Breaking All My Rules

by Trice Hickman

  After she settled into her chair in the room, she noticed that the Great Dane was now sitting just five seats down from her in the very same row. She was thankful for her keen peripheral vision, which allowed her to study him discreetly, without being noticed. She crossed her shapely legs and began her inspection, starting from the bottom and working her way up, beginning with his feet.

  Now that she had the time and opportunity to appraise him, she noticed things that she had obviously overlooked when he’d strode past her only moments ago. She saw that he was wearing work boots, and that they looked as though they’d been put to use on a daily basis. And even though he was sitting down, she could tell that his faded jeans were a perfect fit, not too baggy or drooping off his butt, like the style a lot of men were wearing, a trend she despised. His solid blue long-sleeve shirt also had a most complimentary fit, as if it had been made especially for him. His attire was neat and clean, simple and basic. But since he was dressed so casually during the middle of business hours, it led her to believe that he was a working-class man, perhaps in a profession that called for him to use his hands, which she could see were large and rough looking.

  Erica also noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, which made her perk up. But what made her pause with skepticism was his bare wrist, which was a bad sign for her. She remembered the words her father had always told her. “Erica, a man who doesn’t wear a watch has no sense of, or respect for, time. And if he has no respect for time, he obviously has no place to be and probably doesn’t have a job, or if by chance he’s employed, it’s a job and position requiring no real level of responsibility.”

  Erica’s father, Joseph Stanford, was CEO of Eastern Electric, the largest utility company in the D.C. metro area, serving nearly two million residents. He was a well-respected, powerful man with equally powerful friends in both the business and government sectors, and Erica clung to his words on most things as gospel, despite his personal foibles. He was a loving father, and just like her mother, he’d always been the rock she could lean on for support and solid advice.

  But in this case she didn’t want to make snap judgments, because, after all, her father was old school, and most people nowadays relied on their cell phones to keep up with time. And besides, she had learned long ago that just because a book cover painted a certain picture, the story inside could be very different once you turned the pages and read the words. But even with this knowledge, after seeing the Great Dane’s blue-collar attire and lack of accompanying timepiece, she turned her full attention back to the court clerk.

  One by one the defense and prosecuting attorneys called out the names of those who were free to go, relieving them of what everyone in the room seemed to be dreading, except the bubbly older woman who had first greeted Erica in line and was now sitting beside her. No one wanted jury duty!

  “This is exciting,” the plump, silver-haired lady said, leaning over as she whispered to Erica. “Think you’ll get picked?”

  “I sure hope not.” Erica sighed.

  “I’ve always wanted to serve on a jury trial but in all the years that I’ve been summonsed, I’ve never been chosen. I’m hoping this will be my lucky day,” the woman said with enthusiasm.

  Erica wondered if the kind old lady was a little bit off her rocker. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to sit through hours of testimony every day, listening to people plead their case for the alleged crime they were accused of committing. But as she looked at the woman, Erica could see that she was sincere and seemingly stable. Just a lonely old soul who needs something to fill her day, Erica supposed.

  “I retired ten years ago,” the woman said. “I worked for the D.C. public schools for thirty-five years, and let me tell you, the stuff I saw people do.... Well, let’s just say it should’ve been tried in a court of law.” She chuckled and winked. “But I have to admit, I miss the excitement. I bet sitting on the jury of one of these cases will be full of drama! I sure do hope I get picked.”

  Erica smiled. “I have enough drama in my life, so I hope I get to leave.” She glanced down at her lucky shoes and said to herself, “Feet, don’t fail me now.”

  Two hours later Erica’s dread became reality. “I can’t believe I have to serve on a criminal jury trial,” she said to Ashley, switching her phone from her right ear to her left as she descended the escalator, headed toward the courthouse exit.

  “You make it sound like you just got sentenced to prison,” Ashley said and laughed.

  “Very funny, Ash. You know I don’t want jury duty.”

  “It’s not that bad. Hell, I’m in a courtroom all the time.”

  “Because you’re a prosecutor. It’s your job.”

  “True, but really, it’s not that bad. You might even find it fascinating.”

  Erica shook her head. “I doubt it, especially with all the headaches I’m facing at the store.”

  “Since when did my bright, cheery best friend become such a pessimist?”

  “Since problems started piling up by the shitload.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ashley asked with concern.

  “There’re so many things I have to do in order to prepare for Fashion Week. It’s three weeks away, and the graphic artist I hired still hasn’t gotten the new design to me for Paradise.”

  “What? Oh, no, that’s not good. Have you called him?”

  “Yep, and I e-mailed him, too. As a matter of fact, I sent him a message this morning, right before I reported to court.”

  “I guess you’re going to have to sue his ass. Fax over his contract and let me take a look at it. I’ll get the ball rolling.”

  Erica was silent for a moment, wanting to kick herself. She’d been a business owner for five years, and in all that time she’d never entered into a service agreement without a signed contract. But after meeting Pierre St. James, the quirky, kindhearted designer she’d hired in good faith, she had a great feeling about him and believed he’d do a fantastic job. Their lunch meeting had turned into a creative design session, with him capturing the concept of what she’d pictured in her mind. From there, it was pretty much a done deal—sans a formal contract, which she never got around to executing, and now wished she had.

