In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hear he’s pretty active with the local African-American Bar association. You ever have an opportunity to interact with him?”

  What was she getting at? “That’s a rather strange question,” I said.

  “Oh…well…I just think it’s good to learn as much as you can about your opposing counsel. His habits, his weaknesses, his likes, his dislikes. You never know what little tidbit can help you at trial.”

  “I tried a case against him a few years ago,” I said.

  “None of that ever came into play. I tend to focus on the facts of the case. Not the idiosyncrasies of the attorney who’s trying it.”

  Haley shrugged and twirled one of her blond ringlets around her finger. “I’m just curious. What’s he like?”

  “If I didn’t know better, Haley, I’d think you had a crush on the man.”

  She giggled like we were best girlfriends. “He is pretty darn hot, don’t you think?”

  Haley was trying to lead me someplace that I did not want to go. “The only man I’m interested in is my husband,” I said.

  “Oh, I forgot that you were married,” she said. “What does your husband do?”

  “He’s an electrician.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. It says a lot about you that you could marry a guy who’s not on your level.”

  Did the girl just insult me, my husband or both of us? “Exactly what makes you think my husband isn’t on my level?”

  “Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Haley said. The attitude in my voice must have told her she needed to backtrack. “What I mean is, a lot of women with as much education as we have wouldn’t even look sideways at a guy who didn’t have a college degree. I think you have to be very secure with yourself to be with a man who’s not a professional. The disparity in income alone can create lots of problems in a marriage.”

  “That’s never been a problem for us,” I said, with ice in my voice. “As a matter of fact, the company he owns is doing all of the electrical work for a big strip mall in San Diego right now. And on top of that, my husband happens to be one of the brightest men I know.” I felt stupid for trying to defend Jefferson’s worth to this girl.

  “Oh, so he owns his own company. Then he must be a pretty smart guy. How does he oversee a project way down in San Diego?”

  “He stays down there during the week and comes home on weekends.”

  She gave me a look of sympathy. “That must be hard. You must miss him a lot.”

  “Work’s been keeping me pretty busy,” I said.

  Coming to Haley’s office had been a mistake. A major mistake. I did not like the way she was trying to get all up in my personal business. I got up to leave.

  “If you hear anything else about the Randle case, be sure to let me know,” I said.

  Haley treated me to her trademark bogus smile. “Will do.”

  CHAPTER 18

  When I got back to my office, I was dying to hear my husband’s voice. I dialed his cell phone and was thrown when a female answered instead of Jefferson.

  “Who’s this?” I asked.

  “Who’s this?” the voice fired back.

  “This is Ms. Henderson. I’d like to speak to Jefferson.”

  “I’m sorry. He isn’t available to take your call right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Yeah. Tell him he needs to call his wife as soon as he is available.”

  I heard a quiet gasp, then muffled voices. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were his wife.” She sounded rather young and her tone was much more courteous now. “Jefferson’s right here.”

  My husband’s words spilled out quickly, before I could get mine out. “Don’t trip, babe,” Jefferson chuckled. “That was just LaKeesha, she’s the college sophomore we hired to help us out around the office.” I heard a loud squeak, then what sounded like a door being shut.

  “Why are you walking outside the trailer? You can’t talk in front of LaKeesha?”

  “C’mon, babe, don’t trip. See, you wouldn’t have this problem if you used my last name. When she heard you say Henderson, she didn’t know you were my wife.”

  “Why is she answering your cell phone in the first place?”

  “She’s screening my calls for me. The phone rings so much I can’t get anything done.”

  The explanation sounded plausible, but I was still concerned.

  “C’mon, babe, don’t trip. How’re you doing?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Jefferson. You didn’t even tell me you guys had hired an assistant. How old is she and what does she look like?”

  He laughed again. “What you wanna know that for? Don’t you trust me?”

  “I trust you. So answer my question.”

  “Uh, I think she’s twenty-one,” Jefferson said, stalling.

  “Twenty-one? Shouldn’t she be almost out of college by now?”

  “She got a late start,” Jefferson said.

  “And what does she look like?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “If you really wanna know, most of the guys around here say she looks like Beyoncé, but has a body more like Serena Williams. But I don’t really see it.”

  When I went mute, Jefferson started cracking up. “C’mon, babe. I’m just messing with you. It don’t matter what she looks like. She’s jailbait as far as I’m concerned and that’s not my style. You are.”

  My lips remained locked in an angry knot.

  “I think I like this,” Jefferson teased. “I can’t remember you ever acting jealous before. This is really good for my ego.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Jefferson,” I said. “What does the girl look like?”

  “And I’m not going to answer it because it’s crazy.” Jefferson’s voice lost its playfulness. “That youngster don’t want nothing to do with a tired ass dude like me. She’s helping us around the office. That’s all. So let’s change the subject.”

  I rarely felt insecure about my marriage. Jefferson had never given me a reason to distrust him and I knew it was silly for me to have such doubts now.

  “C’mon, babe,” Jefferson said. “You know where my heart is.”

  “Your heart ain’t what I’m worried about,” I said.

