Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 5

  The days raced by. Fall passed in a blaze of colors. Winter settled in with winds howling off the Atlantic, making Cambridge seem far colder than the still, icy winters of Lisa's Eastern Washington home.

  And then that beautiful, unbelievable spring.

  But it was also the spring when Jon lied to her. Lisa never discovered the lie until many years later. It was the day she came home early and found him pale and asleep on the couch they opened up at night for their bed.

  “A touch of indigestion,” he said.

  ***

  Lisa recognized Keiko Nishimura's soft knock and called to her to come in. “The bus with some of the jury panel broke down just outside of town,” Keiko announced. “We may not be able to start jury selection until eleven.”

  “Have you informed the attorneys?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes, I have, your Honor.”

  “Fine. Just let me know when everyone's assembled.”

  Somehow, things broke down more often in Hawaii than they did on the Mainland, and repairs always took longer. Living here called for more patience, but it had greater rewards. Jon had probably wanted her to go to Washington DC. It was hard for her to tell. It was hard for Jon to tell, for that matter. He wanted so much to do what she wanted to do, she was sure he could have convinced himself Hawaii had really been his idea.

  She had caught him once, near the tag end of her law school days, reading “The Brethren.” Other books on the Supreme Court showed up in unexpected nooks and crannies of their apartment. But when she spoke about Hawaii, those books vanished.

  She, herself, was never clear as to why she had wanted to come to the Islands to go into practice, but if advancement in her profession had been her goal, she couldn't have chosen a better place. Even though Honolulu was a fast growing metropolis, it still had a small town quality about it. Within the professional groups, reputations traveled fast, and her skills as an attorney were soon recognized.

  Lisa joined a small firm and handled a few criminal cases with ease and dispatch. But her first medical malpractice suit brought out her real talents. Lisa's various courses in biology and her voluminous reading in the field pointed her in that direction. She not only won her first medical malpractice case, a very substantial one, but she found she thoroughly enjoyed the research it involved and the trial scenes that followed. The head of her law firm was delighted, and had reason to be. In large measure because of this young, brilliant attorney, the establishment grew, and fast.

  Offers from other law firms came, sometimes subtly over a luncheon, sometimes directly by letter. She discussed the offers with Jon, and they agreed with the notion, “If it ain't broke, don't fix it.” She was happy with her colleagues, moved rapidly into full partnership, had a hand in hiring additional attorneys—and the flood of requests, which they were receiving from both doctors and patients to represent them, made it possible for her to pick and choose cases.

  Jon and Lisa had long before wrestled with the problem so many lawyers faced sooner or later. “Will you defend someone you know is in the wrong?” Jon asked.

  Lisa's answer was a simple one. “That's what I like about malpractice suits. I know there's no danger a plaintiff with a reasonable case won't be represented. There are plenty of attorneys out there eager to accept any such cases on a contingency basis. And the doctors are all insured, so you can be sure the insurance companies are going to see they get the best defense possible. I'm going to take only those cases where I'm representing the side I think deserves to win.”

  “And I imagine you realize there's an advantage to your client because of that?” Jon asked.

  “Why, of course,” Lisa said with a smile. “I didn't take all those courses in psychology for nothing. If I'm convinced my client's in the right, it's going to make me a much more effective counsel than if I didn't feel that way.”

  The years in Hawaii were delicious. And it gave Lisa immense pleasure to provide things for Jon she knew he had always wanted, but had long ago dismissed as unattainable. She took two months off, and they traveled around the world. The sounds, the sights, the discoveries were intoxicating.

  Both of them disliked driving, so they had rented an apartment halfway between her law firm and the University of Hawaii campus. Jon began to write during her absences at court and at her office. It was a long and elaborate essay expressing his philosophy of education. They both knew it was utopian, both knew it would never be published, and both enjoyed discussing every paragraph and sentence. Lisa soon became aware the pages were really a distillation of what Jon had done for her. But there was no way he could put all the love he had felt for his pupil on paper. And they agreed their love had been an essential ingredient in what he considered to be an example of a superbly successful attempt at education.

  His conviction of success reached its peak one day when she arrived to find him waiting impatiently for her. His feelings were so strong as he handed her the letter, she was more concerned for him than for the contents of the letter. Reading it, she was astonished. Her name had been submitted to the Governor for possible appointment to a judgeship. She was being asked to see the appointments review board for an interview.

  Jon agreed with her the offer was the result of many unrelated factors coming together. The average age of judges in Hawaii was surprisingly high. The Governor had been criticized for his lack of female appointments of any kind. A minority appointee was essential, and a person of mixed racial background was even better.

  “Being a registered member of the Governor’s party doesn't exactly hurt, either,” said Lisa.

  “There's another factor, too.” Jon said.

  “What's that?”

  “You know your law.”

  ***

  Jon and Lisa did their best not to get excited. The newspaper said there were six candidates in the running for two judgeships. All of them had been endorsed by the Hawaii Bar Association with “excellent” ratings, so they knew that would not be a factor. They looked at the faces and names of the candidates. The qualifications under the photos were brief and, in at least one instance, badly garbled.

  “You're the youngest,” Jon said. “But I don't know if that's good or bad.”

