Part 6 (1/2)
”To match her fingernails,” Christopher explained.
Miller and Sinclair rolled their eyes and spoke in unison, ”Duh!”
Reynolds s.h.i.+fted his attention to Miller, but his son interrupted. ”Dad,” Christopher asked, ”can I get my ear pierced?”
”Not on purpose,” responded Reynolds.
”Dad!” protested Christopher. ”I'm serious.”
”You want serious?” asked his father. ”Here's serious. Absolutely not.”
”Not both of them! Only one,” explained his son.
”Not one. Not two. Not ever.” Reynolds reached for some chicken, selecting a breast and a drumstick.
”But I wanna wear an earring!” Christopher pleaded.
”Wear clip-ons,” Reynolds countered calmly, and then suddenly froze. ”Forget what I just said about the clip-ons. No earrings of any kind anyplace on your body, do you understand?”
”Oh, man!” Christopher's shoulders hunched upward, then settled back into place.
”Mr. Miller has pierced ears,” Angela observed.
Reynolds took a biscuit and b.u.t.tered it. ”Mr. Miller also has a long ponytail, but I don't hear either one of you asking for one of those.”
Miller reached for his braid of hair and placed it forward over his shoulder, patting it defensively.
”I think you have lovely hair, Todd.” Cheryl touched Miller on the hand. ”It gives you a mark of distinction.”
”Then can I grow my hair like that, Mommy?” Christopher offered in compromise.
”Not in this or any other lifetime,” his mother said unequivocally, then smiled politely at Miller.
Christopher reached behind his head and tried to manipulate his very short hair into some form of ponytail.
The rest of the meal went along smoothly, which meant that the diners barely avoided confrontations involving politics, religion, and most especially the criminal justice system. Sinclair tried to be civil. Miller tested, taunted, and complained. Reynolds, while showing his friend due respect, at the same time tried to tell Miller how much he'd changed.
”I remember when no one in my office wanted to go up against you,” Reynolds said with a mix of nostalgia and regret.
”That's when I had righteousness on my side.” Miller looked at Sinclair. ”I wanted to save the world. Well, maybe not the world-the South. That's no small accomplishment.” He put two spoonfuls of sugar in his cup, stirred the coffee, and sighed. ”Life was so much more gratifying when my clients were victims instead of victimizers.”
Sinclair touched a cloth napkin to her lips and commented to Cheryl, ”Well, I can't tell you when I've had such a pleasant time.”
”I hope you have greater credibility with a jury,” Miller said, mildly amused.
”I was being courteous.” Sinclair put down the napkin near the side of her plate. ”But if I have to answer under threat of contempt of court, I got tired of your self-serving, melodramatic whining about an hour ago. If you didn't feel so sorry for yourself, maybe your clients might have a better chance.” She turned toward Cheryl and smiled graciously. ”It was a lovely dinner; thanks so much for inviting me.”
”If I knew you were going to be insulting,” Miller said seductively, ”I might have warmed up to you a lot earlier.”
”Good night, Todd,” Cheryl stated with finality.
”Am I leaving?” he asked.
She nodded yes.
”Oh, well,” he said, then mockingly imitated Sinclair. ”It was a lovely dinner; thanks so much for inviting me.” He looked at Sinclair and gave her a killer smile.
Reynolds retrieved Miller's jacket and helped him with it. Miller gave Cheryl a good-bye hug, kissed Angela on the forehead, and squeezed Christopher's cheeks. ”Don't give up on that earring.” He took Christopher to the side. ”If you need a good lawyer to sue your father, I'm your man.” He took Sinclair's hand. ”And that's ditto to you.” He kissed the back of her hand and gave a gentleman's bow, which allowed Cheryl to pinch his behind.
He looked at Reynolds. ”I think your wife has a thing for me,” he said lasciviously.
”We all do,” replied Reynolds. ”It's called a headache.” He opened the front door. ”I'll push your car,” Reynolds whispered loud enough for everyone to hear him. ”No need for you to suffer any further embarra.s.sment.”
”Thank you,” Miller said sarcastically. ”Particularly for the discreet manner in which you handled my humiliating circ.u.mstance.” The two of them walked outside. ”While we're on the subject of humiliation,” Miller continued, ”why don't you arrange one of our little Sunday night card games.”
”I can do that. Let's shoot for next week. I'll check everyone's schedule.”
Miller reached his car and pried open the door. ”I sort of miss that baby doctor blowin' cigar smoke around the table just before he cheats.” He wedged himself into the driver's seat and started pumping the accelerator.
”You need to get a life,” Reynolds suggested.
”I've already had one; trust me, life's greatly overrated.”
”Lauren was right: Wallowing in self-pity gets old real fast.” Reynolds placed the weight of his body against the driver's door to help Miller close it.
Miller rolled down his window until it stuck. ”She never said, *wallowing in self-pity.' Her exact words were *self-serving, melodramatic whining.'” He turned the ignition, and the car sputtered. ”If you're gonna agree with her, have the decency to quote her accurately.” Miller playfully nudged Reynolds. ”Did you see that certain sparkle in her eyes when I walked by her? I think she wants me. . . . She's probably gonna follow me home.”
”If she does, call the police.”
”I don't trust the police. They're in bed with the DA's office.” The car backfired, then started. ”Speaking of bed, if she asks for my number, give it to her.”
”The woman holds you in contempt.”
”Being held is not a problem.” Miller poked his face out the window. ”It's the letting go that hurts.” Miller drove off, with the damaged-m.u.f.fler sound increasing appreciably as the car gained speed.
Reynolds headed toward his house as Sinclair left it. They walked to her car.
”Your friend's obnoxious in a charming sort of way.” She unlocked her car door.
”He used to give the most powerful and eloquent closing arguments I'd ever heard,” he said sadly.
”What happened?”
”Same thing that happens to all of us: It became a job, not a calling.”