by Noel Obiora
“I’m not about to give up hope just because someone else is equally interested.”
“Equally interested, that’s a rather self-important perspective, isn’t it?”
“I’m just being honest about how I see it.”
“And as far as he’s concerned, I’m spoken for.”
“How about you?”
“Nice of you to finally factor me into the equation. What about me?”
“As far as you’re concerned?”
She laughed as though the question had tickled her. “I agree with him,” she said in an amused voice.
“Elaine said I accepted your answer too easily the night I told you how I’d felt about our friendship; she said I gave in too quickly.”
“She said that, huh?”
“I won’t do that again.”
“But we’re not in a college anymore, Ken.”
“We never closed that chapter, Amy. If we did, you’d be married by now.”
This took Amy aback. “Please explain,” she said.
“I can’t understand why any man in his right mind would break an engagement with you. That tells me it’s your cold feet that are keeping you from settling down.”
“Again, the new you, even the humility is gone.”
Kenneth laughed.
“Well, it may be cold feet, but I can assure you it’s not because I’m waiting for some man.”
“I’m not saying you are or that I’m the man. I am hoping…actually, I may have dreamt it.”
In that moment they sat staring at each other, as if each was trying to understand how seriously the other was taking this conversation. Their lunch was served.
“I like your theory…believe me I do. But I am seeing someone,” Amy said after they had sampled their food.
“What does he do?”
“He runs his father’s company… He’s the CEO of some conglomerate. Why?”
“Just curious. What kind of company?”
“It’s a holding company with many subsidiaries. Some insurance related, I think.”
“Tell him I won’t just let him walk away with you.”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself, when you meet him.”
“Good, so we will meet then.”
“I’m hoping we can remain good friends, even if we don’t…” She seemed unable or rather unwilling to finish the sentence, putting food in her mouth before she was done speaking.
“So am I,” he said. Then, as though to lighten their exchange, he reached into his pocket. “I brought something for you.”
Amy looked at him expectantly, as he brought out a picture of Elaine’s baby and handed it to her. She immediately brought her hands to her chest as though to control her emotions. Tears appeared to glaze her eyes.
“She’s beautiful.”
Kenneth smiled, and suddenly wished Elaine was there with them.
Lunch was a much longer affair than either of them had anticipated. They spent most of the time again talking about old friends and college, the practice of law and what they would have done instead if they had not become lawyers. He said he would have continued studying economics and become a teacher. She was not so sure, perhaps a career in politics as an advocate for children or the diplomatic service if she could get in. He told her he was ready to settle down, and it made her blush.
The court’s lunch recess was over when they began their stroll back to the courthouse where they parked. He no longer had to go back to court for the rest of the day, and Amy was still waiting for the call from Judge Pollazo and was checking her phone constantly throughout the lunch. Kenneth became aware of the people watching them, or at least observing them, as they strolled back: cop across the street, patrons seated by the windows of the restaurants they passed by, a shopkeeper or two, the boy in baggy jean, but Amy seemed oblivious of them, if not content to be watched under the circumstances.
•••
The Los Angeles District Attorney’s Office was a short walk from the Los Angeles Police Headquarters, and on returning to the office late from lunch, Amy decided to add another off-site assignment to justify how long she had been out of the office. She went to see Officer Gonzalez without calling ahead. Gonzalez was in a meeting, but when he heard that Amy had come to see him, he left the meeting immediately.
“I took the detectives off standby because of the ruling,” Gonzalez said as he approached Amy, who was perplexed by his comment.
“You heard from the judge?” Amy asked.
“No, the sheriff in the courtroom. He said the judge ruled for us.”
“The decision must have been faxed to the office, then. I came here from lunch.”
She thanked Officer Gonzalez and hurried back to the office. At the office, Judge Pollazo’s faxed decision was on her desk. He had directed the district attorney’s office to file supplemental charging documents by 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning, including all the information about the device, or the case against the defendant would be dismissed with prejudice.
Amy took a deep breath and sank farther into her chair, realizing that this ruling had her working all evening again.
16
Co-Counsel
Professor Cassandra Rayburn’s house was one of a few remaining bungalows on the hilly side of Sherman Oaks. A little white cottage on a small green hill at the border of Encino and Sherman Oaks, hedged against erosion with various plants and small trees, on a side street from Sepulveda. It overlooked the exact point where a road split to form two streets, each of which could have provided an appropriate address for the house, but for the fact it had a determined front on one of the streets. On this front side, quite a climb awaited visitors, up twenty or more steep stairs of rugged stone Anthony had put together without a handrail.
“A little old lady owned it before us,” Cassandra once explained to her small group of friends while they were having dinner. She bought the house with her brother Anthony shortly after law school. Anthony’s future wife, Mary, was their roommate. Anthony and Mary got married and moved out, leaving Cassandra and her English mastiff, Sam, to a fee simple in the little cottage.