  He laughed again.

  “So when do you think you’ll be able to make it home?” I asked.

  “Not sure yet. We’ve run into some more problems, so you probably shouldn’t count on me coming home this weekend either. But I’m hoping we’ll have everything under control soon.”

  “I really miss you.”

  “And I miss you, too,” he said. “I promise I’ll be home as soon as I can. What you got planned tonight?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I sighed. “But tomorrow night I have a banquet to go to.”

  “Aw, sorry I’ll miss it,” Jefferson said, feigning disappointment. “I can taste that delicious rubber chicken right now.”

  This time I laughed.

  “Anyway, babe,” Jefferson said, “I gotta get out to the worksite.”

  As I hung up, Special’s words came back to me. Perhaps I would have to make some time to drive down to San Diego as she suggested. Just to make sure Ms. LaKeesha was on the up-and-up.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Homegirl, you definitely need a push-up bra. And bad.”

  It was close to six o’clock on Saturday night and Special lay stretched out across my bed, browsing through old issues of Interior Design, searching for home-decorating tips. She had picked up a side job decorating the homes of a couple of friends and from what I had seen, was actually pretty good at it.

  “I’m filling out this dress just fine, thank you very much.” I took an admiring look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. The short black dress that I had purchased on sale at Nordstrom was definitely me.

  “Hey, look at this.” Special held up the magazine and pointed to a picture of a p
urple-and-white striped couch.

  “This is the same fabric I used to reupholster my couch. You have to come by and see it.”

  “I can’t wait.” Merely looking at the gaudy thing made me dizzy. “Here’re the earrings you wanted.” I tossed them to her, then went back to rummaging through my jewelry box trying to find another pair to match my dress.

  “What snooty law firm function are you going to tonight?” Special continued flipping magazine pages.

  “The Langston Bar Association’s annual banquet. They’re honoring one of our partners, Jim O’Reilly.”

  “Ain’t that the black Bar association? What they giving him an award for?”

  “He was the lead partner on a pro bono case the firm handled for some homeowners in South Central last year. He’s getting the award for Pro Bono Lawyer of the Year.”

  “I thought you worked on that case, too?”

  “I did. But he’s the partner and it’s the partner who gets all the glory. Shouldn’t you be home getting dressed for your big date with Hamilton?” I asked.

  “I’ve got plenty of time. You know I like to keep my men waiting.”

  “I’m thinking about making a trip down to San Diego to visit Jefferson,” I said. “You still wanna go with me?”

  Special sprang up from her prone position and crossed her legs into a pretzel. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I was just thinking that it would be easier on Jefferson if I went down there for the weekend, rather than having him come here.”

  Special eyed me suspiciously. “Remember who you’re talking to, okay? What’s up?”

  After a few seconds of stalling, I decided to come clean. “I called Jefferson’s cell phone yesterday and a woman answered.”

  Special dropped her magazine. “Go on,” she said.

  I told her about LaKeesha screening Jefferson’s calls. “I believe him,” I said, “but I just want to check her out.”

  “Good move,” Special said, picking her magazine back up. “I’ll be able to call her number the minute I see her. When are we going?”

  “Not sure yet. It depends on what’s happening with the Randle case next week.” I held up a pair of silver-and-black earrings next to my earlobes. “How do these look?”

  “They don’t do a thing for that dress. They’re not big enough.”

  “I don’t know why I even asked you.”

  After putting on the earrings and checking myself in the mirror one last time, I scanned the room for my purse. I spotted it on the bed next to Special, but when I looked inside, I didn’t see my banquet ticket. I walked into the living room and unzipped my leather satchel, which was sitting on the coffee table. The Micronics fax was the first thing I saw. Just looking at the thing irked me. In fact, everything about the case irked me. I threw the fax down on the coffee table and continued searching for my ticket.

  I still had not heard anything about why Porter had asked for my cell phone records yesterday. I ran into Haley an hour or so after leaving her office and she barely looked at me. Those two were definitely up to no good. I was just thankful that I had not gotten a call from Hamilton or Reggie about Karen Carruthers’s death.

  I finally spotted the ticket in a small side compartment.

  “I’m running late,” I yelled to Special as I opened the front door. “Lock up for me. And don’t take all year to return my earrings.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The foyer outside the main ballroom of the Century Plaza Hotel was packed with most of the city’s black elite. I spotted several politicians and judges, a couple of local TV newspeople and, of course, hoards of lawyers.

  As I was about to head over to the bar for a Diet Coke, I heard a familiar voice from the rear. “Can a brother get a hug?”

  I turned around to find James Willoughby, my best friend from law school, standing in front of me with open arms. We embraced like old friends happy to see each other, which we were. Despite being inseparable all through law school, our respective jobs made it difficult to find time to connect. James worked as a public defender out of East L.A.

  “Where’s your boy, Jefferson?” James asked.

  I smiled to myself. James always tried to sound extra hip when he was around other black folks. He was raised in South Central, but was the nerdiest black man I’d ever met. Over the years, he’d blossomed quite a bit in the looks department. A nice suit and a law degree could make even the blandest man alive look a whole lot better in the eyes of some women. Tonight, James was quite debonair in his black Hugo Boss suit.

