Chapter Seven
Atonement

“I’m calling in that favor,” she said with confidence.

 

“Okay.  What do you need?” I responded.

 

“Can you cover a Trial in two weeks?” she inquired.

 

“What kind of Trial?” I asked.

 

“Oh, you know, just a three-day everything but the kitchen sink kind of a case,” she relayed matter-of-factly.

 

“Umm,” I paused and my thoughts swirled. 

 

“I know you don’t owe me THAT big a favor, but I really need help.”

 

“Why can’t you try it?” I wondered.

 

“I’m out of town.  I’m taking my daughter to college.”

 

“Oh, okay.  Umm,” I paused again.  “I imagine you’re nearly prepped?”

 

“Yes.  It was a case I already prepared because we were ready to try it last month.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Postponed.”

 

“And they didn’t clear dates?”

 

“Nope.  Just reset it.  Sua sponte. I moved to postpone but it was denied.”

 

“Ugh. Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yeah, I can help you out,” I looked over my calendar on the screen in front of me, already mentally moving meetings.  “I can do it.”

 

“Thank you so much.  I owe you.”

 

“We can call it even after this,” I confirmed.  “But I think I’ll get some help, so you may owe someone else a favor.”

 

“What about your associate?” my colleague suggested.

 

“She’s on vacation that week.”

 

“I’m so sorry.  But the good news is my paralegal has everything ready to go and knows the case inside and out.  I’ll have her contact you and get you up to speed.  She can help with whatever you need.”

 

“What about the client?  Won’t he be upset?”

 

“Already got approval.  He looked you up.  Honestly, I think he thinks you’re a step up.”

 

“Then he doesn’t sound very bright,” I chuckled thinking about how this practitioner had ten years of experience on me and many talents inside any courtroom. 

 

“Do you know anyone else who can assist?”

 

“I’ll have to think on that,” I honestly had no idea who to call.

 

“I know,” her voice became elevated as if she suddenly had a moment of clarity. 

 

“Who?”

 

“Didn’t you and Pierre graduate law school together?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Remember that time you two had a case against each other?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you said it was the only time you felt equally matched?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Aren’t I brilliant?”

 

“You are, but-”

 

“But nothing.  Just call him.”

 

Little did she know that Pierre and I had been, secretly and for the first time after years of casual discussions, formally discussing joining forces as partners.  Trying a case together on two-weeks’ notice would provide a great opportunity to see how well, or not so well, we worked together under stressful and extreme circumstances.  It was actually a great idea and I decided to call immediately.

 

“Hey,” I greeted him when he answered his line.

 

“Hey there,” Pierre responded.

 

“You’re never gonna believe this,” I started.

 

“What?  Did you change your mind?”

 

“No,” I chuckled.  “Quite the opposite.  How would you like to co-counsel a case in two weeks?”

 

“Can we set everything up by then?”

 

“No.  Well, yes, actually, but that’s not what I mean.”

 

“Okay.  What do you mean?”

 

“Can you get permission from your boss to co-counsel the case with me and we can use it as a test case?”

 

“A test case?”

 

“Yes.  See how it is actually working together instead of against each other.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“I know you’re still a little skittish about things and maybe this will give you, both of us really, a chance to see what it could be like.”

 

“I like it,” Pierre decided.

 

“Great.  Let me know when you have confirmation from the powers that be and then clear your calendar.  We can work here.  The file is being sent over this afternoon.”

 

“I’ll plan to head over there after five.  Should I bring food?”

 

“No, but thanks.  We can go grab something.  It’ll be good to take a break after a while and discuss strategy.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“See ya later.”

 

“Later.”

 

Pierre showed up a little before 6:00 p.m. and I gave him a tour of the then empty offices.  That space wouldn’t be where we would set up shop together, if we proceeded with our plan, because it wouldn’t work for our collective needs and the monthly rent was already astronomical for the market. 

 

Our colleague’s paralegal had done a phenomenal job with preparation and everything was in order when the files arrived in my office that afternoon.  Pierre and I set up a time to meet with the client in two days and spent the first few hours working together familiarizing ourselves with the facts, issues and strategic plan for the Trial.  We identified our assigned Judge, a favorite for both of us, and our opposing counsel, not a bad practitioner to try a case with, and mapped out the next three weeks of our work lives. 

