Barring Complications

by Blythe Rippon

  Genevieve admired his optimism. Jamie thought that believing in something hard enough would make it so, which was probably why he’d presented such a weak case during the original trial at the district level.

  She felt bad about busting his balloon, but it couldn’t be helped. Sighing for about the fiftieth time that evening, she said, “The majority of Americans are opposed to the death penalty for minors, but he voted for it in 1998. I don’t think the key to his vote is popular opinion, sadly.”

  Nic resumed chewing on a pen and staring intently at the ceiling.

  Jamie paced again.

  Genevieve rolled her shoulders, popping askew vertebrae back into place. They had been at it for hours. They needed a breakthrough, but she’d settle for a break.

  “Who wants Chinese?”

  Jamie nodded absently and Nic appeared not to have heard her. She was about to repeat her question when Nic burst from her chair. “He doesn’t believe in a right to privacy! That’s it!”

  “But he signed onto a decision about internet privacy last year,” Jamie returned testily. “Your theory doesn’t work.”

  “Oh.” Nic sat back down.

  “Also, that’s not really a judicial philosophy. It’s just an interpretation of a single issue,” Genevieve said.

  She could tell they were all hungry because they weren’t thinking clearly and were snapping at each other. Of course, Jamie and Nic’s default attitude toward each other was condescension, but normally she didn’t feel like joining in.

  She picked up the phone on the sideboard of the conference room and politely requested that her secretary order them Chinese food.

  “What kind?” he asked.

  “Whichever dishes go best with desperation.”

  Nic began flipping through a file of Jamison’s opinions for the twelfth time that day. Jamie grabbed another binder and was about to do the same when his phone rang.

  “Hey sweetie,” he cooed into the phone, and Genevieve and Nic both smiled. Any irritation they felt about him always dissipated when he talked to his family. His adoration for his partner and their five-year-old daughter made them melt. He was an attentive father and a romantic partner. They tried to busy themselves with outlining their brief, but it was impossible not to listen.

  “Carlos, you can’t just let her eat Cheerios for dinner. I know how hard it is to resist those big brown eyes, but, you know, man up or whatever…Yes, I hate that expression, too…No, I don’t really know what it means…Okay, yes, I appreciate that there are many different ways to be a man, and each one is equally valid…Fine, the expression ‘man up’ is misleading and a form of gender oppression. Is that really why you called?…That’s okay, go ahead and eat without me. I think we’ll be here late…I’m sorry, baby, I promise to eat dinner with you two tomorrow night…Love you too. Don’t wait up.” He hung up the phone, settled into his chair, and cleared his throat.

  “Okay, briefs are due in a week,” Genevieve reminded them, as if anyone had forgotten. “Nic, I want you and NCLR to write the section on the Fourteenth Amendment, addressing both due process and the Equal Protection Clause. Jamie, you and HRC please draft the section on precedent, explaining how cases such as Lawrence v. Texas and Loving v. Virginia apply here. I’m taking up the issues of states’ rights and the reach of the federal government in terms of marriage and religious protection. I’m going to hit the states’ rights issue hard. I’ve got a feeling at least one of the conservatives might move on that front. My people will write some narrative describing our four plaintiffs and their personal histories. Please circulate drafts of your section to me and each other by Monday. My staff will handle the formatting and the actual filing.”

  She stood and walked to the huge window, where she could see the tip of the Washington Monument. Between here and the National Mall dozens of windows were lit, indicating that lawyers, lobbyists, and pundits were working late. While it was true that people working in DC were self-righteous and often motivated by profit, many of them committed their time and energy to changing their country for the better. It was a question of whose “better” would win the day.

  She turned her back to the busy DC lights and focused her attention on her co-counsel. “Where are we with Jamison?”

  “Nowhere. We’re nowhere with Jamison,” Nic responded.

  “You were the one who was supposed to research him,” Jamie said pointedly.

