“CARLISLE CUSHING HERE.”
“Ah, Miss Professional,” Jack said on the other end of the phone. “I like it. Not quite as nice as talking dirty in a hallway outside the men’s room, but it certainly conjures up all sorts of images.”
“Where did you go to law school again? Law ’R Us: Become a lawyer in ten easy online lessons?”
He laughed. “Same law school as you, sweetheart. Don’t you remember?”
Yes. Very well, thank you. “Oh, that’s right. I seem to remember you there, barely.”
Just more of his one-note laughter came over the phone line.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, in a voice that even I could tell sounded curt.
“Rumor has it you’re taking your mother’s case.”
“If by rumor you mean the official documents I filed with the court clerk, then yes, the rumor is true.”
“Funny you didn’t bother to mention it any one of the last three times I saw you.”
“Just like you didn’t bother to mention you were engaged any one of the last three times I saw you.” I swallowed back any guilt I might have felt over my own engagement omissions.
“So you heard,” he said.
“Yes, Savannah shared the news after she found us in the country club hallway engaging in… inappropriate behavior.”
He actually laughed out loud at that. “Listen, cupcake, as I recall, you started it—”
No one would accuse Jack Blair of being a gentleman.
“—but you’re right, it shouldn’t have happened and it won’t happen again.”
“Good.” I hesitated, then because my mind seemed to have, well, a mind of its own, I said, “Where’d you meet her?”
“For someone who swore there’d be no fraternizing between us, you’re doing an awful lot of it.”
“I am only being polite.” And nosy, but I left that part out.
“I met her in Dallas. She’s a lawyer for—”
“She’s a lawyer?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, Cushing. Not all lawyers are uptight and… oh, sorry, I forgot about you throwing yourself at me in the hallway.”
The capillaries in my brain dilated, my chest constricted, making me gasp.
But Jack just laughed some more. “So, I’ll see you at the hearing tomorrow,” he said.
“Hearing! What hearing?”
“You’re probably not so good at poker, are you?”
“What hearing, Jack?”
“I love it when you say my name. Maybe you could sorta drag it out, moan a little.”
“Excuse me. Inappropriate.”
“Sorry. There’s just something about you, Cushing, that brings out the worst in me.”
“Don’t blame this on me. You were plenty bad before I ever came into the picture.”
“You got me there.”
“Now, seriously, what hearing?” I persisted.
“The hearing’s at eight. With Judge Howard.”
Even I had heard of Judge Howard, and not for any reason that had to do with law, lawyers, or courtrooms. My mother had dated him once, though thankfully she never got as far as marrying him.
I was lucky that Jack hung up before I could emit the screech that was brewing and embarrass myself. I set down the phone, intent on calling the courthouse to find out if this could possibly be true. But then I realized it was Sunday.
My mother walked in, and I suspected she had been lurking outside the door.
“Did you know we have a hearing tomorrow?” I demanded.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you bother mentioning it to me?”
“Didn’t I?”
“No.”
“Oh, well then, we have a hearing tomorrow. At…” She fished around on her desk. “Here it is. Hearing. Eight A.M. Tomorrow. With that lovely Judge Howard. Did I ever tell you he adored me?”
“Yes, you did tell me. Many times. They all adore you.”
AT EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING, we found ourselves in the Willow Creek Municipal Building just off Hildebrand Square.
The courtroom was packed, the judge’s docket full. The benches were lined with an assortment of people. Given the small size of Willow Creek, judges heard a variety of cases, causing my perfectly clad mother to sit amid the masses of humanity.
“Reason enough not to get a divorce,” she had snipped when she was forced to sit next to a man who leered at her while we waited for our case to be called.
Jack and Vincent walked in.
“Miss Cushing,” Jack said with a nod.
Vincent and my mother ignored each other.
Given the way Jack and I had been interacting since my return to Willow Creek, I felt it only wise to get things on a better footing. “I apologize for not mentioning that I had taken the case.” I started to add that I really hadn’t been thinking about lawsuits when I had thrown myself at him. But I felt that would only add to the unprofessional thing we had going, so I held that back. “I would like to think that we can… well, clear the air. Start over. As friends.”
He raised one of those dark brows. “Friends?”
“Yes, friends.”
I’m not sure what he would have said, probably something of the not-nice variety, based on his expression, but he was cut off by the court clerk.
“Ogden versus Ogden!”
“Showtime,” Jack said.
We strode to the counsel tables, Jack holding the swinging gate for us like a perfect gentleman.
With the formalities adhered to, I was finally able to address the court.
“What do you mean you want a continuance?” Judge Howard barked.
