Warner hadn’t called back. Elle checked her watch. Criminal Law was dragging on. The professor had turned to the board, drawing another worthless map to illustrate federal court jurisdiction based on diversity of citizenship.
Elle glanced around the room at the two or three hands raised already, in advance of a question. The twins in the class, Jeremy and Halley, were waving fitfully, as usual. These irrepressible class volunteers impressed and competed with each other by firing instant half-brained speeches before anyone could suggest a thoughtful answer, a practice they referred to as “clutch thinking.”
“Miss Caldwell-Boulaine,” Professor Erie said. Elle looked up from her copy of Vanity Fair. She had read the cases for today’s class, but found them so boring that she had a whisper of hope that Claire, too, might be confused.
“The corporation being sued does business in Arizona, which is where the plaintiff bought his car. But the car exploded in California, injuring only California residents. Since the subject matter of the lawsuit is a tort, how would the parties get into federal court?”
“On diversity jurisdiction, Professor Erie,” Claire said with confidence. Claire was not only correct, she was chipper, and Elle didn’t know which she found more annoying.
“Correct.” The professor smiled, turning again to the board. “In which state would the defendant be served with a subpoena?”
Before Claire could answer, Fran interrupted.
“Professor,” she said, waving, “I have an objection.”
Her voice startled Elle. It was a hoarse whiskey voice that should have belonged to an elegant woman who chain-smoked with an ivory cigarette holder rather than to a frizzy-haired brunette feminist with unshaved legs, a scrawny body, a unibrow, and huge, rough hands.
“An objection.” Professor Erie arched an eyebrow, playing along. “Okay, Counselor. Proceed.”
Fran shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tugged nervously at her skirt, which looked like the “Indian” bedspreads sold at Pier 1. “It’s just that…I wish you’d stop using that word.”
“What word is that, Miss Anthony?”
“Mizzz,” Fran corrected, scowling. “The word sub-poena. It has no place in an emancipated society.”
“I think she’s suffering from subpoena envy,” Aaron said as he elbowed Tim.
Doug overheard Aaron’s comment and snorted with laughter. “She wishes she had a subpoena!” He poked Sidney, who gave him a high-five. The Trekkies were in an uproar, and Fran spun around angrily.
“See?” Fran shrieked.
Pointing at Doug, Fran accused, “That’s exactly the testosterone oppression that women have to fight! Look! He has pornographic materials in class!”
Doug had a color printer in his dorm room and provided the Trekkies with erotic pictures he downloaded from the Internet. He shoved a “Starship Intercourse” file into his notebook, reddening like a beet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Doug sputtered. The Trekkies turned guilty stares to the floor.
Professor Erie raised his voice with exasperation. He finally asked a question that Elle liked. “When does this nonsense stop?” It was getting to the point where men at Stanford couldn’t speak an unobjectionable word. “Class, enough! Mizzz Anthony,” he drew the word out with irony, “what would you prefer I call the subpoena? After all, that’s what the courts call it.”
Fran shrugged. “Call it a writ. That’s what they call it in England, where they have some sensitivity about these things.”
Leslie nodded vigorously.
“Fine, Ms. Anthony. A writ.”
He turned back to Claire, who seemed a little shaken by the commotion. She answered correctly that the “writ” should be served in Arizona, and Elle crossed the word “subpoena” out of her notes.
Elle was hurrying out of class when a hand on her shoulder spun her around. Warner stood before her, out of breath, in a great show of the effort.
“Elle, wait a minute! I tried to call you back last night, but I got your machine.”
Elle looked doubtfully at him. He hadn’t left a message. “I was home most of the night,” she said, “packing.”
“Okay, I didn’t leave a message,” he admitted.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Elle brightened. “I drove a couple of boxes over to my new condo. My mondo condo,” she laughed. “It’s cool. You should come see it.”
“I’d like to,” Warner offered. “Have you moved your stuff completely in yet?”
She had moved almost all of the boxes already.
“No, no, I’ve got a lot left to move,” Elle lied. “I couldn’t lift the heavy boxes by myself and I’m sure you remember how heavy my trunks are. I’d love some help, Warner. If you can get away,” she added in a lower tone, checking behind her in case Sarah was nearby. She could bring some boxes back to the dorm this afternoon, while everyone was in class, she thought quickly to herself. That way he’d have a lot to carry.
They started walking toward the front door of the building and Warner paused and cracked a smile. “Great. I’d be happy to help you,” he said.
Elle shrugged and walked ahead of him knowing the effect her pale pink cashmere sweater and tight silk skirt would have on him.
He followed her outside. “Listen, I’d love to get away, Elle,” he said quietly, “but not for lunch.” Elle laughed.
He glanced back over his shoulder to the law school. “I’ve got plans. Sarah, you know.”
Elle grinned and pulled on her sunglasses. “I didn’t mean for lunch, Warner, sweetie. I simply need some good Sigma Chi muscle. Call me when you can come over tonight.” Impulsively, she kissed Warner on the cheek, then spun around and walked away.
Elle had no doubt that he was looking forward to helping her move, even if Sarah would be furious.