Now I knew I was wrong. Each and every time. Now at least I had a chance.
Sample Chapter from Things are Going to Slide by Rangeley Wallace
Attendance was high and the noise level higher in the spacious but packed ASU moot courtroom as the law school faculty placed faux bets on who they thought would be awarded the coveted Sam Bailey, Jr. Chair in Clinical Law. At one point or another, almost every professor glanced, smiled or nodded at Marilee Carson Cooper, the odds-on-favorite for the fourth endowed Chair in the history of the relatively young law school at Alabama Southern University.
Photographers and reporters from several newspapers and the law school magazine awaited the announcement. Sharp, bright rays of late morning October sun streamed through the windows across the back wall, raising beads of sweat on their necks and backs, but did nothing to dampen their interest.
Marilee stared straight ahead, trying to look cool and calm, as though today were just another day and not one that would flip the downward trajectory of her life on its head. In a matter of minutes she would receive a much-needed boost of confidence, not to mention tenure and an increase in salary, prestige and power. The personal and professional blows of the past year wouldn’t evaporate when she was awarded the Bailey Chair in Clinical Law, but they would pale, lose their stranglehold on her, and over time fade into the sort of vague, ephemeral memories of events she might have read about in some book long ago. The Chair: she pictured herself in a velvet armchair, something very much like a throne, from whence she would rule her kingdom.
“You look like you might throw up,” Marilee’s sister Dede leaned in to whisper, her chin-length, dyed jet-black hair covering the side of her face.
So much for cool and calm. “Hush up.” Marilee elbowed Dede lightly, clenching one clammy hand in the other, then switching hands. “Don’t you need to go out for a smoke or go back to New York or something?” Marilee faked a smile, happy that her sister was in town for a change, though not sure why she’d really come home. She knew it wasn’t for this announcement; Dede had already been home for two weeks, approximately eleven days longer than she’d stayed in Carsonville since she decided to skip college and move to New York to dance eight years ago. She claimed she just wanted to relax at home for a bit. But the words “Dede,” “relax” and “home” had never appeared in the same sentence before, and Marilee suspected there was some other reason for the unexpected visit.
Dede’s pale gray-green eyes focused on Marilee, appraising her thoughtfully. “For someone on the verge of puking, you look beautiful.”
“Quiet!” Marilee shook her head. She didn’t feel beautiful, especially while sitting next to her tall, thin gorgeous sister. After arguing (with herself) whether sleep was more important than clean hair and make-up, sleep lost the argument and she’d stumbled out of bed, washed her shoulder-length auburn hair, applied make up, and tried on her maternity dresses – all six of them – looking for the most photogenic choice. Three clung too tightly to her near nine-month bulging midriff, and two were dotted with intractable juice or food stains. In the end, she chose the burnt orange dress, thinking it contrasted nicely with her green eyes, but when she got to the law school and glanced at herself in the first floor bathroom mirror she’d realized she looked like Charlie Brown’s great pumpkin. Hopefully, when she walked to the podium to receive the award, the photographers would focus their lenses on her face and feature close-ups rather than distance shots.
“Just trying to help you relax, Sis.” Dede reached over with her right hand and gently held down Marilee’s jiggling knee.
A hush settled across the room as Dean Dody walked in. Because nature had endowed Dean Dody with a short, heavy body and stubby limbs, many students, and even some of the faculty, had christened him Dean Dodo. The Dean’s factotums, Associate Deans Porter Larkin and Sue Scanlon, sat in folding chairs framing the podium and the judge’s black walnut bench. The red, blue and gold ASU seal’s eagle peered down on the assemblage from the wall above.
As the Dean sat down, Associate Dean Sue Scanlon stood, running her hands along her form-fitting straight skirt, to the obvious pleasure of many of the male professors in attendance. She walked to the podium, her hips swaying slightly as each red high heel touched the ground. At the podium, Sue flipped her thick blonde mane a few times as if she were in a L’Oreal ad, cleared her throat, and slowly smiled. Even though Dean Dody would be the one to announce the recipient of the endowed Chair, Sue, a paragon of self-confidence, commanded everyone’s attention with her steely, critical gaze and her gravelly, authoritative voice.
