ETERNAL

by Cecy Robson

  “Uh, yeah,” he says. “When I first asked you out, you said no because you didn’t know me.” He smiles, seemingly pleased with himself. “Now you do. How about dinner?”

  “I’m sorry,” I reply, still in shock. “But I’m seeing someone.”

  He regards me as if he doesn’t believe me. Probably because it’s a lie. I hook my thumb in the direction of the busy floor. “I have to see a few more attorneys before the meeting. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Sure,” he says, his voice trailing off.

  I’m not certain why I lied to Jefferson. As much as he can be extremely off-putting, a simple no would have sufficed. That doesn’t mean I wish I wasn’t seeing someone, or more specifically, Landon.

  The more days that pass, the more the weekend I spent with him becomes a dream. I begin to doubt how great he was, dismissing our time together as simply physical and nothing more.

  He’s probably already met someone else, a new woman to warm his bed and sing beautiful melodies to.

  My pace slows. I don’t want to think about him looking at someone else the way he looked at me. But I can’t ignore his lack of contact or how easily he forgot me.

  I’m almost to the next attorney’s office when Kee-Kee storms forward, her face red with anger.

  “Luci, you need to hire me a secretary who actually wants to be here.”

  I sigh when the frantic typing slows and the noise in the room cuts by half. “Kee-Kee, Liza just started,” I say, speaking quietly. “Give her a chance to figure things out.”

  “No.”

  The reason Kee and I are friends is that I’ve never been afraid to stand up to her, albeit in my own patient way, and because of it, I earned her respect. “You’re not being fair and you know it.”

  “This isn’t about being fair or unfair, Luc. It’s about needing someone who knows what she’s doing. Adelle is retiring in two months.”

  “I know. Which is why you need to give Liza a chance,” I say. “It will give Adelle two months to train her and get her acclimated to your likes and dislikes.”

  She crosses her arms. “Are you saying I’m difficult to work with?”

  “Yes.”

  She glares as she often does. “Fine, but if she doesn’t work out, it’s on your ass.”

  “It always is, Kee-Kee.”

  She mutters something I don’t quite hear and storms away.

  “You’re due in court in twenty minutes,” I call after her.

  “Your mother’s due in court in twenty minutes,” she fires back. She whips around, pointing at me in a way that makes the closest interns jet away. “We’re going out for drinks after work on Thursday and don’t tell me no.”

  I don’t, but I likely will. I walk into the next attorney’s office and place a post-it note on the folder when I find that she’s not there. I want to let her know to see me when she returns. It should be a simple task, but it takes me a moment to scribble my words.

  Kee-Kee doesn’t know anything about my mother. If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did. I know this, but the reminder of Fernie and her situation is yet another reason why my time with Landon was more fantasy than real life.

  It took me several days to find Fernie this last time. I was terrified she was dead. When I finally saw her, I was so relieved, I almost ran to her. But it’s who I found her with that made me keep my distance.

  She was speaking to a man parked alongside the curb through his passenger side window. I couldn’t hear them, but the conversation was clear enough. She opened the door and slipped inside. I walked away when they drove off. I didn’t want to think about what she was doing, but those awful thoughts came anyway.

  I was little the first time I saw her drive away with a stranger. I remember telling Mamita about it, knowing something was wrong. I didn’t know why she cried until the next day, when she told my uncle and he called my mother a whore.

  Whore. It’s such an ugly word.

  But to understand what it means, and when it pertains to your mother, is a lot worse.

  “Luci, I can’t get the copier to work.”

  Cherie is another new secretary. I stop beside her and tap the buttons on the touch screen. “You have to clear the last job before starting a new project.” I point to the large icon. “Consider this your safety zone. It lists your options as well as erases the last command. When in doubt, just hit this icon.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Thank you. I never knew that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  My office phone starts ringing before I finish closing my door. I reach over the collection of projects waiting for me and lift the receiver. “Luci Diaz,” I say.

  “Hey, it’s Blythe.”

  I walk around the desk and take a seat. Blythe and I barely spoke the entire ride home from Kiawah. “Look,” she says. “I know you’re mad— and you have every right to be —but I don’t want to fight with you.”

  I don’t want to fight with her either. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever be able to trust her. I’ve never come first with her, and she more than proved it the night of the party.

  “A few of the girls and I have been invited to a player’s house this Friday. Do you want to come?”

  My first instinct is to say yes, hoping to see Landon. But I don’t think he’s friends with any of the players, and even if he is, I don’t want to chase someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Because of me, or because of Landon Summers?”

  I rub my eyes, well aware she’s fishing for information.

  “Becca was asking about you and him,” she adds when I remain silent.

  I sit up. “Why?”

  “She didn’t say, and I didn’t have much to tell her.”

  I suppose she’s trying to make me feel bad. Yet as much as I want to spill my soul over Landon, I won’t do it with Blythe.

