Lawfully Yours

by Hoff, Stacy

  I could go with that, if I got drunk enough. No, that wouldn’t work either because then people will think I drive drunk. Well, screw ‘em. I flag down the bartender and order a glass of liquid relief. Since I’m stuck here in hell I might as well enjoy the destination.

  Glass of merlot in hand, I turn to leave when I spot Jordan at the bar. I hate to admit it, but he looks good in a tuxedo. Great, in fact. Bond. James Bond. He orders two drinks and I know who the second one is for. I want to spit in it. No, I want to spit in both of their drinks. I wish I were the bartender. Two hemlock martinis, coming right up! Hadn’t Jordan told me he was not dating Melba? That he had no intentions of dating Melba? Was he lying to me, or just able to make U-turns faster than a racecar driver?

  I realize I’m staring at him and quickly look down. He hasn’t noticed me, but Melba, who I now see standing behind him, obviously has. She’s in a golden strapless gown. They must be made for each other—she matches his office décor.

  “Oh, hi! Sarah, isn’t it?” she calls out from across the bar.

  Reluctantly, I walk over. “It’s Susan. Nice to see you again, Melba.”

  “Oh, sorry. Well, we’re off to get more of these great appetizers. We’ll see you around, Sarah.” She takes Jordan by the arm and pulls him away. “Thank you for my drink, Jordan,” I hear her purr. “I hope the alcohol doesn’t make me overly susceptible to having a real good time. Unless, of course, a real good time is what you want to have.” The steam coming out my ears mercifully blocks me from hearing anything else.

  Jordan obviously saw me but said nothing. I had thought maybe a strange expression flashed across his face at first, but if it did, it disappeared as suddenly as it came. I wonder for a few minutes if I imagined it before I decide that I did.

  I make my way back to my group which, for the time being, is without Allen and Rochelle. But several minutes later Allen rejoins, though by himself. I wait for people to be conversationally engaged and then glance around the room for Ms. Van Haughty. But the room is too crowded so I give up. Haughty could be just about anywhere, including the ladies room. I’m about to turn my attention back to the group when I catch a glimpse of her. I do a double take. Why is Rochelle talking to Jordan? They are looking pretty intimate by themselves in a (relatively) quiet corner. Where is Melba? I look around again.

  Leila breaks my concentration. She places her hand lightly on my arm and says in a soft voice, “Sue, are you okay? You look uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine. Just seeing who else is here.”

  “I’ll make it easy for you. The whole firm is going to show up. Now you don’t need to spend so much time looking.” She seems satisfied this information will cure my apparent curiosity. To show her she’s right I delve into the conversation, but excuse myself when I get the chance by saying I need another drink.

  Instead I head in the direction opposite the bar, where Jordan is now standing alone. I figure Melba will be re-joining him in a matter of minutes. “I just wanted to say hello,” I say, “since I didn’t have the chance at the bar.”

  “Hello, Sue. You look unbelievably beautiful tonight. Or am I not supposed to say that?”

  I give a thin smile. “The comment’s appreciated as long as it’s not overheard by either of your dates.”

  “You’re not going to start in again about my dating Melba, are you? I already told you it’s a business relationship with mild friendship thrown in. Uh, out of curiosity, who is my other date?”

  “Rochelle, obviously.”

  “Rochelle? Who told you I was dating Rochelle?” His eyes narrow to little slits. “What have you heard?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I’m starting to feel silly and want to back away from this conversation. Literally. I start inching my left foot behind me, poising myself for a reverse Olympic sprint.

  “From that response, if you can call it a response, I gather you’ve heard everything,” he says, voice steely. “Yes, Rochelle wanted more than a business relationship. I didn’t.”

  “That was back then. What about now?”

  “Are you training for a position with the CIA, or do you just find interrogation a fun little hobby? May I remind you of your comment that my romantic life isn’t any of your business?” Then he stops and looks at me. Pausing for a few seconds, it seems he’s trying to read me. A sly smile slowly spreads across his face. “Unless, of course, you’re now saying it is your business. Do you think my romantic life is your business, Sue?”

  “Oh look, Melba is coming back for you. I’m sure she suffered severe pain from the five-minute separation. Well, have a good evening with her.” With that, I pull the ol’ walking away trick. I know Jordan can’t come after me, he can’t leave Melba standing there.

  The hotel staff suddenly rings little bells to alert everyone dinner is now being served. Everybody exits the cocktail room and heads for the main part of the ballroom. When I see the room, I gasp. So beautifully done up for the holidays, all the decorations are in red, green, and gold. Poinsettias surround glowing tapered candles on each dinner table. Organza table linens give off an ethereal glow. Gold cane-backed chairs reflect the gold of the linens, casting a warm radiance. The only presence of silver is a mirrored disco ball in the middle of the ceiling. It shines above a wooden dance floor.