  “Jefferson’s working on a big project in San Diego,” I said. “Is Melissa here?” I asked, knowing that she was not. James never brought his white wife to black functions.

  “Nah, she starts a new trial on Monday and had to work late.” A tall, dark-skinned woman in a tight red dress sashayed by and James was practically wagging his tongue. I wondered sometimes if he regretted crossing the tracks.

  All through law school, I had painfully watched as James dated one vicious, self-centered woman—all black—after another. When I suggested that he might have better luck if he looked beyond a pretty face and a big behind, he had angrily warned me to mind my own business. Each woman he dated took his kindness for weakness and squandered what little money he had, wiping her feet on his heart on the way out the door. After a stewardess who was a dead ringer for Alicia Keys used his credit card to buy her real boyfriend a new suit, James declared a permanent moratorium on black women.

  That decision had set off a heated, unlawyerly like debate that almost ended our friendship.

  “You’re just a coward,” I had argued, feeling personally maligned by his vow to never date another black woman. “You don’t see black women giving up on black men just because a couple of brothers dogged them out.”

  “That’s because they’re too busy looking for the next guy to screw over.”

  “Well, white women aren’t necessarily the answer.” I was determined to change his mind. “I know plenty of white boys with broken hearts.”

  “They don’t have to be white,” James said, “just anything but black.”

  “So what’re you saying about your mama?” I asked.

  “I ain’t saying a thing about my mama,” James shot back. “And I hope you ain’t either.”

  Two months passed before we spoke again, but James stuck with his decision and never looked back. A few years out of law school, James met and married Melissa Feldman, an anorexic-looking Jewish woman from Manhattan. She was an assistant U.S. attorney who prosecuted white-collar criminals. Melissa worked only because she wanted to. She was the first person I had ever met who had a trust fund—a seven-figure trust fund. Her great-grandfather had bought tons of prime real estate in Manhattan and Los Angeles in the forties and fifties and parlayed it into a variety of successful business ventures that would support his offspring for decades to come. Once I had gotten to know Melissa, I had to admit that she was a perfect match for James.

  In the midst of giving me a recap of one of his latest trial victories, a devious smile eased across James’s lips. “Uh-oh,” he said, “here comes trouble.”

  “What are you talking about?” I glanced over my shoulder to see what James was smiling at.

  “That dude who broke your heart right before you met Jefferson is on his way over here.”

  Before I could remind James that I dumped Bradley Davis, not the other way around, the man sidled up to me. He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me to him at the same time he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

  “Hey, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “You look even finer than you did the last time I saw you.”

  I was a happily married woman, but having Bradley Davis so close still caused me to swoon inside. He was tall and muscular with a shaved head and full, luscious lips. The fresh smell of his cologne stirred up memories I felt guilty recollecting.

  I was about to say something cute and flirty when I saw his black Bambi standing off
to the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your date?” I said instead.

  Bradley swept his hand in Bambi’s direction but kept his eyes fixed on me. “This is my friend, Briana.”

  “Hi!” Briana said excitedly, as if someone had pulled a string at the back of her neck.

  The girl was a stunning, chestnut brown, with long, shiny hair that was probably her own. I pegged her at twenty-five tops, and she couldn’t have been bigger than a size two. But Bambi had a vacant look in her eyes that told me long division without a calculator might be a challenge for her.

  “Nice to meet you, Briana,” I said. I introduced James, who nearly salivated over the woman.

  Bradley’s use of the word friend to introduce Briana hit a distant nerve. I could still recall him introducing me as his friend. Never girlfriend. Bradley was a successful patent attorney who knew how to put the r in romance. When he was with you, Bradley had a way of making you feel like nobody and nothing else in the world could possibly matter. And the sex was incredible. Rose petals in bed, massage oils in every fragrance and slow, super-sensual lovemaking. But after an intense weekend of his undivided attention, it could be days before Bradley might bother to call or even favor you with a return call. I soon wised-up and moved on, despite the slamming sex.

  The three of us chatted for a few more minutes, while black Bambi had every guy in the vicinity doing a double take. When we made our way inside, Bradley invited me to sit at his law firm’s table, but I declined. It bugged me that just looking at the man could still get me all hot and bothered.

  After a predictably bland dinner of roasted chicken and scalloped potatoes, O’Reilly graciously accepted the award for Pro Bono Lawyer of the Year. The Langston Bar Association’s president explained how O’Reilly and a team of attorneys from our firm had assisted a group of homeowners in South Central whose property had been seized through eminent domain. Thanks to O’Reilly & Finney, the homeowners ultimately received fair market value for their houses as well as hefty relocation allowances.

  Dressed in his finest Armani, O’Reilly smiled big and occasionally scratched his head. I had seen him go through the same well-rehearsed motions many times. To the crowd, he looked humble and slightly nervous. But it was all an act. He was as cool and collected as the powerful, successful lawyer his résumé proclaimed him to be.