Legally Blonde

by Amanda Brown

Henry Kohn had begun jumping up and down, desperate to silence Chutney’s outburst, but the demon of her savagery was unleashed.

  Chutney attacked Brooke relentlessly: “You stole my father! You ruined him! You ruined my life!”

  She stood up, rushed recklessly across the courtroom in pursuit of Brooke, who leaped from her chair. “I didn’t mean to shoot him,” Chutney screamed, swiping air as the bailiff seized her. “I meant to shoot you!”

  Chapter Forty-six

  When the furor subsided, the lawyer for Mrs. Whitney Vandermark-Warren-Sands renewed his motion for the court to consolidate the claim of his client, on the theory that the will was valid, and Whitney was unquestionably Heyworth’s most beautiful wife.

  Without the least inclination to evaluate the cosmetic merits of five Mrs. Vandermarks preening excitedly in their seats, Judge Morgan ruled swiftly.

  “Motion granted. There being no competent evidence that Brooke feloniously and intentionally killed Heyworth Vandermark, the will is admitted to probate. As a matter of law, the phrase ‘most beautiful wife’ employed by Heyworth Vandermark refers to his wife at the time of his death. Matters of taste aside.” She directed the comment to Whitney in particular, who had stood up furiously.

  “The parties have stipulated that Brooke was married to Heyworth at the time of his death,” Judge Morgan continued, “and there is no further ambiguity. Pending appointment of a personal administrator to distribute assets”—she pounded her gavel several times to be heard over Whitney’s sobs—“the matter of the Estate of Heyworth Vandermark is hereby dismissed.”

  Henry Kohn hung his head.

  Eugenia practically scaled the railing that separated the lawyers’ seats from the gallery, rushing to embrace Elle amid the pandemonium of wailing wives and cheering students that erupted. Brooke, free and happy, grabbed and swung Elle’s hand like a child.

  “Oh, today I’m free to be me, free to be me, there goes Chutney, said it was me,” Brooke sang, bouncing along with her flowery little cheer. Elle burst out laughing.

  “God, Brooke, it’s a miracle you weren’t so goofy on the stand.” Elle poked Eugenia, grinning with wide-eyed relief. “Meet Eugenius,” she announced to Brooke, “the smartest girl in Stanford Law School. I wouldn’t have made it here without her.”

  “Group hug!” announced Brooke, hauling Eugenia into a merry circle.

  “You’re the smartest girl in law school!” Eugenia declared, freeing her hand to rustle Elle’s hair into a white moppy mess.

  Elle shook a lock from her eyes with a grin. Sarah was involved in a heated conversation with Warner at the far end of the lawyers’ table. “Not bad for a Barbie doll,” she said.

  “Ken should be proud,” Eugenia replied, pointing at Warner’s blonde head.

  Elle pinched Eugenia’s arm and lowered her tone. “Ken’s on the shelf now, Genie. With the rest of the dolls.”

  Eugenia wrinkled her nose, confused.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Elle promised.

  Brooke was pulling on Elle’s arm with another jingle. “Free, free, always me, always gonna be me!”

  Eugenia laughed and applied her tousling hand to Brooke’s hair. “You oughtta take that show on the road!”

  “Hey, I can do anything now,” Brooke declared happily.

  Elle packed up her legal pad. Brooke turned to thank her “other lawyer Christopher,” hopping away with another chorus of “free to be me.”

  “I’ll go get the car, Elle-o-rama,” said Eugenia. “Time to party!”

  Elle glanced around the clearing room and agreed. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  She turned to look for Christopher, who was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s out in the hall, Elle decided, picking up the closest two witness books to carry back with her. Acknowledging Dan’s congratulations with a smile, she glided into the hallway, where Christopher stood surrounded by reporters. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Elle, and pulled her to his side. “Here”—he beamed at Elle—“is the real star!” Cameras were flashing, placing Elle securely in her element. The reporters had a lot of questions, many of them for Elle, which she answered beautifully. The last question, however, was directed at Christopher.

  “Mr. Miles, how do you feel about being upstaged by your intern?” one of the reporters asked.

  “Proud! Thanks, Elle.”

  At the door of the courthouse she saw Warner standing alone. “I guess this is my exit cue,” Christopher said, and gave Elle a wink before heading out the door.

  “Elle!” Warner reached to hug her. His open arms caught air as Elle saluted him sarcastically, ducking through the door.

  She couldn’t resist peeking back when she heard Warner rush out behind her. Over his shoulder, she noticed Sarah standing at the doorway with her arms folded indignantly.

  “Elle, stop, please,” he said as she turned to face him. “God, let a man admit his mistake. That joke was all wrong. I underestimated you, Elle.”