  “Think about it, Luci. It could be a lot of fun. It won’t just be players who will be there, but the marketing staff and some of the agents.”

  “I’m not going to another party with you,” I say.

  I don’t think she expected me to be so honest, but I won’t pretend with Blythe.

  “So we’re not friends anymore?” she asks.

  “I didn’t say that,” I clarify, hating how sad she seems. “I just have a lot going on.”

  She waits for several beats and asks, “You’re not going to tell me what happened with him, are you?”

  It was the same question she asked when we pulled out of Landon’s driveway. I answer exactly how I did then, which is why we barely spoke during the ride home. “No,” I reply.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” Her tone is stiff, assuring me this is the last time she’ll call and my last opportunity to tell her what she wants to know. “Bye, Luci.”

  “Goodbye, Blythe.”

  I hang up the phone, once more wishing my life could be different than it is . . . and brighter with Landon’s smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Landon

  “Hey, Landon.”

  Duncan waves from across the large foyer, marching toward me like he has all the time in the world and smiling like he’s doing me a big favor by meeting me.

  There are two things I remember him telling me during the interview process: One, the pro bono position they hired me for was to make the firm look charitable instead of the high-priced, high-rolling, money-making machine it is. The second was that his third wife is expecting his fourth kid.

  The pro bono work doesn’t rattle me, bring it. I’m not looking for fame and fortune, nor am I afraid to work hard. The three wives and four kids, that’s a different story. That’s my worst nightmare.

  A string of Bernadettes, one after the other, and kids I can’t keep track of because they live in different homes, no thanks. Or should I say, fuck that. From what Duncan admitted, his last divorce was jus
t as bad as the first, and already he thinks the current one won’t work out either. “She was different when we were dating,” he told me. “The minute I put a ring on her finger, she turned.”

  Sure she did.

  His gaze passes along my Brooks Brothers suit, appearing amused. His problem, not mine. If I’m representing the underprivileged, I’m leaving the Armani at home. And if he’s going to support all those kids and their mothers, maybe he should look at hocking that Panerai watch he’s more than happy to flash me.

  Damn, if I was Duncan, I wouldn’t be grinning, I’d be begging God to put me out of my misery. He’s the “Love is Bullshit Posterchild”, and I’m a moron for even thinking I had it.

  He holds out his hand. “Good to see you.”

  “Duncan,” I say, giving him a nod. I motion to the stand at the other end of the foyer. “Want some coffee?”

  “No, we have people for that.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me my I.D. “This will give you access into the building and garage even if you stay after hours. There are a lot of perks to working here, and you’ll get to experience them during your first few weeks. That’ll change once the judge starts assigning you cases.” He huffs. “I’ve seen the list of shit being considered. You’ll be lucky if you get out of here by midnight if you get some of dem’ immigration cases.”

  “I figured, but I’m ready,” I assure him.

  I walk beside him to the security desk. “With the kind of people you’ll be dealing with, you better be,” he says, not bothering to censor his remarks.

  I was raised to give back so I’m not fazed by “the kind of people” I may or may not deal with. And since I was also raised to be polite, I don’t call Duncan out for being an asshole. It’s only my first day. I’m sure I’ll get plenty more opportunities.

  After a brief introduction to the security staff, we head to the elevators.

  “God,” he says, when we step inside. “I wouldn’t be caught dead doing what you’re doing. I worked for Legal Aide in New Jersey right out of law school. I had drug addicts, prostitutes, and don’t get me started on those D.V. victims. Worst six months of my life.”

  “I’m sure it was,” I agree. Hey, for someone like him, it probably was. “But don’t pay those people who needed you any mind, Duncan. You’re making the big bills now.”

  “Damn right,” he agrees, my insult completely flying over his head.

  What an idiot. Out of habit, I go to scratch my beard. Smooth skin greets the pad of my fingers, reminding me that it and my long hair are gone.

  “So why do it?”

  “Why do what?” I don’t even blink. “Work pro bono? Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Apparently the right thing is a concept completely lost to Duncan. “You graduated at the top of your class from Duke. You could have applied for an associate’s position—hell, for a junior partner slot based on your connections and litigation experience—and you would have received it! Instead, you volunteered for this.”

  It’s almost the exact same thing he said to me during the first of my three interviews. “It’s the right thing to do,” I repeat. I don’t bother to tell him I don’t need the extra cash or remind him the partners are giving me a generous salary just to make them look good. Someone like Duncan is always too busy looking at the dollars he can make rather than the people he can help.

  “Better you than me,” he says, reaffirming that in his world, pro bono work is pure bullshit.

  He hits the button to the elevator again, even though it’s already lit. “Damn thing always takes forever when I’m in a rush.” He eyes me closely. “You single?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He huffs. “Good. You’re better off. Although I should warn you, you might not be once word gets out around the office. Just try to avoid dipping your pen in the company ink. That gets messy and the last thing you want is drama.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I assure him.

  He makes a face. “I said the same thing and she became my second wife.”

