Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  They arrived at the pavilion at Memorial Park at a quarter to seven. A small crowd was already there. Two volleyball games were in action. Scott introduced Jennifer to a couple of friends at the pavilion who were presiding over food and drink preparations. Then they walked over to one of the courts and sat on a nearby bench. Jennifer was curious as she viewed the various colors, designs, and pictures on the players’ T-shirts. All had the same logo on front—a blue football on a red background and the words “Savannah College of Law” in white lettering. But the backs were different, all with some strange animal picture. Jennifer turned to Scott and said, “What’s with the T-shirts?”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked what’s with the party. This is the biggest, or one of the biggest, of the semester. Flag football is the major sport at Savannah Law—usually eight to ten teams competing each semester. The different T-shirts are for the different teams, and the teams are named for the nastiest, meanest, most lethal animals in the universe.”

  “Yes,” said Jennifer, pointing to a young man dressed in Levi’s and a white T-shirt, standing in the back court ready to serve. “There’s a ‘Strawberry Frog.’” The shirt photo was of a poison dart frog, in bright strawberry color. Over the photo were the words “STRAWBERRY FROG.” Underneath were the words, “LEAN, MEAN, HOPPING MACHINE.”

  “The Frogs were spring semester’s first-place team,” Scott said. “They party free today. They also get to plan the menu. The rest of the teams pick up the tab. And the last-place team prepares and serves the food. That was the ‘Cnidarians.’ There’s one.” Scott was pointing.

  Jennifer looked over at the man, who was carrying a box of food. He was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of an orange-colored sea urchin shaped something like a jellyfish. It had long, sharp, green tentacles protruding in a menacing fashion. Underneath were the words, “SIMPLE ANIMALS WITH A STING!” Then she noticed another player with a deadly looking spider on his back. Above the spider was written “FUNNEL-WEB SPIDERS” and below, “SPECIALISTS IN MUSCLE PAIN & CEREBRAL EDEMA.”

  “Must be a pre-med student that didn’t get into med school,” said Jennifer.

  “We should be able to get in a game soon,” said Scott. “Here, the volleyball games are played to fifteen points. The winning team stays on the court for the next six challengers—guys or gals. Ready to see if your game is still there?”

  “I’m ready to see how rusty I’ve really gotten since last fall.”

  The crowd was getting larger, and other “dangerous animals” were appearing. A “Porcupine” walked by with the words, “WE ARE JUST A BUNCH OF PRICKS.”

  As Jennifer was observing the crowd, she spotted a friend she knew from SCAD, Kira Courtman. Kira was one year behind Jennifer at SCAD, and they had taken a couple of classes together. Jennifer got up from the bench, turned to Scott, and said, “Come on, I want you to meet a friend.” Scott followed, and Jennifer made the introductions. Bill Anderson, one of Scott’s friends, was Kira’s date. Bill held his hands out, palms up, and pointed them at Scott.

  The three looked at Scott, and for the first time it dawned on Jennifer—Scott was the only guy at the picnic not wearing a T-shirt with one of those weird animals.

  “Yes, Scott, where’s your T-shirt?” said Jennifer. “Aren’t you on a team?”

  “I am,” replied Scott. And with that he removed his top shirt and tossed it to a nearby bench. Standing erect and playfully flexing his biceps, he proclaimed, “I’m a proud ‘Pigdog’!” He then turned around to reveal the back of his T-shirt. A strange two-headed animal, featuring a pig’s head and a dog’s head attached to the body of an animal bearing little resemblance to either. Above the weird animal appeared four words:

  RUDE

  CLASSLESS

  BOORISH

  SLOBS

  Scott recited the words out loud, and then added, “Which means ‘Pigdogs’ will make great lawyers.” They all laughed. Then Scott heard a familiar voice behind him. “We’ll test that soon, if you can get that sorry case together. Vandera wants a speedy trial.”

  It was Jeff Swenson. Jeff turned to face Jennifer.

  “Jen, didn’t I warn you about this rude, classless, boorish, slob? You really shouldn’t be seen with him. It will quickly ruin your reputation on campus. He’s bad.”