She announced that ASU had taken out a national ad celebrating the anniversary of Rosa Parks’s fateful refusal to move to the back of the Montgomery, Alabama bus and that they’d hired an architect to submit plans for a civil rights memorial in the ASU law school garden. In the “New South,” universities tripped over each other trying to prove their civil liberties credentials. A round of polite applause followed. Sue beamed, as if she alone were responsible for these tributes.
Dede poked Marilee, and when Marilee looked over, she rolled her eyes. Marilee nodded. Without a word passing between them, they agreed: Sue was a piece of work. That she was always perfectly dressed and coiffed was not the issue, although sometimes it annoyed Marilee, especially in these last ever more frumpy days of her second pregnancy. What was most irritating about Sue Scanlon was her unshakeable belief that she was far smarter than everyone, and that her way was the only way.
She and Marilee had been arguing about the law school’s purpose and future path since Sue arrived last spring from Harvard. Sue didn’t support Clinical Law, Marilee’s area of expertise, and had single-handedly nixed her otherwise popular proposal to expand the Clinic and represent the immigrants languishing at the nearby Department of Homeland Security detention facility. A year of Marilee’s hard work had been snuffed out with one word from Sue. Needless to say, Marilee despised her and she could barely wait to have the Chair, a powerful platform for making an end run around Sue Scanlon.
Sue glanced down at her notes. “Please congratulate Professor Ken Barber on his latest article, which has been accepted for publication in the Vanderbilt Law Journal.” She looked up at Marilee, smiling meaningfully at her, and then began to clap.
Marilee glared back. Sue never missed an opportunity to remind Marilee that she was hopelessly late in finishing her first law review article. When the law school hired Marilee to launch the law school Legal Aid Clinic, the Dean had given her a two-and-a-half-year contract, but made clear that the contract’s renewal and any hope of tenure would depend on whether she published. Since then, although she’d written a number of draft essays on various Clinical Law topics, she hadn’t come close to putting even one into law review format, thanks to all-consuming teaching and family obligations, including the end of what she’d believed was a happy (enough) marriage. Recently, with the publication deadline approaching even faster than the due date for giving birth, Marilee had gone to the Dean for an extension. He’d been kind enough to tell her she needn’t worry, that the endowed Chair would be hers, and, though they’d expect publication, she’d have all the time she needed to take care of the new baby first.
She hadn’t planned to have a second child, at least not until she’d put the finishing touches on a law review article. But, as the result of one moment of passion when her diaphragm had been the last thing on her mind, her four-year-old daughter Ellie soon would have a sibling. What she’d thought was passion, though, had turned out to be her swim coach husband Rick’s botched attempt to break it to her gently that he was in love with his NCAA champion free-styler – William Larson.
Rick left in March; Marilee found out she was pregnant in April; Sue arrived in May. The year from hell.
Finally, Sue sashayed back to her seat and Dean Dody took the podium. Beaming, his round face bobbed up and down in anticipation. He looked to the left and the right, then straight ahead as if to assure himself unnecess
arily that he had the faculty’s complete attention.
“Great gifts that change the future of an institution stem from a boundless selflessness,” the Dean began. “At best, those of us who are recipients of this beneficence can stand back in awe and gratitude. Today, through this substantial endowment in recognition of the upcoming Carsonville, Alabama Bicentennial, I am honored to officially announce that,” he paused for a silent drum roll, “a Chair, to be known as the Sam Bailey, Jr. Scholar in Clinical Law, will not only honor our law school but will support the critical missions of independent scholarship and teaching excellence.”
The Dean continued: “The terms of this generous gift from Sam Bailey, Jr. are few. The recipient, who will receive tenure, must have been born in the great State of Alabama, and he or she must be an authority in the field of Clinical Law. We foresee with this endowment that our Clinic, already nationally recognized in just the two short years since its establishment, will become a leader in this burgeoning field. Sam’s own law school Clinic experience up north at – what’s the name of that place again?” The Dean opened his palms, shrugged and smiled, attempting to make a joke about the insecurity “second tier” law schools like ASU wore like an albatross. “Sam’s Clinic experience changed his view of legal education.”
