Burning Desire

by Relentless Aaron

  OPHELIA

  Walking down the hospital corridor with that daggon IV stand made me feel worse than I already did. Add to that, the dizziness that first put me in the hospital was outdone by the pains in my stomach. I wondered what that was about, and could only hope it was just my body needing some real food. One of Momma’s home-cooked meals would do it. And truth be told, sure couldn’t wait to fall in Momma’s lap; she’d know just what to do with me. She’d know how to get me better with one of her special remedies, and before you know it I’d be a little girl again. I hate to be actin’ like a momma’s girl but I guess I’m guilty, even at age forty-six.

  “Mrs. King? Are you alright?”

  “That’s Ms. King. And I sure am alright. Can you do me a favor and contact my doctor to find out how I can get some real food in here?”

  “Well, whaddaya like, Ms. King? I can sure help ya with that.”

  I could sense that this young woman had maybe heard this complaint before, since the food was just— well, I won’t put the food down; I’ll just say that it’s nothing like Momma’s. And ain’t no way it compares to a Delta dish, honey.

  I leaned in closer to the young lady, pulling my hospital gown together at the same time.

  “Excuse me, what’s your name, sweetie?”

  “I’m JiJi,” she replied proudly.

  “Well, alright, JiJi. Um, I just hope by real food you’re not talkin’ about those Chick-fil-A and Blimpie shops downstairs.”

  “No, ma’am. Head nurse says we need to take real good care a you. She says you’re one of ‘Lanta’s top attorneys. So your wish is my command, ma’am. Any particular dish you like?”

  Beyond the flattery, I was thinking about my stomach and what it might be able to bear after all the hoopla with the ambulance ride, the tests in the emergency room, and whatnot.

  “Anyway, I can get a mixed-greens salad?”

  “Coming up, one mixed-greens salad fit for a king. Or, er, a queen?”

  I chuckled at this young lady’s tact before asking, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “JiJi,” she replied, as if she wasn’t all-the-way sure.

  “Well, JiJi, ain’t you just the cutest thing. You have a real nice energy about you. And if you keep that up, I promise you will go far.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be right back with your food. Room 219, right?”

  “Uhh, right,” I assumed. And then I continued on my stroll down the corridor. I felt so sluggish, and really out of place in the hospital. Usually when I’m here, it’s because I’m representing an accident victim or even a patient on their death bed. Never am I here as the daggon patient. Made me ill just thinking about it. And I know this could’ve been avoided if I’d just taken better care of myself. But the workload was heavy, and I knew I was slippin’; quick meals, skippin’ my workouts, and lack of sleep will do it every time. And this case I’m workin’ for the past two months has been taxin’ my butt real good. Add to that all the meetings, the phone calls, the trips in and out of town, there’s a lot of driving, and somewhere in the mix I get to spend some quality time with my boyfriend, the new love of my life. To say the very least, I got a full plate. Plus, my brain and my cell phone both work overtime. Thank God they both operate on their own and need very little maintenance; otherwise I’d be SOL. Really. I can’t operate without my brain. But I definitely can’t operate without my cell phone.

  “What’s his deal?” I asked a nurse who stood near the doorway of the room immediately next to mine. I was being nosy, like I used to do when I did my share of ambulance chasin’. Finding out about a patient was as easy as conversation and relationships with the nurses and doctors. Before long, it was as if I myself was a hospital staff member, knowing all that I know. Except, I hadn’t been in a hospital for this many hours in quite a long time. And maybe my conversation with the nurse was my wanting to know if I still had what it took.

  “Oh. You caught me. He’s such a work of art, Mrs. King.”

  “That’s Ms. King, Sandra.”

  “Oh. Right. Okay. Well, I just love me some perfection, Ms. King.” Sandra uttered an appreciative exhale and sighed. She was the student nurse I’d been in a conversation with earlier, when I arrived at Atlanta Medical Center. We hit it off real good, talking about how much Atlanta had changed, what life might be like with a black president, and (of course) men versus boys— my favorite conversation to have with college students.

