In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  O’Reilly got up and put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, kiddo, we’re in your corner.”

  I looked him dead in the eye. “Sure you are.”

  I walked back to my office in a total daze. My legs felt about as sturdy as two toothpicks. This is insane. One of the firm’s most important clients was accusing me of misconduct based on a stupid kiss on the cheek.

  I was about to enter my office when an awful thought paralyzed me mid-stride. I had left a copy of the Micronics fax on the coffee table in my living room before heading off to the banquet. Had Special read it and shared the information with Hamilton?

  While part of me knew that what I was thinking was absolutely insane, I could not shake the awful possibility from my head. I rushed over to my desk, grabbed the telephone receiver and dialed Special’s office. She answered on the second ring.

  “I need to ask you a very important question.” My tone was gruff and businesslike.

  “What’s up with the ugly attitude? You sound like you’re ready to take my deposition.”

  “Did you ever tell Hamilton anything I told you about the Randle case?”

  “What?” Special replied. “Of course not. Anyway, you haven’t really told me anything.”

  “Are you sure? Remember that night you came over to borrow my earrings?” I was speaking at a rapid-fire pace, as if Special were on the witness stand, her guilt already determined.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I left a copy of a fax about the Randle case on the coffee table in the living room. And somehow, Randle’s attorneys found out about it. You didn’t happen to look at it when I left, did you?”

  “Hold up, girlfriend. I know you’re not asking me what I think you’re asking me.”

  “I just need to know,” I said. “Did you read the document?”

  “That law firm mess has really gone to your head. You really think I’d stab you in the back like that? And over some man? Don’t you know me any better than that?”

  The insanity of my questions suddenly hit me. They were even more offensive than the ones O’Reilly and Porter had just posed to me. I plopped down in my chair and closed my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Sorry, my ass. I don’t know what’s going on down there, but if the tables were turned, I wouldn’t have had to ask you the questions you just asked me.”

  “Wait, Special, let me explain—”

  “Save it. Since that law firm is so important to you, call one of them white boys down there the next time you need a friend.”

  Before I could say another word, she had hung up.

  CHAPTER 26

  I drove home in a complete fog. I fumbled with my BlackBerry on the Santa Monica Freeway, desperate to reach Jefferson. The first time, my call went to his voice mail. When I called back five minutes later, LaKeesha answered and I hung up.

  After nearly rear-ending a silver Jag at a red light south of Exposition, I pulled into the parking lot of the Albertsons at La Brea and Rodeo Road and tried to get myself together. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel for a minute or so, then walked into the grocery store and bought a six-pack of pineapple-kiwi wine coolers, a party-size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a can of Planters peanuts.

  When I finally turned into my driveway, I thanked God for letting me get there safely. I had thrown open the door of my Land Cruiser and was about to jump out, when I heard the jovial whistle of my next-door neighbor, Mr. Robinson.

  “How ya doin’, counselor?” he said, waving as he walked over.

  Luke Robinson was a retired bricklayer whose wife had died about a year ago. They had no children and Jefferson and I had somehow become his surrogate family. Whenever we were out of town, Mr. Robinson looked after our house and we did the same for him. He frequently dropped by with a sample of some extravagant dessert he had baked. The other couples on the street considered him the neighborhood busybody, but he was just a lonely old man who had no one to talk to. But today, I was not in the mood.

  When he got closer and saw my face, the glee left his. “Counselor, what’s wrong?”

  “Bad day at the office,” I mumbled, gripping my bag of snacks.

  “I can definitely see that. Anything I can do to help?”

  I tried to smile. “No, Mr. Robinson. But thank you.”

  He was about to say something else, but I rudely plowed past him. I would apologize later.

  Staggering inside, I dropped my purse and keys on the sofa table near the door and headed straight for the master bathroom. After filling up our Jacuzzi tub and stripping off my clothes, I slipped into the warm water and opened up a wine cooler.

  I soaked for over an hour, then climbed into bed even though it wasn’t even noon yet. I opened a second wine cooler and called Jefferson’s cell again. “Hey,” I squeaked when I heard his voice.

  “What’s up?” Jefferson sounded like he was talking through his nose.

  “You sound awful,” I said. “You okay?”

  “Nope. My sinuses are really giving me hell. And I only got about three hours’ sleep last night.”

  I waited for him to ask how I was doing, but the question never came.

  “Hold on a minute.” I heard Jefferson say something to someone, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  “Who’re you talking to?” I asked.

  “LaKeesha just brought me some Sudafed.” I could hear him take a gulp of water. “Man, I don’t need this sinus crap right now. We’re so far behind.”

  Sudafed? “Exactly what is she? Your secretary or your damn nurse?”

  Jefferson exhaled. “Vernetta, I feel like crap and I don’t have time for this right now. As long as I’m paying her, it’s her job to do whatever I want her to do. So you need to stop trippin’.”

  This was not the way this conversation was supposed to go. I had called my husband so I could cry on his shoulder, not argue with him.

