“That’s how I know,” Armstrong said, reasonably enough. “Come on. I know what will make you feel better.”
A few minutes later we were standing in front of a display of two white Bengal tigers. The mighty cats were pacing around their cage, wearing a path in the packed dirt. Back and forth they walked. Back and forth. Again and again and again.
“Aren’t they gorgeous,” Armstrong said.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “What?”
“These majestic creatures are stuck here…trapped in a cage…pacing and pacing and pacing…waiting for death to release them from their captivity,” I said sadly.
A pigtailed girl standing near me turned to her mother. “Mom, are the tigers sad? That woman says they’re just waiting to die. Is that true?”
The girl’s mother shot me a dirty look. “Come away from the crazy woman,” she muttered, taking her daughter’s hand and pulling her gently away from me.
“You’re frightening children. I think that means you’ve reached rock bottom,” Armstrong said. “Which actually may not be such a bad thing. You can only go up from here.”
But I wasn’t paying attention to him. I was watching the tigers pacing around, watching their muscles ripple under white fur, and I thought I’d never seen anything so beautiful or so depressing in all of my life. My eyes filled with tears, and before I knew it, the tears were pouring down my cheeks.
“Oh, shit,” Armstrong muttered when he saw me. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to force it into my hand.
“Trapped,” I sobbed. “They’re trapped here with no hope.”
“That’s it,” Armstrong said decisively. “There’s only one thing we can do. Jazz brunch, it is. Come on, Kate, let’s go.”
“But we just got here. I haven’t seen the monkeys yet,” I sniffled.
“The monkeys will wait. This is more important.”
Twenty minutes later we were standing in front of the maître d’ at Commander’s Palace while Armstrong attempted to sweet-talk his way into getting a table.
“You must have something available. It’s just the two of us, and we don’t take up all that much room,” Armstrong said, turning on his full-wattage Southern charm.
The maître d’ looked at me dubiously. I wasn’t dressed for Commander’s Palace. Most of the women I’d seen coming in were wearing silk dresses or pale sorbet-colored suits. They wore high heels, and jewelry, and red lipstick.
I was wearing my favorite khakis, faded and soft from use, a gray T-shirt, flip-flops, and no makeup. Worse, my face was red and streaked with tears, and my eyes were puffy. I’d dug around in my purse and found a cherry Chapstick, but that alone wasn’t enough to fix the damage.
Still. It wasn’t every day that a world-renowned historian—one who frequently appeared on television, no less—showed up, and the maître d’ was clearly swayed in Armstrong’s favor.
“The last time I was at the White House, the President told me how much he liked Commander’s,” Armstrong persisted. “Told me it was his favorite restaurant in all of N’Awlins. Of course, I told him I was in complete agreement.”
That did it.
“The President?” the maître d’ said, suddenly standing taller and straighter. He reached for two menus. “How kind of him. I believe we do have a table available, Professor. Please follow me.”
“Wonderful,” Armstrong said. He turned and winked at me.
“The President?” I whispered to Armstrong as we followed the maître d’ up a narrow flight of stairs. “Did he really tell you that?”
“I’m sure he would have if the subject had come up,” Armstrong whispered back.
And for the first time in two weeks, I laughed.
Armstrong was right about one thing: It was awfully hard to feel blue during a jazz brunch at Commander’s Palace. The maître d’ sat us upstairs by the windows, looking out over the courtyard. While we sipped spicy Bloody Marys, a jazz band roamed around, playing “It Had to Be You” and “What a Wonderful World.” We dined on turtle soup, eggs Sardou, and bread pudding soufflé.
“I can’t eat another bite,” I moaned, still picking at my soufflé. As stuffed as I was, I couldn’t force myself to stop eating. It seemed a shame to leave even a morsel of the fabulous soufflé uneaten.
“There’s nothing in the world quite as good as bread pudding soufflé at Commander’s Palace,” Armstrong proclaimed. “Tell me this didn’t cheer you up.”
I smiled at Armstrong and patted his arm. “Yes, it did. You’re awfully good to me,” I said fondly.
Armstrong blushed—a first that I’d ever seen—and stirred at his Bloody Mary with the plastic straw. “I know what it is to have your heart broken,” he said.
“My heart isn’t broken,” I said, finally laying my fork down in defeat. I saw Armstrong’s dubious look. “It isn’t,” I insisted. “I’m just a little…sad, I guess. Sad at how everything’s turned out.”
“Darlin’, you just burst into tears at the zoo. Which, I might remind you, is supposed to be a happy place,” Armstrong said.
Now it was my turn to blush. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“No reason to apologize. I’m just worried about you.”
“Do you ever wonder if you’re on the right path in life? Wait, why am I asking you of all people that,” I said, rolling my eyes. Armstrong was probably the happiest, most self-confident person I’d ever met. Also the most successful.
“I don’t so much now, but everyone wonders about that when they’re younger. My parents wanted me to go to medical school and were devastated when I refused.”
“Really? I can’t see you as a doctor.”
“Neither could I. The sight of blood gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Armstrong said with a shudder. “But for a long time I wasn’t sure I did the right thing when I chose to study history instead.”
