Until Love Do Us Part

by Anna Premoli

  Her father – who paid the huge bills for those alternative therapy sessions – unwisely let out an amused laugh, only to be immediately silenced by a glare from all the women present.

  Jackie came closer to get a better look at her niece.

  “So Jessica Stein was right, then,” she muttered.

  “That old witch? About what?” asked her granddaughter.

  “Well, she said that the new assistant district attorney would give you a hard time.”

  Mrs Stein had the troublesome peculiarity of always being right, which drove her grandmother crazy with irritation.

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with her,” sighed Amalia, knocking back a large gulp of the white wine in her glass.

  Her father decided to stick his oar into the discussion.

  “Rumor has it that he’s Irish,” he said, in a shocked voice. Yes, her father was a bit of a snob…

  “His ancestors might have been Irish,” confirmed Amalia. “But we can’t blame him for that, can we? There are about forty million people in the United States who have Irish ancestry. We can’t hate them all,” she muttered sarcastically.

  “Well anyway, what’s he like?” asked Jackie, who was starting to look at Amalia in a peculiar way.

  Her granddaughter couldn’t understand why they were asking her all these questions and assumed an almost a defensive posture.

  “I already know him. I mean, I didn’t know that he had accepted the post of assistant district attorney, but I already know Ryan O’Moore. Only by sight, though,” she added quickly.

  But it was too late.

  They were all looking at her curiously.

  “We were at college together?” she explained.

  “Ah, so he’s a Yale graduate!” exclaimed her father. The way he said it made it sound as though he was surprised O’Moore had been admitted at all.

  “Yep, apparently so…” muttered Amalia, who was starting to tire of talking about Ryan. The man was more like a curse than an acquaintance. “He was the editor of the Yale magazine.”

  Bad idea, she realized while she was still speaking.

  “But weren’t you the editor?” asked her mother, genuinely surprised.

  “Uhm, no. I was in the running for the post, but then they chose him,” she admitted. Who the hell knew why. She was still asking herself the same question all these years later.

  “They didn’t choose you? Really?” asked her shocked father. “Well why on earth didn’t you ever tell me?”

  Amalia almost laughed. “It didn’t seem that important, Dad.”

  “Well, it was that important,” he insisted. “I could have made a couple of phone calls. They would definitely have given you the position.”

  “Exactly,” thought Amalia bitterly. “And that’s why I never told you about it.” She had no doubt that her father would have got her the job, confirming in the process all those stupid prejudices that Ryan held about them all. “It wasn’t anything important,” she lied. “I didn’t even want it that much. Anyway,” she suggested, a hint of desperation in her voice that did not entirely escape her grandmother, “why don’t we change the subject, huh?”

  Jackie gave her a quizzical look to which she had no answer.

  Luckily, however, her mother had already grown bored of talking about such nonsense and gladly welcomed the proposal to talk about something other than Amalia.

  “Well, you will all be pleased to know that this year we are organizing an absolutely exceptional event for the lawyers’ dinner.”

  Amalia stood there with her glass in mid-air.

  “The annual lawyers’ dinner?” she asked in a terrified voice. As though it could possibly be anything else.

  “Exactly!” Amalia’s mother cried. “We’ve decided we want to organize a fundraiser. Now all we need to do is decide what on earth we’re going to raise funds for.”

  It was quite clear that what mattered to Annabelle was the event itself – the cause the funds actually went to was very much of secondary importance. Jackie noticed Amalia’s stunned face and decided it would be wise to step in.

  “I’m sure we’ll come up with some noble cause, won’t we, dear?”

  Her granddaughter looked at her doubtfully without saying another word, then turned towards the table and, completely ignoring the rest of them, sat down at her place.

  “Shall we start? I’m really in a hurry…” she said, completely unabashed. She needed to get out of that damn dining room as soon as she could.

  And so once again, seated around the table, her mother and her father began making cheerful small talk about absolutely nothing.

  Just as usual.

  5

  Somehow, in the end, Amalia actually managed to have a quiet, restful weekend, and so this morning she was in a good mood. Part of that newly found state of grace was due to the fact that she had totally removed Judge Wyatt and his threats from her thoughts. After much careful deliberation, she had come to the conclusion that his threat to send her on community service could only have been a joke. I mean, come on, who would ever think of forcing a lawyer and an assistant district attorney to do community service? And together! She almost laughed at the memory of the hearing on Friday – okay, yes, it had been pretty humiliating, but at least she had managed to close the case, and not entirely without success: Liz Stubbs had emerged from the mess unscathed, not to mention that Amalia would now no longer have to reach an agreement with the District Attorney’s office. So, from now on, no more Ryan O’Moore, either in the courtroom or out of it. And that alone was enough to make the day look pretty damn good to her.

  So when Michelle appeared in the doorway of her office she last thing she was expecting was to be given an official summons.

  “Amalia, I’ve just received a really weird email from Judge Wyatt’s office. It has something to do with a few hours of community service? He probably thinks he’s being funny,” she said dubiously. “Anyway, do you know anything about it? I thought it was our clients who were supposed to do hard labour, not the lawyers…”

  Amalia strode over to her secretary and tore the email out of her hand.

