If the Shoe Fits

by Sandra D. Bricker

  Just seven simple words.

  All she had to manage was seven simple words. Surely, she could utter them without somehow flubbing the line, right?

  Will you take me to the gala?

  They seemed simple enough. But for the first time, Julianne realized that simple and uncomplicated were very, very different concepts.

  “It’s all about the timing, my young friend,” the fairy told the maiden. “You must hurry to greet the prince before the time runs out. Watch the hourglass, and plan your arrival with care.”

  The maiden imagined the scene in full and bright, colorful detail. A beautiful dress … adorned in sparkling jewels … and the magical shoes that the fairy had brought to her. How could the prince resist? (Especially when they were clearly God’s perfect couple!)

  “Ms. Bartlett. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  Only half an hour!

  “No, Your Honor. Not too long.”

  Judge Hillman rounded the corner of his massive desk and sat down behind it, adjusting his robes as he did.

  “I heard that you and Miss James worked together without incident.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Everything is settled then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Bartlett. It came to my attention after I asked you to co-counsel with her that the two of you are not exactly … girlfriends.”

  Julianne snickered. “No, sir. We are not.”

  “Making it all the more appreciated that you worked with her so efficiently to tie up loose ends.”

  He stared at her for a moment, almost expectantly, with his very blue eyes sparkling.

  “Is that … all, Your Honor?”

  “How is it working out with Veronica Caswell?” he asked, out of the blue.

  “Oh. Really well, sir. Will and I are so grateful that you—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he interrupted sharply. “That might not be considered appropriate. I merely introduced you to someone I’ve known for a very long time. You did the rest, Ms. Bartlett.”

  “Well. Thank you, sir.”

  The block of silence that followed initiated discomfort, and Julianne squirmed a bit in her chair, repositioning as she cleared her throat.

  “So. If that’s all, sir—”

  “Yes,” Judge Hillman cut in. “There is just one additional issue I wanted to discuss.”

  Julianne arched her eyebrows and waited curiously. When he didn’t continue, she cleared her throat again.

  “Yes, sir. And that issue would be …?”

  “Yes. Of course. Well, Ms. Bartlett, it would appear that I am in need of legal counsel.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes. And I’m hoping you might be willing to …”

  She waited, but the judge had stalled once again.

  “Represent you?” she finished for him, and he nodded, clicking his tongue as he did.

  “Yes. Well. Represent someone.”

  “Someone. And that someone isn’t you?”

  “No.”

  Julianne sighed. “Judge Hillman, you obviously called me here because you trust me to handle a delicate issue.” She leaned forward and placed both arms on the edge of his desk as she looked at him squarely. “You can trust me.”

  “I have a reputation, Ms. Bartlett.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Tough, but fair.”

  “Well, I hope people also know that my courtroom is dignified, and that I hold myself to a high standard of integrity.”

  “Of course they do, Your Honor. Can you just tell me what’s happened?”

  “My son was arrested.”

  “You have a son, sir?”

  “Yes. Jason. He’s twenty-three years old.”

  “And what are the charges?”

  Judge Hillman turned away for a moment; gathering his nerve, Julianne supposed.

  “Sir?”

  He glanced back at her and sighed. “Indecent exposure.”

  “Oh. Dear.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So Jason is out on bail,” Julianne said as she took another bite of her turkey sandwich that Phoebe had brought in from the deli downstairs. “But his trial date isn’t until the twenty-fourth, and Judge Hillman is worried that someone like that Melanie Larsen is going to pick up the news and run with it. I’m planning to petition for a speedier court date, but beyond that I think all we can really do is pray that someone else does something far more newsworthy in the meantime.”

  Will nodded as he set his roast beef on rye atop his desk and wiped a dribble of Thousand Island dressing from the corner of his mouth.

  “Indecent exposure,” he commented. “Do I want to know the details?”

  Julianne waved her hand as she told him, “He and his girlfriend were steaming up the car windows over in Eden Park.”

  Will cringed. “I can see where that might be an embarrassment for Hillman, but with that charge it could have been a whole lot worse.”

  “Well, that’s the point. If someone reports on the charge without supplying the details …”

  “Yeah, I get it.” He gulped a mouthful of soda. “So when Hillman thinks of an attorney, he thinks of you. That’s saying something.”

  “He’s taken a liking to me for some reason, I guess. And you know, he’s not nearly as scary as people think he is. He has a real kind side to him.”

  “Sure he does.”

  “He does! Look what he did for us with Veronica.”

  Will shrugged. “I guess.”

  Julianne swallowed around the lump in her throat. Now was the time.

  Will you take me to the gala?

  Those seven words had been bumping into one another and making her head ache for nearly twenty-four hours now.

  Just say it and get it over with!

  “Will, I wanted to mention something to you.”

  He took another big bite from his sandwich and spoke around it. “Yeah.”

  “Well, ask you something really. It’s about the gala.”

  He grunted and pulled a face that she didn’t understand. “I finally got around to asking Alison to go …”

  “Oh. Alison?”

  “… and she turned me down …”

  “She did?”

  “… because she has a weekend thing with a bunch of third-graders.”