The faculty tittered with nervous laughter. Sam Bailey had attended Yale Law School, number one for the umpteenth year in a row in the all-important U.S. News and World Report’s yearly law school ranking. He’d spent a small fortune on his hometown school, ASU, trying his best to push it into the top fifty; the much desired “first tier.” Not only did he endow the Clinical Chair, but Sam also had contributed a huge chunk of money for the law school building itself, as well as the funds used to hire Marilee and start the Clinic two years ago.
“The Trustees and I, with the assistance of the Rank and Tenure Committee, under the able leadership of Dean Scanlon, have chosen the recipient for the Chair, and I am proud to introduce the new Bailey Professor of Clinical Law,” the Dean continued.
“Please congratulate and welcome our new Bailey Chair in Clinical Law.” The Dean’s voice rose forcefully as he readied the crowd for the big announcement.
Marilee leaned forward slightly, inhaled, and tried to put on a grateful but humble face as she stood up.
“Dwight Hurley!”
Dede’s hand shot out, grabbed her sister’s arm, and pulled her back into her seat as heat spread rapidly up Marilee’s neck and across her face, leaving apple-sized hives, clear evidence of her dismay.
As faculty members sitting in front of her whipped their heads around, Marilee averted her eyes from the pitying looks and nervous giggles and prayed that most of the faculty had missed her presumptuous ascent, and her humiliating descent.
As the Dean gestured to the side entrance doors, they swung open, as if under some spell, and there he was. Dwight Hurley. Marilee felt as though everyone else in the packed auditorium had disappeared, and that she and Dwight were in a slow moving dream, a nightmare. She bit the inside of her cheek hard but didn’t wake up.
Dwight walked with the loose, cocky swagger of politicians and men who played college basketball. His black hair was stylishly messy and long, hanging just over his collar, and his full lips. Above a prominent nose, his dark blue eyes exuded a calm confidence.
Marilee looked down at her trembling hands, then stuck them under her thighs.
“What the hell is going on?” Dede whispered.
“I wish I knew.” Marilee could barely form the words with her bogus I’m-so-happy-for-Dwight-and-I-don’t-care-that-I-didn’t-get-it smile and a growing lump in her throat. If she could get through the rest of this event without weeping, she decided, this entire ceremony had to be considered a brilliant success.
Dwight shook the Dean’s hand, then stood back a little to the side with his hands clasped behind his back, as though at attention, while the Dean detailed his credentials: Vanderbilt University (to Marilee’s Duke), Chicago Law (to her Emory), Sixth Circuit clerkship (to her Eleventh), the Public Defender’s office (to her law firm stint), and, just last year, the Criminal Clinic at Redmont Law School in Cincinnati, where he’d established an Innocence Project and personally participated in several high profile criminal trials, in particular the groundbreaking State of Illinois vs. Edmunds. “Lucky for us,” Dean Dody explained, “Dwight was only co-teaching one class at Redmont this fall, so he was able to leave on a moment’s notice to join us.
“Finally,” the Dean concluded, “because faculty scholarship is essential for the law school’s continued success, you all can understand just how thrilled I am to pass on this bit of very good news: Dwight has almost finished the first Clinical Law textbook and it will be published soon.”
A book? Marilee stifled a gasp. She hadn’t even finished an article and Dwight, who had taught Clinical law a year less than she had, had completed a book! In the world of academia, professors didn’t write textbooks alone in their attics, penning one page after the next, coming out with a masterpiece after years of isolated toiling. No! They circulated ideas and parts of papers; they e-mailed and conferenced; they collaborated and argued. How could he possibly have written a book on Clinical Law, the first textbook ever, without her hearing about it?
Dwight shook the Dean’s hand again as the faculty clapped its approval.