 

I could tell almost immediately that we had similar practice and preparation styles and we recognized the strengths in each other enough to divide the arguments and examinations for Trial.  Those first few hours of co-counseling, along with a quick meal at a local restaurant a block from my office during which we brainstormed evidence issues and strategies, went better than expected.  I chose a restaurant that James and I had only been to once because as he informed me after the fact, James wasn’t a fan. 

 

The only hitch in the giddy-up, as Pierre would phrase it, was when Natalie interrupted our meal with a text message informing me that I was late for class.

 

With the random disruption of my calendar caused by a colleague who had assisted an extended family member of mine on a pro bono basis years prior, the one to whom I felt obligated to return a favor, and with the opportunity to work with Pierre on a case and test our ability to partner, I had completely dismissed thoughts of anything but the Trial. 

 

“Sorry,” I had texted back.  “Work emergency.”

 

“No problem.  You can come early next week and my teaching assistant can catch you up.”

 

“Sure,” was my only response to what didn’t sound like a suggestion.

 

It wasn’t the only time that week that I disappointed someone, but Natalie would forgive me for missing class.  My greater disappointment happened during my Friday lunch with James, during which we endured our first fight ever.  Or maybe it was just a disagreement or miscommunication. Whatever it was, it unnerved me. 

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were considering a partner?” James appeared angry. 

 

“I started thinking about it before we met.  Or at least before we became friends.”

 

“But we always talk about business.  Every day.  Incessantly.”

 

“We always talk about everything.”

 

“It’s not like I asked you about a random guy you are dating or something superficial like that.  This is business.  We talk business.  And this is a major endeavor you’re considering.”

 

“It is.”

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he sighed.  “I just thought we were friends.  Real friends.”

 

“We are real friends.  We’re great friends.”

 

“Not as great as I thought.”

 

“Come on.  That’s not fair,” I pleaded with him.  “I’m sure there are things you don’t tell me.”

 

“I tell you everything,” he took a sip of his iced tea.  “I thought you did too.”

 

“I do tell you everything.  Or at least more than I tell anyone else,” I added.

 

“Obviously not,” he threw cash on the table and stood.

 

“James,” I looked him in the eye.  “Come on.  Don’t leave.”

 

“I’ll call you later,” he left and didn’t turn back.

 

“Crap,” I said to myself.  I didn’t need a distraction from the Trial, but fixing whatever had happened with James took over my thoughts.  I had actually scheduled several distractions for the weekend ahead, but nothing important; nothing I needed as much as my friendship with James.

 

I had promised Elijah, Annabelle and Austin my presence at a one-day event on the outskirts of the City.  It was scheduled to begin on Saturday morning at 10:00 a.m. and I had mapped out several classes I wanted to take; classes I was actually excited to take.  One was a version of yoga that included some dance moves and was set to music that worked better for Zouk or Kizomba, definitely not the typically soothing, meditative, boring music of any yoga class I’d attended.  But I decided to skip the planned classes in favor of Bennett’s bootcamp, where I was hoping to find James.  I couldn’t exactly understand how I had somehow impaired our relationship by not fessing up to my business plans.  It didn’t seem as serious as James had made it, and I assumed I’d be able to easily reconcile the situation inside of Bennett’s ten minute warm-up.

 

“He’s not coming,” Bennett informed me when he caught me looking around.  I didn’t respond to Bennett’s comment but noticed my face in the mirror appeared beyond sad. 

 

I was distracted during the three hours and Bennett inquired if something more was going on than James just not having chosen to participate that Saturday.

 

“Just tired,” I responded, not wanting to include Bennett in whatever was happening between James and me.

 

The bootcamp left me exhausted but since James still hadn’t called nor responded to my messages, I needed further distraction.  Without really thinking about it, I made the twenty minute commute to the event I’d promised to attend with Elijah, Austin and Annabelle, not wanting to disappoint any more of my friends.   After paying a cover, I entered a warehouse and proceeded up a flight of stairs and into a loft type portion of the building.  Entering the interesting space, class had already begun and I looked around for my friends before I noticed Mari across the room.  She motioned for me to join her and offered a hug when I approached.  Her embrace seemed to soothe me a bit and despite our newish acquaintanceship, even she could tell I was a bit off when I didn’t immediately release her grasp.  After expressing my desire not to talk about it, Mari showed me a few moves I’d missed from the start of the class.  It was a Bachata partnership class and I was a bit disappointed that I was stuck in a new genre I’d never studied or practiced, when all I needed or wanted was an escape through Zouk or Kizomba.  I wanted to get lost in the music, the steps and the random partners.  I wasn’t in the best mood to learn something new. 

