by Nicole Casey
I studied her lovely face for a long moment, curious to know if she believed everything she was saying.
There was a defiance in her cerulean blue eyes, one which matched her confidence and undefeatable aura.
I had always known that Yvette Viera was a force with whom to be reckoned.
I suppose that was what had drawn me to her in our college days.
That and the fact that she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
That had been a long time ago, of course, but occasionally, I was struck by the reminder of how tender and childlike she seemed.
Did she still possess any of the vulnerability she had in school or had it all dissolved into a bit of cynicism with everything we had seen at Kilpatrick-Campbell?
I almost shook my head at the unsolicited thought.
How could she be anything but a skeptic now? Neither of us was the same people we had been back then.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked. “Is my mascara running?”
“That would imply you had tears your ducts and I find that impossible to believe,” I answered smoothly.
Yvette laughed, and I grinned at her.
“I was just thinking about an upcoming case. Ryerson Sterling is getting a divorce.”
Yvette released a low whistle and raised her dark eyebrows appreciatively.
“That is going to be a massive dip in his pocketbook,” she commented, sinking back against the armchair.
She tucked her legs up casually and I marveled at how much she had not physically changed since I had met her in junior year.
“I hope so,” I said, smirking slightly. “I’m going to be representing his wife.”
Yvette’s mouth parted to answer but before she could utter a word, Vern appeared in the doorway, his pale skin almost opaque.
“We might have a problem,” he muttered, and Yvette subtly sat up as if she had not seen slouching against the comfortable leather.
She crossed her long legs professionally, folding her hands properly on her knee.
“What sort of problem?” I asked, swallowing a smile at her smooth transition.
“Ryerson Sterling has learned that his wife has retained us already,” Vern mumbled, glancing at Yvette, the terror on his face evident.
I shrugged.
“Well that was inevitable,” I offered in the way of consolation. I couldn’t reconcile why our boss seemed uncharacteristically disturbed by something he already knew was coming.
Divorce is not for the faint of heart, I thought, mildly tickled at Vern’s demeanor. He should stick to mergers and acquisitions.
“No,” Vern moaned. “This is bad.”
Yvette and I exchanged a confused look before turning our attention back to Vern.
“What?” I demanded, the anticipation getting the best of me.
“Ryerson Sterling wants us to represent him too!” Vern bemoaned, and I exhaled slowly, shrugging my shoulders.
“Well obviously we can’t,” I said, thinking I understood Vern’s chagrin. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
But as I said the words, I realized it still didn’t explain why he was reacting in such a hysterical way.
I could have expected that a power tripping billionaire like Ryerson Sterling might give him an ultimatum but what could Vern do? He had already committed to handling his wife.
You snooze, you lose, Ryerson, I thought. You’re going to have to lick your wounds and move on. He better get used to it because Angeline Sterling and I are going to take lots of your money!
“Sterling doesn’t care,” Vern said dully. “He wants us to handle his side anyway.”
Vern choked but both Yvette and I chuckled.
We shared a look as if to say, “how is this guy even a lawyer?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Yvette laughed. “It’s illegal. Our firm can’t handle both sides in a divorce case.”
“We can if they both sign off on it,” Vern said flatly.
“Well I am sure that Angeline Sterling is going to have something to say about that,” I replied, quietly rolling my eyes that Vern would even entertain such a thing.
“She did,” he answered. “She says, and I quote, ‘bring it on.’”
Yvette whooped and clapped her hands.
“Nothing like an in-house domestic to get the week rolling,” she joked, rising. “And as fun, as they sound, they’ll still never get a judge to sign off on it. There’s a reason that these laws are in place.”
Vern did not look convinced and for the first time, I began to envelop some of his stress.
Ryerson Sterling knows everyone. He’d have no problem finding a judge to sign off on this if he wanted. He probably has half a dozen judges sitting at the club right now with a pen poised.
But the repercussions of allowing both parties to be represented by the same firm were daunting.
“You two are making me giggle,” Yvette announced, heading toward the doorway. “There is no way this is going to happen.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, Yvette,” Vern said, and she shrugged indifferently.
“I’ll leave you alone to worry about nothing together,” she declared, shooting us a brief smile.
“Yvette,” Vern called after her and she turned back.
“Yes?”
“If this comes to fruition and the Sterlings both end up at Kilpatrick-Campbell you’re going to be representing Ryerson Sterling.”
The half-smile froze on Yvette’s attractive face as if she suddenly realized why we wore the expressions we did.
“Yeah,” Vern grumbled, also noting her change in disposition. “That’s what I thought.”
He sauntered out of my office without another word, leaving Yvette and I to stare at one another.
“Well,” she said lightly after a moment of silence. “It will be just like the good old days at mock trial.”
I managed a grin but something in my turbulent gut told me that this was not going to end like a mock trial at all.