  Genevieve sighed, angry at him for pointing out her failure, but mostly angry with herself. “Yes, I know.” She ran her hands through her hair. “He’s such a bizarre animal.”

  Nic stood and stretched. “I’m way too tired to keep at this tonight. Jamie, Genevieve, I’m sorry but I think after we eat we should call it a night.”

  Genevieve knew Nic had noticed her stress and exhaustion, and was speaking on her behalf. They exchanged a small smile while Jamie acted put out that Nic couldn’t keep up with him. Even so, Genevieve could hear the relief in his voice.

  She almost wished they could put the Chinese food in the fridge uneaten, and leave that much sooner.

  Chapter Five

  Genevieve had spent the week looking forward to her coffee date with Bethany, her roommate in Cambridge when they were both in their third year at Harvard Law. So she was a tad amused when, for about the eighth time that morning, Bethany spun around in her seat to check out some guy who passed by their table.

  “Bethany, darling, you’re going to spill your hot chocolate on yourself. And he’s way too young for you.”

  Bethany turned back. “How’s the unpacking coming, honey?” Before Genevieve could answer, she whipped around again. “Ooh, look at him. He’s handsome.” This one was wearing cowboy boots and tight jeans, and Genevieve thought he was horribly unattractive. Bethany, on the other hand, licked her lips. “I wouldn’t throw him out of bed.”

  Genevieve shook her head and peered at the steaming mug in Bethany’s hands. “What’s with the pre-teen drink order, anyway?”

  “Oh, you know I can’t stand coffee. And my coffee dates get all awkward if I don’t order anything. Plus it’s a little too early for wine.”

  Genevieve broke a corner off her apple turnover. It wasn’t the healthiest of breakfasts, but the sugar soothed her stomach. Her favorite part of moving to DC might just be proximity to Bethany, who, despite her Texan roots, seemed disinclined to ever leave the District. “You could always order an Italian soda or something.”

  “They make me burp.” Bethany let out the faintest of belches and giggled.

  Genevieve rolled her eyes.

  “So, how’s working with Nic Ford and Jamie Chance? Is he as dreamy in person as he is in magazines?”

  “You do know he’s queerer than a three-dollar bill, right?”

  “He’s still nice to look at, with those black eyes and that chiseled jaw…yum.”

  “Bethany, dear, how long has it been since you got laid?”

  A sly grin was her only answer. “How long has it been since someone buttered your muffin?”

  It took Genevieve a second to get the reference. “Wow, hot chocolate and Mean Girls. Are you regressing?”

  “Oh, honey. I swear, there’s a perfect Mean Girls quote for every situation,” Bethany said.

  “Doubt it,” Genevieve mumbled though a bite of turnover.

  “Ahem.” Bethany pointed to her breakfast. “‘Is butter a carb?’”

  Genevieve almost sprayed flaky pastry when she laughed. “Not bad. Got any quotes that don’t involve butter?”

  “Don’t you wish you knew. That’s why my hair’s so big—it’s full of secrets.”

  That time Genevieve did choke on her pastry, laughing and coughing at the same time.

  Once she’d caught her breath, Bethany asked, “Seriously, though, how’s your trial prep coming?”

  Genevieve shrugged. “We haven’t had the breakthrough we need. Jamison is a tough code to crack.”

  “Any chance you’d have more luck trying to sway one
of the more solidly conservative justices?”

  “It’s possible. We’re structuring the arguments with that in mind.”

  “Victoria Willoughby must be shitting herself right now.”

  Genevieve coughed. Bethany always did have a way with words. “Why do you say that?” she croaked, reaching for her water.

  “Well, that glass closet she’s been living in all her life—”

  “Wait, glass closet?”

  “Yeah, she thinks she’s in the closet, but everyone else can see right through the charade. You know, the glass closet. Surely you’ve heard that one before?”

  “No…no, I haven’t.”

  “Gen? You okay? You look upset—is it because I just out-gayed you?” She seemed delighted at the thought.