Was she mad? Jealous? Worried about her future? Yes, yes, yes. Adding insult to her injured ego, the Dean and the trustees had awarded the Chair to the charter member of the men-who-broke-Marilee’s-heart club. Dwight Hurley was Marilee’s first love, and, since their breakup ten years ago, she’d taken great pains to avoid him during his rare visits home. Unfortunately, because the ASU Legal Aid Clinic was a law firm in which the students practiced law pursuant to Student Practice Rules (think Legally Blonde but not so well dressed) she would be stuck working and teaching with him almost every single day.
Marilee wanted to disappear, and though she was too big to scooch under her chair, she wasn’t too large to walk away. She stood slowly, hoping no one would notice, and turned toward the exit at the back of the room, only twenty steps away. Perhaps, she thought, she had a legitimate reason for her sudden departure – labor, or a doctor’s appointment, or a scheduled court appearance to name a few. She could think of any number of clever excuses, but before she’d lumbered up three steps, Dede was next to her, her mouth close to Marilee’s ear.
“Marilee, turn around,” she whispered insistently. “You have to say something to him. You can’t leave!”
If Dede, who never bowed to convention, thought she had to stay, clearly there was no other option. In the moot courtroom surrounded by her colleagues, Marilee had to admit that she wasn’t free to act mad or jealous or worried. She needed to appear to be a reasonable, responsible grown-up, even though she felt like a rejected, neglected child, and welcome Dwight to what until that moment – although officially named the ASU Legal Aid Clinic – had simply been referred to as “Marilee’s Clinic.”
Faculty members surged toward Dwight to wish him their best and congratulate him on the prestigious award and a job well done. As he shook hands, he looked around, searching for someone. Marilee wondered if his wife Lana was there, and surveyed the room for a petite, gorgeous brunette.
When she didn’t see Lana, she turned toward her sister and mustered a small smile. “Okay, okay, I’ll go congratulate him.” She swallowed hard but the lump remained. What if she choked? That at least would get her out of there.
Dede nodded her encouragement, her light gray-green eyes full of concern.
Marilee started down the steps toward Dwight, but by the time she reached the last step at least twenty professors had surrounded him. Because she preferred to shake his hand without half the faculty watching so closely, she hung back and looked around the room. Dwight’s mother, Ruth Hurley, stood a few feet away looking pleased in a tight-lipped sort of way.
Marilee approached her, figuring that if she couldn’t
get to Dwight, his mother was an acceptable stand-in. “Mrs. Hurley. It’s been a long time. I wanted to offer my congratulations to you and Dwight.” Marilee extended her hand.
Ruth recoiled slightly at the sight of Marilee but offered her limp hand. Hopefully she wasn’t reliving in her mind, as Marilee was, one of the last times the two had seen each other, when she and Dwight were high school seniors. Dwight and Marilee had broken up – something they did every few months during their six-year, high-drama romance – and a week later had made up. They were on the basement couch, their clothes strewn across the floor, ready to consummate the reconciliation, when Ruth walked in on them.
“I’ll actually be working with Dwight in the Clinic,” Marilee said. “You must be very proud of him.”
“I am, thank you,” she replied primly.
“So, when did Dwight get back?” And where’s Lana, Marilee wondered.
“Just yesterday. Oh, if you’ll excuse me.” She walked toward the Dean, even though he was busy talking with a pack of reporters.
When the Dean looked up to greet Ruth, his eyes met Marilee’s and he cringed. She tried to read in his face the truth about why she hadn’t been chosen for the Chair he’d promised her, but before she had a chance to publicly demand an explanation – something that surely would have made her embarrassing situation even worse, he turned away.
The one person she always tried to avoid – Sue Scanlon – touched her forearm, then tapped it with two red nails, as if she were sending Morse code via Marilee’s body. “Oh, Marilee.” She shook her head, her layered blonde hair rising and falling with each shake. Sue’s expertly applied eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara, and the plunging neckline of her silk blouse made Marilee feel like a homely, matronly, pregnant hick.
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