  Jennifer recognized Jeff, who was dressed in his team’s dark-green T-shirt. He was facing her, so she could not see his team’s “terrifying animal.”

  “Hi, Jeff. But this is the best I could do—no one else asked.” She laughed and gave Scott a tight hug around the waist. Then she whispered in his ear, out of the hearing of anyone: “Are you bad? I hope so.”

  Scott was caught by surprise, but quickly recovered. “Test me,” he whispered back.

  Scott looked over at one of the volleyball courts and saw a game had just finished. The losers were walking off, and the winners were raising their arms in victory and yelling, “Who’s next?”

  “Come on, Jen, let’s get in the game. Jeff, I’ll see you in court.”

  As Jeff turned to walk away, Jennifer saw the picture on the back of his T-shirt. It was a large gray whale. Over the picture, in large black letters was “SPERM WHALES.” Under the picture was “SIZE DOES MATTER.”

  Scott saw Jennifer staring at the back of Jeff’s T-shirt. “Yep, typical Jeff,” said Scott. “He designs his team’s shirts. The league banned the one he designed last year, so that’s the best he could do this year. Or, more accurately, the worst he could do and still field a team.”

  Jennifer had a blast on the court. Scott saw that she really was good. They stayed on the court until someone came to inform them that the kitchen would be shutting down soon. The sun was setting, and no one seemed to be able to find the switch to turn on the court lights. Both teams walked to the pavilion.

  Scott and Jennifer sat down at a table with some of Scott’s teammates to enjoy good food and conversation. There were funny stories of law professors and former students, high school and college foibles, and disastrous adventures in foreign countries, mixed occasionally with career plans and aspirations. The evening was passing quickly.

  About nine o’clock, Scott took Jennifer by the hand and stood. “Excuse us,” he said, to the others at the table. And that’s all he said. He picked up his long-sleeved shirt and motioned for Jennifer to pick up her jacket. Jennifer followed his lead, and hand-in-hand they walked to the beach.

  The sun was now completely down, and a quarter moon was rising over the Atlantic, partly obscured by some scattered clouds. It was a beautiful evening. The heavy rain that had appeared earlier in the day had passed through, and even the slight mist that had fallen a few hours earlier had disappeared. They walked for several minutes on the sand, just a few feet from the water that was quietly washing ashore in thin ripples.

  Jennifer was the first to speak. She stopped, looked up at Scott, and said, “I’m so glad to be with you. This has been a perfect evening.”

  Scott placed his right hand on her chin and pulled her lips up to his. They held their kiss as Scott placed both arms around her and pulled her close. They lingered in this embrace until Jennifer pulled back and said, “Let’s go back to my place. This uniform is sweaty and sandy. Do you mind?”

  Scott made no verbal response. He kissed her again, took her hand, and they walked back to Scott’s car. Scott could see dark clouds approaching, and by the time they reached the car, the quarter moon was no longer visible.

  A slight drizzle began to fall before they left Tybee Island. It was a dark, half-hour drive back to Savannah, and by the time they arrived at Jennifer’s apartment, it was raining heavily again. Scott found a parking spot on the street close to her apartment. He did not have an umbrella, but the rain was of no concern to either. Jennifer put her cap on, and Scott said, “One, two, three, go!” They made a mad dash for Jennifer’s front door, which was protected from the rain by the wide stairway that led to the second floor.

  Once safely there
, Jennifer reached into a pocket of her jacket, found the key, and handed it to Scott. He was about to turn the key when he noticed the lettering on her cap: “One half haughty, One half naughty.”

  “Well, Jen, which half is it now?”

  “Let’s go in and find out.”

  Even in the darkness, Jennifer’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. She waited for Scott’s reaction. He brought his lips down to hers, and with his hands under her shoulders and his palms firmly on her back, he pulled her toward him. They stood in this embrace, protected from the rain and unmindful of the headlights from the traffic passing nearby.

