Broken in Soft Places

by Fiona Zedde

  “Sara? Sara Chambers?”

  Merille Thompson’s disbelieving voice pulled Sara abruptly back to the present.

  “I should feel flattered that you remember my name.” The bitter words spilled from her lips, unbidden. So much for a cool and unaffected front.

  Rille blinked, visibly pulling herself together. She leaned forward in her chair, a frown still hovering on her brow. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working for you. I’ll be your attorney from now on. Derrick felt he could no longer properly represent you.”

  “I didn’t know you were at Winthrop and Morris.” Rille crossed her arms on the table, head tilted. Hidden meanings simmered behind the opaque glass of her gaze. Sara felt the weight of that look, its undisguised appraisal. “If you’d rather I didn’t work on your case, then I’m sure someone else from the firm would be happy to step into my shoes.”

  Rille shook her head. “Why did he abandon me?”

  Sara’s mouth quirked at the drama of Rille’s question. “He felt it would be a conflict of interest given his interest in you.”

  Rille threw back her bright head and laughed.

  “Are you serious?” She laughed again, all her equilibrium apparently regained. “A big strong man like that can’t handle a little flirtation without it getting in the way of business?” She made a contemptuous noise, propped her chin in a loose fist on the conference table. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

  “I can’t see how. Derrick is a very good attorney. I’ve seen him win impossible cases.”

  “You think my case is impossible?”

  “Did you sleep with that girl?”

  Rille’s mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

  “Did you sleep with that girl?” Sara repeated, holding back a sigh. This was eight years later. There was no reason to play games with this woman.

  “I don’t want to talk about this here. Let’s go somewhere we can have a more private conversation.”

  But wasn’t Rille the one who suggested Derrick meet her here at the university so she could get back to her office hours afterward? She’d never stopped playing games, Sara thought. Although perhaps meeting in this atmosphere was meant to discourage Derrick’s infatuation. Only Rille could say for sure.

  “All right.” Sara leaned back in her seat, waiting for Rille to make the next move.

  Rille stood. “Let me get my things. I’ll be right back.”

  Before Sara had a chance to register that she was waiting for her ex-lover to whisk her off to who knows where, Rille came back clutching a slim designer bag that matched her brown leather shoes. She held the conference room door open for Sara. “I’ll drive,” she said.

  *

  Spring in Atlanta was a sinful time. In Rille’s open convertible, Sara became more aware of it than ever. The air, intimate with perfume and pollen of a thousand fertile plants, pressed against her face and the sensitive whirl of her ears. Blossom-swollen crape myrtle trees reached over them to tangle the tips of their branches together turning the small back road they traveled into a semi-private arbor.

  “It’s a surprise to see you in Atlanta, Sara. I thought for sure you’d end up somewhere like California or New Mexico.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  The jazz station crooned Sade and the speedometer barely moved above thirty, a gentle enough speed not to blow their attempts at conversation out the window. Rille skillfully handled the burgundy four-seater Mercedes, glancing over at Sara as she spoke.

  “You always talked about warm places, remember? Whenever we were in my room, you wanted to pull the drapes around the bed and turn the heater on.” Rille laughed. “Even though it was, I swear, no less than seventy degrees outside.”

  At the sound of Rille’s uninhibited laughter, a reluctant smile tugged at Sara’s mouth. Yes, she had wanted the heat when they were in college. Heat loosened Rille’s tongue. Made her share herself. Sara had learned more about Rille closed up inside that thin velvet cocoon than she had anywhere else.

  And Rille gave Sara her heat, although she must have been miserable. Instead of complaining, Rille insisted on being naked in the room, whether or not her roommate was there with them, crawling into the velvet-canopied bed, her skin glistening with sweat as she brought fruit or ice cream or some bit of food to sweeten her palate.

  Sara’s smile faded. Was this the sort of innocent flirtation Rille had indulged in with Derrick, so much so that he lost his mind and was now probably out buying an engagement ring?