“But in the end you know you made the right decision,” I said.
“Given enough time, yes.”
“So maybe what I need is a time-traveling machine. I can zoom into the future and see how I’m doing. See if I’m happy, if I’m successful,” I said.
“I don’t think you ever told me why you decided to go to law school. I’m guessing that it wasn’t some sort of deeply ingrained love for the source material,” Armstrong said.
“No. I don’t love it,” I admitted. “But I always thought that a law degree would give me a certain amount of security. There aren’t many out-of-work lawyers out there.”
“Did you ever consider that there might be something else you’d enjoy doing more?”
“You mean like being a ballerina? Or an Olympic equestrian? I think those ships have sailed,” I joked.
“How about becoming an historian? You show a lot of aptitude for the research. And God knows you’re a hard worker.” Armstrong snorted. “A slave driver is more like it.”
“I don’t have the credentials.”
“So go to school and get them.”
“You mean, after law school?”
“No. I mean now. Instead of law school. Tulane has an excellent graduate-school program.”
The jazz band began playing “Hello, Dolly.” The lead singer sounded just like Louis Armstrong. All around us, heads were bobbing and feet were tapping in time with the trumpet and bass.
“I can’t do that,” I said, shaking my head once. “It’s too late. I chose to go to law school, and now I have to see it through.”
“Sometimes, Katie-belle, it’s braver to admit you’ve made a mistake and to start over fresh than it is to keep going down the wrong path,” Armstrong said.
Katie-belle. It was my dad’s nickname for me, and I hadn’t heard it in years. And suddenly I felt like I might burst into tears again. I stared down at the starched white tablecloth and willed the tears away.
Finally, when the threat of weeping had passed, I fixed a smile on my face and turned back to Armstrong. “Tell me
the story again about the time you sat next to the Queen during a state dinner and kept drinking out of her water glass by mistake.”
“Now, that is a good story,” Armstrong said, raising his hand to catch our waiter’s attention. “But I think we’re going to need another round of Bloody Marys first.”
I spent all of my time at law school alone. Even when I walked through the halls or sat in the middle of the library reading room, I felt like I’d been encased in glass. I spoke to as few people as possible and openly flouted the dictates of the seating chart by sitting in the back row of the classroom during lectures.
The few times I saw Lexi or Nick, I was polite but distant, and after a few awkward attempts they stopped trying to talk to me. Sometimes I’d sense that Nick was looking at me during a lecture, and when I glanced up, our eyes would meet for a second before his flickered away. This attention didn’t bring me any pleasure. I wanted more than anything for Nick to just go away forever, so that any feelings I might still have for him would once and for all dry up and blow away.
The one person I would have liked to talk to was Dana, but she had withdrawn from school. She’d called me the day she was released from the hospital.
“Dana,” I’d said, when I recognized the thin but steady voice on the other end of the phone line.
“My parents are taking me home with them tomorrow,” she’d said.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Good. I guess. I mean…I’m depressed, and that’s not going to go away overnight. But I think it’s probably good that I get away from here. It hasn’t been a healthy place for me,” Dana said.
“Are you dropping out altogether or just taking some time off?” I asked.
There was a weighty pause.
“I won’t be coming back,” she finally said, her voice soft but resolute.
“I’ll miss you. School won’t be the same without you.”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Will you keep Holmes for me? My mom is allergic to dogs, so I can’t bring him home with me.”
I looked down at the little poodle, who was at that moment curled up in the middle of my bed, snoring softly. My attempts to acquaint Holmes with the makeshift dog bed I’d fashioned out of a spare pillow and blanket hadn’t been successful.
“I’d love to have him. Until you’re ready to take him back, of course,” I said.
“Thanks,” Dana said. “Bye, Kate. Good luck.”
“You too, Dana.”
Jen was the one person who seemed impervious to my efforts at self-imposed solitude. And while some days I welcomed the company, other days I’d find her constant prattle about Addison and her attempts to bully me into going to the last Bar Review of the year exhausting.
“I can’t think of anything I want to do less,” I said. I’d been in bed reading the Property assignment when she called, and now I burrowed down under the covers, the phone tucked under my ear.
“Oh, come on,” Jen begged. “No one wants to go out anymore.”
“Why don’t you get Lexi to go with you?”
“She won’t. She started dating some Two-L, and she’s practically living at his place,” Jen complained.
“She and Nick really aren’t dating?” The question popped out before I could stop it. Even though both Lexi and Nick had insisted that their night together wasn’t the start of a relationship, I still half expected to run into them at school holding hands or sitting close to each other on one of the benches in the outer courtyard.
“No! I thought you knew that. Well, you’re never around anymore. Addison was just saying he hasn’t seen you in weeks,” Jen said.
I groaned silently. As soon as the subject of Addison was introduced into the conversation, it would spread like a weedy vine, twisting around and taking over everything.
“I should get back to studying,” I said, in a vain attempt to sidestep the inevitable.
“I know, I know. You don’t approve,” Jen grumbled.
I said nothing. We’d been over this so often, we’d worn grooves into the subject.
“You think I should break things off with Addison,” Jen continued.