 

“Who’s that?” I asked Mari of a gentleman she chatted with during a break. 

 

“Lionel,” she responded.  “He’s amazing.”

 

“Yeah.  I know,” I practically stared the man down.  “I’ve seen him at events.”

 

“Interesting,” Mari smiled.  “A crush?”

 

I chuckled and responded, “no.  Not a crush.  Just a challenge.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

 

“I saw him dancing at the first social I ever attended.  I told myself that one day I’d dance with him and when I did, I’d be good enough to follow him.”

 

“You’re good enough to follow him,” she offered.

 

“Not yet, I’m not,” I relayed.

 

“Yes, you are.  Maybe tonight’s the night,” she smiled, still actively trying to improve my mood.

 

“We’ll see,” I shrugged.  I wasn’t feeling myself and the drama with James was interfering with any version of a confident demeanor. 

 

I fielded several messages from Pierre throughout the classes.  He had helpful thoughts based upon his weekend work thus far, and I let him know that I planned to do my part the next day.  Even though he never questioned my work ethic, I felt the need to assure him or reassure him that he could count on me.  Honestly, I just didn’t want to disappoint yet another important person in my life; not inside of a week. 

 

Checking my phone for a response from James to the message I’d sent him hours before, I was saddened by the lack of response.  But a group text from Jerome and Elliott peaked my interest. 

 

“North Carolina at the end of this month,” Jerome offered.

 

“I’ll try,” I responded.

 

“And New Jersey after that,” Elliott chimed in about the events they planned to attend that they believed were within reasonable driving distance for me.

 

“Sounds good,” I responded without confirming my attendance at either event. 

 

I placed my phone in my bag as Elijah walked towards me and offered a hug.  “Hey.  I was hoping you’d be here.”

 

“Hey,” I smiled as my arms wrapped around him. 

 

“When did you get here?”

 

“An hour or so ago,” I responded.

 

“What are you doing now?” Elijah asked.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You hungry?” he inquired.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Let’s go,” he grabbed my hand and practically pulled me down the stairs and out of the front entrance of the warehouse.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“I’ve got a good spot down the block,” Elijah suggested.

 

“Okay.”

 

Elijah’s mood during our meal brightened mine.  That is, until Austin showed up and joined us.  When Austin excused himself to take a phone call, Elijah leaned in and asked, “are you dating that guy?”

 

“Austin?” I chuckled.  “No.”  Noticing Elijah didn’t seem relieved, I added.  “He’s dating her.”  I turned my gaze towards Annabelle who had entered the restaurant and was looking around.  I motioned for her to join us.   As she approached, I informed her, “Austin is over there.”  I pointed to the back of the restaurant where Austin stood, phone to his ear, apparently in excited conversation. 

 

“That must be his mom,” Annabelle suggested. 

 

I took my phone from my bag to once again check for a response from James.  To my delight, his name lit up the face of my phone.  “What about him?” Elijah inquired, looking at my phone. 

 

I looked down and read James’ message to myself, “lunch Monday?”

 

“Yes,” I responded, then looked back up towards Elijah.  “What?” I asked.

 

“Are you dating your partner in crime?” Elijah inquired.

 

“No,” I shook my head.  “Just planning misdemeanors.”

 

Elijah laughed at my apparent corny legal joke and took my comments as a confirmation of my single status.   The remainder of our meal was filled with pleasant conversation about dance, philosophy and life in general.  It felt like a date, despite the presence of Austin and Annabelle at the table and the random and oddly timed segues they brought to the discussions.  Elijah returned to his happy, jovial self for over an hour before we paid the check and returned to the warehouse just in time for the last few performances. 