  “That was the past,” Sara said coolly enough that it brought Rille’s gaze back to her face.

  Rille nodded slowly, consideringly. “Yes. So what’s going on in the present then, Ms. Chambers? What are you up to these days?”

  “Why don’t we talk about the case? You are paying for this, after all.”

  “I am paying for this. Once we get to the restaurant, we can have a proper impersonal discussion of what your firm is getting paid for. But right now, I want to talk about you.”

  Sara shook wind-tossed curls out of her face. “The last time I saw you, we both thought you were going to die. Now, you seem to have recovered enough to seduce more foolish coeds. Instead of talking about me, can you tell me what changed in you between then and now?”

  At first, Rille said nothing. She only pursed and unpursed her lips, staring straight ahead. “You’re grown hard, little Sara. I’m not sure it suits you.”

  The car turned abruptly off the small road and into thicker traffic. Craftsman style homes disappeared. As they drove, the houses became older, more run down, three- and four-level apartment buildings interspersed them. A coffee shop. Then a dingy-looking bar next to a credit union. A clothing store with tie-dyed cotton dresses in the window. Gone was middle-class banality. Spring in this neighborhood had edges and teeth. They passed utility boxes grafittied with bleeding flowers and crude drawings of genitalia. A couple pressed together in an alley, making earnest love next to an overflowing Dumpster. Pierced, pale, and poor looking people strolled the sidewalks with good will in their steps. Rille pulled the car into the parking lot of a British-style pub.

  “Here we are.”

  Rille climbed out, leaving Sara no choice but to follow. She brought her briefcase, stepping gingerly over the paved but potholed lot. Inside the pub, the black-clad server gave them two menus then indicated with a wave that they should seat themselves. Rille led Sara out to the patio, a wide-open space with wrought iron tables and chairs and a close-up view of the street. Only a short fence and the grace of four feet of sidewalk separated them from passing cars.

  Rille opened the menu, and a girl appeared at the table. She wore a silver ring through her bottom lip and her entire left arm was livid with a tattoo of a blossoming cherry tree.

  “Can I get you anything?” The girl’s voice held traces of some sort of Irish or Welsh accent.

  Rille ordered a taco salad, a side of onion rings, and an iced tea with two straws.

  “Nothing for me, thanks.” Sara shook her head.

  “Order something. It’s on me, of course.”

  “Of course.” Sara pointedly gave the menu to the girl. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  The waitress left and came back a few moments later with Rille’s iced tea and a glass of water that she placed at Sara’s elbow. Her perky, black-covered bottom disappeared before Sara could say a word.

  While Sara watched, Rille took a pillbox from her purse and shook two tablets into her palm. She dropped the straws in her iced tea and took a long drink, swallowing nearly half the glass along with the pills. She sighed with satisfaction. “Now that you’ve proven that you can be difficult, we can talk about my case.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s wise here.” Sara glanced around them for emphasis. This wasn’t the sort of restaurant she’d expected.

  Although most of the patrons of the roadside pub looked very much caught up in their own affairs, drinking beer, exchanging loud conversation over l
arge plates of food, or watching the wall-mounted television that showed a lively soccer game, this was as far from private as one could get.

  “Can I get you to come to my office sometime this week?” she asked Rille.

  “If I do, will you tell me what you’ve been doing over the past eight years?”

  Sara raised an eyebrow. “Will you?”

  Rille made a noise of disgust low in her throat, but she was smiling. “I have a feeling that my new attorney will drive me to drink.”

  “As long as you’re drinking iced tea, I don’t mind.”

  Rille looked away from Sara, her smile widening as the waitress reappeared with her food. “Perfect timing. I’m starved.”

  The girl echoed her grin, a blush working its way from her pierced lip into her pale cheeks. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Rille murmured.

  Sara stared at her in amazement. She just can’t help herself.

