering love. I would sacrifice even a twenty-year friendship to keep that bond secure.
“Yes. I’m turning you away.” I let my tone tell her that legal advice was not the only thing I was declining to provide. “If you want a referral, I’ll have my office call you with a few names.”
She gathered her coat and purse and stomped toward the door. Just before she pulled it open, she looked over her shoulder to me. “Reed, I made an appointment to see you today.”
“So?”
“So, I’m here consulting you as a client. I trust that everything I’ve told you will be protected by attorney-client privilege.” She smiled, the corners of her mouth twitching. She had disguised her personal overture as a professional visit, knowing ethics would prevent me from telling either Joan or Sydney about what had just happened. Perfect.
*
“Hard day at the office?” Sydney kissed me softly on the lips before reaching for my briefcase. I contemplated her question. Except for Linda’s visit, it hadn’t been. Before and after she disturbed my world, I had been drafting pleadings for an upcoming hearing, the kind of dull work I tended to embrace since most of my time was spent dealing with emotional crises and relationship ruin. Sydney, a licensed social worker, could read me like a book. If I launched into a diatribe about the evils of paperwork, she would know something deeper lurked beneath the surface. If I said nothing, she would think I was headed to the cave, my imaginary retreat from the day-to-day grind, where I became uncommunicative and unapproachable until I was ready to emerge. All I wanted right now was the comfort of her presence without having to share the reason I needed it so desperately. I handed her my coat and opted for a tiny lie.
“New client. Pain in the ass.”
“Ah, I understand.” And I knew she did. The nature of our respective jobs meant we each had an appreciation for the resulting drain of dealing with other people’s problems. We also had a healthy sense of respect for privacy. Both of us had a duty to keep the confidences of our clients, which lent an interesting twist to the usual daily banter of dinner conversation about our workdays. We had developed a method of sharing details in a way that didn’t compromise confidence, leaving out names, identifying characteristics, and even some pertinent facts just so we could share a portion of our day. Keeping completely silent about the woes of the individuals whose troubles consumed our working hours was simply too much.
The situation with Linda was different. I couldn’t tell Sydney about Linda’s pass and leave it at that. She would want to know more detail, deserved to know more detail, about the circumstances that led to Linda’s crass intrusion on our happy home life. I was about to suggest a physical diversion to absolve me of the need to talk when Sydney’s next words sank in.
“Joan called me this afternoon.” Sydney’s words were light, but I braced myself for the other side of the story. Did Joan know Linda had made a pass at me? Of course, if Joan had told Sydney about their desire for a divorce, that would free me to discuss the details.
“And what did she have to say?” Even as the words left my lips, I felt foolish. If Sydney told me now that Joan was pissed about what had happened, I would look stupid for not coming clean. I shrugged away the thought. My lover knew me better than that. She would understand why I hadn’t told her, why I couldn’t, and she would know beyond certainty that I would never do anything to jeopardize the bond of love and trust that held us together. Wouldn’t she?
“She wanted to let us know she settled on Mario’s.”
“Mario’s?” I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
“For Friday night.” Sydney must have read my confusion. “Linda’s birthday dinner?”
I’m certain my jaw was hanging open. Sydney stared at my face as if trying to determine if I had lost my mind. It wasn’t like me to forget details like friends’ birthdays, and Friday was only a couple of days away. I wanted to respond that I hadn’t forgotten about the dinner, I just didn’t think there was any way it would still take place. Of course, I couldn’t say anything, and now there was someone else I had to pretend around. Joan had no idea that Linda wanted a divorce. I didn’t know Joan well, but in the two years we had shared dinner dates, I had witnessed enough of her insecurities to know she wouldn’t purposely expose herself to a celebratory dinner when the demise of her relationship lurked in the background.
“Sorry—I didn’t forget. But I’m not sure I can make it.”
“Honey, it’s just us four, we shouldn’t cancel.” Sydney’s eyes said she knew something was up despite my attempt to sound nonchalant.
