"Huh? Oh, Judge Canby. You're there. I was just leaving a message. You can disregard that now."
Judy Banger. He pulled in a big gulp of air and started walking. Coincidentally, the wind didn't seem so blistery and oppressive. "I didn't catch your call in time. Sorry."
"No problem. Although I have a problem, which is why I'm calling. I bet you hate that. People--strangers--hitting on you for legal advice for free. But that's not exactly why I'm calling. It is sort of but not really."
He couldn't help but smile. "Tell me. How can I help?"
"Well, it seems I might have been a bit hasty when I gave you that card."
He stopped abruptly. "Fletcher called you?"
"What? No. This isn't about Fletcher's email. Keep that. I can't remember the last name of his aunt, the psychologist. Wendy...something. I tried the yellow pages, but would you believe there are two female counselors with the first name of Wendy?"
"Wiggman. Do you mind me asking what made you change your mind about calling her?"
Her sigh seemed sad and confused. "You know that saying about hell freezing over? Well, the devil just called and said she bought a pair of ice skates."
He spotted an empty park bench and sat. "Is this the devil or one of yours?"
"My sister, Nancy. The perfect one. First, she says she's sorry for being a royal pain in my ass all these years. Then she tells me she's had an epiphany. The wedge between us is and always has been Mother, and life is too short to be so negative, so Nancy's giving Mom the boot." She paused to catch a breath. "And, oh, by the way, Mom's moving into Buddy Fusco's old room at Heritage House tomorrow."
Even without knowing the whole story, Wiley got that this was huge. He couldn't imagine his parents or either of his late wives' family living so close. Bad enough having Wendy here.
"So, anyway. I'm revisiting the idea of therapy. If my insurance will cover it. Seriously, I see a nervous breakdown in my immediate future."
He chuckled softly. "You don't need therapy, Judy. You need a game plan."
"Something other than finishing off the bag of Oreos?"
"Have dinner with me tonight and I'll help you set up an emancipation declaration. It's a legal document that declares one person no longer has any control over your life. Naturally, this would go unfiled, but words are powerful. Seeing this declaration in black and white might help you stand up for yourself. You don't need Wendy's help to do that. But if you do decide to get counseling, I have several other therapists I'd recommend."
She didn't say anything for a moment. "Okay." Her tone told him she got the message. Wendy might be Fletcher's aunt but he'd never recommend her to any of his friends.
Friend? Judy?
"Do you like Greek?" he asked impulsively.
"I've never tried it, but Pru just got back from Greece and she can't shut up about the great food."
"I'll pick you up at 6:30."
Chapter Four
Judy sat at the foot of her new queen bed to adjust the strap of her sandals. She hadn't weighed herself in ages, but she must have lost weight because her shoes were loose. "I'm going to dinner with a judge," she told Homer Simpson, her miniature panther, curled up on the stylized floral print bedspread.
She'd lucked out to find a complete bed set--sheets and bedding--online. Not exactly the same circumstances as her old bed, but close. A mistress caught her lover in their bed with his wife. The bold gray, yellow and white design might not have been Judy's first pick, but the price was too good to pass up.
"So, behave yourself," she told the cat. "That goes for me, too."
Not that she was too worried. Despite the powerful attraction she felt for the man, Wilson Canby didn't strike her as the type to make a pass at a girl on a first date--or under any other circumstances if said girl was Judy Banger. He was...upright, sensible and responsible--all things she wasn't.
She hopped to her feet just as the doorbell made its lovely chiming sound--a lasting memento from Jed. She and her younger lover had cleared the air between them a few hours earlier. He was in love--with a nineteen-year old named Dakota. Talk about extremes, Judy had thought. From cougar boy toy to cradle robber in under two weeks. But she'd wished him all the best--and meant it.
A quick peek in the hall mirror told her she looked presentable in her white capris and zebra-print top with turquoise accents--a gift from Pru's trip to Greece.
"Hi," she said brightly, opening the door. Although even to her ears it came out more garbled gasp than real word.