  “Oh. That’s … a shame. So I guess you’re without a date then.”

  “Nah. Lacey asked me to take her awhile back, and I said I had to get back to her on it.”

  Julianne tossed her sandwich to the napkin spread out before her. “Lacey! Will, you wouldn’t.”

  “Well, yeah, I would. She doesn’t have a date, and like you said, a nominee for Person of the Year can’t exactly go without a date.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Jules, I know she’s not your favorite person. But Lacey’s just … Lacey. Like you said about Hillman. She has a really warm side to her.”

  “Warm for you, maybe. But the rest of us are just your leftovers. You hear the way she talks to me, Will.”

  “I know, and I had a chat with her about it. If I agree to take her to the gala, she has to call a truce. No comments, no digs, no arguments.”

  “I don’t think she has it in her,” Julianne told him, her heart pounding so wildly that it took effort to draw in a sharp, deep breath. “She can’t help herself.”

  “Well, that’s the deal I struck. If she can’t do it, she’ll have to find herself another escort.”

  “About escorts … Maybe you could … you know, take me instead.”

  Will stared at her for a long moment, the dill pickle spear from which he’d just taken a big bite left dangling from two fingers. Finally, he dropped it to the paper sandwich wrapper that he’d constructed into a place mat, and he blurted out a hearty laugh.

  “You’ll do anything to keep me from going with Lacey!” he cried.

  “No,” she objected. “It’s not that. I really mean it. I was thinking
about it last night, and I thought I’d really like it if you took me.” She swallowed hard again and screwed up those seven little words. “Will you take me to the gala? Please?”

  “Oh, come on,” he exclaimed. “You’ve got the pretty ditch digger to take you. Isn’t he one-night-only, nonrefundable?”

  “Nice, Will,” she replied softly.

  “Sorry. But I can see straight through you, Jules. If I hadn’t mentioned Lacey, this subject never would have come up.”

  “You don’t know as much about me as you think you do then.”

  “Right. You’re going to ditch the digger so you can go with me.”

  “I thought I might,” she said defensively.

  “Pardon me if I don’t believe you, huh?”

  “Will.”

  “I’m due for a deposition out in Northgate,” he said as he pushed off from the desk and rose from his chair. “See you later.”

  Will maneuvered over the large yellow dog with the massive plastic cone collar and left, leaving Julianne sitting on the other side of his desk for several minutes after he’d gone. Mentally kicking herself for choosing the perfectly wrong time to utter those seven treacherous—and not simple at all!—words that she’d rehearsed for hours on end, she wrapped the last of her sandwich and wiped some pickle juice from the desk with her wadded napkin. After tossing it all into the trash can, she patted her leg. Charming groaned as he got up and followed her out of Will’s office, across reception, and straight into her office without a word (or a lick) for Phoebe.

  “Oh, come on, George. You and I both know you’re grasping at straws here. If Jason didn’t have the last name of Hillman, would you even be offering this kind of deal?”

  All the D.A.s in all the city, and this case had to land on the desk of George Flannigan.

  “What do you mean?” He sniffed, feigning shocked offense. “That seems to indicate that I would offer an even tougher plea if he wasn’t the grown son of a sitting judge? That doesn’t make sense, Julianne.”

  Julianne couldn’t avoid staring at the three locks of hair he had left, combed over his shiny bald head. They gave his skull the look of a crooked road map leading from one overgrown wooded section to another, with large, mouse-like ears holding it all in place.

  “You know very well that Judge Hillman would be embarrassed by this getting out, so you’re offering a plea that you think we’ll be desperate enough to grab in exchange for getting this thing taken care of. But are you sure you want to play that game, George? You have a lot of cases that come before His Honor, don’t you? Including that fraud scandal over at the health department? That one’s yours, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So I would think you’d be interested in a show of good faith toward Judge Hillman’s only son rather than alienating him this close to trial time.” She leaned back in her chair and lifted one side of her mouth in a crooked, ate-the-canary smile. “And you know, I’m obligated to tell him whether you’ve done your best to show good faith, or whether you’ve used his predicament to advance your own win rate. Which story do you want me to tell Judge Hillman, George?”

  Flannigan deflated. “Okay, look, I’ll knock the charge down from indecent exposure to creating a public nuisance.”

  “Keep talking,” she said, and she scratched Charming’s head as he pushed it against her knee.

  “You bring your dog to work?” he said, his nose wrinkled up as if he’d just gotten a whiff of stale onions.

  “Couldn’t do that at the public defender’s office, could I?” she commented.

  “And what’s wrong with him? He looks pathetic, like he’s been through the war, Bartlett.”

  “He’s recovering from surgery after an accident. All right, so the nuisance charge is a third-degree misdemeanor. Let’s say no jail time.”

  “But a fine,” he clarified, and Julianne shrugged one shoulder. “Five hundred dollars, and twenty hours community service.”

  “Let’s say three hundred, and twenty hours.”

  Flannigan groaned as he tossed himself back in the chair. “Fine. It’s done.”

