"Oh," he said, looking down at his hand. "Well, she doesn't like it, but she understands, if that's what you mean." Then he added, "She's a lawyer, too."
Jack worried again she might think he'd been hitting on her, and the question had been her way of letting him know it. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe she'd been hitting on him. He stood straight and looked at his watch.
"I didn't realize how late it was," he said.
Jenny straightened, also, as if on cue. "Yes, it is late." She walked to the sink and washed out her cup. "Well, it's been nice chatting with you. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Hilliard." She smiled at him and then turned away.
And Jack knew he had been dismissed.
Almost nine years had passed since that first night in the lunchroom, but now, standing in the shower, letting the water get so hot that it almost burned his skin, Jack again felt the imbalance, the inability to grasp the meaning of what had happened between them. Their friendship had survived its uncertain start years before; in fact, it had flourished. He'd eventually understood that her subtle playfulness was merely her way of putting the male lawyers on notice that, although she enjoyed being one of the boys in a firm dominated by men, she was still a woman underneath.
He reminded himself that even Claire liked Jenny. She'd immediately accepted her as his friend; she'd never been the possessive or jealous type. Although they'd never developed a friendship with each other separate from Jack, Claire regularly invited Jenny to their house for dinner, and Jenny had even babysat the kids a few times when he and Claire went away for the weekend.
They were just friends; they would always be just friends. He'd just gone a little bit further than he'd intended. He'd been buzzed and he'd let his inhibitions down. Their flirting hadn't meant anything way back then, and he had to believe it didn't mean anything now. He stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed a clean towel hanging from the rack on the shower door. Claire had put it there for him, he knew. He buried his face in it and smelled the same just-washed scent that he'd detected last night on her T-shirt. He hurried then. He had to get out of the house and to the safety of his office. Maybe then everything would get back to normal.
When he arrived at the office, Beverly, a secretary who had worked in the DA's office even longer than Earl, pounced on him.
"Jack!" she said, coming around her desk to greet him. In her hand was a large stack of pink phone messages. "You're a popular man today." After she handed the messages to him, she reached up and touched his chin. "Ooh . . . trying to grow a beard?"
He gently pushed her hand away. She relentlessly teased him about his youthful face after he'd once been carded at a bar where the office had gone to celebrate a victory.
"Anybody important?" he asked, fingering through the papers.
"Depends who you think's important," she said. "Jennifer Dodson's been trying to reach you all morning. Says she really needs to talk to you. After she kept pestering me, I finally told her to just leave a message on your voice mail."
The weight that had lifted briefly when he'd first entered the familiar surroundings of the courthouse was back. "Who else?" Jack said, trying to skim over the mention of Jenny's call so Beverly wouldn't think it was important, at least not to him.
"A couple of reporters called, wanting to get your reaction to Earl's announcement. I got the feeling they'd already talked with Earl." She paused, as if in thought. "And one wanted to talk to you about Barnard."
"But I'm not handling Barnard."
"I tried to tell him that." She shrugged. "Oh, yeah, and Earl's been looking for you."
In his office, he looked carefully at the messages Jenny had left. The first one was pretty basic—Beverly had simply checked the little box next to RETURN CALL AT YOUR CONVENIENCE. The next, left only twenty minutes after the first, had the same box checked, but Beverly had also handwritten "important" on the memo line. A half hour later, Jenny had called again. Beverly hadn't bothered to check off any boxes on that one; she'd merely scrawled in capital letters across the paper "NEEDS TO TALK TO YOU ASAP!!"
Jack glanced at his phone and saw the message light blinking. He wondered how many of those calls were also from Jenny. He dialed and took a deep breath as he heard her voice.
"Jack, I'm just wondering why you haven't called me back." Her voice oozed artificial calm. "I've been trying to reach you all morning. Could you give me the courtesy of a return call?"
He skipped a few more messages from others and then listened to her next, and last, one.
"Jack, where the hell are you? Why haven't you called me back? Don't tell me you're one of those jerks who refuses to call a woman back because he wants to pretend something never happened. I'm not Glenn Close, you know. I'm not going to stalk you or anything." Her anger trailed off at the end. "I just want to say I'm sorry."
Jack laughed at her comparison. Despite Jenny's ranting, the maniacal character from Fatal Attraction would never have entered his mind. He knew Jenny just hated being vulnerable. He pressed the switch and waited for a dial tone. He hit the speed dial for her direct line, even though he knew the number by heart. The phone rang only once before she picked up.
"Jennifer Dodson." Her voice was all business.
"Jenny, it's me."
She let out a huge sigh. "Godammit, Jack, where the hell have you been?"
"If you wanna be my campaign manager, you'll have to clean up that potty mouth of yours."
She laughed with relief. "You've reconsidered?"
"No, I was just razzin' you."
"Where have you been?" she asked again.
She must still have thought he'd been purposely avoiding her calls.
"I slept in. I just got here about ten minutes ago."
"It wasn't that late when we left last night."
"Yeah, well, long story."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah."
The phone line fell quiet. Jack knew she was expecting him to say more. He considered telling her how he had accidentally fallen asleep in the car—leaving out the role she had played, of course—but he didn't think he could even say Claire's name out loud to her right then.