 

When the social started, Elijah pulled me onto the dancefloor for the first dance and at the time, only a few fellow dancers permeated the small space.  Salsa music was booming in the large room down the hall, drowning out the elegant music where we danced, but I had once again found my peace inside the small Zouk and Kizomba filled space.  Elijah suggested that I check out the attire being sold by a random dancer in the hallway and I agreed to window shop. 

 

“This is interesting,” I held a full body suit out from the rack and showed Elijah.

 

“Not that one,” he shook his head.  “This one,” he pulled a hanger off the rack and held it in front of me.

 

“Really?” I asked.

 

“Really,” he nodded.  “Go try it on.”

 

I hesitated, but then took the solid black bodysuit, with zipper from the front of the waist to chest, a little low for my taste, from Elijah and headed into the restroom.  Once on, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror just as Mari entered and exclaimed, “Oh my yes!”

 

“I don’t know,” I frowned.

 

“I do,” she confirmed.  “You have to wear this tonight!”

 

“Tonight?” I queried.

 

“Yes,” she nodded.  Grabbing my hand, she added, “come on.”  I grabbed my bag from a countertop as she pulled me from the restroom and down the hall, then suggested, “pay her.”

 

“Okay,” I smiled handing the saleswoman a credit card.

 

“Oh my-” Elijah started but couldn’t finish. 

 

“Looks good, right?” Mari aimed her question at Elijah with a coy smile.

 

“Wow,” Elijah shook his head.  “You look like a super hero.”

 

“Come on,” I laughed at Elijah.

 

“You do,” Mari agreed.

 

“I get the first dance in that outfit,” Elijah commanded.

 

“But what about your rule?” I suggested.

 

“What rule?” Mari asked.

 

“He only dances with each follow once per night,” I responded.

 

“I made that rule before I saw that outfit,” Elijah smiled.  “Come on.”

 

He took my hand and lead me back onto the dancefloor.  Adorned in my apparent super hero garb, I felt different.  I felt fearless.  Elijah’s lead had changed a bit to match the attire.  His typically comedic and energetic antics had turned a bit sultry and I didn’t know if I liked this side of him.

 

“Thank you, lady,” he offered when our dance concluded.

 

“My pleasure,” I responded and headed to the side of the room to hydrate.

 

“Dance?” a man’s hand was suddenly aimed in my direction.

 

I took a sip from my water bottle and responded, “sure.”

 

I hadn’t seen the man before but within moments, I knew he knew how to dance.  He was better at Kizomba than most of my recent leads, Zeke and Elliott included, but was just as patient as Zeke and just as passionate as Elliott. 

 

After three songs, he inquired, “do you Salsa?”

 

“Yes,” I confirmed.

 

“Great.  Come on,” he took my hand and practically pulled me down the hallway into the larger room.

 

Once on the dancefloor, it was clear he was a master of multiple styles.  I lost myself in the dance by halfway through the first song and was only interrupted in my endeavor by Bennett saying, “watch it,” when I nearly ran his follow off the floor.

 

“Sorry,” I cringed before my lead spun me around and positioned me a few feet further from Bennett and his partner. 

 

When the dance ended, he inquired, “what’s your name?”

 

“Parker,” I responded.  “You?”

 

“Derek.”

 

“Thank you for the dances, Derek.”

 

“Thank you, Parker.”

 

I moved to the sidelines and watched as Bennett tore up the dancefloor and Mari seemed to be enjoying a dance with a stellar lead.  As the next song ended, I saw a man walking towards me and my heartrate sped up.  It was the man I had seen at many socials and vowed to one day partner with when I was ready, when my skills had improved, when I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.  His name was Lionel, or so Mari had informed me hours before, and he was asking me to dance. 

 

I honestly didn’t care if I was ready or if my skills were up to par.  Something about my attire that night made me not care what anyone thought, even myself.  I took his hand and excitedly walked onto the dancefloor. 

 

It was better than I had hoped.  He was skilled to be sure, but it was the way he made me feel that made the dance so magical.  It was as if I was the only person in the room, the center of his world, even if only for a few minutes.  He designed his steps to make me feel like the best dancer at the event and smiled as if on cue when his lead manifested in perfect steps beneath us. 

 

It was the only time I ever danced with Lionel.  And it was absolutely worth the wait. 