  “And one more thing,” she said, narrowing her eyes to convey the seriousness of what would follow. “You are going to do everything humanly possible to keep this out of the news. No sound bites, no legal comment, no reporting back to all of your colleagues. No nothing, George. That’s a nonnegotiable. I don’t think either one of us wants to embarrass Judge Hillman with this through a rumor mill or, worse yet, a front-page story on CincyBiz.com.”

  “Someone should talk to his son then,” he cracked. “By the way, nice picture of you on there recently.”

  Julianne bit back her reaction. Instead, she simply smiled and asked, “Are we agreed?”

  “Yes,” he conceded with a sigh. “Fine. We’re agreed.”

  “Paperwork by end of business tomorrow?”

  “Fine.”

  Julianne stood up and offered him a handshake across the desk. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, George.”

  He sneered at her as he shook it briefly.

  “So will I see you this weekend at the Bar Association gala?” she asked him.

  “Naturally. The D.A.’s office has three tables.” His sour face puckered up as he added, “Congratulations on your nomination, by the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose you’ll be on Hanes’s arm.”

  Julianne disguised her own sour face as she replied, “No, actually. Will and I both have dates.”

  Flannigan let out a laugh that sounded like something from the horn section of the Cincinnati Symphony. “No kidding! Won’t that be the talk of the town.”

  “I would hope our legal community has more to talk about than who I’m dating.” Although she knew better.

  “C’mon, Julianne. This is big local news. Even you must know it.”

  Yes. Even I know it. Why do you think I’m investing five hundred dollars?

  “Have a good day, George. Thanks for coming over. I’ll let Judge Hillman know how agreeable you’ve been, and how much you wanted to work with us to keep his name out of the gossip mill.”

  The moment she heard the outer door close, Julianne dialed Bridget Ferguson.

  “It’s Julianne Bartlett. Is Judge Hillman available?”

  “He’s waiting for your call. Can you hang on until he finishes up? It shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”

  “Sure.”

  The hold music over at the courthouse left a lot to be desired. Julianne pressed the speaker button on the phone base and replaced the handset. She snapped her fingers to call Charming back over to her, and she raked through the fur at the base of his ear as an elevator version of My Cherie Amour vibrated through the speakerphone.

  “My Char-ar-ming amour,” she sang along, “pretty little dog that I adore, you’re the only dog my heart be—”

  “Ms. Bartlett.”

  She snatched up the handset. “Judge Hillman, thank you for taking my call so quickly.”

  “You’ve got news for me then?”

  “Yes, sir. The charges will be bumped down to creating a public nuisance with a three-hundred-dollar fine and twenty hours community service.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, sir. You like?”

  “I do indeed. Thank you, Ms. Bartlett.”

  “You’re very welcome, Your Honor. I’m flattered that you brought your son’s case to me, out of all of the lawyers you could have called. And happy I could do something to help.”

  “I owe you, young lady.”

  “Not that I could actually collect,” she said, mimicking his words from the last time he’d expressed his gratitude.

  “Correct.”

  “Because that would be wrong.”

  The judge laughed softly. “Also correct. And Mr. Flannigan’s discretion?”

  “I have his word, sir.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you this weekend, Ms. Bartlett.”

&nb
sp; “You’re attending the gala, Judge?”

  “I’m the master of ceremonies for the awards portion of the evening.”

  “I didn’t know,” she replied. “I’ll see you there then.”

  “Uh … Julianne?”

  Julianne. It was the first time he’d ever used her first name.

  “Sir?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Judge Hillman.”

  “Where did you go? … Julianne, where did she go?”

  Julianne rushed across her mother’s expansive kitchen with a miniature ice cream scoop in her hand, and she adjusted the laptop so that the webcam on the desk counter faced her mother. “You have to stay in the frame, Mom,” she said, pointing at the small photo box on the lower right corner of the screen. “If you move, Austin can’t see you.”

  “Oh. I see. Sorry, honey. Can you see me now?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Julianne.”

  She leaned over her mother’s shoulder and waved the metal scoop at her brother before returning to the counter and picking up the half-empty bowl of cookie dough.

  “What’s she doing with a cookie scoop?” Austin cried from the computer screen. “Mom, you’re not letting Julianne make my birthday cookies, are you? You know she ruins everything in the kitchen.”

  “Hush, Austin!” Julianne exclaimed. “I do not.”

  “She’s not making them, honey,” Amanda reassured him. “I put them together and she’s just scooping them out onto the cookie sheets. I’ll oversee the baking, don’t you worry.”

  “Are they the ones I like? The peanut butter ones? Travis said you sent him oatmeal raisin for his birthday last week. You know I don’t like raisins, right?”

  “Yes, honey. No raisins. Peanut butter cookies, just like you like them.”

  “You big baby,” Julianne muttered.

  “What did she say?” Austin called out. “Mom, what did she say?”

  “She said to wish you a happy birthday, honey. Do you have any plans to celebrate?”

  “Robin and I are going to dinner at a steakhouse we discovered downtown.”

  Julianne knew from his wife’s latest email that the steakhouse in downtown Boston would serve as the backdrop for twenty of their friends from the university and the community where they lived a few miles away to gather and yell, “Surprise!”