I remained silent.
“You think that if things are so bad with Sean, I should leave him before entering into another relationship,” Jen said. “Or at least tell Sean that I might be pregnant with another man’s child.”
“What?”
“Ha! I knew that would get you to talk.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“No, no chance of that. I’m on the pill. I was just trying to get your attention,” Jen said blithely.
I shook my head, closed my eyes, and counted to ten before I spoke.
“Are you still there?” Jen asked. “Kate?”
“I have to go,” I said as calmly as I could.
“Okay, okay, fine. I know when I’m not wanted. But before you go, let me ask you one question. And I want you to answer honestly,” Jen said.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“Addison has a summer job clerking at a firm in Los Angeles, and he wants me to come visit him. You know, fly out for a few days and hang out. What do you think?”
“What do you think I think?”
“Ummm…you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Bingo.”
“But I’ve never been to California. And don’t you think it would be fun? I’d love to see Hollywood,” Jen continued. “Maybe I’ll meet some movie stars.”
“Bye, Jen.”
“You’re no fun,” Jen complained.
“I know. But I’ve come to terms with it,” I said, and clicked the phone off.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Finals seemed less stressful this time around. Maybe it was that they were no longer an unknown quantity. Maybe I was too emotionally drained to get worked up over hypothetical test questions about merchants who’d breached sales contracts or whether the misfiling of a property deed would result in a house being snatched away from the original owner’s great-great-great-grandson.
Or maybe I just didn’t care anymore.
Hoffman’s exam was, yet again, the last one of the semester. I’d hardly seen him since the day he kicked me out of his class, and then only from a distance.
When I arrived in the large, first-floor lecture hall next to the student lounge, the same room where the Con Law class had been held, the flutterings in my stomach surprised me. I hadn’t even realized I was nervous about taking the exam. I was certainly prepared. I’d studied the material, copied Jen’s notes fastidiously in case Hoffman snuck in questions that only those who’d attended class would know, and I’d resolved not to hand in my completed exam until the end of the three-hour test period, when Hoffman would be so deluged with blue books, he wouldn’t have the chance to flag mine.
But even so, as I opened the heavy wooden door and walked into the lecture room, I could feel my whole body tightening with anxiety. My shoulders rose up until they were practically brushing against my silver hoop earrings, and my spine felt like it had been buttoned too tightly under my skin. I looked around for an empty seat in the almost-full room, my hand tucked under the strap of my knapsack. Hoffman was already there, sitting behind a table that had been set up where the podium normally was. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and his flat, pale eyes were scanning the room. When Hoffman’s eyes fell on me, and I saw the faint trace of a smile curving his thin lips, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“Kate!”
I looked down and saw Jen waving to me. She was sitting to the left of the lecture hall, flanked on either side by Addison and Lexi. Nick was sitting next to Addison, and when Jen called out my name, he turned to look at me. Our eyes met briefly, and my heart thudded against my rib cage. I waved back at Jen, but quickly turned away and looked around for somewhere else to sit. There were empty seats in the front right row, and although I didn’t relish the idea of taking the ex
am all the way up there, practically right under Hoffman’s nose, it was better that than squeezing into the back row between Berk and Simone Parker, whose nickname among the One-Ls was “Jitter.” She was always tapping a pencil against the desk or running her fingers through her dirty-blonde hair or bouncing her foot. But when I got down to the front right row, I saw that there was folded piece of paper with the word RESERVED printed on it.
Great, I thought. I’ll have to take the test sitting next to Jitter.
But just as I was turning to climb back up the stairs, Hoffman’s voice rang out, stopping me cold.
“Ms. Bennett. Glad you could join us. I’ve saved a special seat for you right up here in front.” When I turned slowly around, my cheeks burning, I saw that Hoffman looked smug. “You too, Mr. Crosby. I thought it would be fitting for you to sit apart from the rest of the class.”
I glanced over at Nick. He was frowning down at Hoffman, but then he stood up and gathered his things together.
“Right this way, Ms. Bennett,” Hoffman said, and with a silky wave of his hand, he motioned for me to sit at the table marked RESERVED.
Why am I not surprised? I thought. He’s just doing this so that he can try to keep my blue book—and Nick’s, apparently—separated from the others, to make sure he’ll get a chance to flag it.
And it was then that the fury started to roil inside me. My skin tightened and prickled with an angry heat.
Nick reached the front of the room and sat down next to me, leaving an empty chair between us. He glanced over at me, but I just shrugged and started to pull out my test supplies. Yet again, Hoffman hadn’t allowed us to bring in scrap paper, and he’d restricted the size of the outline we could have to one page, so all I had in front of me were my pens, earplugs, a bottle of water, and the one sheet of lined yellow paper where I’d outlined the basic concepts of Constitutional Law. This time around, I hadn’t bothered—as I knew so many of my classmates had—to type out every last rule and case holding and then shrinking it down to a six-point font. I wasn’t going blind over a damned grade.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Constitutional Law final examination.” The room hushed as Hoffman began to outline the instructions for the exam, including his admonishment not to cheat, adding without the least bit of irony, “I take violations of the Honor Code very seriously.”
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