  “I probably should be more upset at that. Really, I’m fine.”

  Bethany accepted her answer at face value and continued dominating the conversation. “So I want you to meet my sister. You need friends here, and I think you two would adore each other.”

  “You’re not going to try to set us up or anything, are you?” Genevieve wrinkled her nose. She hated being set up. For one thing, it took away all of the fun of the chase.

  “Got a pretty high opinion of ourselves, don’t we? What makes you think you’re good enough for her?”

  Genevieve pursed her lips, wondering if it was a trick question.

  “Relax! Wow, Genevieve, wound tight much?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind, and I feel like I’m still playing catch up.”

  Bethany nodded, though her blonde hair remained exactly in place. She and the women in her family did their part to keep Aqua Net in business.

  “Totally understandable. Have you found your way around? Located the grocery store and all that?”

  “Still a work in progress. But there is a wine bar across the street I’d love to check out some time.”

  “That can be arranged. Seriously, you and Tara need to be friends. She and her partner just got married—as soon as DC made gay marriage legal, they started dress shopping and taste-testing caterers.” She put on her glasses and spoke in the accent of their old employment law professor. “It’s important when you’re working on high profile cases to be reminded of what you’re fighting for.” Taking the glasses off, she added, “And, you know, since you’re not in danger of getting all gay married anytime soon…”

  Genevieve laughed. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  “A couple of confirmed bachelorettes.”

  “So, really, there’s no one?”

  “No ma’am. I remember thinking when I chose a DC firm over the Governor’s office in Texas that I’d have a hard time finding my man. I don’t want a policy wonk. I want a cowboy, and there aren’t many of those around these parts.”

  “I see a lot of hipsters wearing cowboy boots these days,” Genevieve suggested playfully.

  “Oh no, baby, I want the real deal.”

  “You want a man to throw a lasso around you while riding a longhorn, don’t you?”

  Bethany’s eyes sparkled. “You haven’t found your cowgirl yet?”

  Genevieve shrugged and Bethany looked at her.

  “What?” Genevieve asked suspiciously.

  “Never mind. Listen, sweetie, I’ve got to run. But you’re meeting my sister next week and I don’t have time to argue with you. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you meet her. She looks just like me, except her hair is even bigger. Be good, G-string! Toodle-loo!” Bethany kissed her on the cheek, snatched up her suitcase-sized purse, and was gone before Genevieve could decide whether to sigh in exasperation or laugh.

  She took a moment to savor the silence before she, too, gathered her things and left the coffee shop.

  Chapter Six

  Genevieve had worked well into the night for the past week, and she was exhausted. She needed a break. Some of her best ideas came when her mind was otherwise engaged and whatever problems she was trying to solve were bubbling under the surface unnoticed. So she’d taken Bethany up on her invitation to attend a get-together at her sister’s house in Palisades, Maryland.

  She parked her car and rolled up the window. Although the October day had been warm, there was a slight chill in the late afternoon breeze. She was glad she had chosen linen pants rather than the skirt she’d been considering.

  Double-checking the address in her cell phone, she confirmed that this was the house. Mansion, rather. She had no idea what Bethany’s sister or her wife did for a living, but it was certainly lucrative. The front yard was huge, and the colonial house had front porch columns that stretched all the way up to the second floor. She strode up the path, a bottle of wine in her hand, and rang the bell. When a petite woman with huge blonde hair opened the door, Genevieve instantly knew she was Bethany’s sister.

  Her hostess smiled. “You must be Genevieve. I feel like I’ve known you forever. I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

  Genevieve was slightly overwhelmed when Tara pulled her into a bear hug.

  “Oh, honey,” said Tara, sensing her reticence, “you’re at a party with a bunch of Texans. Get used to it. Oh, wine! Aren’t you a dear? I’ll take that off your hands. Please, head on out to the backyard. The grill’s all fired up, and we’re going to start cooking soon. Help yourself to a beverage and make yourself at home.” She started toward the kitchen, and Genevieve could just make out her squeal, “Ooh, how’d she find a wine from Texas hill country?”