 

Pleased with the positive distractions of the day, but even more so by the fact that James was no longer avoiding me, I looked at the new body suit once more in the mirror just outside the closet of my bedroom, before tossing it in a pile of laundry, showering and readying myself for sleep.

 

Checking my phone before resting my head on a pillow, I noticed a message from Elliott, without Jerome this time.  He was pleading with me to attend the next event in North Carolina.

 

“I’ll try,” was my response as I placed my phone on the nightstand and got comfortable.

 

“Parker?  You still there?” he messaged.

 

“Yeah,” I responded.

 

“I really want to dance with you again.”

 

I blushed and tried to think of an appropriate response.  Was he flirting or just being nice?  I couldn’t really tell, so I went with, “I’m just glad our second dance was better than the first or you wouldn’t be saying that.”

 

“Second chances are better than first impressions.” Geez he was good at this.  It was a good line and I decided to remember it for later use. 

 

Fine.  I’ll bite.  “I really want to dance with you again too.”

 

He responded with a blushing, smiley face emoji and then I was sure he was flirting.  I set my phone back on the nightstand, but heard another faint vibration.  “That’s how it happens,” his message read.

 

“How what happens?” I inquired. 

 

“Atonement.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry.  Autocorrect.  Stupid phone.”  I didn’t respond, just waited for him to correct what his phone had unilaterally thought needed correction.  “At one moment,” he wrote.

 

“What?” I was still confused. 

 

“That’s how quickly it can all change.”

 

“How quickly what can change?” I wrote and then deleted the message before sending, perhaps because I was enjoying the mystery of it.  “I’ll really try,” I typed and sent to Elliott.

 

“What?”

 

“North Carolina,” I wrote and ended the discussion as my eyes closed-up shop for the evening. 

 

Sunday flew by with Trial preparations and check-ins with Pierre in advance of our client meeting on Monday afternoon.  Monday morning, I checked my watch and phone at least thirty times, excited to join James for lunch.  I was set to leave fifteen minutes early to start my walk to meet him at the Café, but an unexpected call delayed me a bit. 

 

When I arrived at our table outside, James was already seated and our meals had arrived. 

 

“I thought you were gonna stand me up,” he suggested after standing as I approached.

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” I confirmed taking a seat.  “Court called.  Sorry I’m late.”

 

“No worries,” he waited for me to grab my fork and then picked up his own for a bite. 

 

“How’s your day going?” I inquired before enjoying a forkful of food.

 

He dropped his fork suddenly on the plate in front of him and the sound of metal on porcelain startled me.  He leaned forward towards me, “listen.  I want to apologize.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Just let me-” he sighed.

 

“Okay,” I placed my fork on the plate before me, folded my hands in my lap and sat back.

 

“We’ve become close friends pretty quickly.  I know we don’t tell each other everything, but I was pretty shocked that you were considering something as big as a partnership without mentioning it to me.”  He paused for a moment, then continued, “But I wasn’t completely honest with you either.” 

 

“Okay,” I commented.

 

“I’ve been talking to someone too,” he offered.  “About a partnership.”

 

“Really,” I smiled.

 

“Yep.  I’m a hypocrite.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“Yeah, I am.  I got all angry at you when I was doing the same thing.  And I didn’t tell you about it either.”

 

“So,” was my only comment.  I still felt a bit uneasy and still wasn’t sure why he reacted the way he did if he too was holding back information.

 

He sat back in his chair and I could tell he was contemplating his next words.  “So, I was thinking, I was kind of hoping, I was wondering,” he was searching for words.

 

“What’s wrong?” I attempted to ease his dis-ease.

 

“I thought maybe we’d be the ones to partner up,” he confessed.

 

“Oh,” was my only response.  “I didn’t-”

 

“I know.  You didn’t even consider it,” he looked sad.

 

“It’s not that.  I just, I didn’t know you were thinking about it.”

 

“Well, I was.  I am.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay, what?”

 

“Just okay.”

 

“Does that mean you’ll think about it?”

 

“I will now.”

 

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then he took a few bites of his meal.  Finally, he added, “I just think we could be great together.  Our firms, joining forces; we would be great together.”

 

I smiled, but didn’t respond immediately.  Instead, I laughed a little to myself. 

 

“What?” he inquired.

