by Erin Lyon
He was quiet. Then I heard him mutter, “Cheating bitch.” I’m gonna go ahead and assume that requires no response from me. “Fine.”
“Fine? You’ll agree to a mutual walk-away?”
“If that’s my only option.”
“There’s always other options. I just believe it’s your best option.”
“Fine. If you think it’s my best shot.”
You can always tell when they want ironclad advice from an attorney so that they have someone to blame.
“I do think it’s your best option. But it is ultimately your decision, Jim. If you want to spend the money to fight this, I’ll fight it. It’s my job as your attorney, though, to tell you that it would be a tough road, given the circumstances.”
“Fine. You’re telling me it’s my only choice. I’ll do it.”
Son of a bitch. I sighed. Loudly. “It’s not your only choice. Just the best choice.” At what point do I get to stop playing tic-tac-toe with my client?
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I’m not stupid enough to give him another opportunity for a round of truth or dare. “I’ll call you when the settlement is drafted.”
“Fine.” Jim didn’t sound nearly as happy with me as he did the day I snared his ex during deposition. Oh well. I’ll just have to find a way to live without his adoring approval.
I opened up a file and typed up some highly detailed notes of our phone conversation, including as much verbatim as I could. He’s the type of client I could see one day forcing me to defend myself against a claim of malpractice. The joys of being an attorney.
I hung up with Jim and called Doug.
“Doug Simpson.”
“Doug, it’s Kate.”
“Long time, no talk.”
“Yeah. Jim Trainor agreed. Are you writing the settlement or am I?” I asked.
“Me. Jennifer insisted I make sure, and I’m quoting here, ‘Jim’s snake of an attorney doesn’t slip something in there.’”
“Wow. Is it wrong that I’m flattered?”
Doug laughed. “If we aren’t hated by the opposing party, we start to question whether we’re really doing our job.”
“Thanks, Doug. You’re making me question all my career decisions.”
“They didn’t come up with a million lawyer jokes because people love lawyers.”
“That should be on a plaque hanging up at the admissions office of every law school.”
Doug chuckled. “Oh, by the way, Rhett’s dropping Scarlett’s camera off on her front porch while she’s at work. I figured that would be okay. He didn’t want to drive out to my office.”
“Okay. I’d better warn her before she calls to tell me that he trespassed by stepping foot on her porch.”
“Talk to you soon.”
“You’re jinxing us, Doug!”
He laughed again and hung up.
About an hour later, Rita buzzed me. “Um, Kate. Scarlett is here. She didn’t have an appointment with you, right?”
“No. Damn.”
“She was adamant that she see you, so I put her in conference room three. Do you want me to tell her you’re in a meeting?”
Crap. “No. Don’t worry about it, Rita. I’ll take care of it.”
“Sorry, Kate.”
I smiled. “Not your fault, Rita. I blame Scarlett’s long-term lack of psychiatric treatment.”
Rita laughed and hung up.
I stopped at Mags’s cube.
Mags looked up at me, expectantly. “Scarlett is here,” I said.
She frowned.
“Yes, no appointment. Just showed up,” I continued. “I’m going to talk to her in conference room three. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, I need you to come and interrupt and say I’m late for a meeting.”
Mags saluted. “You got it.”
I walked into the conference room and immediately noticed a pair of pink satin panties on the conference room table.
I just sat down in the chair across from Scarlett and didn’t say a word. Not really sure how to open any conversation that starts with her bringing a pair of panties to my office.
Scarlett pointed to the panties, neatly displayed on the table between us.
I gave her my best confused expression.
“I found these in my laundry. In my laundry,” she hissed.
I continued my confounded expression and waited.
“They aren’t mine!”
What. The. Hell. “I still don’t understand.”
“It’s proof! That’s he’s broken into my house!”
I started to ask How? but decided to just shake my head at her.
“Kate. Jesus. These aren’t my underwear. How else would they have gotten in my house?”
“So … Rhett wears satin panties?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I mean, one time, but—”
I cut her off, waving my hands between us. “Scarlett. Why would Rhett have another woman’s underwear in your house?”
“To fuck with me?” she said, exasperated at needing to explain this to me.
This crazy train was officially so far off the rails, I couldn’t figure out how she arrived at this conclusion. I shook my head again.
“Or,” she continued, “it could be from when we were still together.”
Still waiting, quietly.
“That would prove that he breached!”
“Didn’t you both breach?”
“Which time?”
I threw up my hands. “I don’t know, Scarlett. Which time are you talking about?”
She frowned at me. “Yes, we breached, but if he was screwing around, then his breach was worse.”
“How long have you two been split up?”
“About four months.”
“You really don’t think you would have found these underwear in the laundry for four months?” I kind of regretted asking the question, because I was a little worried she would confess how seldom she washed her clothes.
“I don’t know! Can’t we run DNA on them or something? That would prove that he cheated!”
I instinctively leaned back from the potential DNA-carrying underwear on the conference room table. “I don’t know what to say. DNA tests are very expensive and take a long time. You and Rhett settled your contract dispute months ago. I don’t even understand what you think this could possibly change.”