  When people bump into me, I realize I’m blocking traffic. It’s time to find my table. Seeing my group already gathered, I walk over. My high heels sink into the plush velvety carpet. I sit down at the only space left, which is one seat away from Allen and Rochelle and three seats from Leila. It’s just my luck I can’t have this arrangement in reverse.

  Throughout dinner I make small talk with Brad, a second year associate who is nice but I don’t really know. It’s hard to be too animated or interested in what he’s saying. On my other side is a girl I know even less. I’m glad when halfway through the entrée the head partner walks to the center of the dance floor and takes the microphone.

  “Good evening, everyone. For the benefit of the spouses and dates here tonight, let me introduce myself. I am Larry McMullen, head partner of Grovas & Cleval. On behalf of the firm, welcome to our annual holiday party.”

  Applause and hoots come from the audience. Either they really like the speech so far or the result of an open-bar cocktail hour has finally manifested. I know which one I’m betting my five bucks on.

  “It’s a tradition we like to keep,” McMullen continues smoothly, “because it shows you, the people who work here, how important and appreciated all of you are. A law firm is nothing without its people.”

  More hoots and hollers.

  “So with that in mind, I would like to present these awards as tokens of our extra special thanks. Most of you know that every year these go to the firms’ newcomers, the first and second year pool. The partners do not get awards. God knows we make enough money and we don’t need any more accolades than that.” Everybody laughs, and the head partner continues when the noise quiets down. “The first award is for pro bono work. This award goes to the associate who spent the most hours on his or her own time performing legal public service to Hartford’s neediest. And the award goes to. . . Jennifer Chen! Congratulations, Jenny!” Jenny comes up, smiles, thanks everyone, and then goes back to her seat.

  “The next award is called the ‘Young Associate of the Year.’”

  I bite the inside of my lower lip. It helps clamp down the stomach acid threatening to come up. Why am I so nervous? This award has to be for me. I’ve brought in a lot of new clients, and I’ve worked more hours than anyone I know. Even Leila thinks I should get it. I subconsciously decide not to wait for the name to be called, starting to get up without realizing what I’m doing. My butt’s at least six inches up in the air when I hear, “Jack Johnson! Come on up here, Jack!”

  What? They must be confused, because my name
is Sue, not Jack. You mean I didn’t get it? Oh God, I’m not going to cry am I? No, I’m not. I’m going to be a good sport. Jack, go on up there. Far away from the projectile vomit that’s about to engulf the festivities.

  Has anyone noticed my standing gaff? Or stomach clutching? To cover up my actions, I start coughing, almost too loudly. If people weren’t looking at me before, they certainly will be now. Brad’s standing up too, offering me a glass of water. I drink it to calm myself.

  “I must have swallowed the wrong way,” I whisper hurriedly. No one but Brad though is paying attention. They’re watching Jack’s acceptance speech. It’s something I don’t care to see. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Brad and walk off to my plumbing sanctuary. A few feet away from the table, I hear the partner come back to the microphone to continue his blather.

  My God, that man likes to yammer on. Ignoring my silent plea to shut up, McMullen continues, “This year, however, we do have an additional award in this category, sort of a ‘runner up,’ if you will. We do this periodically, but not too often. In fact, I had my secretary look in the firm’s archives to see the last time we gave out one of these, and she tells me the date was 1972. So, here it goes, this award goes to Susan Linkovitch for bringing in an impressive amount of business during her very first year here. She’s also getting this award due to all the assistance she gave others while still managing to excel in her own work. Sue, come up and say a few words.”

  I feel faint. The room swirls around me. Someone runs over to where I’m standing and pushes me toward the head partner. It’s Allen. “Go get ‘em,” he says. How my rubbery legs walk, I don’t know. But somehow I get up to the microphone and speak. “I want to thank you, the people in the firm, for your kindness, and help. I helped others because I wanted to give back.” I pause. “Most of all, I want to thank the man who hired me. A great teacher both in law and in business, Jordan Grant.”

  I go back to my seat, award in hand. It’s a certificate written in calligraphy, shellacked onto a large plank of gold-bordered oak wood. It weighs a ton but I float ten feet off the floor with it anyway. The sound of the applause in the room has lifted me.

  Dinner eventually ends. I don’t remember if I ate. The dishes are cleared and a disc jockey begins playing. The house lights dim. More red, green, and gold colored lights light up the room. People make their way to the dance floor.

  I’ve been in too much of a daze to realize my tablemates have all deserted me. I’m enjoying sitting here alone, sipping my third glass of wine. Absorbing what’s happened tonight. How far I’ve come. It’s a pleasure to soak up the festive atmosphere.

  I look up and notice with a jolt that Jordan’s standing above me. My heart flutters with hope. I try my best to clamp it down.

