SEVENTEEN

We met for a late breakfast at The Original Pantry, the legendary downtown Los Angeles diner that has never shut its doors since it first opened in 1924. Its motto: WE NEVER CLOSE.

Jordyn Yates was already seated when I arrived and I spotted her before she saw me. I was once again bowled over by her striking beauty, a natural blue-eyed blonde in a navy Donna Karan suit, worn with an oversized, red polka-dotted necktie, clearly just for the fun of it.

She looked up as I approached and her face was instantly electrified by her joyful smile, the one that emphasized her prominent cheekbones and luscious lips, the smile I fell hard for the first time I saw it.

I leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek but she turned and planted an open-mouthed kiss full on my mouth and held it for a second or two longer than necessary. She broke into her throaty laugh when she noticed my discomfort.

“There’s a Marriott next door, Buddy. What do you say?”

“Ha. Ha.”

“What ha ha? I’m serious.”

“I’ll take a rain check.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“That’s just the point. I do know.”

I sat opposite her at a corner table. The normally bustling restaurant was enjoying a small respite between the breakfast rush and the onset of lunch. No sooner had I sat when a gnarly waiter appeared with two covered coffeepots, one in each hand.

“Hard or soft?”

“Hard.”

“Mit or mit-out?”

“Mit-out, please.”

He poured me a cup of regular and after offering Jordy a refill, which she declined, he spun on his heel and hurried off.

“How long has it been?” she asked.

“Three, four years maybe.”

“Jesus, it goes fast.”

“You married?”

“What are you, nuts? Are you?”

“You have to ask?”

“You never know. Age does strange things to people. Kids become a factor. Fear, too.”

“Fear of?”

“Living alone for the rest of your life.”

“Were you ever afraid of that?”

“Yeah, right.”

We sat quietly for several moments.

“I didn’t think for a minute you were married, Buddy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Weren’t you the winner of the NO COMMITMENTS MAN OF THE YEAR Award?”

“I was. The same year you won the NO COMMITMENTS WOMAN. We each celebrated by going home with a stranger.”

She threw back her head and emitted her deep, raspy laugh. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Whatever it is you want me to do. I miss you, Buddy. No matter what, we’ll have a few laughs.”

I told her what it was I wanted.

She flashed me her famous dead-eyed stare and lowered her voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken so fast.”

“It’s a slam dunk.”

“When it comes to the three idiots at Leonard, Howard and Arthur, it’s a slam dunk. But this Petrov character dances only to his own music.”

“Well he’s cutting a rug with me. It was the DA who suggested I lawyer up.”

“Well, consider yourself lawyered. And by the best in the business, I might add. I’ll devote myself to seriously wounding this Russki son of a bitch.”

“Thank you.”

“Not so fast, big boy. There’s the matter of a retainer to be discussed. I work for a large firm whose only yardstick is the size of its fees.”

“Just send me a bill.”

“Will I get dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Will I get more than dinner?”

“Which means?”

“You know damn good and well what it means.”

“Negatory.”

“Oh, goody.”

“What goody?”

“I love a challenge.”

On the drive back to Freedom, my thoughts were of Jordyn Yates.

We met when I was summoned to testify in the trial of a noted gang leader whose arrest I had engineered. She was then a prosecutor attached to the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office. I was a street cop.

She had given me the once-over when I entered the courtroom and during her cross-examination of me, she exuded a kind of sexual subtext that caught my attention.

I had testified in the late afternoon, following which I had hung around outside the courtroom until the judge recessed for the day.

She saw me when she exited in the company of her two associates. She quickly ditched them and approached me.

“You’re still here because?”

“I was hoping to get lucky.”

“Arrogant little prick, aren’t you?”

“Not so little.”

“And you think you have a chance of getting lucky with me?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“About what?”

“I am going to get lucky with you.”

“Luck comes in many shapes and sizes, my friend.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” she said.

We were together for nearly a year.

Even though we were terrific together, we were each involved in the culture of noncommitment, more concerned with freedom than relationship. We often came close to professing our love for each other, but whenever the subject popped up, we always managed to skip out on it.

It was when she joined Thompson & McGill as a full partner that we drifted apart. I was in the process of becoming a homicide detective. She was busy proving to her partners and herself that she was worthy of partner status. One day I looked up and realized we hadn’t seen each other in nearly three weeks.

We spent one final night doing all we could to avoid saying good-bye. But from that night to this day, we hadn’t laid eyes on each other.

I knew instantly that the spark was still there. Truth be told, I would have gone to the Marriott with her in a New York minute. But I knew full well she was now my attorney and it would be a huge mistake to mess around with her.

“Don’t shit where you eat,” my father had so eloquently informed me any number of times.

This time I was determined to take his advice.