  I pushed up a doubtful sound from my belly and reached my head in to take a look at the new exhibit. Then I said, “Perfection, huh? Wow, you young ladies see everything so differently. So footloose and fancy-free. Not a problem in the world. All men are Adonis, huh? Ahhhhh, to be young again,” I said as I got a last peek.

  Sandra giggled. “You’re kidding, right? I— I really hope you’re kidding, Ms. King. You are gorgeous! I’d give my right arm for your beauty and wisdom.”

  “Thanks, Sandra. Wish I could cash that compliment in for a favorable court judgment.”

  “Huh?”

  I wagged my head, not intending to get this young woman caught up in my complex court case.

  “So, what’s his diagnosis?”

  “He’s in a coma, Ms. King. Had some type of accident in the street and he’s been lights-out ever since.”

  My concern grew as I took a more important gaze.

  “Wow. How long?”

  “Well, I think he’s goin’ on ten weeks now.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Sandra was wagging her head. “I know. And not a lick of family has come to check on him.”

  “Really? Who’s carrying the bill for his care?”

  “Uhh, I don’t know, really. I don’t really get those details, Ms. King. I’m just a lowly nurse’s aide. A lot to learn, but in the meantime just doin’ God’s will.”

  My eyes peered into Sandra’s. So proud of our young people when they were doin’ the right thing.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Aw.” Her expression soured, and then the head wagging again. “That’s another thing. Had no ID on him. His chart is marked as John Doe.”

  The compassion immediately kicked in. And even though I was weak and my tummy ached, I wasn’t as dizzy as I was earlier; and I was definitely competent enough to see a problem here. In fact, this little puzzle, if anything, gave me more energy. I guess it’s the practice I’m accustomed to, always coming to the rescue in one way or another.

  “You mind?”

  Sandra ushered me farther into the patient’s room and closed the door behind us before handing me the patient’s clipboard.

  “You know they’d have my behind for doin’ this.”

  “The hospital administrator is a family friend. Don’t worry your little head; I gotcha,” I said with the most sig-nificance I could muster under the circumstances. Sandra helped me with my IV stand and we approached the bedside of John Doe. It didn’t take long for me to recognize how right she was. He was gorgeous. Perfection. Why all men couldn’t—

  I felt myself digressing as I held my tongue and looked over the charts. I have seen more than enough of these charts in the ten years I’d been studying and practicing law, first as a para legal for the billionaire attorney BJ Worth, and then in my own firm, where medical-malpractice and personal-injury cases were my specialty.

  “Ten weeks, huh?”

  “I believe so,” Sandra replied.

  Now I was waggin’ my head, then looking at this young man clinging to life. He was still filled with a spirit and an energy, but somehow unable to move or to open his eyes. It was tragic to see this and to know that there was the possibility that he might not return to normal. Comas were like that: a crossroads of a sort that didn’t guarantee you 100 percent normalcy. For a moment I froze in the reality before me, but to be honest, no sooner did I shake it off. It was easy for me to recall so many others who I’d seen in this very same condition; maybe not in a coma, but certainly bedridden. And, although it’s not a
pretty sight and that I’m compassionate about it all, I couldn’t help that it all kind of plays in my head as one big blur of images and names and circumstances. To say I’m jaded is an understatement. I’ve just seen so much during my career as a lawyer. They call this “the practice,” but it’s not just because we go through so much to learn and to obtain and then to maintain what we’ve learned; it’s also the sum total of all our experience that comes along with the territory. The activities and people and challenges outside the courtroom and the office tend to take a toll on us as well. I could be standing in a hospital room over a cop clinging to a life-support system on one day, and the next I could be in a local jail across a table from a client who couldn’t care less about his future, and way less about mine. I’m in court one day, negotiating with a nerd of a district attorney, and the next I’m with a forensic specialist learning about the unique qualities of different-caliber bullets. It all comes with the territory, keeps life unpredictable, and really amounts to a wealth of connectivity from every which way. And sure there’s opportunity and resources and immeasurable amounts of money to be earned, but sometimes I just need to put the brakes on. My para legal, Angela, is just one of those protective shields, taking a lot of my calls and weeding out a lot of the nonsense that can interrupt my flow. If it’s not Angela to provide that insulation, it’s me just leaving my phone alone for a while to go and work out in the gym, or to relax in my private Jacuzzi. Fortunately, everything (my office, the gym, the Jacuzzi, and my beauty salon) is all under one roof. And then the absolute rule for me is to shut my phone off at ten o’clock every night. So, thank God I get some relaxation. But, otherwise, this profession is a grind. It’s got its pros and cons just like every other business. The thing is, the workload gets so heavy that I sometimes need to pull back, but the moment I wanna take a vacation there’s always another priority in store. Always another client in need.