She blinked twice to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Damn. In a suit, Wilson Canby commanded attention and made you hope your parking tickets were paid. In form-fitting jeans, boots and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up and unbuttoned just enough to see a hint of chest hair, he made a girl think about parkin' on a lonely stretch of back road.
Oh, dear.
Wiley could tell by the look on Judy's face he'd surprised her. Good. He wanted tonight to be a clean slate--no Fletcher talk, no rehashing their awkward meeting, not a word about Wendy or the need for counseling. As far as Wiley could tell, Judy's unconventional approach to life had a lot going for it. He wanted to know more.
"Madame," he said whipping the cobalt and gold scarf he'd found in the glove box from behind his back in a flourishing bow. "Your coach and horses await you. It'll be windy. You may want to use this."
Her eyes went wide. "My coach? As in your Mustang? O...M...G." She took the scarf with barely a glance as she hurried onto the deck to look past her driveway where he'd parked the metallic blue '64. With the top down, the pristine white leather seats sparkled. He'd left the engine running because he was afraid it might not start again. His fault for letting the car sit untouched for so long. Prepping it for this date had been oddly therapeutic. He halfway thought he'd felt Eva watching him, and smiling. A strange notion considering she'd been dead for so long he could barely bring her image to mind.
"The battery needs charging so I changed our reservation to seven-thirty. Thought we'd take a drive first, if that's okay with you."
She tossed her head with a laugh. "Okay? Cripes, there was a time in my life when I'd have paid for the chance to ride through town in a convertible with the top down. Can I practice my beauty queen wave? I used to have it down pat." She walked toward him, the hand with the scarf shifting back and forth.
A sudden memory struck. Eva in the passenger seat, the blue scarf fluttering in the wind. "We're keeping this car forever, Wiley. I mean it. Law is serious business and you're going to need a safety valve to release all the negativity you'll be surrounded by every day. What better way to blow off steam than a long drive in a convertible?"
He jolted back to the present when Judy held out her phone. "Take my picture with the car. I need to text Pru," she said. "Bet they don't have cars like this in Iceland."
"Sure," he said, glad now he'd made the effort to wash and wax the car. His arms would be sore tomorrow, but he'd enjoyed playing hooky in the garage with the music turned up and his phone on vibrate.
Still no reply from Fletcher, but even that didn't bother him at the moment.
She skipped down the steps of the large, new-looking deck, tossed her purse on the seat then posed, one hand on the chrome windshield. "How's this?"
"Too posed. Give your friend something to talk about. Jump in the back and do the wave."
Her grinned widened. "Perfect," she squealed.
She opened the passenger door, paused to slip off her sandals then lowered the seat back and climbed in. A moment later, she settled into the pose, back straight, bosom out. His brain flashed to the permanently etched image from the night they met. Her lush, well-endowed breasts peeking out from the black silk crushed to her chest. Wiley's anatomy reacted. He bit down on his lip in consternation.
Judy's smile fell. "Too much? I know I'm not exactly beauty queen material."
She started to move.
"No. Stop. You look great. It's the light," he lied. "I can't see your face clearly. I need to
put the sun to my back."
She glanced over his shoulder at the setting sun but didn't call him on his blatant lie. "It doesn't have to be perfect. She'll think I photo-shopped it no matter what."
He stepped to the far corner of the deck, where the railing had the added advantage of hiding his woody. "Much better. Now, wave and smile to your adoring parade watchers."
Her grin made something clench deep in his chest. Not his heart, he hoped. How cruel for two men to keel over in her presence inside of a month.
Ten minutes later, after dutifully cruising Main Street twice, he got the car up to sixty on the open road. The wind noise didn't facilitate conversation, but he had to ask, "Why will your friend think the picture is fake?"
She turned sideways and leaned toward him. Tendrils of blond hair that escaped from the scarf danced in the wind. "She's the one who leads a glamorous life. Not me."
Sitting in the back of a car, pretending to be a beauty queen is glamorous? A twinge of sadness segued to a sort of big-brother protective feeling. He wondered who made her believe she wasn't worth more?
His fingers squeezed the white leather covering the steering wheel. "Would you like to drive?"