2
Yvette
I wasn’t concerned about the Sterlings. I knew that the couple was too angry to think straight in the wake of their impending divorce but once their heads cleared, they would realize how ridiculous having attorneys from the same firm would be.
It never ceases to amaze me how intensely childish adults can act involving matters of the heart, I thought as I left the office that afternoon. They are willing to bite off their own noses to spite their faces.
It wasn’t quite five o’clock as I stepped through the revolving doors of Kilpatrick-Campbell and onto Simmons Street.
I could not remember the last time I had left the office so early, but I had a much-needed hair appointment, one which I had been putting off for at least two weeks.
It was only a matter of time before I received an earful from one of the senior partners about my too long mane of hair.
And I should get something done with these eyebrows too, I thought, catching a glimpse of myself in a reflective store window.
There were just not enough hours in a day.
How was I supposed to keep myself presentable, meet clients, get to court, hold mediations, fill out paperwork, maintain my house and sleep all in a twenty-four-hour period? Something always had to give and most of the time, it was sleep.
In this case, my hair too.
Sometimes I longed for my sisters’ finer tresses and I wondered how, as triplets, we ended up with so many differences.
Even with Maya’s dark hair, she didn’t have the constant battle to contain her smooth waves like I did with my curls, something I secretly envied about her.
Of course, Vyolet has nothing to worry about with that fine blonde head of hair. It figures that the genetics god would give them the easier to maintain looks and stick me with one more thing to do.
That was my life, it seemed, an incessant struggle to control everything from spinning off its axis.
I wasn’t complaini
ng; it was the path I had chosen for myself.
Being a lawyer ensured that my days were filled with productivity and despite the sometimes depressing nature of divorce law, I genuinely felt as if I was making a difference in people’s lives.
So often divorce is seen as a sickening end but to me, it could be a wonderful beginning, a new start.
I failed to understand why so many people saw the deterioration of their marriage as a bad thing.
Easy for you to say, I thought as I found the lot with my car. You’ve never been married with the opportunity to divorce. Thank God.
I didn’t remind myself of that one time I had come too close to tying the knot.
I clicked the fob on my Mini Cooper and jumped in, a gentle autumn breeze tickling my cheek as I did.
It was a forty-five-minute drive back to my home in Oriental, but I always enjoyed the trip. Being in the car was one of the few times I had to myself completely, free of work or responsibility and I treasured the time I had to lose myself in the soulful voice of Amy Winehouse or Adele for the duration of my commute.
“You should be a singer,” Maya told me once on a road trip somewhere. “You can hold a tune better than anyone I know.”
“Maybe I can pitch it to Kilpatrick,” I joked. “The singing attorney. I’m sure the clients will love that.”
“I’m sure the partners will welcome any sound to drown out the client’s sobbing,” Maya chirped.
It was one of those compliments that stayed with me, though. Maybe it was because I knew Maya wasn’t simply flattering me. There were few people more forthcoming than my sister, after all.
But I think it went deeper than that, touching me on a level which made me think that maybe there was more to me than just briefs and depositions.
I twisted the volume button on the stereo and caught Interstate 17 toward home, half admiring the brilliance of colors on the dying trees.
Soon I was in the quaint town which I resided, heading into the tiny main center toward Envy Salon.
There were nicer places in New Bern and closer to work, but habit dictated that Charlotte do my hair as she had since the dawn of time it seemed.
I hated to admit that I was such a creature of habit but there was no denying it; I liked things done a certain way – mine.
Charlotte hurried to greet me as I walked in, her smile wide as she brightened the modest entryway.
“Am I late?” I asked, mostly out of habit. I knew I wasn’t.
“Of course not,” she laughed. “Early as always. Come in. What are we doing today?”
I followed her to a chair and sat as she draped me, pulling the chignon from my hair.
“The usual,” I replied. “Only a couple inches off, a few layers, auburn lowlights.”
Charlotte chuckled.
“I don’t know why I asked,” she remarked ruefully, and I felt myself get slightly defensive.
“If it works, why knock it?” I asked, and she nodded in agreement.
“I concur,” she replied, brushing out my unruly curls with her fingers. “You are a classic beauty, however. You can pull off any look you want. I envy the Viera bone structure.”
I snorted.
“Do we have a bone structure?”
“Vyolet was here day before last and she chopped off all her hair. Have you seen her?”
My eyes widened in surprise. I could not envision my fair, blonde sister with short hair.
“Really?” I asked. “She’s always had long hair. I wonder what inspired her to cut it.”
Charlotte chuckled loudly.
“I would say that married life inspired her to cut it. She’s got her hands full now, you know. Two kids and that sexy husband.”
I admit I hadn’t given it much thought.
Guilt flooded me suddenly as I tried to recall the last time I had gone home for Sunday dinner.
It occurred to me that neither Maya nor Vyolet had bothered to ask if I was coming in a long while.
I guess being paired off makes them forget about the little people now, I thought, and I was taken aback by the spark of bitterness the realization brought with it.
I had no right to feel neglected.