  I can’t lie. I tend to bring much of the weight on myself because I have such a kind heart (my mom’s side of me) and a I’m no-nonsense (my dad’s side of me). So, if I see a person in trouble, my heart reaches out sort of unconditionally— the kindness in me. And yet, I’m diligent in troubleshooting to the heart of the issue. So, in the case of John Doe, he clearly needed an advocate to find out more about his family and other vital statistics. Chances are he might’ve been robbed or left his wallet at home. But ten weeks of coma is crazy. It wasn’t a crime but a miscommunication that needed to be addressed at once. And, most likely, police officers have shoved this man’s case to the side. Not good.

  “Has anyone at all come to see him?”

  Sandra shrugged and her eyes turned weird all at once.

  “The police, every now and then. But that’s all I seen.”

  Of course, I told myself. And with that, I headed back to my room, the IV rack rolling alongside me as though it were my mascot. And although my body needed some healing, some therapy, and some rest and relaxation, my mind was already in overdrive.

  [EIGHT]

  IT HAS BEEN a blessed life for me, I have to say, when I look at where I came from, and where it’s landed me today. Along with the enormous income I pull down from securing contracts for entertainers, churches, and corporations, I currently have partnerships in a few Atlanta nightclubs, a nice chunk of stock in Comcast cable, and two commercial properties in downtown Atlanta. I now live in a twenty-two-room mansion on two acres in Cascade. I keep just two vehicles, and a motorcycle that I sometimes feel adventurous enough to drive. And I can even claim all that through my hard work ethic. It wasn’t given to me by my parents and I didn’t inherit from a rich uncle. Well, correction: I had to repossess the motorcycle from a client who was lunching on his bill. But everything else, I assure you, was earned fair and square.

  The thing is, I tend to feel like an angel a lot of times, protected and blessed by the Most High. I’ve never had any major tragedies in my life, I’ve never been to the bottom of the well in terms of my finances or my living arrangements, and only up until recently could I say the same for my health. It’s all been pretty much peaches and cream the whole way. I won’t say there weren’t challenges, ‘cause that would be a lie. Yes, the breakup with my husband was horrible. He was my first boyfriend, my first true love. And the loss took a toll on me mentally. I was in the most unlikely situation, trapped by single parenthood. Something I never, ever expected for myself. Here I was, playing the good girl all through my teenage years, never steppin’ out on my man; and never did I consider any alternatives. I was that ride-or-die chick that you always hear about in the hip-hop community. Then, from left field, here came Darius, home after what was supposed to be a long day at work; I’ll never forget the words:

  “Baby. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m leaving you.”

  The words threw me into a spell, and they echoed in my head for so many months thereafter. I thought about us as teenagers and how I had to sneak in and out of our back door just to see Darius, back when my dad would threaten: I’ll shoot him dead if I catch him in my house! I thought about school and being a cheerleader, and Darius running all over the football field like some superjock, maybe trying to win my approval. But he didn’t need to go that far; I was sold from the day he enrolled in our school. He was such a champion in my eyes with his tall, athletic build and his GQ facial features. He was the type of hunk who a girl just wanted to touch, much less have as a first love. He was the type of guy who you wanted everyone to know was yours, especially all the jealous girls in my classes who just couldn’t keep up with me in grades. In the end, he was the type of guy you wanted to bring home to Momma, and eventually marry. And when I did just that, I can honestly say my dream came true. A fairy-tale life that was handed to me at age nineteen was the life I lived up until I was thirty. For eleven years.