  Scott kept her firmly against him, their lips meeting and their tongues touching eagerly. Scott lowered his palms from her back, slowly moving them downward and pulling her into him.

  She did not resist. She pushed her breasts against his chest and sighed. “I think I already know,” she said.

  The passion in her voice made Scott weak. His heart was pounding as he fumbled with the keys to open the door. Jennifer took his hand and led him into her living room. She found a small table lamp and turned it on.

  Next to the lamp was a phone, and the phone’s answering machine was flashing and beeping. Her urge was to ignore it. It could not be important—certainly nothing as urgent as the need she now felt. She thought it was probably Nicole. Nicole had promised to call about getting together on Saturday for a study session. But if she didn’t answer, the message machine would continue to send out its annoying signal every few seconds.

  She pushed the “play” button. It was her mother’s voice, and it was stressed. “Jennifer, it’s Mom. I’m at the Hilton Head Medical Center. It’s 8:30 Friday night. I drove your father here—to the emergency room—about an hour ago. He was in extreme pain in his stomach and chest area. They are running a number of tests on him now. I’ll call you again when I know more.” That was all, and there had been no second call.

  Jennifer stood by the phone, stunned for the moment, but she did not hesitate. “Scott, I have to go. You do understand?”

  “Of course. I’m so sorry,” said Scott. He wanted to say a number of things: that she should wait until the morning; that her father was being taken care of; that her mother would not want her to be driving home at night, and certainly not in the rain. All of this was good advice, but he knew—unquestionably knew—she would ignore it, so he just said, “I’ll help you pack. You get your things from the bedroom; I’ll put your books and laptop in your car.” Scott knew the classes she was taking and the books that went with each class. He placed them in her backpack. He knew that there was a good chance Jennifer would not be returning the following week, but, hopefully, it would not be as serious as her mother’s call suggested.

  Jennifer quickly emerged from her bedroom with a small suitcase. “I’m ready,” she said. Her car keys were in her hand.

  Scott opened the front door, grabbed the laptop and backpack in one hand and a large umbrella in the other, and waited for her under the stoop. Jennifer followed, carrying her suitcase. She locked her door, and Scott opened the umbrella to protect her from the now steady rain. Scott placed everything on the back seat, and Jennifer quickly settled behind the wheel. He folded the umbrella and handed it to Jennifer through the open window. Tears appeared in her eyes, but she smiled. Scott bent down, gave her a quick kiss on her lips, and began to withdraw his head from the window.

  “No, Scott,” she said, as she reached out and pulled his head toward her with her left hand. She gave him a passionate kiss, released her hand from his head, and, still smiling, said, “I’ll call you.”

  Before Scott could respond, she was pulling out of the parking space.

  As Scott drove back to his apartment, he kept wondering about the advice he should have given. Was there something else he could have done to help? He had the same sinking feeling he had when he saw her riding off in the tow truck the previous Friday night.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jennifer had driven to Hilton Head many times. She knew the shortcut from her apartment to Talmadge Memorial Bridge, which would take her across the Savannah River into South Carolina. But she had driven only a few blocks when her car sputtered. The engine seemed to die for just a moment and then ran smoothly again. The engine hesitated a couple of more times, and she knew she needed to see a mechanic. The car had to get her to Hilton Head.

  Then it occurred to her: as much as she had tried to forget the events of the previous Friday night, she remembered Marvin’s Foreign Auto in Garden City. It was only a few miles away, and it was open at night. The tow-truck driver had said it was open until ten, sometimes later. It was just a little after ten now. She bypassed the entry to Talmadge Bridge and drove to Garden City.

  In about ten minutes, she was at Marvin’s Garage. It was a well-lit, modern, three-bay facility. Two of the bays were occupied, but the one closest to the office was open. It was still raining, so Jennifer drove her car into the empty bay. The engine was running smoothly now, and she wished she had just taken the bridge and gotten on her way. But she was here, and she felt she should at least have the problem checked by one of the mechanics. And she hoped she would not have to wait long.