 

“It’s just funny, you know.”

 

“What’s funny?”

 

“I don’t know.  It just seems like we’re both those kids at the prom with too many dates.  You know, too many options.  Just trying to figure out who we should dance with.”

 

James rolled his eyes.

 

After a few moments of silence, I offered, “still want me to think about it?”

 

James made a face.

 

“I guess your other partner option must be looking really good to you right now,” I suggested.

 

“Nah.  I get you.  You’re weird, but I get you.”

 

Elliott was right.  Things really can change that quickly.  A little communication.  A little understanding.  A little forgiveness.  And it can happen at one moment. 

 

                                                                                                                               Atonement. 

 

Better than the balance James brought into my life, or the feeling of balance that my forgiveness of Elliott’s first impression brought into our second dance, the profits of my shared experiences were only achieved with counter-balance; my willingness to accept all that not only those two leads, but all of leads and follows had offered to me.  I just had to open myself up to respond in kind.  Elijah had prophesied that the law would hinder my dance.  But I discovered that my lessons learned in friendship and dance actually changed the way I practiced law. 

 

In the cases that followed, I noticed that balance, counter-balance and connection impacted my responsiveness in Court proceedings.  My time in dance impacted the way I presented arguments, my style of persuasion, and even my reaction to the typically boring Q&A of a witness examination.  It all made for more heightened awareness, quick and decisive responsiveness and a general feeling of mastery in any number of exciting ways on phone calls, in conference rooms and in the many courtrooms I frequented.  None more so than in the Trial that Pierre and I had prepared for in the way law students prepare for final exams, or more accurately, the Bar Exam itself.  

 

The week before our Trial forced Pierre and I together in preparation for an average of fifteen hours per day.  My only break was on Wednesday for Natalie’s class.  I had already missed the first class and had agreed to show up early to meet with her teaching assistant to catch up on all that I had missed. 

 

As usual, I arrived fifteen minutes early, and expected the studio to be dark and unoccupied.  For the first time ever in my dancing experience, the person I was scheduled to meet beat me to the appointment.  Upon opening the door and entering the studio, I recognized my would-be instructor. 

 

“Hey,” he walked towards me, “I didn’t know you were the student I’d be helping.”

 

“Derek,” I smiled.  “Nice to see you again.”

 

“This will be easy for you based upon what I saw last weekend,” he suggested of our many dances on Saturday evening, first in the Zouk and Kizomba room and then in the grander Salsa space.

 

“Great,” I responded and changed my shoes.  “Let’s get started.”

 

He instructed first on basic steps, several versions at various tempos, utilizing the music he had cued up to provide us with practice tunes.  He added spins and a few sequences before he approached me to practice as partners.  It didn’t feel like instruction.  It was like warming up with a friend and by the time other students arrived, I realized that Derek had taught me the lessons for not only the first session, but the next three sessions as well. I was now ahead of the class and perhaps, a bit of teacher’s assistant’s pet. 

 

Natalie arrived about twenty minutes after the class was scheduled to start and we used her tardiness to dance amongst ourselves, trying out several partners from the selection of about twenty students in the class.  Derek used me as his partner to show the other students a few sequences and tricks before Natalie took over and began the actual class. 

 

Derek suggested to Natalie and she agreed to move me into an intermediate class for the remainder of my four sessions.  That class met an hour later on Wednesdays and afterwards students from all classes stuck around for an hour or so of social dancing and more practice.  That first Wednesday, having spent thirty minutes with Derek, I then spent two hours in class, first Beginner then Intermediate, and remained on site for another hour plus of social dancing with Derek, Natalie and several new acquaintances. 

 

Before I left that night, Derek asked for my phone and attempted to save his information in my contacts.  Noticing that there were already multiple ‘Dereks’ as contacts, mostly opposing counsel, he decided to make his stand out.  Handing the phone back to me, I viewed the information and asked, “Lieutenant Commander?”
 

“Yep.  Navy,” he responded.

 

“That’s why you were early,” I offered. 

 

“Hmm?” he inquired. 

 

“Nothing.  Thank you for your service, Sailor.”

 

“Thank you for the dances, Parker.”