He heard Earl's voice down the hall, talking excitedly to someone about his plans. Despite his own misgivings about the future, Jack had to admit that the prospect of a new career seemed to have pumped extra life into his old boss.
Jack took a deep breath. Here goes, he thought. "Jenny, about last night—"
She cut him off. "Jack, you don't have to say anything. It's okay, really."
"I know we were a little drunk, and—"
"No, Jack, you were a little drunk; I was a lot drunk. I was out of line and I'm sorry we even have to deal with this. It never has to be mentioned or thought about again."
It happened so smoothly, so quickly, that at first he didn't even realize she had just turned the tables on him. Although she spoke apologetically, as if taking full responsibility for what had happened between them, he knew she was saying, in effect, I was drunk and indiscriminate; you weren't and you chose me. The lawyer in him wanted to argue with her, to defend himself and his intentions, but instead he sat frozen in his chair.
While he sat there trying to think of something to say, he heard a brief knock on his office door. It swung open, on its own, it seemed, as if a ghost had entered the room. Earl was obviously right outside Jack's office. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you guys for awhile," Earl said to someone else. The statement was followed by his low, deep-throated laugh. After a moment, he stuck his head in. Jack was forced to be decisive.
"You're right, Jenny," he said, waving Earl in. "I'm sorry, too. We'll just forget about it."
"Is someone there?" Jenny had heard the change in his tone of voice.
"Yeah, Earl's here. He's been looking for me, too, apparently."
"Okay, go on, then. We'll talk later, about that candidacy of yours." She laughed and her voice was lighter. Jack laughed, too, but it felt forced. When he hung up
, Earl closed the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs opposite Jack's desk.
"Jennifer Dodson?" Earl said, motioning to the phone.
"Yeah."
"Good looking girl."
"Yeah, I guess."
Earl smiled slightly. "Good lawyer, too, from what I hear."
"Having worked with her for a few years, I'd agree with that. She's very smart."
"You two spent a lot of time together last night. You're good friends, huh?"
Jack grew impatient. "Yes, Earl," he sighed. "You know we're friends. I'm not on the witness stand. Where are you going with this?"
Earl remained silent for a minute, folding his fingers forward over his wide palms to study his nails. "Nowhere in particular, I guess," he said. "I'd just hate to see you end up somewhere you didn't even know you were going." He looked straight at Jack, and Jack understood why Earl had been a successful DA for so many years. Despite Jack's own talents in the courtroom, he wouldn't want to face Earl from the witness stand.
"You have nothing to worry about," Jack said. "I know exactly where I'm going."
"Okay." Earl stood and started to wander around the small office, looking at the diplomas and bar licenses on the wall. "You like it here?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes . . ." Jack said cautiously. Here it comes, he thought. The invitation to follow Earl to Clark & Cavanaugh. As much as he liked working for him, Jack had no desire to practice in a private firm again, but he didn't relish the thought of trying to explain that now. Working at one of the big firms had never been in his plans; frankly, when he'd first started law school, he hadn't given it any thought. But, like many of his classmates, Jack had succumbed to the enticements of the big, high-paying firms. He and Claire had later joked that being wooed by the big firms was a bit like entering the Hotel California. Until, that is, they didn't want you anymore. "I love my job, Earl. You know that."
He swiveled around in his chair, his eyes following Earl as he made his way around the office. Earl nodded and picked up a picture of Claire from a file cabinet. It was Jack's favorite picture of her. He had taken it in Amagansett, on Long Island, shortly before they were married. It was June; they had gone up for the wedding of a friend and it had been the first time on the East Coast for both of them. It had rained all weekend; neither had realized how cold it could be there at that time of year. On the last day, the rain tapered off into a mist and they decided it would be their only chance to get to the beach. They walked along the shoreline holding hands and mindlessly adjusting the direction of their stride to avoid the waves that broke on the sand at their feet. The picture was black-and-white, a close-up of Claire's face. Her head was tilted down slightly; her eyes looked up to the camera. She had only the slightest hint of a smile on her face. The wind had been strong that day, and Claire's long, curly hair blew to the side, most of it around the back of her head, toward the ocean. What Jack liked so much about the picture was the way a few stray strands had blown in front of her face and caught on her lips; he had snapped the picture just as she was about to reach up to pull them away.
"She's a beautiful woman, Jack," Earl said, setting the picture down.
Oh, no, here we go again. "I know."
Earl crossed his arms and leaned against the cabinet. "How's she feel about your career?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, some women expect their husbands to bring in a bit more money than you'd ever make at the DA's office."
Jack smiled. That was it, he thought. Earl planned to try to talk him into going with him. "You know she's not like that. She's knows how miserable I was at Newman."
"So you plan on staying here awhile?"
"If the next guy wants me, yeah."
"Have you ever thought about being that next guy?" Earl grinned.
Jack laughed. If only Earl knew who else had suggested the same thing to him. He debated whether to risk bringing up Jenny's name again.
"What's so funny?" Earl asked. "You can't tell me you've never thought about it yourself."
