“How about a nice pinot?” Steve said.
“I think I’ll pass,” Sienna said.
“Religious scruples?”
“I have a feeling I need to keep a clear head tonight.”
They were seated in a booth at Bistro Michel, always Steve’s secret weapon. Whenever he needed some credits in Ashley’s ledger, he brought her here. Until he burned through most of their accounts to fund his habit.
Steve said, “Then I will keep a clear head too.” When the waiter, one of the old-world gentleman types, arrived, Steve closed the wine list. “Two of your finest colas, my good man. A Pepsi ’98 if you have it.”
The waiter frowned. Then nodded and left.
“Tough room,” Steve said.
“Not with the right material,” Sienna said.
“You are definitely the right material.”
“Oh, please.”
“Come on! That was a very slick line.”
Sienna said, “I would rather not have this be a night of slick lines, all right?”
“Check.” Steve wanted to stab himself with the butter knife. Instead, he asked, “How about this. What kind of law do you want to practice?”
“I’m not really sure. What’s it like being a solo?”
“Not easy. You have scramble. You have to market. And you have to stay off drugs. Think you can stay off drugs?”
She smiled. “I’ll try real hard.”
“You also end up hacking off a lot of people. Like the feds. So do you want to help me take on the feds?”
She looked confused. “How?”
“Maybe you can help me with a 1983 action.” Section 1983 of the United States Code was the statute authorizing civil rights violations against federal officials.
“On what basis?” Sienna said. “They have immunity.”
“Qualified immunity,” Steve corrected. “Your job would be to find a way around that.”
“You have any ideas how?”
“Yes,” Steve said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Write a lengthy brief on my sophistication and charm.”
“I think I can handle that in a memo.”
“Ouch.” His cell vibrated. He checked the number. “I have to take this,” he said to Sienna, then flipped it open.
Norm Gaylord said, “Okay, I got it.”
“Hang on.” Steve took a pen and scrap of paper from his coat pocket. “Give it to me.”
Norm read off an address in Tehachapi. “So is that it? I’m free of you, right?”
“As if you really want to be,” Steve said.
“I really want to be.”
“If it checks out, then yeah.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“I know what Starbucks you like. Thanks.”
Steve clicked off. “Sorry. Where were we?”
“Memos?”
“Right. I have another one for you. Suppose I found out something about Eldon LaSalle that’s criminal. Do I have to cooperate with the authorities?”
She thought a moment. “What about lawyer-client confidentiality?”
“You tell me, law student. Pretend this is the bar exam.”
“Please, I don’t need that stress just yet.”
“What would you say?”
She paused, thought. “Attorney-client privilege. What is told to you in your capacity as a lawyer is protected.”
“Unless it refers to a crime yet to be committed.”
Sienna nodded thoughtfully. “That would be correct, but I believe you would have to show knowledge of actual intent.”
“I can’t remember,” Steve said. “I’m a criminal defense lawyer.
It’s been so long since I’ve thought about ethics.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Okay, I’m tired of talking about myself. What do you think of me?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Incorrigible.”
Sienna had duck. She’d never had duck before, and the waiter insisted she try it. Steve had the old reliable New York steak. When in doubt, go for the cow.
“It’s very good,” Sienna said. “But I feel like I’m eating poor Daffy or something. He was my favorite cartoon character growing up.”
“And where was that?” Steve asked.
“I bounced around. My dad was an airline mechanic. Had jobs in Seattle, Detroit, Louisville. That’s where I finished high school.”
“How’d you end up out here?”
“I came out to go to UC Irvine. I was a theater major.”
“No joke? You wanted to be an actress?”
“For a while. I wanted to be the next Julia Roberts, but my lips weren’t big enough.”
“You never heard of collagen?”
“Of course, but then I wasn’t pretty enough, either.”
“I don’t think that’s your problem at all.”
She stuck her fork in some duck and held it there, looking at him. “You’re smooth, I will give you that.”
Steve said nothing.
“Did I say something?” she said.
Yeah, she had. But how could he tell her that Ashley had used the exact same words on their first time out? He’d been turning on the old charm and Ashley wasn’t buying it and offered that he was smooth. Like she knew his every thought. It was a little strange having that same impression with Sienna Ciccone.
“Sorry, I zoned,” Steve said. “After you decided you weren’t going to be Julia Roberts, what did you do?”
“Decided I wanted to be Ashley Judd in High Crimes.”
“Never saw that one.”
“Your basic intelligent female lawyer solves everything.”
Steve nodded. “And then you got married?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I mean your fiancé. The guy you met at church but it didn’t work out.”
“You’re fishing?”
“Yeah, I’m asking about your love life here.”
She shook her head, looked down at her food. Poked an asparagus spear, then poked it again. “I’m not ready to have this conversation.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, I think in the interest of full disclosure — ack, I can’t help sounding like a lawyer.”
“I’d rather we talk about something else.”
“You’ve been hurt.”
Putting her fork down, Sienna gave him the serious eye. “I don’t want to discuss this. Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Door sliding closed. “No, a good one. We can talk business. Or movies. Or TV shows. Or law or court or law school. Whatever it takes to keep you on my side.”
“I work for you, don’t I? I guess I owe you the same zeal you’d owe a client.”
“Have you tried the zeal here? It’s great.”
“Bad puns, however, are a form of harassment.”
And Steve decided it was love. He didn’t need it. It wouldn’t end well that he could see. He couldn’t be good for her. He’d make a stupid move too soon and it would be over. He’d lose not just a companion but a sharp legal assistant.
When he took her home she requested he drop her at the curb. He told her the city was a jungle but he could tell she knew he wanted to kiss her. It was not going to be.
If only he could buy into some kind of faith. Take that ride Gincy talked about. Make the jump.
But when she closed the door of the car and started toward her apartment building, it felt, more than anything else, like the fadeout in a very sad movie. The kind where the guy doesn’t get the girl after all.