Part 15 (2/2)

”Oh, really?” I jumped, turning to see Monica walking into the office with her briefcase. She had a brow quirked, and a grin on her face. ”Don't listen to a word he says, Emily. He's usually full of it, anyway.”

”Am not.” He said, his hand on his hip with an incredulous look on his handsome face.

”Jack, I need you to pull the Reed case, please?” Monica didn't wait for an answer. As she breezed by his desk, she dropped a white bag, which made Jack's blue eyes widen, and headed off into her office. I stayed where I was, not sure what I was supposed to do. Jack jerked toward Monica's office, then back to me. Getting it, I followed.

Monica waited for me at her door, holding it open for me, then closing is behind her. I stood in the center of the room, waiting for her to tell me what I was supposed to do. She walked over to her desk, her black suit well-fitted, high heels sinking into the thick carpet.

”Jack is a pain in the a.s.s, but I'd be lost without him.” She finally said, plopping down into her chair. I sat in the chair I had been in the day before during my interview. She ran her fingers through short, dark hair, and sighed. ”Okay, well did he give you a basic tour of the place?” she asked, sitting forward in her chair with her fingers steeped again.

”Yes. He showed me the file room-”

”Ah, yes. Where he goes through and reads the cases and pretends that I don't know?” I stared at her, not sure is she were joking or not. She cracked the slightest bit of a smile, giving me permission to share in the joke.

”Exactly. He showed me how the front is ran.”

”Good. Okay.” She opened her briefcase and removed her reading gla.s.ses and a pen, and a stack of folders, then placed it on the floor under her desk. ”Here's the deal,”

Monica went on to explain that she was working on a case for a Mrs. Rhoda Mills. Mills was suing her husband for domestic violence, and also to get a restraining order against him for herself and their eleven year old daughter, citing suspicion of s.e.xual abuse. I listened, transfixed, as my new boss outlined what she had already done in the case, and what still needed to be done in order to go to court in two weeks. We would have a lot of research still to do.

”How good are you at research?” she asked. I looked up from the case I had been reading.

”Really good at it.” She nodded and smiled.

”Excellent. You'll be doing a lot of it here. By time you go off to college you'll either love it or hate it.”

I decided to take the long way, driving through the park, watching families as they laughed and played together. The smells of hamburgers and hot dogs on the grills wafted through the open windows of the rental car. I smiled as I watched children chase each other, or the volleyball nets that had been set up. I braked as I saw a big red ball roll out into the narrow lane of the park road. A man waved as he hurried in front of the car to grab it, then ran back onto the gra.s.s to lecture a careless child of the dangers. It seemed as if all was well in the world.

”Where the h.e.l.l is my wife!” a man's voice screamed out. I glanced up from my work to look at Monica with questioning eyes. She had already been pulling her reading gla.s.ses off her nose, and glancing at the closed door.

”Sir, you need to calm down.”

”Get your G.o.dd.a.m.n hands off me! Rhoda! Rhoda, where the f.u.c.k are you?” the voice was getting closer to us in the office, and the sound of the file room door banging open made me jump. Monica sighed deeply, and stood from her desk, her face like stone. A moment later her office door swung open. In the doorway stood a large man with a hanging belly, and greasy baseball cap over graying hair. His face was red from the his upset, his eyes like those of a shrew. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping on me for a moment, before roaming over to Monica. ”Which one a you is that Nivens b.i.t.c.h?” he asked, the stench of his breath reaching to me, whiskey prevalent enough to make me feel sick.

”Sir, you have no right to be in here.” Monica said, her voice even, and calm. I had no clue how she was keeping herself together. My knees were beginning to knock. He glared at her.

”Where's my wife?” the man growled.

”I'm not your wife's babysitter, sir. I am her attorney.” He bared crooked, stained teeth, taking a step forward. Monica did not move an inch, crossed her arms over her chest. ”You must know this behavior will not help your case any.” She pointed out. He stopped, looked slightly confused, but then the anger returned to his face. ”Jack, call the police for Mr. Mills.” She said, raising her voice enough for Jack to hear, never losing eye contact with the man. Ronald Mills understanding the implications of his being there. He took a step out of the office.

”You tell that b.i.t.c.h Rhoda that she will never take Carrie away from me.” He growled, taking another step back.

”You can tell her yourself in court. Good day, sir.” Mills stared at her for a moment before with a breath of disgust, walked out of the office. I glanced over at my boss, my eyes as big as saucers. Monica turned away from the door, her fingers at her temples. I could tell she was shaken up, and was trying to get herself under control.

”You were brilliant.” I finally breathed. Monica chuckled ruefully.

”That is one thing they don't teach you in law school. How to deal with irate husbands. I really thought he was going to pull a gun, or something.” She turned toward me, perching on the edge of her desk, her hands still slightly shaking.

”Well, you were great. I can't believe you were able to talk him down like that.” My admiration had grown by leaps and bounds. Monica glanced down at her watch, then clapped her hands together.

”Well, I don't know about you, but I could use a break.” She smiled at me, and I returned it eagerly. ”What do you say to some lunch?”

Jack had other lunch plans, so we found ourselves out in the historic district of Pueblo on B Street, sitting at an outside cafe. I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it back away from my face. It was a hot day, and days like that I understood the inclination to chop the hair. I looked across the small, round table at my boss. She picked at her salad, taking a bite now and then. I stared down at my own plate, the cheeseburger and fries long gone.

”Are you okay?” I asked. Monica glanced up at me, and nodded.