 

My elevation to the Intermediate class and the later start time for future Wednesday classes would prove helpful since the next week, I would be coming out of Trial and traveling an hour North during rush hour traffic from one of my favorite courthouses in Southern Maryland.  

 

The four days of Trial included many surprises, but Pierre and I handled each and every issue like pros.  We worked well together.  And each evening, during my long commute back to the office, or home, James would call and ask about the Trial and how Pierre and I were working out.  I’d inevitably confirm James’ fears that I was enjoying co-counseling with my law school buddy and would-be future partner and despite his thoughts about the partners in crime becoming actual partners, James seemed genuinely happy for my success with Pierre.

 

Pierre and I had spent many hours with our client in preparation, but it was the three hours with him the night before the Trial began that proved most challenging.  We’d received a settlement proposal from the opposing counsel and had formulated an appropriate response.  Unfortunately, our client wouldn’t approve the terms.  We discussed with him the likely outcome at Trial, understanding and stating matter-of-factly that we could never truly predict what our Judge would ultimately decide, but believing, rightly so, that based upon our knowledge and experience, we had a good idea of the likely result.  Our client, having not followed our settlement advice, left our office in a huff. 

 

Upon his exit, Pierre and I decided to jot down on a sheet of legal pad paper our recommendation to the client regarding settlement, which we also sent by way of formal letter to our client’s email that evening.  Before leaving the office, I placed the sheet of paper in my briefcase and Pierre and I agreed not to pull it out again until the case had concluded.  We ended up doing this same version of a strategic and educational guessing game during each of our future Trials together. 

 

We won and lost that Trial, but the decision was accurate.  That Judge we both admired got it right on every issue.  She saw through the courtroom antics, accurately assessed the credibility of the witnesses, seemed to enjoy a few of each attorney’s clever examination techniques and commended all counsel on preparation, professionalism and zealous advocacy.  Neither party got what they wanted, which is a typical result since most parties are asking for more than the facts and circumstances warrant. 

 

My favorite hour across the nearly week-long Trial was when the Judge randomly took over my cross-examination of an expert witness, believing the witness was either incompetent or perhaps irrelevant to the proceedings.

 

“Ma’am, you’ve never met my client, have you?” was my first question.

 

“No,” she responded.

 

“Wait a minute,” the Judge interrupted before my second question.  “Excuse me, counsel.”  Turning to the witness to her right, she inquired, “you’ve never met the children’s father?”

 

“No, Your Honor.”

 

“Then why are you here?” the Judge seemed exasperated.

 

“I was asked to come today,” she responded uneasily.

 

“Were you served with a Subpoena?” the Judge continued her questioning.

 

“No.”

 

“You came voluntarily?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who asked you to come?”

 

“Mom’s attorney,” she looked at the counsel at the table to my right.

 

“And how many times have you spoken with Mom’s attorney?”

 

“May I look at my notes?”

 

“Sure,” the Judge rocked in her chair.

 

“Twelve, twelve times.”

 

“Okay.  And have you spoken with Dad’s attorney?”

 

“No.”

 

“And you haven’t spoken with Dad?”

 

“No.”

 

“How many times have you spoken with Mom?”

 

“I spoke with her after each appointment.”

 

“Who attended these appointments?”

 

“Mom and the kids.”

 

“And how many appointments did you have with Mom and the kids?”

 

“Twenty-two.”

 

“Is there are history of domestic violence between the parents?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is there a history of abuse of any of the children?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why wasn’t Dad invited to attend the appointments?”

 

“I understood that Mom was my client.”

 

“And why were the kids attending appointments if Mom was your client?”

 

“Because it was family therapy.”

 

“Family therapy without the children’s father?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you please provide me with a definition of family therapy?”

 

“Umm,” the witness seemed nervous.

 

“Never-mind,” the Judge rolled her eyes and paused for a few moments.  Then she started up again.  “Did you ever suggest that Dad attend?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because when Dad found out that Mom and the kids were attending family therapy, he emailed me five times in four weeks.”

 

“When Dad found out?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Shouldn’t a parent know when his kids are in therapy?”

 

“It was my understanding that we were trying to help Mom and the kids during litigation and in preparation for the Trial.”

 

“So, you weren’t really a therapist, then.  You were a hired gun for Mom?”