  “You know how it is – all these judges think that they’re just born comedians.” She paused for a second to read the message, and almost passed out. “What?” she exclaimed in disbelief as she read on, “are you kidding me?!”

  Michelle didn’t know what to do.

  “Err… why is he sending you to clean up a park in the Bronx with a group of prisoners on day release?” she asked anxiously.

  “Because we made him lose his temper in court on Friday,” Amalia replied, breathing loudly, “and so he decided to take his revenge like this…”

  The secretary looked at her in puzzlement.

  “Okay, but you? In the Bronx?”

  Amalia’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “I guess it’s his way of being funny. Well he’s got a pretty vicious sense of humor, the mean old coot!”

  “And making you start at seven o’clock on Saturday? That’s just straight-up evil.”

  “Thanks, Michelle, I appreciate the moral support,” Amalia said sincerely, still clutching the offending email in her hand.

  So Judge Wyatt wanted to test them, did he? He probably expected that they would go crawling to him, begging him to let them off the cleaning up duty. Or at least, he probably expected her to: it was clear that Wyatt had been specifically trying to punish Amalia when he’d put together this unholy cocktail of dawn, the Bronx and cleaning the park in the ice and frost. Not to mention the company of the prisoners: even she had to admit that was almost a stroke of genius.

  “So what are you going to do? Are you going to go?” inquired a dismayed Michelle.

  “Do I have a choice?” Amalia asked her. “I never was a girl scout, but it looks like there’s always time to give it a try.”

  *

  Unlike Amalia, Ryan had not had a good weekend. He was exhausted after having to move city and he wa
s still in a foul mood over how silly the hateful Ms Berger had managed to make him look. She was still the same spoiled, stuck-up snob, he thought angrily as he sat in his small office. Of course, having spent the last two days without being able to get her out of his head had made him even grumpier. He really had to remember to stay away from her. Miles and miles away from her, mentally if not physically. No more working on the same cases, no more arguments and above all no more of her damn face in his mind’s eye.

  It was because he was so deep in his thoughts that Alex managed to take him quite by surprise when he walked into the office a few minutes later. Ryan was still sitting staring into space, trying in vain to concentrate.

  “Excuse me – I did knock, but I’m afraid you didn’t hear me,” the young man explained when he saw Ryan almost jump out of his chair as he walked in.

  “No, come in, come in – I was just thinking.” And you really don’t want to know what about, he added mentally. “Have you got something for me?”

  Alex blushed slightly. “Uhm, yeah. An email from Judge Wyatt.”

  “Give it to me,” said Ryan, getting up and taking the sheet of paper. He stood there reading the mail intently for a while before suddenly bursting out laughing. “What is this, a joke?” he asked, quickly becoming serious.

  Alex found himself in obvious embarrassment.

  “Erm, no,” he stammered, “it’s not, actually…”

  “Oh come on – this is one of those tricks you play on the new guy in the office, right?” Ryan asked, this time more threateningly.

  “I swear, Ryan, it’s no joke,” Alex answered nervously. “Putting weird stuff in your coffee is about as far as we go.”

  The Assistant District Attorney glanced over at the as yet untouched cup of coffee on his desk and was forced to face up to reality: Judge Wyatt actually did intend to carry out his threat. And it hadn’t been any piddling little threat either. Five hours cleaning up a park in the Bronx on a Saturday morning with a group of cons – how the hell had he come up with such brilliantly mean idea? For a moment he allowed his mind’s eye to linger on the image of Amalia getting up at dawn and putting on her expensive clothes to go frolicking in the dirt. And he almost – almost – smiled at the idea.

  “What do you want me to tell the Judge’s office?” asked Alex hesitantly.

  “Nothing – except that I will be there.”

  Despite everything, he wouldn’t miss this show for the world.

  And anyway, that day really had plenty of room for improvement.

  *

  The Bronx had been cleaned up a lot in recent years, but Ryan was relieved to note that Amalia had nevertheless decided to take a taxi to the park. On Saturday mornings, New York tended to wake up slowly and at that time even the best-known streets were often still deserted. The Bronx, though, was the exception that proved the rule.

  It wasn’t that he was actually worried or anything: it would have been against the rules to be worried ‘for her’. It was a perfectly understandable desire to avoid any unnecessary complications.

  He arrived at the designated location only two minutes late, just as Amalia was getting out of the taxi – it was as though they’d synchronised watches, A-Team style. And there they were, just the two of them, standing outside the entrance to the park staring at one another pugnaciously.

  Ryan noted with a hint of pleasure that Amalia had attempted to dress down for the occasion but had failed miserably: in fact, she was wearing an expensive-looking pair of close-fitting jeans that hugged her legs. How in hell did she figure she was going to be able to bend over with those on? He doubted she would…

  And what she was wearing on her feet was no better: Amalia had abandoned her beloved six-inch heels and was wearing a pair of designer sneakers that, ok, were flat – but too flat, and too white too. For a job like this you needed boots, not fashionable footwear that would be covered in mud after ten minutes. Not to mention that the short jacket she was wearing might be fine for running errands uptown – jumping out of a taxi outside the office, say, or walking a few yards down the street – but there was no way in hell it was going to keep her warm for the next five hours. What had she been thinking when she got dressed that morning?