Her jaw dropped. "Me? Seriously?"
"Why not? I'll film it, if you show me how. Then you can post the video on YouTube and send your friend the link."
She sat back, digesting the idea. "Wow. Okay."
He pulled over at the next wide spot in the road. Dusk had fallen. They needed to turn around and head into town. Judy hopped out of the car with an excited skip. "This is so cool. Are you sure you trust me?"
He met her mid-way around the front end. "It's a car, Judy. Just have fun with it."
She started to say something then changed her mind and grinned. "You're not the man I thought you were. Get in. I'll try not to kill us."
She drove like a pro, executing a perfect--if tire-squealing U-turn. The radio blasted some country song Wiley had never heard, but Judy mouthed all the words. Her happiness resonated through the camera he used to video the first few minutes of the drive. He couldn't remember the last time he felt more relaxed and...happy.
"You're a good driver," he told her once they were seated across from each other at a quiet corner table in Athena’s, the only Greek restaurant in town. He'd come here fairly often with Julie and Fletcher...before the accident. "What did you mean when you said I'm not the man you thought I was?"
She took a sip of water before answering. He knew a stalling technique when he saw one. "I made some assumptions, mostly based on your demeanor that night in the hotel room. Which--" She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. "--was not my best moment. I'm sure you made assumptions about me, too."
True. "What did you assume?"
Her fingers drummed the blue and white checked tablecloth a moment. He almost could hear the gears in her brain working to figure out how honest she should be in her reply. "That you were disappointed. Your son let you down. You wanted him to be more like you, and you never would have been caught naked in a hotel room with several strangers."
Her insightfulness surprised him. He waited until the server brought their wine then said, "You're right. I was disappointed, but not for the reason you said. I'd honestly hoped that Clarice...Fletcher's partner--"
"Oh. I know Clarice. Snippy little gossipmonger. Go on."
"That Fletcher and Clarice had had a lover's quarrel and he was using you--a woman named Judy Banger--to get over her." He took a sip and shook his head. "Foolish, huh?"
She reached across the table and rubbed the back of his hand supportively. "You're a dad. You're entitled to believe your kid is perfect right up to the minute he proves otherwise." She looked at their hands and quickly jerked hers back, nearly knocking over her wine glass. Her blush made him want to smile but he maintained his judge face to avoid adding to her embarrassment.
"Are you close to your father?"
"He died in a car accident when I was eleven. He's the only person who ever thought I was perfect. I like to think he still would--even though I'm far from it."
Wiley shrugged. "Perfection is highly overrated."
She made a skeptical sound. "Tell that to my mother."
He hated hearing the bitterness in her tone, but before he could say anything, their waiter brought a plate of spanakopita. Judy helped herself after politely offering him one of the flaky layered treats. He put one on his plate but didn't take a bite.
"My parents are both gone now, but I don't remember either of them making me feel like I was less than anyone else, my siblings included." He fought to keep from reaching out to brush a flake of pastry from Judy's chin. "I think they looked at child rearing as a job. They'd signed on to raise decent, productive human beings and weren't going to let anyone screw that up--themselves, included."
That made her smile--and realize something was on her chin. She flicked it off.
"My folks weren't effusive in their affection, but I'll never forget my mother storming into my classroom one day. My civics teachers had given me a low grade for something contrary to the woman's politics. What I wrote wasn't wrong--it just didn't jibe with her opinion. Mom refused to back down. She argued my case like a Supreme Court Justice. I've always said she's the reason I went into law."
Judy tilted her head and let out a soft "Oh." She paused a moment before adding, "I would have killed for that kind of support growing up. I think I became a reader because the parents in the books I read were like that. And even if they weren't the kids still turned out okay."
"You turned out okay."
She took a swallow of wine. "You don't know me well."
He ignored the sarcasm. "That's true, but I'd like to know you better."
Really? Why? Judy wanted to ask. Fortunately, her mouth was full of delicious spanakopita. She'd sampled frozen versions of the appetizer at potlucks, but nothing compared to the real thing. Every bite exploded in wonderfully rich and complex flavors.