  “I’m sick,” Rille said, with a rueful smile. “Not dead.”

  Sara’s eyes flew to her face. Did Rille just tell her—

  The confirmation of it hit Sara sharply in the chest, and she opened her mouth to pull in more oxygen, suddenly breathless.

  “Don’t look so tragic. This can’t be a surprise to you, not the way we left things. I don’t want to die any sooner than the next idiot, so I do what my doctors say. I take my pills, exercise occasionally, and stay away from the really hard drugs.” Rille shrugged. “That’s my life.”

  Sara closed her mouth and swallowed hard.

  “Anyway, it’s good to see you.” Rille mixed up the taco salad with her fork, blending the lettuce, cheese, black beans, and salsa. “I hadn’t thought about college in years until you walked through that conference room door. God! That was such a long time ago.”

  It was a long time. Over the years, Sara had wondered what had happened to her. She watched the news, seeing all those reports of AIDS victims being abandoned by their families, in denial about their condition until it was too late to get medical help, spreading their infection through the community like a bullet. And she’d thought of Rille. Hoping that Rille had somehow dodged that fate and was alive and whole somewhere, living the kind of life she always wanted.

  Sara watched her, at a loss for words.

  Rille, not at all discomfited by her silence, took a bite of the salad, frowned, then picked up an onion ring, pried the limp vegetable from its beer batter shell, and tossed it aside. With languid motions, she tore the batter into pieces and sprinkled it over her salad. Rille did this a few more times before she tasted her salad again. She nodded in approval.

  “By the way, you look stunning.” She licked the oil from her lips. “At Vreeland you were cute, but now you’re easily the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time.” Rille tore into another onion ring, using her teeth to separate the batter from the worm-like onion. “This is so good,” Rille murmured around a mouthful of fried dough. “You sure you don’t want to try some?”

  Sara shook her head. She wanted to remain untouched by the reality of Rille’s illness. Untouched by her compliments. And for the most part, she was. More than anything, those lines of Rille’s seemed cheap and rehearsed, something she’d tweak depending on which woman she delivered them to. But while the words were trite and easily dismissed, Rille’s eyes…They watched Sara as if she were the most important thing in that moment. Independent from the cheap seducer’s trick of a mouth, those eyes took her apart piece by piece, they were grave and tender and begging to be believed.

  “Listen. I have to get back to the office.” Sara glanced at Rille’s barely touched salad and the rubble of naked onions on her plate. “Take your time and enjoy your lunch. I’ll take a cab back to the university.”

  “No, don’t do that. Just give me a minute to get this wrapped up to go and I’ll take you to your car.”

  “It’s fine. You’re obviously enjoying your meal. Don’t put yourself out on my account.” Before Rille could say anything else, Sara plucked her phone out of her purse, pressed the speed dial button for her usual cab company, and put the cell to her ear. When the operator picked up, she made her request. When Sara was done, she turned to Rille, briefcase in hand. She pushed back her chair and stood. “Call my assistant and make an appointment for next week. We’ll talk more then.”

  Then she walked away. Attaché gripped firmly in her hand. Heart knocking like an exile against her chest.

  To: retiredJAman@tampamail.com

  From: chambers@winthrop_morris.com

  Daddy, it was good to get your last letter. I miss you. Maybe some day I’ll get to see the irises you planted in the backyard after I left. If I send a plane ticket, will you come see me?

  Before she could second-guess herself, Sara tapped her mouse, sending the e-mail on its way. She’d never asked him to visit before, content (she thought) with their exchanged e-mails, letters, and gifts through the mail. But now something in her needed to reconnect with family more than ever. Although her life in Atlanta was financially and professionally successful, she was lonely. And that feeling of loneliness pressed in on her with each passing day.

  The phone on her desk beeped, interrupting her thoughts. She pressed the intercom button.

  “Yes?”

  “Your eleven o’clock is here.”