"Actually, I hadn't, at least not seriously, until last night, when the same idea was pitched to me by none other than Jenny Dodson."
"So that's what you two were huddled together talking about."
"Yup, that's it." Jack was feeling bold now. "Contrary to your suspicions, we weren't planning which motel to meet in."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it. Give me some credit, will you?"
"I simply don't want you to mess things up for yourself."
"I'm married to a 'beautiful woman,' as you say, whom I love more than life itself, and I've got two unbelievable kids. I'm not going to do anything stupid." As he said it, Jack had almost convinced himself that he'd done nothing wrong. And then, giving himself that one last push, he added, "Jenny and I are just friends, and we've got the stamp of approval from Claire."
Earl raised his hands in defense. "Okay, okay. Point taken. I won't bring it up again."
Jack took a deep breath and sighed. Earl had always treated him as the prodigal son; now he felt like a spoiled teenager who had rebuffed a parent's generous attempts at guidance.
Beverly knocked on the door and stepped into the office.
"Earl, there's another reporter on the phone for you. You want it in here?"
Earl furrowed his forehead and scratched the short fuzz on the back of his head. A veteran, he always looked as if he still got his hair cut by the Army.
"No, not now," he said. "Jack and I still have some things to talk about." When Beverly left, Earl said: "Will you give it some thought?"
Jack wanted to say yes. He wanted to think about it, to dream about it. He knew he was a good lawyer and that, except for one minor—no, major—detail, the job was well suited for him. But, as he'd told Jenny, he knew no city in this state would elect a DA who didn't believe in the death penalty. It was considered an unspoken prerequisite for the job.
"They've asked me who I want to follow in my footsteps." "They" meaning the reporters, Jack knew. "I gave them your name."
"You shouldn't have done that without talking to me first," Jack said. "I can't do it."
"I didn't say you were going to run, or even thinking about it. I just said you'd be my pick."
"Well, I'm flattered." Jack meant it. "But the answer's no."
"Jesus . . . why, Jack?" Earl walked back to his chair and hovered over it.
"Well, let's see, there's that one little problem I have with the death penalty."
"So what?" Earl said, waving his hand in dismissal. "It's not even a factor."
"Of course it is. It will be the first question they ask me. Especially with the Barnard case. Everyone's out for blood, and if you don't give it to them on Barnard, they're gonna make damn sure they get it from the guy who takes your place."
"You've been thinking about this," Earl said quietly.
"I'm just being realistic. It's coming." He paused a minute. "You know, Earl, it's one thing being an Assistant DA. We always knew you'd just keep me off the death penalty cases if that's what I wanted." Earl nodded slightly. "But it's another thing to suggest someone like me could head up this office. It just won't happen."
"Maybe you're right. But I'd like to believe otherwise."
"That's what I always liked about you, Earl," Jack said, laughing a bit. "You always believed we'd win those cases that seemed impossible to win."
"Don't forget . . . sometimes we did."
"Yeah," Jack conceded. "Sometimes we did."
CHAPTER THREE
THE SCENT OF simmering wine and beef broth greeted Jack when he entered the house. It smelled good but he didn't have an appetite. Everyone from the office had left together around three thirty that afternoon for a small bar near the courthouse to celebrate Earl's news. Jack had drunk one too many beers and ended up staying later than he had originally planned to let the buzz wear off. Now it was almost seven and he had a headache, and he dreaded the prospect of seeing Claire. He just wanted to
go back to bed and pick up where he'd left off that morning. Instead he forged into the family room, where he found her sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the built-ins that held their television and stereo. Videotapes, compact discs and old, dusty cassette tapes surrounded her. The bottom doors of the cabinet were open, and he could see where she had begun to replace the videotapes in an organized array. David Bowie sang "Let's Dance" on the cassette player; the sound was poor and scratchy. One of their old tapes.
He threw his briefcase on the couch and squatted next to her. She turned to him, and he pecked her on the cheek.
"What's up?" she said. "That was the lamest kiss ever."
"Sorry." He forced a smile and gave her another, better one.
"You guys went out after work?" she asked, turning her attention back to the tapes.
"Yeah, just the office. Our own little celebration with Earl." He sat on the floor with her. "Smells good. What's for dinner?"
"Beef Stroganoff. Hungry?"
He hesitated. "Yeah, I guess." He pointed at the mess in front of her. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I started to put away some of the videos the kids left out, and then I just decided to organize the whole thing while I waited for you to get home." She turned over the videotape in her hand to read the title and then searched for its corresponding case.
Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He could smell the smoke from the bar on his clothes and thought about taking a shower before dinner. "What happened to you this morning?" he asked. "You didn't wake me to say goodbye."
"I didn't have the heart. You looked dead to the world. But you know, you had this really pained look on your face, so I almost thought I should."
He picked up a magazine from the floor next to the couch and began to leaf through it mindlessly. "It didn't feel like I got any sleep at all."
"This thing with Earl's really getting to you, isn't it?"
"I don't know. I guess." He tossed the magazine aside. "Today he asked me if I wanted to run. He said he'd already told some reporters that he wanted me to."
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