Once she could speak without shooting tiny chunks of spinach across the table, she asked about his siblings.
Over the salad, he told her about his younger bother. "He owned a small chain of niche coffee shops in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Super popular--especially with college kids. He just got bought out by Peet's Coffee. Have you heard of them?"
"My fave, you mean. Screw Peet--whoever he is. They should have named it Judy's Coffee."
Over the perfectly cooked lamb kabobs, he told her about his older sister. "She retired from teaching last year and jumped into volunteering. Right now she's helping kids in Central America. Loves it. Sends me YouTube videos all the time."
When the baklava--melt-in-your-mouth delectable--arrived, he skimmed over his various nieces and nephews. All doing as well as expected from this solid, all-American family. Nothing, she noticed, came up about his past or his son.
He lifted the tiny coffee cup to his lips and blew on it. "So, tell me more about the Banger family. Where'd you grow up?"
She eyed the fragrant steam rising from the cup in front of her. She didn't drink coffee in the evenings. She'd pay for this if she gave in and took a sip, but the aroma wormed its way into her weak resolution, which seemed chronically determined not to pass up anything potentially wonderful and worth remembering.
"Born in Nebraska but raised in Davis. Northern California," she added out of habit.
"Really? I went there for my undergrad, then transferred to Stanford."
Stanford. Tied with Harvard for the number two spot in the nation, if she remembered her trivia right.
"I got two years under my belt before I met my husband and got married."
"You never went back?"
"I did the supportive spouse thing, working to put Shawn through school so I could go next. Of course, next never happened." Suddenly, she couldn't taste the sweetness of the almonds and sugar in her mouth. She pushed the dessert aside and took a big swig of coffee. "How 'bout I give you the Cliff Notes version? It isn't a
bestseller, but I know it verbatim."
His nod made the overhead lights flicker in this silver waves. She squeezed the tiny cup to resist the temptation to reach out and brush back the lone, errant curl. His son sported the exact same curl. She didn't say that. Instead, she told him, "My parents grew up in the Midwest. Mom was working in a diner when she met my dad. He was a traveling salesman." She made a face. "Cliché, I know, but...I only remember Mom's version, and according to her, Dad swept her off her feet and before she knew what happened, she was--" Judy held up both hands to make air quotes the way her mother always did. "--'in the family way.' They eloped to the next county so their families wouldn't raise heck. Six months later my sister Nancy was born."
"Your only sibling?"
Judy nodded. "I'm quite sure I was a mistake, too, because Mother candidly admits she doesn't care for babies. Maybe that's why I was closer to my dad. He worked a lot--traded in his route for a desk so he could be with his family, but he also moonlighted as a bartender. Which, apparently, wasn't such a great job choice since he had a bit of a drinking problem."
Wiley grimaced. "I've seen that happen a lot over the years. DUIs?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But one night after closing up, he either fell asleep or passed out on the drive home and wound up hitting a train." She hesitated before adding something she rarely spoke of to anyone. "At the funeral, I overheard one of his sisters say he probably took the easy way out to escape from the harridan." She snorted softly. "I had nightmares for a year. In my mind, a harridan was a huge, evil monster with red eyes and fangs. Finally, my art teacher asked me about a painting that showed this monster ripping off a man's head. She walked me to the dictionary to look up the word. There it was in black and white. The definition of my mother."
"What did it say?"
"A scolding, vicious woman. A hag, a shrew."
"Ouch. Did you ever tell her about your dreams?"
"Mom? Heck, no. But I did sleep better after that. Unfortunately, that's when I discovered comfort food. I was never skinny like my sister, but I didn't start to put on extra weight until after my dad died." She patted her belly, which was overly full at the moment. In fact, she felt a little ill...although that might have been from sharing her family's history. Usually if the subject came up, she'd make a joke about her screwed up childhood. Why confirm someone's suspicion that she was a loser? But she'd given Judge Wiley Canby a wide-angle look into her soul. A subconscious test to see how fast he grabbed his keys and drove her home? Probably.
The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind Page 4