I had barely said a word and he was being testy already. I glanced between him and my mother. My guess was that he hadn’t loved her as much as she let on.
Note to self: ask for new judge.
“I’m a busy man, Miss Cushing, my time valuable. Not that you or anyone else in your family has ever seemed to realize that.”
Suspicion confirmed. Revised note to self: demand new judge.
“Yes, sir. I realize that. But I’ve only recently returned to town and I’m in the process of familiarizing myself with the situation.”
Jack stood, a slow unwinding of muscle, the power palpable, every trace of the man who called me “cupcake” gone. “Your honor,” he began, smoothing his tie against his shirt as he stood. “My client would prefer to resolve the matter of the divorce. The emotional stress is very difficult for him.”
My mother snorted.
Vincent glared at her.
“Opposing counsel was notified of the hearing, your honor,” Jack added. “And in fact, she attended an earlier meeting regarding the case… a meeting held a full week ago,” he said as if apologizing.
I counted to ten.
Judge Howard turned to me. “Is this true, Miss Cushing?” he asked, his gravelly voice sharp.
“Your honor, you see—”
“Is it true or not, young lady?”
As if I were ten years old.
“Yes, it is true, sir. But—”
“No buts. Proceed.” He banged his gavel.
Fuming, I stood there. Jack shrugged with an insincere apology. When I glanced back at the judge, he looked just as smug. Whether they liked it or not, I needed time. And I planned to get it.
“Your honor—”
“Miss Cushing, I am not going to change my mind.”
“May I approach the bench?”
He started to bark something else.
“It’s important. To both of us.”
The man eyed me from beneath full, bushy eyebrows that had gone gray some time ago. “This better be good, Miss Cushing.”
I approached the bench, Jack leaping up to follow me.
“Your honor,” I said with quiet dignity. “Given the fact that you once dated my mother—”
He sat back in his chair, his bushy gray eyebrows flapping up and down like I had shot him.
“—I request that you recuse yourself from the case.”
“You are out of line, young lady. There was never anything improper or even serious between your mother and me.”
I gave him a look of resigned innocence, as if I hated to be the bearer of bad news. “I didn’t say anything about improper, your honor. But”—I shrugged—“my mother swears you loved her. If we move forward with this case in your courtroom, I will feel obliged to find out the extent of your past relationship with my mother, which might lead to comparisons with other women you’ve had relationships with…” I let the words trail off, the implication clear.
“I barely went out with her once!”
“But you did go out with her.”
He glowered, then banged the gavel. “Court is in recess,” he snapped. Then he leaned forward and added quietly, “I will consider your request.”
Mr. Smooth evaporated and the killer Jack I knew so well showed his true colors. I mouthed, Not so good at poker, huh? And this time as we left, I held the gate for him.
THAT AFTERNOON AT three forty-five I was ready, or as ready as I was going to be, when the girls arrived. They walked into the house, went straight to the receiving room, and plopped down on sofas and overstuffed chairs. India filed her nails, the Entourage chattered nonstop, the others chomped on gum. Only Sasha sat up straight in a stiff-backed settee and smoothed her skirt.
When Morgan entered, the Entourage sat up straight and waved. “Morgan, look!”
They displayed striped toenails.
India seemed to consider. “Scoot down, Abby. Morgan, come sit here by me.”
Morgan appeared suspicious, or maybe she was just leery. Either way, it meant she was smarter than being kicked out of every private school in the Bay Area would lead one to believe. Though I was forced to reassess when she walked over and sat down next to India.
“What did you all learn from the handout I gave you?” I asked without preamble, Janice standing next to me.
India studied her hands. “That Tommy Brown kisses better than anyone in the entire school.” She displayed her fingernails to the group. “I went with French tips in honor of the event.” She looked at Sasha. “Oops. Is that the guy you said you went to the movies with?”
Sasha’s mouth dropped open.
“Well, be that as it may,” I said smoothly, if tightly, “what did you read in your homework assignment that applies to your kiss with Mr. Brown?”
India looked at me like I was crazy. As did Janice.
I glanced at the other girls. “Does anyone know the answer?”
Miss Intellectual’s hand shot up, straining in the air.
“Ruth?”
“A lady never tells anyone anything that’s private,” she announced proudly. “And a kiss should remain private.”
“Oh, yeah!” Abby said, her hand up, waving in the air. “Like: don’t kiss and tell.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Even slang can come from manners.”
“Who cares about manners?” India stated.
“Clearly not you,” Sasha retorted.
I thought India might launch herself off the sofa, but then she laughed. “Jealous?”