“It would be proof. I thought proof was what lawyers and judges wanted!”
“Proof that the underpants of an unknown woman ended up in your laundry without explanation?” I don’t know why I continued asking questions. I was like a blind woman groping in an unfamiliar room, trying to find the damn light switch.
“That’s why we need a DNA test! So she won’t be unknown!”
“But unless she’s in the database—usually for some criminal conviction—there would be no match!” I had inadvertently started raising my voice to match hers. Conversations with her were beginning to consistently have this effect on me. Apparently, third-grade playground rules applied.
“Oh, I’m sure she’s got a record.”
I went back to shaking my head. “Any chance you caught him on camera going into your house?”
“No.”
“Scarlett, this isn’t going to help us,” I said, gesturing to the panties.
Scarlett just seethed at me.
I looked up suddenly, to the sound of the door to the conference room opening. “Ms. Shaw,” Mags said. “You’re late for the board meeting.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Mags closed the door but stood outside the window, pointing to the panties on the table.
I shook my head. “Scarlett, I have to go.”
She snatched the panties off the table, thankfully, and wadded them up in her fist. “Fine. But he did this. I know he did.”
I sighed. “I’m not saying he didn’t. Or did. I don’t know. I’m just saying that this isn’t going to help your case.”
“Fine,” she said.
She got up and walked out of the conference room, headed toward the front desk.
Mags walked into the room with a perplexed expression. She leaned onto the table toward me.
I pointed at the table where her hands were. “We might want to Lysol the table before putting your hands there.”
She quickly snatched them away. “Yuck.”
“Yup,” I said. “Board meeting?”
“Like she’s gonna know the difference. I could have said you were late for your swearing in as a Supreme Court justice and it would have had the same effect. She’s only thinking about her own little world.”
“Good point.”
“Why did she bring you underwear?”
I tried to paraphrase what Scarlett had told me.
“But—” Mags started. “How … I mean, why…”
I shook my head at her. “It’s not going to make sense to you because you aren’t insane.”
Now she nodded agreement. “Wow.”
Wow is right. I pointed at the table. “I’m serious about the Lysol. Do we have any disinfectant?”
“I’m sure we’ve got something,” she said, looking at her hands the way you would if they were covered in finger paint. She used her elbow to open the conference room door and went in search of a sturdy sanitizer. I didn’t blame her. I felt like I needed a hot shower myself.
* * *
That evening, at home, I was eating salad from a bag (which is the best invention for lazy people who want to make attempts at healthy eating). As I channel surfed and sprinkled a few more sunflower seeds on my salad, my cell rang.
Sandy. “Hi, Sandy,” I said, answering after the first ring.
“Hi, Kate. Am I interrupting anything?”
I looked down at my yoga pants and plateful of prepackaged salad. “Not a bit. What’s up?”
“Would you mind if I dropped by?”
Normally, Sandy immediately declared her purpose, making this visit more of a mystery.
“Of course. Anytime.”
“Wonderful. I’ll be there in a few.”
“See you soon.”
I hung up and frowned at my phone. I finished the rest of my salad (feeling like a borderline health fanatic) and rinsed my plate. By the time I was done, there was a knock at the door.
When I opened it, Sandy was smiling on the doorstep, holding a little pink bag with tissue paper bursting from the top.
“Sandy, what did you do?” I asked, directing a worried glance toward the gift bag.
“See, I knew if I told you I had a gift for you, you would have made an excuse for me not to come by.”
“Not true. I love gifts,” I said, stepping aside and waving her into my apartment. “But you shouldn’t have.”
“That’s what I meant to say,” she said, setting the bag down on the coffee table. “You’d tell me I shouldn’t have.”
“And I would be right.”
Sandy was actually in yoga pants tonight, too, or something similar, and a T-shirt. I’d never seen her dressed so casually. She tucked her dark hair behind her ear and, if it weren’t for the gray streaks in her hair and the fine lines around her eyes, people would think we were the same age. She picked up the little pink bag and held it out to me, smiling.
I shook my head but accepted the gift gratefully. After pulling the tissue from the top, I withdrew another glass for my set—with tiger stripes. Surprised, I looked into her face.
“One of these just got broken!”
“I know!”
“How…” But before I voiced the rest of the question, I remembered Adam spotting the wreckage of the glass in my garbage can a few days ago. “Adam told you it got broken.”
Sandy nodded. “And he even told me which one it was. Said you were heartbroken that you’d lost part of your set.”
“I told him I wanted to find out where you got them so I could replace it. I certainly didn’t expect you to run out and get me another.”
Sandy waved a hand in the air, dismissing my concerns. “I only have a son, Kate. Let me have some fun buying pretty things.”
After she said that, I gave her a quick hug. “How about we christen it and have a glass of wine?”
She did a quick look around my living room. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude on your evening. I just wanted to drop that by for you.”
“I insist.”
She shrugged. “That would be lovely.”
I grabbed a bottle of red from my kitchen and came back, after washing the new glass and grabbing a second one. I opened the bottle and poured some into both glasses for us.