  “Erica, I know you signed a contract with that man, didn’t you?”

  “Um, I really messed up this one.”

  “Girl, you never do business without a contract. You want me to get involved?”

  “Thanks, but that’s okay. I talked to my dad about it the other day, and he’s made a few phone calls for me. I also contacted the design firm I normally use, and they’re going to get some samples to me early next week. I just hope it’ll come in time. I’m up against the gun. Plus, one of my employees just quit, so I have to review applications and hire someone right away.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So you see why jury duty is the last thing I need right now.”

  “Well, just look at it like this. You’re fulfilling your civic duty.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel much better.”

  “Okay, hold up. I know work has you stressed the hell out, but you always handle everything in stride. This attitude isn’t you, my friend. What’s really going on?”

  “Just tired, I guess,” Erica said, taking a deep breath. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “Nightmares again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Erica. When did they start back?”

  Erica tilted her head and sighed. “Just this week.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Erica was temporarily distracted when she spotted the Great Dane in the distance. She eyed him as she stepped off the escalator just in time to see him walk out of the courthouse’s massive glass doors.

  She continued to study him as she moved closer, inspecting him from a spot-on angle. She admired his handsome face and smooth, blemish-free skin, which let her know he put time into grooming himself. His deep-set, sexy brown eyes we
re piercing as they stared straight ahead, and his full, tantalizing lips looked perfect for kissing. Erica found herself smiling as she took in his squared shoulders, which looked broad and strong. His sculpted chest and toned arms were visible through the cotton fabric of his shirt, grabbing her attention in a whole new way, drawing her eyes down to his jeans. She bit her lower lip, thinking that denim had never looked so good, and it made her want to see what was underneath the material.

  Erica slowed her steps as she approached the glass door, realizing that he had come to a stop right outside the building. He was standing just a few feet away from her, talking on his phone as she approached. Is that a flip phone? she wondered as she peered closely. Who uses those anymore? She glanced back at her reflection in the glass door and quickly checked her profile, making sure she looked good—for him. What am I doing?

  “Erica, are you there? Can you hear me?” Ashley asked.

  “Um, yeah. I’m here.”

  “You sound like you could use a drink. Let’s meet up at The Spot for happy hour.”

  Erica refocused her mind on her conversation with her friend. “You mean, you need a drink, ’cause you know I don’t indulge,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Who you tellin’!” Ashley laughed. “There’s a pomegranate martini up in there that’s been calling my name since Monday.”

  “You and Jason aren’t hanging out tonight?”

  Ashley huffed deeply through the phone. “No, he’s got to work late on a project for a pain-in-the-ass client who flew in from Las Vegas today.”

  “Oh, that’s a bummer.”

  “Tell me about it. The guy thinks he can breeze into town and make everyone answer to his beck and call. But, hey, when you’re a gazillionaire, I guess you can.”

  “You know what they say. Money talks.”

  “You got that right. So, you gonna hang with me tonight or what?”

  “I don’t know, Ash. I’ve got so much to do and—”

  “You always have something to do. Forget about your worries for tonight, and hang with me. Let’s meet there and then go to Vidalia for dinner.”

  Erica’s mood immediately brightened. Vidalia, with its calming and elegant ambiance, was her favorite restaurant. Despite the fact that it had been the scene of Claude’s ill-intentioned marriage proposal, Erica was a frequent patron whom some of the staff even knew by name.

  “I have to admit that dinner does sound divine, and I haven’t eaten a thing since this morning. But I need to stop by the boutique first. Then I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay, that works for me. See you in a few,” Ashley said.

  “Perfect.”

  Erica ended the call and walked to the edge of the curb, raising her arm to hail a taxi. She looked back quickly to get another glimpse of the Great Dane, but to her disappointment, he was gone. It was as if he had vanished in plain sight. With slightly dashed spirits, she settled into the backseat of the taxi and thought about her day. Even though she didn’t want to serve on a trial she had to admit that Ashley was probably right. Jury duty wasn’t going to be so bad, especially since the Great Dane had been selected to serve, too.

  Erica paid the cabdriver and hopped out of the car in front of her boutique. No matter how many times she walked through its large mahogany and glass front door, she was in awe, and eternally thankful that her dreams had come true.

  Six years ago, when she’d purchased the building, which had been in need of major repair, her vision for the two-thousand-square-foot structure had been grand, and she knew she needed to work hard to make it own up to its lavish name. After nine months of meticulous renovations, sleepless nights, threatening phone calls to contractors, and lots of prayer, Opulence was a premier boutique unlike any other in the area.

  “Hey, kiddo. How’s your day been going?” Cindy bellowed in her deep, Lauren Bacall–sounding voice as Erica walked inside.

  “You don’t even want to know,” Erica answered, surveying the lush ambiance of her boutique store. She repositioned a jar of body oil on one of the shelves as she spoke. “I got selected to serve on a criminal trial.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, and it starts Monday.”