  “Well, I had a pretty messed-up day myself. Remember that sexual harassment case I told you about?” I didn’t wait for his acknowledgment. “They took me off of it and I think there’s a good chance I’m not going to make partner.” The flood of tears I had been holding in check was finally released.

  “Hey, babe, I’m sorry,” Jefferson said, his voice much gentler now. “That’s really messed up. What happened? Why’d they take you off the case?”

  “They think I’m having an affair with the opposing counsel,” I sobbed.

  “What? That’s crazy. At least I hope it is. What’s going on?”

  “It’s too unbelievable to even try to explain.”

  “C’mon, babe, don’t cry. If you don’t make partner there, you’ll make it somewhere else. That ain’t the only law firm in the world.”

  “But it’s not fair.”

  “Well, life—”

  “And don’t tell me life isn’t fair! That’s not what I need to hear right now.”

  “I know, babe. I’m sorry. I know how much this means to you.”

  I could hear Stan’s voice in the background. “I’ll be just a minute,” Jefferson called out to him.

  “I know you have to go,” I said, still teary. “I just needed to talk.”

  “And I wanna be here for you,” he said, “but you caught me at a really bad time. Just let me run out and check on this job and I swear I’ll call you right back.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I hope you feel better.”

  “You, too,” he said. “Everything will be okay. I promise. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Out of habit, I started to call Special, then realized I couldn’t.

  CHAPTER 27

  Jefferson called me twenty minutes later and we talked for over an hour. He said everything I needed to hear and I felt much better by the time we hung up. A couple of hours later, I decided to head over to my parents’ place in Compton.

  Returning to my childhood home always made me feel as if I had been wrapped in a blanket of complete acceptance. It did not surpr
ise me to find the house empty. Only illness—serious illness, not just a cold or an attack of arthritis—could keep my parents away from their Monday afternoon Bible study at Community Baptist Church at 148th and Central.

  I smiled as I inspected my parents’ tiny living room. The tan leather couch was a fairly recent addition, but the antique coffee table was the same one they had purchased my senior year of college. The carpet only recently changed from eighties mauve to all-purpose beige, but the walls had never known any color other than Swiss Coffee.

  Change of any kind came hard for my parents. ATM machines, e-mail and TiVo had yet to become necessities in their lives. Whenever I brought up the subject of them moving closer to my area, they quickly found something else to talk about. It would take a forklift and a truckload of National Guardsmen to force them from the only piece of property they had ever owned.

  I walked into the den and sat down in my father’s leather recliner, positioned squarely in front of his Sony big screen. Since their simultaneous retirement from the Post Office a year earlier, my parents spent most of their day glued to the television set.

  I pulled the lever on the side of the recliner, sending the chair into a horizontal position. I was sound asleep in no time.

  An hour later, I opened my eyes to find my parents peering down at me. Identical, worry-stricken expressions plagued their faces.

  “Netta, are you okay?” my mother asked, moving her hand from my forehead to my cheek, then back to my forehead again. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, maneuvering the recliner upright. I hugged them both in a single embrace. Time definitely was not slowing for them. With every visit, I noticed a new patch of gray or a hitch in their step that I had not detected the month before.

  They remained frozen in place, staring at me as if I were some late-night intruder.

  “I’m fine,” I said, laughing. “I just dropped by to spend some time with my wonderful parents.”

  “Oh, I know something’s wrong now.” My mother took a step back to get a better look at me. “Just tell us what’s wrong. Did you and Jefferson have a fight?”

  “Mama, please. Jefferson’s fine and I’m fine, too.” I plopped back down into the chair and pretended to sulk. “If this is the kind of reception I get, then I’m going home.”

  My father took off his sports jacket and folded it over his forearm. He was still inspecting my face as if he might have missed some important clue.

  “Daddy, will you please stop staring at me.”

  “I’m sorry, Netta. If you say you’re okay, then fine. But those dark circles under your eyes are telling a different story.”

  “Why don’t you just go change clothes?” I ordered.

  My father stalked into the bedroom, while my mother began busying herself in the kitchen.

  “How’s work?” my mother asked as she pulled plates from the cabinet. She was still fishing.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Do you have another trial coming up anytime soon?”

  Her question filled me with regret. “Nope,” I said softly. My parents loved it when one of my trials received media attention. They bragged so much it was embarrassing. After my big murder case, they had been interviewed by the Compton Bulletin, which ran a front-page profile on me.

  I got up from the recliner and tried to open the back door, then remembered that I needed a key to get through the steel bars nearly everyone in my parents’ neighborhood had barricaded themselves behind. I took the key from underneath the sugar dish on the kitchen table and unlocked the door. Once I was outside, I sat down on the cement steps. The backyard bordered a busy boulevard and I could see the cars whizzing by through the worn fence.

  A bird’s nest at the top of my father’s prized peach tree caught my attention. I watched as the mother bird went back and forth, fortifying the nest, one twig at a time. After a few minutes, my father joined me outside, crouching down next to me on the top step. It took a few seconds for him to get settled.

