William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

“Sounds like the kind of trauma that eventually causes people to shoot total strangers at the A & P.”

“No, that would be the tap-dancing lessons,” Ben said. He was becoming more animated. “One afternoon I’m at home peaceably munching potato chips and trying to watch Daniel Boone , when my parents come in and announce that I’m going to take tap-dancing lessons. ‘But why?’ I kept asking. I was sure it was a sinister plot to complete the total humiliation of Benjy Kincaid before his peer group. If my parents had given me a choice, I’d have opted for castration.”

He turned toward Christina. “Enough about me,” he said. “Now you tell me a story of childhood mortification.”

She placed a finger against her lips. “That’s hard. I was always sort of an outsider in my neighborhood.”

Ben wondered if she had dressed then like she did now.

“I always had the feeling everybody else knew something vitally important I didn’t know about. Heard some kids mention fucking one day in the third grade. Hadn’t the foggiest notion what they were talking about. Some kind of sport maybe, I thought. So I asked my mother.” She pressed her hand against her chest. “I thought she was going to have a stroke right then and there. I suppose I should’ve waited till after the Bridge Club meeting.”

They both laughed. Christina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“My mother would have died,” Ben said. “On the spot. Mother was very big on appearances. Was, hell, is . She especially worried about me because I’m partially colorblind. Can’t distinguish subtle gradations of some colors. No big deal. When I went away to college, though, she pinned little notes on all my clothes to tell me how to match them up: I would look delightful with your blue sports coat or , for more casual occasions , your green corduroy slacks .”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” Ben crossed his heart. “Strange but true tales of suburbia.”

“As long as we’re playing This Is Your Life , Benjamin Kincaid , let me take a wild guess, based on the few days I’ve known you and on my profound understanding of human nature. You got into law because”—she took a deep breath and affected a stiff British accent—“you wanted to help people.”

“That’s what Derek said! Is this engraved on my forehead or something?”

“Let’s say I can see it in your eyes.”

“I can’t deny it. I was out to save the world. Raised on Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law . First, I gravitated toward environmental law. Save the trees, the rain forests. Then I thought, maybe the public defender’s office. After I got out of school, I worked for over a year at the D.A.’s office.”

“So what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what are you doing at Raven? Public defender is a far cry from corporate defender.”

Ben returned his gaze to the office building. “I don’t know. Things … happen. I seem to have a hard time standing still.

“I thought I’d be happy at the D.A.’s office. But I wasn’t; I felt like I was taking the easy way, not challenging myself. I got very little satisfaction out of the work. Putting pathetic wretches behind bars. Plea bargaining. No prestige. No money.”

“So you came to Raven,” Christina said, filling in the blanks.

“And I’ve been here a little over a week, and already I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I miss the idealism of the D.A.’s office. Pompous or not, at the D.A.’s, everyone saw the law as the strong lance of the crusaders. At Raven, everyone pokes fun at that. At Raven, the law is bubble gum and mirrors.”

Ben looked back at the office building. He could tell from the movement of the flashlight beam in the windows that the guard was heading downstairs. Soon it would be time to go in.

“So enough of this poor-me routine. Tell me about yourself, Christina McCall.”

“Oh, not much to tell.” She waved her hand with a flippant air. “I’m thirty-one—an older woman—devastatingly attractive, dressed in solid black clothes, and getting ready to break into a corporate office building.”

“I wanted facts, not self-parody. Married?”

“Not anymore.”

“No kids?”

She hesitated a moment. “No.” Her face bore an odd expression, but it passed quickly. “No, I’m over thirty, single, and working as a legal assistant with a slew of filthy rich lawyers. Obviously, I am stalking a husband.” She laughed, a bit too heartily, Ben thought.

“But why be a paralegal? Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but there must be more rewarding careers.”

Christina pushed herself back in the seat. “Well, I’m not what you’d call well educated. I was a whiz in high school—really, all A’s and B’s—but then I married Ray and ended up not going to college. I bet that surprises you, doesn’t it?”

Ben shrugged noncommittally.

“Most people think I’ve been to college. I’ve taken night-school short courses at TJC. Trying to improve myself.”

“You should have skipped the class on French phrases.”

Christina looked astonished. “What do you have against French? I consider it sort of my trademark. My way of making people sit up and notice.”

“It does do that.”

“I had to find an occupation where I could make some decent money without a college education. For a while, I tried modeling. That was a disaster. Too much boob, not enough leg. I tried being a secretary, but I never managed to work a week for a boss I didn’t end up wanting to kill. I decided paralegaling would be better.”

“You never considered being a housewife?”

“With my ex-husband? Ray? Cheez—fat chance.”

“Where is he now?”

“Oh, somewhere in OKC. He’s remarried, some blonde bimbette, just out of high school—just like me twelve years ago. Last I heard, he was trying to get into night dental school.” She laughed again. “It figures. He’s married to me, he drives a delivery truck. He marries her, he’s a friggin’ dentist.” She took a deep breath, then mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?” Ben asked.

Christina looked up suddenly, as if she wasn’t aware she was speaking aloud. “Oh! I was chanting.”

Ben stared blankly at her.

She added: “That’s how I relax myself. I induce a self-hypnotic state.”

Ben’s eyebrows raised. “Really? You can do it that quickly?”

“After a while. Not the first time.”

“Really. Self-hypnosis. Do you do astrology, too?”

Christina gave Ben a look that could chill a supernova. “No. I’ve lived several past lives, though, if that makes you happy.”

“Past lives? You’re not serious.”

“After you’ve heard yourself on tape talking for two hours about your former life in ancient Mesopotamia, it’s kind of hard not to take it seriously.”

“Who have you been?” Ben asked. “I see you as sort of the Madame Curie type.”

Christina looked past him through the car window. “He’s out,” she said simply.

Ben turned and saw the guard and his dog emerge from the building. After a few minutes of wandering around out front, they walked to the left side of the building and out of sight.

“This is it,” Ben said. His voice trembled embarrassingly. “Time to go.”

Christina got out of the car first and started across the street. Ben followed, bringing the keys and a flashlight. They both moved quickly, running bent at the waist, as if they were afraid of enemy strafing. To avoid attracting attention, they had both dressed head to toe in black, like cliché cat burglars in a situation comedy. They had, however, resisted the temptation to wear black stocking caps.