”Yeah. That just shook me up.” She set her fork down, and sat back in the wrought iron chair. ”You know, I try and do so much for this community. When I finished my four years of college, then headed into law school, I had the typical idealism of youth and being naive.” She took a drink from her ice water. ”I really thought I could make a difference, you know?”

”But you do.” I said. She chuckled quietly.

”Oh, Emily. I look at you, and I see myself all over again.”

”Do you regret it? Going into law?” I stirred my straw around my c.o.ke before taking a sip. Monica was quiet for a moment as she thought of her answer. Then with a sigh she shook her head.

”No. I don't.”

We talked for another hour, and she told me all about law school, and what I had too look forward to after my pre-law degree. I ate up every word, excitement soaring through me. I wanted to move on with my life, get away from the life of my childhood. What my age couldn't tell me then was that those would be some of the best years, the years that I would return to in my mind.

I pulled the Camry to a stop at a stop light, and tapped the wheel with my fingers as I waited for it to turn green. A large part of me was glad to be back home, though it would have been better under different circ.u.mstances, obviously. I shook my head as I realized that my twenty year cla.s.s reunion was coming up in a few years. I never went to my ten year. At the time, it seemed pointless. Now, I wasn't so sure.

I realized as I began to drive again, that I had through my arrogance, thought that nothing pre-New York mattered. When in retrospect, everything pre-New York had shaped me into the woman I had become. I think now and then we all need a good lesson like that, as painful as it may be at the time.

As the weeks went by I realized just how much research Monica had been talking about that first day. Was she ever wrong. There was not just a lot of research, there was a ton of it. I did not mind after while, after I got pa.s.sed the overwhelmed feeling, that is. I found out that during law school I would have to have some time in as an intern, and this could take up some of that slack. I was thrilled. Monica was the most amazing person to work for, She was tough, but extremely fair and very generous. And, to my surprise, was a lot of fun.

I stared up at the dark ceiling of my bedroom, tired from another long night of depositions. After we'd left the office, Monica and I had headed to her small house over on Park. We set up the Burger King we'd bought on the carpet, and went to work, trying to find every angle of the case we'd need. She went over every point line for line with me so I would understand the ins and outs. I was impressed with Monica's extensive knowledge, and the way her mind worked. She had already told me that I could go to court with her the following Thursday so I could see how this case, that I had worked so hard on, was fought. It was a simple custody case, but nonetheless, I was buzzing with excitement and antic.i.p.ation. My first real case to witness, and I would get to sit at the table with Monica and her client as her a.s.sistant. She had told me that after the trial, she had a surprise for me.

I glanced out my window as a car pa.s.sed outside, the headlights s.h.i.+ning across the ceiling like an apparition. I hugged my trusty teddy, Ruffles to my chest as my gaze landed on the overhead light. I thought about my new boss. I wondered if she was married, which I doubted, or had a boyfriend. I had sort of brought it up one day, and she had made pretty plain that the subject was off limits. I wondered why? Was it too painful to discuss? Had she been through a really terrible break-up? I grinned as I realized I sounded like one of Beth's stories. Beth. It had been so long since I'd seen her. I'd heard through the grapevine of the neighborhood that she'd gotten some job, though what, I had no idea, and was doing the community theater. That part I did not doubt at all. I hoped she was happy. Beth deserved a bit of happiness after such an unhappy childhood.

That old saying, don't know what you've got until it's gone, really made sense to me that night. I realized just how much I had taken Beth for granted, thinking that she'd always be there. But wasn't that what she had always said? I would be nineteen in a few days, and Beth would soon follow in October. We were growing up.

I sat at the table, digging anything out what Monica asked for. She was brilliant, pleading her case to show why Laura Martinez should have custody of her daughter, and not the father, Jose Sanchez. I watched the judge, and the jurors to see how they responded to her. They watched with interest, and sometimes out and out awe. This was definitely what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing, and where I wanted to be. Monica Nivens was a sight to behold. My eyes trailed over her well cut suit, the way the gray, pin-stripped skirt clung to her hips, the jacket dipping in at the waist, then flaring out at the shoulders and bust. She wore a silk blouse underneath, and a simple silver chain around her neck to match the small, silver hoops in her ears. I gazed back down to her legs, long, shapely, and ending in sleek, black heels. She was beautiful.

I was shaken from my thoughts by her low voice, asking for her notes. I shook my head to shake myself out of my daze, and handed her the yellow legal pad. She grinned, and turned back to her witness. I tried my best to concentrate on what was going on, but could not help but watch her every move. I mean, I admired and wanted to be like her some day. I should look. Right?

Monica was elated as we walked out of the court room, her client right next to her. They laughed, and talked, and Miss. Martinez thanked her over and over again for helping to get her daughter, Maria back under her roof. Monica was gracious, and kind.

”Please take care of her, Laura.” She said softly, taking the younger woman's hand in hers as we waited for the elevator doors to open. Laura Martinez nodded enthusiastically.

”Of course, of course!” she said in her heavily accented English, then her happiness seemed to fade. She looked down at the floor. ”Miss. Nivens, I talked with my father this morning, and he is not going to be able to get the money.” She looked up at Monica with tear-stained cheeks. ”Will you let me make payments to you?” Monica patted her hand and smiled.

”Tell you what, Laura. You just concentrate on your daughter right now, okay?” the young woman's eyes widened, as did her mouth.

”What are you saying?” she breathed, her dark eyes filled with hope, and disbelief.

”I'm saying, concentrate on you and little Maria.” The small woman gasped, and grabbed Monica in a tight, crus.h.i.+ng hug. Monica smiled, surprised, and hugged the sobbing woman back.

”Oh, thank you, thank you! I pray for you.” Monica slowly pulled away and smiled down at her.

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