  A white-haired gentleman in mechanics clothes met her as she opened her door. “Don” and “Marvin’s Garage” were written on the front of his shirt above one of the pockets. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I had a problem a little while ago. My engine was skipping. It cut off suddenly a couple of times and then started up again. It seems to be running OK now, but I’ve got to get to Hilton Head tonight—my dad’s in the hospital there. I want to make sure there’s nothing really wrong with my car. Could you check it out for me?”

  Don got into the driver’s seat, raced the engine, and listened. He got out and walked over to Jennifer, who was standing in front of the car. She had been listening carefully also. Her ears were not trained like a mechanic’s, but she heard nothing unusual.

  “It sounds OK now,” he said. “Maybe you just got some water on the spark-plug harness or one of its contacts. I don’t think it’s serious. Of course, it could be any number of things—PCV valve, oxygen sensor, or even the catalytic converter could be clogged. If it gives you any more trouble, bring it in, and we’ll run some tests.”

  “So you think I’m safe to drive to Hilton Head tonight?”

  “Do you really have to drive over there tonight? You could run into some heavy rain.”

  “Yes, I’ve got to go. My dad was taken to the hospital a couple of hours ago.”

  “I’m real sorry to hear that,” said Don. “Make sure you try to avoid deep puddles.”

  “I will,” Jennifer said. “What do I owe you for your time tonight?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I just hope you have a safe trip and find your dad’s OK.”

  “Thanks,” Jennifer said, as she got into her car and cranked it up. The engine sounded fine.

  She buckled her seat belt and began to back out of the bay. As she backed, she had a clear view of all the bays to her front. In the farthest bay from the office, she saw a man standing and looking her way. He was wearing a dark cap or bandana. In the rain, she could not make out his features clearly, but he looked vaguely familiar. And he was standing next to what appeared to be a black Camry. Apparently, he had been working on the vehicle, as its hood was up. When she turned her car to get back on the street, her headlights revealed a clearer view. No... no, it couldn’t be, she thought. I’m just still upset, maybe even paranoid. She was relieved that the vehicle stayed in the bay and did not follow her as she headed for Talmadge Memorial Bridge.

  She was about halfway across the bridge when the rain began to slacken. It had not stopped completely, but visibility was much better. She hoped it would stop. She did not like driving in the rain or the swishing sound of the windshield wipers. Her thoughts were now constantly on her dad. Her mother was not an alarmist; she would not have called unless she had great concern. Jennifer turned on her ra
dio. It was tuned to 97.3 KISS FM, featuring mostly top-forty songs. Perhaps the music would help ease her mind.

  Her car seemed to be running smoothly, but it seemed that the acceleration was not fully responsive. She pressed the gas pedal firmly, and the car seemed to hesitate before accelerating. Then it sputtered momentarily, like it had earlier. She pressed it firmly again and got the same response and another sputter or skip. This time it was slightly more severe. She decided not to test it again, as it seemed to aggravate the problem.

  She crossed over into South Carolina on US 17. She passed SCAD’s Equestrian and Athletic Center on the right. This was an often traveled and familiar route for Jennifer. It would take her to SC 170 and then to a shortcut to US 278, the main highway into Hilton Head.

  As she turned onto SC 170, she noticed that the vehicle immediately behind her also turned. The rain had now stopped, but the roads were still wet. Because of the earlier acceleration problem and the wet roads, she was traveling only about forty-five miles per hour. She expected the car behind her to pass, but it did not; it continued to tailgate her. She hoped the car would stay on SC 170 when she turned onto the shortcut. However, when she turned, it continued to stay right behind her.

  The short cut was a narrow two-lane asphalt highway that went through a rural area. On both sides of the highway were pastures, palmetto trees, small creeks, and swamp land. It was a lonely, desolate road but an easy one to travel—no stop lights or stop signs and very lightly traveled this time of night. A few farm houses could be seen, well off the road.

  No other cars were on the highway going in either direction, so Jennifer slowed a bit to give the car an opportunity to pass. It did, but as soon as it passed and moved in front of her, it cut its speed, and she had to slow down also. It slowed to about forty miles an hour. Strange, she thought.