  “Nice,” I say, stepping into the elevator.

  When we reach the tenth floor, the doors open, revealing pristine cherry paneling and more marble tile. A receptionist with dark hair glances up, the firm’s name in large gold letters shining behind her.

  “Good morning, Duncan,” she offers brightly, her stare skipping my way.

  “Cynthia, how’s my girl?”

  It seems Duncan is already lining up wife number four. “This is Landon Summers, our new associate,” he tells her.

  I switch the briefcase to my other side and offer her my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cynthia.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Summers.”

  “You can just call me Landon, ma’am,” I offer, resuming my pace when Duncan marches forward.

  I don’t bother to see if she smiles or says anything back. She’s a pretty young woman. But nowhere near as beautiful as Luci.

  Luci . . . hell, didn’t I screw that up.

  She texted me to tell me she arrived home safely. How did I respond? “Good.”

  Even though it was a damn lie.

  It wasn’t good she’d left, or that we didn’t make plans to see each other again. I know I could have picked a better choice of words, but nothing seemed right at the time.

  “I miss you” was too soon, despite that’s how I felt.

  My house . . . shit, it didn’t seem so big and empty with her around. But once she left all that space grew wider, leaving me in the middle with no real place to go.

  Her text to me would have been the perfect opportunity to start a conversation, maybe even face-time with her. Instead there was nothing but silence on both ends.

  Every night since then, I’ve wanted to call her and make sure she’s okay. Except every night came and went, leaving only doubts and too many regrets.

  You don’t know someone after two days, I told myself. It’s impossible, I insisted. It can’t lead you to any place real. These are the things I kept repeating over and over, and ultimately why I haven’t called her.

  That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her every night I fell asleep without her or that I didn’t reach for her when I woke.

  I should stop thinking about her. The way her hair fell around her shoulders, her smile, and how easily my smile came in her presence.

  Problem is, I can’t.

  Duncan cuts a right down the center row of cubicles, leading me to an office that’s all wall to wall glass. “All the new guys get these.”

  It comes out like an apology, but I don’t care. Like I said, I’m here to work. “You’ll get new furniture,” he says. “And our office manager will assign you an assistant.”

  I place my briefcase on the desk. There’s not a lot to the small space, but I don’t need much. The desk, file cabinet, and two chairs is plenty.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “We have a breakfast meeting.”

  “Now?” I ask.

  “Yeah, this way.”

  He leads me down a long hall. The same fishbowl offices lay to our right while a sea of cubicles line the left. A few women walk toward us, some doing double-takes when they see me and more taking the time to watch me pass.

  A few years ago, I would have welcomed the stares that lingered, and the smiles that had nothing to do with being friendly and everything to do with being more. Now, all I want is to be left alone to do my job.

  It’s what’s best for now. But I hate the thought. As much as I don’t want to be Duncan, with too many wives who mean nothing and a slew of kids who mean less, I also don’t want to become that bitter, lonely old man, pissed that life went on without him.

  I do my best to be cordial when another pair of women stop what they’re doing to watch me.

  “Are we late?” I ask Duncan, noting how much faster he moves when we reach the far end of the office.

  “It’s not that. It�
��s just that the senior partners will be there and it’s best you arrive before instead of after them.”

  “True,” I agree.

  The door he throws open is heavy and the large boardroom we enter is immense. A rectangular table, wide enough to seat about twenty overlooks the city skyline to our right. Every chair is occupied by men and women dressed in suits, except for the five seats on the end which lay empty.

  Everyone quiets when they see us.

  “Oh, it’s just Duncan,” a man dressed in Armani mutters.

  “Fuck off, Jefferson,” Duncan tells him, scowling.

  Most of the male attorneys laugh while the women roll their eyes. I suppose the men enjoy the ball-busting while the women are tired of the show. I don’t bother laughing even though it’s clear that’s what the testosterone generators are expected to do. Hey, I’ll be the first to admit attorneys have egos. But egos are like trolls, no need to feed them.

  Duncan introduces me to everyone except Jefferson, making their dislike for each other all the more obvious. Still, I offer him my hand before taking a seat beside Duncan.

  We’re shooting the shit when the big boss comes in. I’m the first to stand, but not the last, meeting the senior partner with grin and a firm handshake.

  He nods, ignoring everyone else. “Landon, welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ballantyne. I’m glad to be here, sir.”

  He sits at the head of the table. I resume my place by the window. “We ready to start?” he asks the woman at the far end.

  “Not yet, sir. We’re waiting for Luci, she has all the materials.”

  The name gives me pause. I chalk it up to a coincidence although I can’t ignore all the feelings that name stirs, feelings I’m better off forgetting than dwelling on.

  The door flies open and in walks a tall woman in a red suit, her shoulder-length dark hair skimming just past her shoulders. I relax a little. “Luci” I presume.

  “I thought you were supposed to be in court,” Mr. Ballantyne barks at her.