Sam, the gentle mastiff, was nearing the end of his life, Cassandra suspected. She no longer took Sam out through the front door, with its steep stairway, and she no longer jogged with Sam, either. Kenneth knocked on the front door, and Sam rose with a grunt from where he sat by Cassandra’s ankle. Sam must have sensed it was a familiar visitor because his tail was already wagging before the door was opened, but he stood a fair distance behind Cassandra, waiting for their mutual friend to come to him.
“How’s he doing?” Kenneth asked Cassandra, a sensitive subject for the professor.
“He’s right there, ask him.”
Not well, Kenneth reckoned, and taking a dog biscuit from Cassandra, fed Sam. Cassandra opened the sliding door that led into the garden, and Sam managed to skip happily onto the grass with his biscuit.
“How are you?” Kenneth asked, “…or should I ask Sam, too?”
“I’m sorry. I’m fine. The damn veterinarians won’t give me any specifics on his pain, and they won’t tell me if it is getting worse or better.”
“They probably sensed that you don’t really want to know.”
“Yeah, well that’s not their job. How are you?”
“I got the file in the Jackson case.”
“Is that what you have in that box?”
“You don’t seem impressed,” Kenneth said.
“I thought you brought me a box of flowers.”
“Maybe next time, but guess who I ran into a couple of days ago? Amy Wilson,” Kenneth said and pushed the box toward Cassandra.
“The woman I met at the restaurant with Melissa?”
Kenneth nodded.
“Melissa never put you in touch with her?” Cassandr
a asked, opening the box and examining its contents. As Kenneth did not answer, she looked up at him.
“I ran into her at Paul Jackson’s club,” Kenneth said. Cassandra seemed surprised. “Exactly. I saw her walk right by me and it took me a moment to register. Then I followed her, and, of course, it was her.”
“Did this come up?” Cassandra asked, referring to the box between them.
“Why would it come up?”
“What was she doing at the club?”
“Her friend dragged her there on a whim.”
“And?”
“We spent the night catching up on the years since college. I can’t honestly recall anything we talked about.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows. She took two cans of beer out of her refrigerator and offered one to Kenneth, then went to sit on the couch. Kenneth followed her.
“Are you planning on seeing her again anytime soon?”
“We had lunch.”
“You do realize that Tiffany and the gang are going to roast you for being over the moon for a DA?”
“I’m not over the moon, and she’s spoken for.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’s seeing someone.”
“I know…what was that phrase you used?”
“Her words, not mine.”
“Ah, I see. Have you accepted this case?”
“I told them I have, but the PD filed a motion about a device that was not disclosed, and the judge ordered supplemental filing. Mr. Jones will withdraw completely this coming week after the filing.”
Cassandra appeared to be studying him.
“I need you on this case, now. Casey, you planted this idea in my head. Now, help me grow it.”
“I said I was going to help.”
“No, I need you fully in it as co-counsel.”
“The idea I planted was for you to use this opportunity to showcase your full potential, rather than continue this struggle of a failed businessman trying to run a law practice like it was some radical liberal movement.”
“And I will, but I need your commitment that if for any reason I am unable to continue, you will take the reins.”
“Whoa!” Cassandra waived her hands in the air. “First of all…no. Second of all, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Casey, I want a situation where we are both in court on every witness examination, every motion, every piece of evidence, even if I am the one presenting or doing the examination.”
“What was the part about you being unable to continue, the part where I take the reins.”
“Casey, just come into the case with me. I feel we can win it. Let me tell you what I found out.”
“The operative word is ‘we,’ Kenneth. We are either in this together or I am not in it at all.”
“Agreed.”
“I will sign on as full co-counsel after this Mr. Jones is out.”
“Thank you, you won’t regret it.”
“I don’t intend to.”
She drank her beer, then began to go through the box of files. Kenneth sat down and drank as well.
“Did you ever wonder why I brought that woman’s number to you?”
“I thought she mentioned that she knew me.”
“She wondered, I suppose. I wasn’t even talking to her about you, but her reaction when I mentioned her name, made me think you were an item in law school, only to find out it was as far back as college.”
“When I ran into her, it was like we were back in college and nothing mattered but us.”
17
Flowers
When Amy got home from the hearing, an Asian woman and her two attendants were in her lobby, and a van full of flowers was in the driveway, waiting for her. Thomas Clay Jr. had ordered them and she had come herself to arrange the flowers in a way that complimented Amy’s space, the woman explained.
Asked how many flowers she was delivering, she pleaded with Amy not to send them back. This was the best piece of business the shop had done in two months, and her two attendants were looking forward to their commissions from the delivery already. She beseeched Amy in a voice that wavered between song and speech. Amy agreed, but soon regretted it when she saw the carts of bouquets, boxes, and vases that were being wheeled into her apartment.
“Where are you going to fit all that?”
“It’s okay, trust me, it will be very pretty, very pretty, you will feel like a bride every morning.” Amy wanted to ask the florist why she thought a bride in the morning felt better than she usually felt in the morning, but the florist was speaking too quickly without stopping and working her hands rapidly, cutting, putting blue hydrangeas with the white Casablanca lilies, pink peonies and purple lisianthus with a scattering of stephanotis, and barking orders to her assistants, who ran out and came back with taller vases and different flower stands.