 

Opposing counsel stood but with a sharp look from the Judge that could only mean ‘sit down,’ he sat back down and remained silent. 

 

“I guess I know the answer to that question, so let’s try another.  Were Dad’s emails to you in any way inappropriate?”

 

“No.”

 

“Threatening?”

 

“No.  They were just really long.”

 

“How long?”

 

“Two to three pages.”

 

“Okay.  Did you respond to his emails?”

 

“One of them.”

 

“And how did you respond to one of Dad’s emails?”

 

“I asked him to cease and desist.”

 

“You asked him to stop communicating with his kids’ therapist?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you want Dad communicating with you about the kids if you were seeing his kids in therapy?”

 

“Mom asked me not to.”

 

“Mom asked you not to communicate with Dad about the children’s therapy?”

 

 “Yes.”

 

“What is your understanding of why you were being called to testify today?”

 

“To express an expert opinion about the children’s best interests.”

 

“Without meeting with, speaking with, or even communicating with the children’s father?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Have you testified as an expert before?”

 

“This is my first time.”

 

“No, it is not.  You are excused.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You are not even remotely helpful to this Court today.  I’m not going to let someone who hasn’t investigated, let alone even met one of the parents, testify about these children.  You have no basis for an expert opinion in this case and I’m not going to waste the Court’s time and the parents’ money on this.”

 

“But I was already paid for my time today.”

 

“Well, that’ll be Mom’s loss, I’m afraid,” she stood and repeated, “you are excused.”  Turning towards counsel, she inquired, “I’m sorry, counsel, did anyone have any additional questions.”

 

“No, Your Honor,” I responded and remained standing.

 

“Did you want to make a Motion, counsel?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor.  Thank you.  I move to strike the witness’ testimony in its entirety.”

 

“Granted,” she ruled without even asking for a response from opposing counsel.

 

“Your Honor,” our opposing counsel began and then thought better of it when the Judge looked in his direction.  “Nothing, Your Honor.”

 

“Let’s take a brief recess,” she looked at the Clerk and then exited into her Chambers through a door to the left of her bench. 

 

My second favorite part of the Trial was when Pierre and I sat in my car in the parking lot a block from the courthouse and drafted, vetted and practiced our Closing Argument during our lunch break while enjoying the air-conditioning in lieu of the excessive heat outside the courthouse that day.  By mutual agreement, and since we both noticed the way the Judge responded to Pierre’s style and charm, we opted for him to give our final arguments to the Judge about the kids, while I’d take the lead on the financials.  Together we edged out our opposing counsel and knew we’d made an impression when the Judge interrupted us asking us to repeat certain comments about evidence and calculations.  We’d later find our words repeated back to us in her final written ruling and Order, the greatest compliment an attorney can receive.   

 

We were enjoying a cocktail and debriefing as only attorneys can truly do after a Trial, when I pulled out the sheet of paper with our settlement terms written five days prior.  Pierre and I toasted the fact that we had nailed the Judge’s decision precisely on each and every issue.  I think we both felt the possibilities of a partnership grow stronger after our dedicated weeks together in preparation and performance. 

 

I was reminded of my discussion with James and felt a slight tug in a different direction, but decided to worry about the idea of multiple options another day. 

 

Her name lit up my phone and I offered an “excuse me” to Pierre before answering the call.

 

“Natalie, what’s up?” I answered. 

 

“I’m stuck and need your help,” she relayed.

 

“You need a lawyer?” I asked.

 

“A dancer,” she responded with a chuckle.  “I put a group together to perform tomorrow night at a small event in Bethesda.  I choreographed the routine and I know you can pick it up quickly.  Derek agrees.  He said you picked up the steps with him faster than anyone he’s ever seen.”

 

“Okay,” I offered.

 

“Would you be able to meet me tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. at the studio?” she inquired.

 

“And learn a routine to perform tomorrow night?” Pierre was looking at me puzzled as I chatted with Natalie.

 

“Yes.  I have a partner for you.  He’s nice and he can lead you well through the routine.”

 

“Okay.  I’ll be there,” I confirmed.

 

“Great.  Thank you.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” she concluded our call.

 

“Other life calling?” Pierre asked.

 

“Something like that,” I responded before taking a sip of my cocktail.

 

Time to meet the Brit.