  Elle thought she noticed Sarah look away, pretending she didn’t hear her fiancé’s confession. Making an effort not to catch Sarah’s eye, Elle drew closer to Warner.

  “How’s that, Warner?”

  “Elle, come on, you know. I thought I’d have to marry Sarah, because she…oh God, Elle, she had the brains and everything. You know my family. I mean, I wanted to be with you, really, but everyone…everyone thought you were so flaky.” Warner laughed heartily with Elle, who encouraged him with a warm grasp to continue.

  “A frosted flake? Me?” Elle giggled in faux humility, glancing to assure herself that Sarah heard. “Little ol’ Barbie doll me?”

  “Oh, Elle, come on, you act like the biggest bimbo around.” Warner chuckled, positive that Elle shared his humor. “I mean, you should just hear what people say about you at law school!”

  Confident that he had won her back, he put his arm around her shoulder and jostled her like a friend. “I’m so glad they’re wrong! You showed everybody! I’m so glad I can be with you again now.” Warner pulled Elle close to him.

  “You want me back, Warner?” Elle peered up from her old love’s embrace with sweet doe eyes, trying not to laugh.

  “Elle, I’ll leave Sarah,” he gushed. “I don’t need her anymore. You are smart! Christopher and my father go all the way back to prep school, and with the glowing description he’ll give of you, my family will have to love you! You’ve got the brains and the body. Thank God! Why did it take me so long?” He smacked his head jokingly. “Right here all the time. The one woman who really knows me.”

  Elle saw Sarah glaring furiously at Warner, and for the first time thought she and Sarah might have something in common.

  “Warner, I do know you now. I didn’t know you at all before,” she pronounced in a cool, even tone, lifting his hand and dropping it from her shoulder.

  His smile dropped into a confused stare.

  “No, Warner. I didn’t know you,” Elle repeated. “I loved some image that you never really were. It’s not your fault. ‘That had to do with me, not you,’” she hissed, imitating his words from their fight in the witness room.

  “But, Elle, we spent so many years together,” he protested. “You’ll never find anyone like me again, Elle.”

  “I certainly hope not!” Elle answered genuinely. “By the way, your brainy fiancée looks lonely.” She pointed behind him at Sarah, who was tapping her foot in a brisk allegro.

  Warner wheeled around to face Sarah, his mind racing to explain what he had just declared with such indiscretion.

  “Good-bye, Warner,” Elle said as she started down the steps. She paused, turning back with a smile.

  “I’ll see you around.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Eugenia drove back to the office of Miles & Slocum, where Elle dropped off her witness books and Brooke jumped around like a hummingbird. After waiting fruitlessly for Christopher to return, Elle decided to leave. It was Thursday, the spring days were beginning to warm and lengthen, an
d already she was savoring the indulgence of a long weekend.

  “You’ll have a summer job waiting,” Eugenia beamed.

  “Heyworth’s ex-wives certainly had some potential hair salon malpractice,” Elle said.

  Brooke quieted, and Elle gulped a quick apology. “I’m sorry to bring up Heyworth, Brooke.”

  “That’s okay.” The widow shrugged, collecting herself.

  “He’s been avenged!” Eugenia blurted, thumping her fist on Elle’s desk. “That despicable daughter of his won’t see the inside of a hair salon for a long, long time.”

  “Fitting,” Brooke said, nodding with satisfaction. Elle glanced at her curiously.

  “She’s got her permanent now, the wretch,” Brooke said with a smile. “A permanent prison sentence.”

  Elle giggled. “Hey, Brooke,” she said, tugging on her client’s arm. “You up for partying with us tonight? I won’t promise you much in Palo Alto, but I think it’s time for you to get back on the scene. In search of…”

  “Single white male,” Brooke finished, smiling. “Definitely. Do you know any cute law students?”

  “No!” Elle and Eugenia exclaimed in unison.

  “We’ll see about that.” Brooke winked, trotting out the office door.

  In an hour they were toasting the future around the cactus-legged table in Elle’s condo. Flushed with champagne and giggling madly, the gathering was reminiscent of “Margotitaville” days at USC. Underdog leaped toward Elle’s lap, missing her slightly, a bit dizzy from the champagne that Brooke had poured into his dog dish.

  Brooke gave the first toast, encouraging them both to graduate early so she could finance the Blonde Legal Defense Fund with her Vandermark fortune.

  Elle raised her glass. “To being a Ken-free Barbie!” Shouts and applause went all the way around.

  “I wondered about that,” Eugenia said, nodding. “What’s up with Warner?”

  “Finishing law school, then a life in Newport with Sarah, I guess.” Elle shrugged. “I’m too busy thinking about all of the things I want to do to think about him. Like getting the Barbie trademark and designing an entire jewelry line in her honor.”