  Bethany had been right: she adored Tara instantly. It was hard to be cranky in the face of such infectious enthusiasm. She smiled to herself, glad she had come and happy for the distraction from work and the opportunity to begin a real life in DC, complete with friends and parties and shared food.

  She walked through the dining room, admiring the huge arrangement of snapdragons in the center of the table. Stepping through the open glass door on the other side of the room, she found herself in a sweeping backyard that sloped down to a gazebo. Two dozen people were milling around the grounds, sipping cocktails and enjoying the late afternoon sun. She spotted Bethany to her left, playing bocce ball against a striking blonde with a wedge cut. She was about to head over and introduce herself when she heard a familiar voice coming from just behind her, near the grill.

  Her stomach plummeted and her palms began to sweat. She knew if she were forced to speak in that moment, her voice would crack. Closing her eyes, she felt the ground sway beneath her.

  This is not happening, she thought.

  She bit her lip, opened her eyes, and turned slowly, knowing what she would see.

  Heels, even though she was standing on grass. A navy blue dress with a deep vee neckline. Red hair, loose around her shoulders. A single black pearl hanging around her neck on a silver chain. Her look was completed by a glass of white wine in her hand.

  Genevieve took all this in before raising her eyes and colliding with Victoria Willoughby’s hazel ones, wide with shock.

  Without a word, Genevieve spun around and walked back into the house.

  – PART III –

  Victoria

  Chapter One

  “Genevieve! Wait, please. I’ll go.” Victoria couldn’t believe her words sounded so calm, so in control of the situation, when she was anything but. She hurried after Genevieve, catching up with her in the foyer just shy of the front door. When she placed a hand on Genevieve’s shoulder to turn her around, the skin of her palm felt burned. She retracted it instantly.

  “Genevieve? Victoria? Is everything okay?” Tara entered the foyer from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

  Victoria struggled to catch her breath and glanced sideways, hoping Genevieve would answer. Genevieve shook her head wordlessly. Much to Victoria’s frustration, she refused to meet her eyes.

  Victoria exhaled a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. “Tara, Genevieve is involved in an open case before the Court. We can’t—” Can
’t what? she asked herself. Can’t anything, was the only answer she could find.

  “We can’t socialize or be in a position where we might exert any kind of influence over each other.” Genevieve had found her voice.

  It was the first thing Tori had heard her say in twenty years, and it erected an insurmountable barrier between them. Still, she took a moment to appreciate how beautiful her voice was. Being raised by two French-speaking parents and spending summers in Avignon had left traces of a French accent on Genevieve’s inflection. That voice used to drive Victoria crazy when they were in public and she couldn’t touch her.

  She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her dress when she realized it still drove her crazy.

  “Genevieve, I’ll go,” she repeated. “I assume you only just arrived, and I’ve been here for a while.”

  Tara swatted her with the damp dishtowel. “Oh, please, you two can be in the same place. Just stay on opposite sides of the room or something.”

  They both shook their heads. “We could be disbarred,” Genevieve informed her. “And I doubt either of us wants to jeopardize a case this important.”

  “Tara, thanks so much for allowing me to crash your gathering. Please give Sonya my best.” Victoria leaned over and kissed Tara’s cheek. She paused, then steeled herself to glance at Genevieve, who kept her face impassive and her eyes averted. So softly she wondered if she had said it aloud, Victoria breathed, “Goodbye, Genevieve.”

  There was no response, so she walked out the front door.

  * * *

  The car behind her honked, and Victoria directed her attention back to the stoplight in front of her, which had just turned green. She hit the accelerator harder than she had intended and the car jerked forward. She was shaking from head to toe and desperately needed to calm down, but she’d settle for a stiff drink.