After handing her a glass, I tapped the rim of mine to hers. “Cheers,” I said. “To me having the absolute best landlady in the world.”
Sandy laughed. “Thank you, Kate. And to the best tenant.”
We both sat down on the sofa and took a drink. I looked at my glass and traced the zebra stripes etched into it with my fingertip. “Sandy, I have to ask. I mean, if it isn’t prying. You are so incredible. How is it that you and Adam’s dad didn’t re-up?”
Sandy’s face went blank a moment. “Well, Thomas died.” When the shock registered on my face, Sandy put a hand to my forearm. “I assumed Adam would have told you.”
“No, I mean, he just said you guys only had one contract. He never said why.”
Sandy’s face went slack a little and, for the first time, she looked every day of her sixty years. She looked at me a minute without speaking and I wasn’t certain she was going to elaborate. Then she smiled, but it was that sad, wistful smile you usually only read about in books about unrequited love.
“Thomas and I signed and Adam was born a year later. Then, about the time we would have thought about renewing our contract, we found out he was sick. Cancer.” She shrugged matter-of-factly. “So we spent the next two years doing the specialty circuit, trying experimental things. Even had it in remission for a couple of years. During that time, I brought up another contract, but Thomas was worried I’d be left with the bill for his care, so he refused. And then it came back and it was everywhere and he didn’t have the fight in him anymore. He died when Adam was thirteen.”
Without thinking, or being able to help myself, I reached out and grasped her hand. She smiled and held on to it.
“Thomas was … like no other man I’ve ever met. He was strong, but caring. So kind. He was the type that would drop everything to take care of those he loved. Which was funny, because when I first met him he seemed kind of stoic. Severe. But once I got to know him, he was the warmest man I ever knew.” She sighed and smiled, and took another drink of wine.
I thought about her description and nodded. “Adam sounds like he takes after his father in that way.”
“He might be, if he ever got close to anyone.” She narrowed her eyes a little and leaned in toward me. “Is it me or does he not really date?”
I laughed. “Not really his thing.”
“That’s a relief. I was a little worried he was dating but just never wanted me to meet any of them. I just want him to be happy, so I try not to push, but he seems a little detached. Lonely, sometimes.”
“I would’ve agreed with that when I first met him, but he doesn’t seem so lonely to me now.”
Sandy turned the stem of her glass, propped her elbow on the back of the couch, and rested her head in her palm. “I worry that I’m the reason Adam is the way he is.”
“Adam is wonderful,” I said with a laugh. “So, yes, you probably are the reason he is that way.”
She smiled. “You know what I mean. He never gets close to people. I just wonder if watching me … stay in a relationship with a dead man for the last twenty years made him think it’s not worth it.” Sandy made a slight grunt. “Ridiculous. Thomas has been gone for twenty years and I just never let go. Every other man I’ve met is just a shade of him—not real enough for me to consider them as actual possibilities.” Pretty sure Uncle Tony wasn’t going to be the man to suddenly break that cycle. “But what if watchin
g me pine away for the person I lost made him unable to love someone that much? So that he doesn’t end up like me.”
My eyes misted over a little. “Well, he recently told me that I was his best friend. So, while not romantic, he has gotten close to someone.” She and I both laughed, and a tear ran down my cheek. “And I’m pretty sure he has turned out just like you in all the best ways.”
CHAPTER 15
The next afternoon, I’d gotten to court fifteen minutes early and was waiting for Rochelle to show, when Dickhead, aka Richard Pope, sat down in the seat next to me.
“Dr. Pope,” I said, not hiding my surprise.
“Ms. Shaw. How are you?”
“Um. Fine.” I did a quick head swivel looking for Doug. “Is your attorney here?”
“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Dr. Pope, you’re represented by counsel and I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
He waved a hand in the air. “This isn’t about the case. I’m fine with the child support. This is about Rochelle.”
I frowned.
“I need her back. I know I made a mistake.” I inadvertently raised an eyebrow. Think you mean to say mistakes, buddy, since there were several. “But there has to be some way she’ll forgive me.”
I leaned back from him, my entire body not wanting to have this conversation. “I really don’t know what I could do. And whether it’s about the case or not—I really shouldn’t be talking to you at the hearing.”
He sighed. “Fine.” He got up and headed for a seat across the aisle before quickly turning back to me and adding, “I’ll call your office later.”
What the … what? No, no, no. Do the mental hospitals know there are this many crazy people walking around every day? Because I certainly didn’t, until I went into signing law. Okay, and maybe a little while in television. More than a little. Whatever.
Rochelle startled me out of my reverie when she scooched past me and sat in the next seat.
“Hi, Kate,” she said, with a big smile.
I did a quick, inadvertent glance toward Pope and he was watching her intently. I could almost picture the little red cartoon hearts in his eyes. One of life’s hard-learned truths: you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
I looked back at Rochelle, and boy, was she gone. She didn’t even seem to realize he was sitting three feet away. “Hi, Rochelle. You look … happy,” I observed.