  Meanwhile, my daughter, Dancer, was, I guess, the greatest benefit from my relationship with Darius. That girl is my pride and joy; the spitting image of me. And no matter what I had to do to grow her into a strong, responsible woman, I was gonna do it. I intended to see that Dancer had the absolute best of everything. The best schools. The best clothes. The best childhood. And maybe it was a blessing that Darius and I went our separate ways, because I probably wouldn’t have ventured into law if I was left to live as his kept house wife. I wouldn’t have earned the Teflon-tough way of life I have, or the aggressive, no-nonsense attitude I bring to the courtroom. In fact, I wouldn’t be involved in law at all.

  Being a lawyer was a mere childhood dream. I would watch those cop and law TV shows, and I would imagine myself in those roles. I could always figure out who did what, and way before the truth was revealed. I did the same when I watched game shows, wishing they would dare call me one day to be a contestant. But I never took my dream any further. It was always my agenda to take care of Dancer, and my man. So, when the my man part of my life took a detour, I basically had to get over it. When I did, it was still early enough that I could attend college, study what I had to, and step up to the court house stairs. Ophelia King is here! And not to brag or anything, but if nothing else, the timing was just right. There is the old law, there are the new laws, and then there’s Ophelia’s Law! And really that’s nothing more than all the old-school stuff combined with the advent of technology. I just happen to be planted in law at the right time, right in the middle of that curve. I’m no stranger to e-mails and the Internet. I’m no stranger to law books and the ritual of reading. I was studying law at an age that was just right, if you asked me. I was also in school with those who were much younger than I. They were either fresh out of college or grad school, while I was more experienced in the ways of life. And now it was time to bring that to the world of law.

  To quote one of my professors: “The legal world needs Ophelia King.”

  And so it was.

  FROM MY point of view, the law is no different than reading and comprehending an entire shelf of encyclopedias. There’s an enormous job of studying it all, and it�
�s tough to recall. And I guess that’s what makes lawyering such a prestigious trade, since not everyone can master it. What makes for that specialty that a lawyer embraces as their own is nothing more than (as with the encyclopedias) the particular area or subject matter or topic that he or she chooses to focus on. Constitutional law. Criminal law. Real-estate law. Tax law. Family law. Property law. Corporate law. Entertainment law. Federal. State. Municipal. Ordinances. There’s so much. And, even if you do know all of that? None of it would prepare you in the courtroom. In that arena, you nearly have to be a boxer, a scuba diver, and a football player. The thing is, by the time I learned how impossible the legal “ride” would be, I was already in too deep. I think if I’d known how difficult it would be to grasp, I might’ve gone a different route in life. But there was this article I read in Upscale Magazine about the legal giant named Johnny Cochran. Everyone knew who Johnny Co-chran was. And who could miss his aggressive approaches in the OJ trial? Who could miss his many appearances on CNN and when he had his own show on Court TV, going head-to-head with that right-winger Nancy Grace? So, inspired by Johnny’s godlike presence in national and international media, I stayed on my grind. It didn’t matter how much work I had to do, or what I needed to study. I was game! And since I now had no partner in life, the law became my new first love and my life.

  I had to learn that what they teach us in law school is more theory, and not necessarily the focus on any one type of law. More so, I learned how to find my way to answers that are favorable to my position and my case. And because the law is ever changing, I also had to determine and challenge situations based on new laws, decisions, and revelations in the Supreme Court. Such decisions must be accounted for. Certain appeals that are relevant must be researched. Research is really what law is; intelligent, surgical research that will bring hard conclusions to be affirmed in the courtroom, by a judge and/or jury of our peers. Add to all my studies that I was older and wiser than most anyone else in the class, remember I had also been an athlete, bouncing and flipping around as a cheerleader. Taking my turn at basketball and soccer and track. If a boy could do it, Ophelia could do it! So, I had that very same state of mind, that very same skill set as a resource in law. From being awarded medals and trophies in our debate teams to being voted valedictorian of my class, I was living my dream, all the way up to working at and then running Atlanta’s biggest law firm.