  “Can I join you for a minute?” His voice sounds all business. Damn. I thought he was going to ask me for a date. My heart now sinks. Stupid optimism. He was probably toying with me before.

  “Yes. Please do. Thank you for the award,” I answer formally. I’m doing my best to mirror his business tone. I’ll be damned if I look desperate.

  “You earned it,” he responds cordially.

  “So did your dates,” I quip. Whoops. Looks like this third glass of wine is doing the talking.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rochelle and Melba seem to think they’ve won their own trophy. You.”

  “If you want to talk about this now, let’s do it outside, okay?” He grips my elbow until I stand up and then steers me out of the room. We’re down a small side corridor near the ballroom when he speaks again.

  “Sue, I’m going to ask you this again. Answer my question and stop fleeing every time the topic comes up.” He softens his voice and looks into my eyes. “I’m willing to admit I’m attracted to you. Very attracted.” I see him swallow hard before asking, “Do you feel the same?”

  My stomach flutters. Heart pounds.

  “It’s me who should feel awkward,” he says, voice rough. “I’m the one out on a limb. You don’t have to like me. But you do have to answer me. I didn’t press you before because I thought it was pretty clear that you weren’t interested. Now I’m wondering if I’m getting mixed signals, or if I’m going a little crazy.”

  I stand there frozen. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe.

  “What about Melba?” I finally manage to squeak out.

  “To hell with Melba. Why don’t we focus on you? Do you want to be with me?”

  All control of my jaw is lost. It hangs there, open.

  “To hell with this,” he says. He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. Then he leans down and kisses me on my partially agape mouth. A tingling sensation rises up like a deluge, flooding me. Filling my lungs. Denying me air. The kiss is strong, sensual. Before my brain realizes what I’m doing, my body knows—I’m kissing him back. Pressing harder against him. Letting him hold me closer. Breathing speeds up. Blood pounds. Time suspends.

  He breaks off much too soon. Looking at me, he says with a smile, “You never were one for words.”

  We force ourselves to return to the party before we get caught. I wipe my lipstick off his lips with my fingers. Then Jordan heads directly into the ballroom. I go to the bathroom. This time I really do need to go. I return to find Brad back at the table.

  “I was about to check on you. Are you all right?”

  “Fabulous, actually.”

  “You look flushed. Too much excitement from getting the award, huh?”

  “Yes, it must be that.”

  “Would you like to dance? Everybody’s joining in.”

  Still breathless, I nod, and join him on the dance floor. I want to float, not dance, but since I can’t be with Jordan right now, this will have to suffice. The evening is fun, pleasant, but I want it to end. I want to return to Jordan.

  After an eternity, the evening does end. People filter out, me among them. Jordan catches up to me, seemingly casual, and speaks so quietly only I can hear him. “I have to take Melba home. I am stopping by your place after that.”

  I stop walking for the second time that night, almost getting run over by those behind me. As discretely as he can, Jordan pulls me to the side of the corridor to escape the masses.

  I speak barely louder than a whisper. “Jordan, you wanted an answer from me. I think you have it. But I can’t have you come over. I’m not ready for that.”

  “Okay. I hear you, and I’ll respect your feelings. God knows I’m going a little haywire after that kiss, but I’ll do as you ask. You need to do something in return though. Answer me in words. Tell me what I need to hear.”

  My head swims again. Knees tingle. “I, uhhh . . . I uhhh . . .”

  “Say it, damn it!”

  “I . . . I want to be with you.” I can barely believe it myself.

  “Thank you.” He lifts his arm to stroke my face, but stops mid-air. Putting his arm back down he tries to shake himself out of our mutual trance. “I have to get Melba back to her house,” he says, straightening up to walk away. With that, we see her walk down the corridor toward us, coat in her hand.

  CHAPTER 17

  I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Usually two drinks are enough to leave me feeling relaxed if not outright drowsy, so three should have put me out. But the alcohol has not calmed me. I’m wide-awake, reliving the night. On and off, I try unsuccessfully to keep my mind blank and to shut down.

  Too soon the alarm goes off. I’m groggy from lack of sleep. Panicked at having to go into the office. Maybe I slept better than I thought, and all of last night was a dream. Hopefully for Jordan it wasn’t a nightmare. From the warmth of last night I now feel cold and confused. I drive to the office not knowing what to think.

  I get there early. Actually, it’s late, past 9:00 a.m., but due to th
e party I’m the first to arrive. Sitting down at my desk, I log on to my computer. Then I notice a handwritten note taped to my screen. Jordan’s microscopic handwriting reads:

  Sue,

  Please see me.

  It’s unsigned. The butterflies living in my stomach morph into bats.

  I want to play it cool, let him wait for me. But after resisting for a minute or two, I head downstairs. If he was playing games last night, I wasn’t. If he’s sorry for what happened, I’m not.