  The computer clock said it was barely quarter to eleven. Sara toyed with the idea of making Rille wait, then rejected it as childish. “Thanks, Anthea. Send her in.”

  Sara dismissed her open programs from the computer screen and retrieved her legal pad and a pen. Her paralegal had already conducted interviews at the university as well as at the student’s apartment and job. From Derrick’s thorough notes and the paralegal’s previous work, Sara had a pretty good idea how she would proceed with Rille’s case. There was an excellent chance of it being dismissed.

  After a single knock, Rille breezed in, smiling. A shock of loosened curls, a green body-skimming sweater dress, and high heels. Sara leaned back in her chair as Rille closed the door, tossed her purse in an empty chair, and sat on the other side of the desk.

  “Your office is much nicer than Derrick’s.”

  Sara, caught off balance, fidgeted with her pen. She hadn’t thought about Derrick one way or another since taking the case from him. And she especially hadn’t thought about her office versus his. What he liked, what she didn’t. They both had the same furniture. The same window that ran the length of the wall showing off a sun-drenched view of the Atlanta skyline.

  “I like the fern hanging in front of the window.” Rille stood to get a closer view of one of the three potted plants suspended from the ceiling, the delicate green fronds moving languidly in the air-conditioned breeze. She reached up. “They’re maidenhair, right?”

  “Yes.” Sara’s hand tightened on the pen.

  Rille stood before the window, silhouetted in sunlight. The sight of her body was an ache.

  “Please,” Sara murmured. “Sit.”

  A smile played with Rille’s mouth. Her look challenged Sara before she slowly brought her arm back to her side and returned to her chair.

  Sara laced her fingers over her lap and crossed her legs. “So tell me about this girl. How did the affair start?”

  “This girl.” Rille made a mocking face. “Clarissa was in one of my classes during her senior year.”

  An undergraduate? Sara’s fingers twitched, but she said nothing.

  “She applied to the PhD program in physics for the next year, and I gave her the proper and deserved encouragement. Without any exaggeration, Clarissa is a brilliant girl. During the summer when she didn’t have classes, she started coming around the department, just to get a feel for what graduate school was like. At least that’s what she told me.” Rille paused, tapping a long, blunt-tipped finger against her chin as if considering what to say next. “That’s when it started.”

  Sara could imagine that Rille didn’t try very hard to put the brakes on
the relationship. First of all, the girl wasn’t even technically a student when the affair started. And second, from her photo, Clarissa Wilson was gorgeous.

  “Did you promise her the position as your graduate assistant?”

  “In the heat of the moment, yes, but—”

  “Does she have proof?”

  “No. Not unless she taped us having sex.”

  “And can you be sure she didn’t do that?”

  “Positive. I always had her at my place. Or public places that she had no control over.”

  Really? Sara jotted down a note.

  Rille tucked a curl behind her ear. “I know you want to know if there have been others.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t. We already have several people willing to testify that this girl actively pursued you. She talked about you to anyone who would listen, even published a short story in an underground magazine about her fantasy of having sex with you in the physics lab.”

  A delighted laugh exploded from Rille. “You’re joking!”

  “She may be brilliant, but she’s not particularly smart.” Fortunately. Sara tapped her pencil against the pad. “I want to set up a meeting with her attorney. Preferably next week. What dates are good for you?”

  Rille fixed her with a look of growing respect. “Maybe it’s a good thing Derrick was frightened off. He definitely wasn’t moving this fast on the case.”

  Ah, Derrick. Sara held up a hand to stem the rush of enthusiasm. “This thing isn’t resolved yet. We’re just meeting with her and her attorney to put things on the table.”

  “Still, I’ll remain cautiously optimistic.” Rille pulled a datebook from her purse. “Clarissa is costing me too much damn money for this to drag on.”

  Sara pursed her lips, already regretting what she was going to ask. “Speaking of Derrick, has he contacted you recently?”