  “Look,” I said, pointing up at the tree. “That bird’s building a nest.”

  “I just hope they don’t mess up my tree,” he muttered.

  We continued to watch in silence as the bird went about its work.

  “You know you can talk to us about anything, right?” my father said after a long while.

  “Daddy, please. I told you, I’m—”

  “Shhhh.” He pressed a heavy finger to my lips. “I don’t have a bunch of college degrees like you, but I know when something’s wrong with my only child.”

  He wrapped both of his arms around me and hugged me tight. I tried, but failed, to hold back my tears.

  “I don’t know what’s going on and I’m not going to pressure you to tell me if you don’t want to, but my gut says it’s got something to do with that darn job. Otherwise, you’d be at work today.”

  “Daddy, I—”

  “You just listen for a second,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Just pretend you’re in my courtroom now.”

  I smiled as he dabbed at my eyes with his handkerchief.

  “You want to know what I think?” he said, not bothering to wait for my answer. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You always did.” He pulled me closer.

  “Remember when you were in the second grade and you got that S in Science?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Every other grade on your report card was an E for excellent but all you could focus on was that S for satisfactory. I think you must’ve cried for a straight week. And me and your Mama were just scratching our heads, trying to figure out why.”

  He repositioned himself on the step. “Netta, I know being a lawyer is very important to you. You’ve been talking about making partner from the day you finished law school. But if for some reason it don’t happen, don’t let it worry you.”

  He took my chin between his thumb and index finger. “Whatever’s going on down there at that law firm, it’s not the end of the world. It’s not a big deal if you’ve messed up some case. It’s not a big deal if you’ve lost some client. And it’s not a big deal if you don’t make partner. And I know you’ve explained it to me a thousand times, but I’m still not quite sure what that partnership stuff is all about anyway.”

  I chuckled quietly through my tears.

  “The only thing you need to be worried about is being happy with you,” he said, tapping my chest with his finger. “You need to stop using everybody else’s measuring stick to judge yourself by and find your own darn stick. If you can be happy with yourself, and I mean really happy, it don’t matter what nobody else has to say about you, good or bad. And there’s no reason in the world for you not to be happy. You got a good job, a hard-working husband and we raised you to have faith in God. And you don’t need much more than that. And I almost forgot, you inherited my good looks.”

  I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “Don’t be thanking me. I haven’t done nothing. Y’all young people go and get all them darn degrees and make all that money, but don’t have no idea how to be happy. They need to have a college course called Common Sense 101. I can teach it with my eyes closed.

  “C’mon,” he said, pulling me up by both hands. “Let’s go inside before your nosey Mama comes out here and starts bothering us.”

  CHAPTER 28

  As hard as it was to do, I marched into the office Tuesday morning with my head held high. I had not done anything wrong and I refused to walk around acting as if I had.

  I kept my office door closed for most of the day and only left once to grab some lunch and three times to use the restroom. The day seemed to zoom by. Just before six, the telephone rang.

  “Ms. Henderson, the delivery guy’s here with your food.” I glanced at the phone. The call was coming from the lobby.

  “You’ve got the wrong office. I didn’t order dinner,” I said, though I wished I had. I
was planning to work another couple of hours and I could have used a bite to eat.

  I heard the muffled voice of the guard talking to someone else, then he came back on the line. “Ms. Henderson, this guy swears the food is for you. He’s insisting that you come down here and pay for it.”

  I slipped on my pumps, hopped on an elevator and charged into the lobby. I was highly annoyed by the unnecessary interruption and I planned to make that perfectly clear to the insistent deliveryman.

  When I spotted my husband leaning against the black marble reception desk carrying two white plastic bags, a torrent of happiness engulfed me. He was wearing black sweatpants, a white T-shirt and a big, goofy grin.

  I rushed over to him and threw my arms around his neck. “What’re you doing here?”

  He set the bags down on the counter, pulled me into his arms and held me tight. “I’ve got some business to take care of around here,” Jefferson said, his voice hoarse from his clogged sinuses. “Where’s the dude who claims you’re having an affair? I’m here to kick his ass.”

  I laughed. “Just what I need, a knight in shining armor.”

  “Damn straight,” Jefferson said.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll be needing you to punch anybody out,” I said. “You sound awful. Please tell me you didn’t drive up.”

  “Nah. I flew into LAX, then took a cab to the house and picked up my car. I was gonna wait and surprise you when you got home, but I couldn’t wait to see you. And don’t be mad, but I have to head back in the morning.”

  “There’s no way I could be mad. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

  I looped my arm through his and guided him toward the elevators. “What’s in the bags?”

  “All of your favorites. Yang Chow’s slippery shrimp, spicy wonton soup and shrimp fried rice,” Jefferson said, quite satisfied with himself.

  “I can’t believe you went all the way to Chinatown for Yang Chow’s. You definitely get the award for Husband of the Year.”

  An elevator opened and we stepped inside. As soon as the doors closed, Jefferson set the bags on the floor, pressed me against the wall and kissed me.