  “You couldn’t get out of it?”

  “No, I even told them about the pressing matters with the store, but they weren’t trying to hear it.”

  “Poor baby.” Cindy frowned, shaking her head. “Well, better you than me.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Erica agreed. She knew that Cindy’s comment wasn’t just something to say. It was the honest truth. At times, she felt a little sad when she looked at the thin, five-foot-two-inch, attractive but hard-faced woman, who, to her surprise, had become one of her most trusted friends. Cindy was one of those poor souls whose impartiality and belief in the general goodness of humanity had been beaten out of her over the years.

  Cindy Bernstein was a conscientious store manager, a dedicated and loyal employee, and over the past five years that she’d been working for Erica, the sixty-year-old ex-socialite had become like family. She was also a woman who had been through many ups and downs since Leonard, her husband of two decades, committed suicide ten years ago.

  Leonard Bernstein had been a prominent Wall Street stockbroker who took no prisoners. His shrewd business acumen had earned him a solid reputation in the financial industry, affording him and Cindy a life of luxury.

  But things went sour when an FBI investigation into Leonard’s independently owned and privately held firm proved fatal for his career. The government’s findings exposed decades of his shady dealings, from insider trading to deep ties with organized crime. The scandal and financial ruin had been too much for him to handle, so he ended it all one night with the smooth taste of vintage sherry on his tongue and the steel barrel of a gun against his right temple.

  Cindy was left brokenhearted. And to add insult to injury, Leonard’s body hadn’t even grown cold before his debtors came after his estate. Once the dust had settled, Cindy was left without a dime to her name. The social invitations to Manhattan’s best parties stopped coming, and the requests for afternoon teas dried up. She was dropped from guest lists all over her Upper East Side stomping grounds, and the people whom she had mistaken for friends quickly retreated, no longer answering her phone calls. With no children and virtually no family to speak of, she stood exactly as she had before she met her husband—all alone.

  Cindy spent the first five years after Leonard’s death drifting from job to job, man to man, and bottle to bottle, all in her attempts to find her place in the world. At fifty-five years old, and with her status and connections gone and her good looks on the verge of following, she decided to leave New York City and head to Washington, D.C. She didn’t know anyone there, but that was just fine with her, because she was looking for a place where she could make a fresh start.

  After moving to D.C. she’d managed to carve out a new life for herself, and even though she didn’t outwardly show it, and she would never confess it, she desperately wanted to trust, and even fall in love again. Thankfully, her job at Opulence and her unlikely friendship with Erica were the two things that gave her hope.

  “This couldn’t have come at a worse time.” Erica sighed. “The judge said the trial could last for an entire week or longer.”

  “Who knows? Maybe it’ll end early.”

  “Ha! With my luck it’ll probably drag on into next month.”

  Cindy narrowed her small grayish blue eyes on Erica and shook her head. “Wow, kiddo. What happened to the optimistic, pie-in-the-sky person I work for? You sound like me, and we definitely can’t have that!”

  “You’re not so bad.” Erica winked and smiled. “I keep trying to convince you that you’re just a big softy under all that heavy armor.”

  Cindy looked over at the neatly displayed body products on the shelf beside her but didn’t say a word.

  “You know I’m right,” Erica persisted.

  Cindy tucked a stray hair from he
r perfectly coiffed blond bob behind her ear as she sighed. “So, you said the trial starts Monday, huh?”

  Erica knew her friend was uncomfortable with that truth, so she moved on and let the comment go. “Yeah, and I have to report to court at nine a.m.”

  “Like I said, better you than me.”

  Erica breathed out heavily, tension wrinkling her smooth forehead. “I have so much on my mind and so much to do.”

  “Have you heard from that flake that Christopher hooked you up with?” Cindy asked, referring to the graphic designer who was causing Erica’s stress.

  “No, but I called our regular guy at Four Dimension Design, and they’re on the case. I just pray he can get something to me by early next week. Otherwise, I’ll have to use the jars we have in stock.”

  “That’s not so bad. We’ve got some of the best packaging in the industry. It’s right up there with the little blue box,” Cindy said encouragingly, referring to Tiffany & Co.’s signature trademark. “When people see our royal purple jars, they know it’s an Opulence product, and that translates into quality and style.”

  “Yeah, but Paradise is in a category all its own. It’s the best, most luxurious body butter I’ve ever produced, and I need a design that’s just as fabulous,” Erica said as she held up a bottle of shower gel. “Don’t forget, we’re talking about the Tracy Reese show, the same designer who dressed the First Lady of the United States. Everything’s got to be tight.”

  “Everything will be just fine.”

  “I’ve got to make it happen. I’d planned to meet Ashley for drinks tonight, but on second thought, I think I need to stay here and get some work done. Besides, I still have to look over applications so we can fill Tara’s position, since she up and left us high and dry.”

  “I’ve already started reviewing them, and I’ll have my top picks on your desk Monday afternoon, when you get out of court.”