How many times had I brushed off the family because of work? They certainly didn’t need to continue chasing me but even so, I could not shake the sense of disappointment I felt.
Just because they have significant others doesn’t mean that they should forget about me. Especially since they have a fifty-fifty chance of working out.
I was mortified at my cynical thought.
Even if it was a statistical fact.
Your sisters’ unions are going to be fine. They will beat the odds and be happy, I chided myself, relieved that no one could read my mind.
“And I saw Maya last week,” Charlotte continued, apparently not noticing the sour expression on my face. “She is positively glowing. Whatever she’s doing is working for her.”
“She’s doing Slade,” I replied evenly, and Charlotte hooted.
“Well I suppose I would be glowing too if I had a man like that,” the hairdresser replied. “How about you, Yve? You got any handsome hunk warmin’ your bed at night?”
I snorted almost derisively.
“I’ve got lots of briefs in my bed. Unfortunately, they aren’t the kind you’re thinking of.”
“You’ll find your Prince Charming,” Charlotte assured me as if I looked forlorn about being single.
I spared her the diatribe I usually reserved for the overly presumptuous because I knew she meant well but it didn’t stop a surge of annoyance from coasting through me.
I could never figure out why people always attributed single life to loneliness. My days were filled with activity from dawn until midnight. Even if I wanted to feel lonely, I wouldn’t have a chance.
I am perfectly happy being a career woman. Relationships are just not for me.
After she washed my hair and we were seated back at the vanity, Charlotte still chirping in my ear as if she had been starved of conversation all day, my cell began to ring.
I glanced at Charlotte apologetically, but she waved indifferently.
“Go on ahead, honey. I know, honey, duty calls,” she said, and I snatched the Blackberry off the vanity.
My brow furrowed slightly as I recognized Draven’s personal cell number.
He’s not calling from the office. What could he possibly want? I wondered and in spite of myself, I felt a strange flutter in my chest.
Our college relationship had belonged to different people, young, idealistic and unwise kids who believed in the commercial concept of love and forever.
But every so often, I would be hit with the memory of Draven and I, sitting on the quad, laughing at something inane and it would stay with me for a long while.
There was forever a picture of him ingrained in my psyche, one which was so vivid, I could almost reach out and touch his tanned face with my fingers.
In it, his grey eyes were sparkling with amusement over something I had said as a single, rogue black spiral teased his forehead from the top of his widow’s peak.
His long, even white teeth gleamed in the sunshine and he sat back against the lush grass of the courtyard, his lean but toned frame long and relaxed.
I loved the way his face lit up, accentuating his round cheeks as if all the life of the universe existed in him.
I had never really laughed with anyone as much as I did with Draven.
Landing in the same law firm had been somewhat of a shock but occasionally, I indulged in the idea that my ex had followed me to North Carolina, hoping to reconcile.
That notion was quickly quashed when he arrived at Kilpatrick-Campbell with a fiancée in tow.
Still, we maintained our friendship and it didn’t take me long to figure out that we were better as chums than we were lovers.
We know too much about human suffering to go down that road again, I thought when he broke up with his fiancée within two weeks of
joining the firm.
Although I never said anything, I could have seen that coming.
“Yvette Viera,” I answered, even though I knew who it was.
Maybe he’s going to ask me to meet him for a drink, I thought, and a shiver of anticipation slipped through me.
I was embarrassed for myself.
Clearly, I had not had sex for a long while.
“You picked a hell of a day to skip out early,” he greeted me. “I was tearing around the third floor looking for you until Abby finally told me you left for the day.”
“I had an appointment,” I replied. “What happened?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” I answered slowly. “Do I need to be?”
Draven let out a huge sigh and my anticipation turned to apprehension.
“The Sterlings signed off on the conflict of interest waiver,” he told me flatly and I felt my breath catch in my chest.
“What the hell is wrong with those people?” I asked. “Moreover, what the hell is wrong with Vern for allowing it to go this far? How much more money does he need to net this quarter?”
“I hear your arguments and I voiced them myself…to Vern of course. I have to meet with Angeline Sterling in the morning.”
“Well, a judge will never go for it!” I insisted but as I said it, I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead.
I would be a fool not to know that what Ryerson Sterling wanted, Ryerson Sterling was going to get.
How many judges did that man have in his breast pocket alone?
“Yve, you know that he’ll have no problem – “
“I know!” I interrupted, irritated that I had even made such a naïve statement aloud. “I’m just trying to process this catastrophe.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Draven mumbled. “I sprouted an ulcer today.”
I smiled despite my newfound worry, but my mirth was cut short by a new, disturbing thought.
If we ended up on opposite ends of a mediation table, we wouldn’t be able to socialize, however innocently.
It would be misconstrued as improper because even though we were bound by confidentiality, it could be seen as collusion…couldn’t it?
That night might be the last opportunity I had to see Draven without these paranoid thoughts creeping into my head.
