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THE WORN-DOWN COLORED man, Mr. Jones, slumped in the chair in front of Charles’s desk, had only known a life of trials. No doubt he was a runaway slave, but Charles didn’t ask. The weary caution at the edge of his gaze, that constantly darted around the room, told Charles all he needed to know.
“I need that money. What I’m supposed to do when the landlord come knocking wanting his money?” Mr. Jones beseeched Charles in a sullen voice. He twirled his hat in his hands to give his fidgety fingers something to do.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. I will do everything in my power to return what was taken from you,” Charles said with conviction.
“How?” Mr. Jones barked. Surprise over his outburst shone in his eyes. He clamped his mouth shut, bowing his head. Regaining his composure, he leaned closer to Charles and lowered his voice to say, “Ever since that Dred Scott case, black men don’t have the right to sue white men.”
“That case refers to federal courts. There are other avenues to retrieve what was taken from you. You provided the labor he required, and he needs to pay you for it. No man, white or black, can get away with such shady business dealings.” It burned Charles up inside every time he had to listen to men like Mr. Jones recite stories of being swindled and taken advantage of, with little hope of finding justice. Even worse were the times when there truly was no legal remedy for their case. He had decided to practice law specifically for men like Mr. Jones. To do his part in helping to give them tangible hope for a justice system that worked in their favor.
“We moved into the tenement house two months ago. I can’t move my wife and youngins so soon.” His shoulders hunched even more as he folded into himself, resting his sharp elbows on his bony knees.
“I will do my best to help,” Charles replied with quiet empathy.
“Yeah, that’s what all y’all big bug lawyers say. And us colored folk are still out here without a penny to our name.” Mr. Jones shoved his hat back on his head as he rose from the chair to exit the office.
Charles watched the man’s retreating back with the usual heaviness in his heart that accompanies such meetings.
“It’s about time for you to go, isn’t it?” Mr. Taylor asked as he walked by. He had been Charles’s mentor and the guiding force in his career for the past three years. He also held the unofficial office of ensuring Charles made it to all of his appointments on time.
Charles pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Sure enough, it was time for him to leave; otherwise, he would be late. In thirty minutes, he would begin his interview for admittance into the New York Bar Association. Charles placed his hand in his left pocket and rubbed the locket he always kept there for luck. He rose from his desk and straightened his cravat and vest. After slipping on his frock coat, he smoothed his hands over his ensemble, then held out his arms and spun for inspection. “How do I look?”
“Like a future lawyer of New York Bar Association,” Mr. Taylor said with pride.
“Excellent. If you would have said like a future sailor bound for the docks, I would have been worried.”
“Go on, you. Be off and stop delaying.” Mr. Taylor kicked the air, booting Charles out of the room.
With a smile at the older man’s antics, Charles left the office to begin his commute. Today, he took another step closer to his dreams.
* * *
“SO, HOW’D IT GO?” ANDREW inquired.
Charles let the heavy wooden door swing closed behind him, his head hanging low. He ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze from his friend’s. Thomas and Andrew stood before him, eyes wide as they awaited his news.
“Well, come on, then. You’re one of the smartest men I know, so it couldn’t have been that bad. Tell us,” Andrew prodded Charles. His voice held a bit less cheer than his first question, but his smile stayed intact, even if it was a little tighter around the edges.
“Gentlemen,” Charles said in a downtrodden tone, eyes glued to the ground.
“Ah, I’m sorry...” Thomas began, but Charles quickly cut him off.
“You are looking at the newest addition to the New York State Bar Association!”
“I knew it! Never doubted it for a second,” Andrew cheered.
The wrinkle in his brow and fidgety way he’d shifted from side to side said otherwise, but Charles didn’t push the subject. A broad smile swept across his face. Andrew and Thomas pulled him into a collective hug, lifting him off his feet. Hearty pats on the back followed when they placed him back on his feet.
“Of course, you were admitted,” Thomas beamed. “You spent months poring over that boring manifesto—Blackstone’s Commentaries, something or other. You have a law degree from Columbia College School of Law, and you’ve worked for one of the best law firms in New York City for the past three years. And you have a face that makes the ladies swoon every time you glance their way. If nothing else, those powder-head nobs would have let you in to increase their chances of getting some horizontal refreshment.”
Charles and Andrew howled with laughter at Thomas’s crude assessment of his merits to be granted the privilege of being a lawyer. Neither Charles nor his friends had any trouble gaining the affections of the opposite sex.
Each man had his own unique charms that bowled the ladies over. Charles with his blond hair, lean, muscular build, and classically beautiful face. Thomas with his mischievous grin that promised any manner of naughty play in store, jet black hair, and crystal blue eyes. And Andrew with his warm honey eyes, large, hard body, and dimple that added a touch of cute to his chiseled jaw and rugged face.
“I agree with most of your assessment. I’m just glad to finally have achieved this dream.”
“We have to celebrate,” Andrew said with rowdy excitement.
“Of course, we should!” Thomas enthusiastically agreed. “It’s about time you released that tight rein on your unyielding self-control to indulge in a few spirits and women.”
Charles took a step back, increasing the distance between himself and his friends. He held his hands up in protest. “Alcohol and women addle the brain. Mixing the two together is asking for trouble. Besides,” he said, looking Thomas in the eye, “I’ve seen the women you frequent, and cleanliness is a word they know nothing about.”
Thomas laughed harder, unbothered by the comment. “I can’t argue with you on that front. One gal smelled so bad, I couldn’t even muster the desire to do the deed. I carry a sprig of lavender with me now, just in case.” All three men roared with laughter. “But this is a celebration. We will go to the best parlor house in the city. I heard amazing things about the one on Vesey Street. We’ll have a good time.”
“We’ll compromise and indulge in the alcohol, but not the women. I’ll even let you pick the establishment,” Charles countered. He was by no means a saint, but he wasn’t one to share his carnal trysts with others, either. Bedroom doors closed for a reason, after all. Not everyone needed to know what went on behind his.
“Lovely,” Andrew replied, slapping his hand on his thigh. “I can always use a stiff drink. Women, I can take or leave.”
“Fine,” Thomas grumbled. “But if you aren’t rooster-ed up by the end of the night, I’m going to pour beer down your throat until you are!”
Charles and Andrew laughed at their friend, knowing full well that he meant every word he spoke.
“Well, let’s get going, then. The sooner the night begins, the sooner it can end,” Charles said with a smirk and pat on Thomas’s back.
Taking the position of leader of the evening’s festivities, Thomas began walking a bit ahead of the other two men, guiding them toward their destination.