  “To Barbie,” Brooke announced, raising her glass. “Forever in pink.”

  “To Visa,” Eugenia grinned, “living pink in the red.”

  “Okay,” Elle acknowledged Brooke’s waving invitation, “my turn. To underdogs!” The drooping eyes of her faithful Chihuahua fluttered open at the sound of his name, then dropped contentedly shut. The three girls clinked glasses, drinking the remaining champagne.

  Eugenia’s glass struck the table first. “Let’s hit University Avenue!” she chirped.

  In a minute’s time, only one Underdog was left. He curled his head under his paws to sleep.

  Brooke’s credit card flashed as gold as the microbrewed lagers they drank, as yellow as the cab, and as blonde as the heads of Brooke and Elle, who staggered back to Elle’s condo and wilted like morning glories.

  Class was out of the picture on the lazy Friday when they awoke; Eugenia and Brooke headed to the city to shop, and Elle, wrapped in the warmth of her bathrobe, set to the task of cleaning her littered bedroom. She discarded piles of articles on the “Murder in Malibu,” trimming the raggedy edges of a few that were scrapbook worthy. In particular, one, which had a picture of Elle and Christopher on the courthouse steps.

  She filed a few Law Review articles with her notes from Gilbreath’s Wills class, in case they would help her study for the final exam, which was approaching fast. She answered the knock at her door still swaddled in terry cloth, sure that Eugenia or Brooke had forgotten something.

  When she swung the door open she froze, gasping in disbelief. Before her stood Sarah Knottingham, redolent with the fragrance of salon products; smiling, blushing, and nervously tugging at a strand of her newly styled and highlighted hair, finally free from a headband.

  “Oh my God,” Elle stuttered, supporting herself with one hand against the wall. She stared without speaking, and Sarah grinned mischievously.

  “Does it look that bad?” The preppie laughed anxiously and stared down at her espadrilles.

  “Oh my God, Sarah. You’re…you’re…”

  “Mind if I come in?” Sarah asked.

  Underdog stared at Sarah suspiciously, and Elle took an unsteady hungover step backward.

  “No, come in,” she managed. “Sarah, you got rid of your bob and that…that headband,” Elle said in victorious shock.

  “Yeah, I pulled an Elle Woods,” Sarah laughed. “I skipped class and went to the beauty salon. It seemed to work okay for you,” she added. “Manicured and winning in court, I figured you had a secret.”

  Elle regained some measure of composure when she sat down on the couch. “No secret,” she said. “Just habit, I guess. Manicures relax me.”

  Sarah was still standing, and Elle stared noticeably at her visitor’s empty left hand.

  “I gave the ring back.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Now Warner has two ex-girlfriends making the law school curve worse for him. What do you think of that?”

  Elle gulped, then smiled. “I’ve finally quit thinking about Warner,” she said, shaking her head as if waking from a dream. “Anyway, I think your hair looks so much better. I can’t believe you even got a few highlights!”

  Sarah stroked her shiny coiffure. “I think it’s worth the upkeep.”

  “Definitely.” Elle nodded with vigor. “Did you get a good conditioner?”

  “Kiehls,” Sarah answered. “That’s what the stylist recommended.”

  “Perfect.” Elle smiled.

  Sarah handed Elle a bound outline from her shaky hand. “I’m finished with my Property outline,” she said. “I’m wondering if I can mine you for the answers for the Wills final? I saw some books you brought to the office one day on your desk and it looked like you could teach the class!” Sarah was highlighted, but still brunettely sensible.

  “Of course,” Elle smiled, standing. “I’m almost done with my outline. Warner’s out of luck, but I’ll cut you in.” Elle couldn’t resist tugging at a strand of Sarah’s highlighted hair. “After all, you’re blonde at heart now.”

  “A true blonde,” Sarah laughed, remembering Elle’s miniessay.

  “Naturally,” Elle said.

  More from Amanda Brown

  From the author of LEGALLY BLONDE comes a hilarious romance about finding family—and yourself—in the strangest of places.

  Firmly planted on the Wall Street fast track to success, Becca Reinhart has no desire to marry and raise a family. Ditto Edward Kirkland, a charming playboy who has never known what it means to work for a living—and hopes never to find out. Enter Emily, who becomes Becca and Edward's common denominator when a quirk of fate gives them joint custody of the precocious little girl. Suddenly, two people who have never met find themselves sharing the trials and tribulations of domestic life as they navigate the rocky shoals of parenthood, from naptime to play dates to preschool admissions. And amid the daily demands of raising a young child, Becca and Edward discover something else: They're made for each other.

  Family Trust is available now in eBook!

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