  And that damned hair. Who the hell goes out to clean the streets without tying their hair up? Only someone who has never picked up a broom in her life, obviously.

  It was the first time he had seen her with her hair down since he had come back to New York. Of course, he remembered how it looked from back in college, but luckily the memory was only a vague one which had started to fade over the years. What was now in front of him, instead, was no memory but a flesh and blood girl whose curly blonde hair swayed rebelliously in front of her eyes. Which, he had to admit, had returned to the color he remembered – their usual sapphire blue. Whatever had been wrong with her last week, she seemed to have made a total recovery. It annoyed him that he wasn’t able to decide whether that was a good thing or not.

  “Are we the only ones here?” asked Amalia, looking around uncomfortably.

  “Looks that way,” replied Ryan, not exactly pleased at the prospect of having to make small talk. After initially trying to avoid looking at him as much as possible, she eventually relented, observing with curiosity the difference in the way they were dressed. He was wearing an ancient pair of threadbare jeans and a winter jacket that looked as though it would really keep him warm. On his feet were a pair of hiking boots that would cope with any puddle or mud that he came across. He was deliberately dressed as someone who would soon be collecting garbage. No excuses.

  Visibly taken aback, Amalia raised an eyebrow. The kind of men she usually hung out with would never have dared turn up in front of her dressed like some barbarian trucker. Ryan was no fool and knew that the clothing was important and for that reason was well aware of the transformation in him once he had abandoned the elegant suits that made him Mr Deputy Prosecutor.

  “What do we do? Wait for them?” she asked, pulling her jacket tightly around her against the bitter cold.

  “What about if we go and take a look at the park?” suggested Ryan, who was getting nervous at the idea of just standing there together. He wanted to get to work to avoid the temptation of moving aside the rebellious curls which kept falling across her forehead. The instinct to touch her was almost uncontrollable. So much so that he had to grit his teeth to force himself not to. Oh, no – he would sooner chew off his own damn arm than give in to that particular impulse. Was he being infantile? Maybe, but there it was.

  “Come on, let’s go and see if the rest of them are already in there,” he suggested as he strode off rapidly, driven more by the growing awareness that he was not entirely indifferent to her than by any great desire to start picking up trash.

  They walked for a few minutes, he ploughing ahead with great strides and Amalia trailing behind him, deliberately keeping her distance. At one point she stopped for a moment to take a better look at the park: it was a large open space which could quite easily become a source of pride for the district. Too bad about the piles of abandoned junk which threatened to suffocate the plants: there were even bits of old appliances like washing machines and, worse still, pieces of cars. In fact, some of the locals seemed to have turned the place into a kind of open air dump. They certainly weren’t trying to win any prizes for being model citizens.

  Ryan’s voice aroused her from her thoughts.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding irked that he’d had to stop and wait for her.

  “Just thinking about how much potential this park has,” she replied, not at all intimidated by his gruff tone.

  “Oh sure,” he said sarcastically, “tons of potential.”

  “No, I’m serious. This place could actually be nice if they didn’t use it as a dump.”

  “Exactly – if. But you can forget about that ever happening.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you really think that this park is ever going
to end up looking like one of those beautiful green lawns in the Hamptons where you used to play when you were a little girl?”

  He was definitely in a grouchy mood, and was making little or no attempt to hide the fact.

  “Well, it looks like somebody got out of the wrong side of bed today,” muttered Amalia, walking over to him and brushing his cheek with her hand. She had intended her gesture to be a joke, a playful little slap, but Ryan froze at her sudden proximity. He could smell her perfume on the breeze, and the electricity of her touch – however fleeting – had blazed through his whole body like a lightning bolt.

  “Would you mind not touching me?” he snapped, flinching.

  Her presence made him nervous. He had never spent as much time around her as he had in recent weeks, and it made him realize why he had avoided her like the plague in the past. She was as stubborn as a mule, but she was also so incredibly attractive, and he felt himself being drawn to her like a magnet. Just like back in college…

  But back then it had been easy to avoid one girl out of the many in his year – now, however, he was in serious trouble: he had accepted the post of assistant district attorney knowing that Amalia was a leading New York lawyer, and he had been well aware that he would be seeing plenty of her and would probably even have to work with her from time to time. After not having seen hide nor hair of her for about a decade, the fact that they were in the same city should have been irrelevant. It certainly shouldn’t have reduced him to this state after only two weeks. But whether he wanted to admit it or not, the way things were going he was on the verge of losing his mind.

  Amalia pretended not to be hurt by his gruff response, elegantly concealing her disappointment behind a bored look.

  “God, it was only a joke,” she muttered darkly. “I didn’t think you were so sensitive.”

  “Quit yanking my chain,” warned Ryan.

  “Fine – I solemnly promise that I will never ‘yank your chain’ again,” she assured him, staring at something in the distance. “Look, there’s a group of people over there – could it be them?” she asked hopefully. At this point, it was clear to both of them that even prisoners on day release would be better company than each other.