“A debutante cares about manners,” I leaped in. “And last I heard, India, you wanted to be a debutante. Though if you’ve changed your mind…”
“Whatever,” she huffed, then breathed out sharply until a sly smile appeared. “When Tommy and I go out again and get massively serious in his father’s hunting cabin, I’ll be sure not to mention it.”
The Entourage twittered. Janice hung her head. Sasha looked like she was going to cry. I hurried on, whipping out a dry erase board from behind a wing chair and setting it on an easel.
“We have five areas to work on.” I wrote on the board with each item. “They are:
walking
talking
dancing
table manners
attire.”
“Attire?”
“How you dress.”
India looked me up and down, then Janice. “And the two of you are going to tell us how to dress?”
“Funny.” Which it wasn’t, and wasn’t intended to be. “For today, let’s begin with walking.”
I had been up late the night before practicing what I would say and how I would demonstrate. It had been late because I had to wait until everyone had gone to bed and I was sure they were all asleep. I didn’t want anyone to know I needed the practice. By the time I made it to bed that night, I was rather pleased with myself. But standing in front of eight teenage girls and a sister-in-law who thought the whole thing was lower than low, I felt that stomach-churn of nerves like I was back in high school myself.
Determined, I placed an encyclopedia volume on the top of my head and started off toward the other side of the room. “I’m sure you’ve heard of learning how to walk properly by placing a book on your head,” I said, concentrating on keeping said book from falling to the floor.
“You want us to walk like that?” Nellie asked. “Sorry, but you look pretty stupid.”
I stopped, the book fell, thankfully I caught it, and I turned back.
Janice covered a laugh. When I gave her a questioning look, she nodded. “Yeah, a little… strange.”
I shoved the book at her. “Then you do it.”
She backed up. “Oh, no, not me.”
Sasha stood, smiled perfectly, and said, “I’ll do it.”
India was not about to let that happen. She snatched the book away from me before I could hand it to Sasha. With a smirk, India walked over to the end of the room. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
She planted the pages on top of her head and started off. Given her four-inch heels and scantily clad form, she did a surprisingly good job—for a hooker prowling the Mexican border.
“Maybe a little less hip,” I suggested.
She snorted, though she did tone it down. When she finished a second lap, her audience applauded. She dropped the tome from her head, smiled, and curtsied. I noticed she didn’t do the Dip, however.
Each girl wanted a try and I had to supply more books. We had moved into the marble foyer, and no question there was a lot of racket going on from the whack of books hitting the floor. So is anyone surprised that my mother appeared at the top of the stairs?
I smiled with the confident smile of See how well things are going?
Next, Morgan took the stage, and I sent up a little prayer.
We watched her place a book on her head and start off across the foyer, but she couldn’t get the hang of it.
“Errr,” she ground out. “This is so lame.”
Janice smiled serenely. “You don’t have to do it.”
“What are you, a broken record?”
“Just trying to help.”
“Yeah, right,” she snapped.
“I am. In fact, in the interest of helping, I might suggest that if you stopped wearing those boots, you’d be able to walk better.”
I thought that my young niece was going to explode. India, never the peacemaker, nodded with cool superiority and threw flames on the fire. “Combat boots really are so over.”
“What do you say, Morgan?” Janice persisted.
If I hadn’t been standing at the front of the room, I would have waved my sister-in-law off like an emergency crew heading off accidents with bright orange flags. Even I knew she was headed into dangerous territory.
My niece glared at India, then wrenched back around to her mother, her newly dark hair flying about her shoulders, her blue eyes narrowed. “Say about what, Mom? You’d rather I wear old lady shoes like Sasha? Or four-inch heels like India? What kind of shoes do you want me to wear?” She made a condescending noise in her throat. “Oh, I know. You want me to wear those retarded hippie sandals you think are so cool. News flash. They’re ‘so over’ too. Looks like we’re both freaks.”
She whirled away, and raced out of the room, flying past my mother who stood way too still.
I started to say something, what I don’t know, only to hear another gasping cry. I turned around just in time to see India grab Sasha’s book off her head and throw it down on the floor.
“You think you’re so great,” India said. “Well, you’re not. You’re a stuck-up bitch who no one likes.”
“Better a stuck-up bitch than a slut!”
I leaped forward and separated the girls just before they tumbled into a brawl, shooing them back into the receiving room.
I pressed my eyes closed, and when I opened them my mother shook her head.
“It’s not just the Symphony Association and our family name that’s going to be ruined with this debacle,” she said. “Those girls are going to be the laughingstock of Willow Creek and will never live it down the way this is headed. I’d think after your own deb ball, you’d remember that.”
She looked at me hard, then turned on her heels and returned to her room.