“I have a lot going on at the office.” My excuse sounded feeble, even to my own ears. Sydney knew I didn’t work late on Fridays unless the world was caving in. In this case, it would be me doing the caving. If nothing else, I wanted to avoid as much contact as possible with our friends’ diseased relationship. “Oh, okay. I’ll make it, but can we just meet them there?”
“Not a problem. Swing by my office and pick me up and we’ll meet them at the restaurant.” I could tell by her tone that she knew there was more to my request than convenience, but she didn’t push and I didn’t offer. During the rest of the evening, we shared dinner, TV, and bed without the kind of intimacy that invites sharing.
*
Margaritas can make a good time better or a bad time worse. Linda should have ordered iced tea. From the moment we joined them in the booth, I felt a sense of dread. She leaned too close, taking every possible opportunity to touch my arm, grab my hand. Her animated bursts of conversation were all aimed in my direction, and she was downright snarly at any interruptions from either Joan or the waiter, whom she deemed incapable of quenching her thirst fast enough. I could feel the dull roar of Linda’s need to erupt, to use Sydney and me as witnesses to the destruction of her relationship. Would she be so stupid as to declare her misplaced feelings for me in front of her wife and my partner? Part of me wanted her to drink faster in hopes she would pass out. I spent my days dealing with confrontation, but none of it was my own. I excelled at pushing other people’s points of view, challenging opposition, but not when my own feelings were at risk. In this case, if Linda decided to blurt out her rejection of Joan and her attraction toward me, the person closest to me in the whole wide world would be hurt. The thought made me want to throw down a couple of twenties and dash from the restaurant.
“You two may have outsmarted us all by never getting married.”
I shot a glance at Sydney and nodded at Linda’s frosty glass. Her fifth. Hoping to keep the conversation from unraveling if I could just hold up my end, I shook Linda’s grasp from my arm and tried for an answer that wouldn’t invite discussion. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Linda didn’t take the hint.
“Look at all those people out in California. They ran off and got marr
ied and then months later, no one can tell them for sure if they’re still legally married.” Linda smirked in my direction. “Of course, Reed doesn’t think these marriages are legal in the first place.”
I wanted to ignore her, but I couldn’t let her breezy summary of my stance hang in the air. I gave it weight. “I never said any such thing. All I’ve ever said is that until we all have the same rights, everywhere, we don’t really have any rights at all.”
“Blah, blah. I don’t have a clue what the hell you mean by that.” She probably didn’t, but because of the alcohol, not due to any failing of her intelligence. She turned to Joan. “But our marriage is ironclad, isn’t it, sweetie?”
“You bet it is.” Joan smiled indulgently at her smashed spouse.
“Because we can’t really get divorced even if we want to.” Linda turned dramatically to face me. “Reed says so.”
I felt Sydney’s strong but gentle hand on my thigh. She always knew when I was seething, and hers was the only touch that could calm my swirling mind. I didn’t let my gaze leave Linda’s, but while I paused to temper my response, I placed my hand over Sydney’s and squeezed back my thanks. The subject on the table was a sensitive one between us. Sydney and I had long ago agreed to disagree on the issue of marriage, and we avoided further discussion as futile since there really wasn’t any room for compromise.
“I never said that.” I turned to Joan and suppressed a wince at the raw questions scrawled into her expression. “I merely said that Texas doesn’t recognize same-sex marriage and, as a result, they don’t recognize the right to same-sex divorce.”
“Reed says we would have to move away to get a divorce,” Linda pressed on. “Maybe even to Canada.”
Linda hadn’t looked at Joan the entire time she had been talking, instead directing all her comments to me. What could have been mistaken at first for chummy conversation had dissolved into full-on hostility. Her sarcastic tone and look of disdain were unmistakable. Sydney would notice this detail and assign a meaning, but Joan merely seemed confused about the undercurrent of the conversation.
Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets Page 11