“Roses can’t stand being alone, they are prettier with other flowers. Lilies are like the sun in your living room—they brighten any day. Gardenias in your kitchen will inspire your cooking. Trust me, trust me,” the florist kept saying as she worked.
Having planned a wedding, Amy knew something of these flowers and what it took to fill her apartment with them. She found herself admiring the tulips and peonies and lilies of the valley as she watched the florist. On the center table in her living room were two sets of different white flowers mixed with roses in arrangements that were so identical it was difficult to distinguish between the sets without looking closely.
“They will fill your house with the aromas of heaven,” the florist said, waiving her hands over the set of arrangements Amy was admiring.
“You don’t have to leave them all here, just tell him you delivered them anyway and I saw them,” Amy protested, but Thomas’s agreement with the florist was that he would pay for as much as they were able to make Amy take, provided they got him proof by photographing the placement. Photographing the pieces did it for Amy. She asked the florist and her assistants to leave immediately. The florist thanked her profusely anyway. If Amy ever needed to send flowers or have them delivered, she would give Amy a huge discount.
Thomas was certainly no Richard, Amy thought. She sat down and wondered what the appropriate response to him should be. The arrangements on the center table recalled the florist’s words: lilies are like the sun in your living room. They are beautiful, she thought. In her bedroom, her nightstands on either side of the bed had two large arrangements that included peonies mixed with tulips, at the foot of her bed a pot of mainly gardenias, so green in arrangement that it looked like a vegetable plant rather than a flower. She could not reach Thomas, who was still in Tokyo. He must have known to give her time because he called the following morning, when the first thing Amy saw as she woke up was the beautiful arrangement of peonies on her nightstand. Along with the sun shining into the room, they filled her room with a palpable sense of divine grace and put her in a compassionate mood. Thomas said he hoped Amy liked the flowers.
“I do. Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
“Are these flowers still about what happened back at the nightclub?” Amy asked.
“No, when I called on Saturday you were at the office for some important thing you had today. The flowers are just to say you have been on my mind incessantly, and I hope your hearing went well.”
“Thank you, it went even better than I expected.”
“I’m glad. And I told the florist to keep replacing the flowers until at least the summer.”
“I won’t see you before the summer?”
“Of course you will, but I’m not there enough and you are not here enough, so the flowers will do for the time being.”
“The florists are not allowed in my apartment again.”
“They won’t come with so many next time.”
“They won’t come at all. My humble
abode is practically a nursery of your making. But I like it. Thanks.”
They were silent for a moment. Amy wondered if there was more to the flowers than Thomas was telling her.
“Are you coming this way on your way back from Tokyo?”
“I have to go to Seoul and then Singapore from here. Then New York.”
“What else are these flowers about, Thomas?”
Thomas was again quiet for a while before he spoke.
“You know what, I’ll scratch Seoul and Singapore and come to LA first.”
“Good, but you are not keeping me in suspense until then.”
“Sure, but I can’t talk more right now. I’ve stayed away from my dinner guests rather long.”
Amy searched for what to say without rushing him.
“You’ll call me when you get back from work?” he asked. Amy murmured her acquiescence, then hung up. She had wanted him to say what else the flowers were for because she also wanted to tell him that she saw Kenneth again, but just for lunch. Then the somber weight of his tone as he admitted there was something else caused a mild consternation in her that lunch was a far greater betrayal than she thought. Did he already know? Was he watching her? Thomas kept investigators and security agencies on his phone’s speed dial, but he knew better than to invade her privacy. If he was watching anyone, he was watching Kenneth. At moments like these, Amy wished she and Alana were still confidants like when she was in college. She could tell Alana everything then. Well, almost everything—sometimes she pretended she was asking for a friend who needed the advice but didn’t dare to ask her parents. Even then, she knew Alana could tell the friend was a fictional representation of Amy but would still, gracefully, share her thoughts on the matter earnestly and without judgment.
All that ended when Alana tried to reconcile Amy with Richard, her fiancé, without Amy’s permission. According to people Richard spoke to on the matter, Alana went so far as to plead with him to save the family the embarrassment of canceling the wedding, and rather break-up afterward. Alana would deny this, of course. Amy only found out when Richard left a message on her answering machine asking her to tell Alana to give him some space. Since then, Amy had not confided in Alana or anyone else on intimate social matters, swearing never again to give anyone the license to think they knew her so well that they could so act on her behalf. She had sentenced her heart to social isolation with time alone as her companion, only emerging because of Thomas’s relentless pursuit, therapy, and a sworn agreement with Alana that she would never again interfere in her social affairs. This current state of affairs with a commitment to Thomas and endearment to Kenneth was different and nothing like she had ever experienced. Alone while crowded by men, she needed a confidant of feminine extraction to sift through this developing mess.