  “There are three other women,” said Lisa, “which isn’t good. I imagine the Governor will select one man and one woman. That gives me a one in four chance.”

  “But all three of the women are Japanese,” Jon said. “And the benches in the state are already overstocked with Japanese.”

  “Yes, but the Japanese are his main supporters. He can't afford to alienate them.”

  “Works out fine, then. He can appoint you and a Japanese male. That way he keeps everybody happy.”

  “But the one Japanese male is much too old. The Governor can't select him. And, besides…”

  “And, besides, we'd better stop speculating.”

  And the days passed, and she did stop speculating since she had a particularly difficult case to handle during that time. She was so engrossed she didn't hear the phone at first. When she answered it, she was still giving most of her attention to the brief in front of her.

  The firm's telephone operator was saying, “It's the governor.”

  The words that followed were the most pleasant she had ever heard. “I'm very pleased to tell you that, after a great deal of consultation with my advisors, I have appointed you to the vacancy left by Judge Tanaka's retirement.”

  The telephone operator had alerted the office to whom was at the other end of the phone conversation, and doors had begun to open all along the hall. Lisa just caught a glimpse of two of her colleagues who were waiting by the reception desk to hear the latest word. She held up two fingers in a victory sign as she rushed past them, ran down the stairs and caught the first passing taxi. A phone would never do. “And I'd never last the four blocks if I ran.” she thought.

  When they pulled up in front of the apartment, Lisa knew instantly what the ambulance was doing there.

  On
the way to the hospital Jon regained consciousness briefly. She told him about the judgeship, because she knew he wanted to hear it. But to her, it now all seemed so unimportant.

  At the hospital, the specialist shook his head. “I'm very sorry, but he's had a truly massive heart attack. I know you weren't aware of it, but he's been coming here for the past dozen years. He's been suffering from angina, but he insisted you not be informed about it. The medication has helped, much longer than I thought it would. He's an amazing man.”

  Lisa nodded. She couldn't ask the question. The doctor knew what she couldn't ask. “It will be hours, at the most. I doubt very much Mr. Raines will last until nightfall.”

  It wasn't hours. She had time to hold his hand. He smiled. She forced one in return. She kissed him. He raised his hand to the oxygen mask. Lisa looked at the nurse, who in turn looked at the doctor. The doctor shrugged and nodded. With the mask removed, Lisa bent down close to his lips. Even so, she could barely make out what he was saying.

  “Don't just be a good judge. Be the best judge.”

  ____________________

  GENDER GAP

  Celia Fleming waved good-bye to David, her eight-year-old, as he went through the schoolyard gate. The return wave, from the small figure bundled up against the cold, was a half-hearted one. She shook her head in exasperation and tried to concentrate on the job she was headed off to—a potentially very profitable and satisfying one. The client was Di Sawyer, wife of billionaire J. T. Sawyer.

  Celia had finally branched out into her own interior decorating business, and this was her first chance to really prove herself—an eight-room apartment to be completely remodeled. She took a certain smug satisfaction at how quickly she’d moved from designing drapes and suggesting furniture to full-scale planning. Her ex wouldn’t believe it, especially since he’d sneered so openly at her first tentative attempts at entrepreneurship. Not that she really cared what he thought. It had been five years since she’d left both him and England, after he had gambled away his savings and as much of hers as he could lay his hands on. The only good part of the whole matter was that she had easily gotten sole custody of David. His father had made no attempts to contact him—not a phone call, not so much as a birthday card.

  But that was what was troubling Celia. David didn’t have a father. Sure, there were single mothers all over America who were happily bringing up one or more children all on their own, but those mothers were different. Gina Tracy, for one. Strong, capable Gina. Her husband had deserted her over six years ago, leaving her with Leslie, who was growing up to be as strong and capable as her mother. Gina was a good friend, too, who volunteered to take David to his soccer games when Celia had been struggling to keep her business alive.

  When Celia confessed her admiration for Gina, who seemed so successful at single-parenting, Gina grinned. “Celia, you’re probably the only person in the world who admires me. I’ve managed to screw up my life royally, and here you’ve crossed an ocean to a different country, started up a successful business all on your own, got rid of a worthless husband with little effort—and you have a great kid.”

  “Maybe it’s because he’s a boy, but I seem to be losing rapport with him more and more.”

  Gina looked thoughtful. “There is something to that. So far as I can see, Leslie’s doing OK without a father, but maybe David needs one. Let’s face it. You’re just too darn feminine to be raising a boy alone. I know you can’t stand soccer games, and you probably can’t tell the difference between a football and a hockey puck. Those are the kinds of things David’s interested in, and he needs someone around he can talk to about them. Your interior decorating talents don’t have much appeal for him. And there’s no point in you trying to fake an interest in sports—or cars, or motorcycles. David would see right through that, especially since you’re happy driving around in that decrepit Dodge van.”

  Celia nodded. “That’s true, but what can I do? I hate to keep pushing David off on you all the time, but he seems happiest when he’s out there on the soccer field with Leslie and the other kids and with you along.”

  “I’m not the role model he needs. Nor is that soccer coach David admires so much. He’s really nothing but a mindless jock. No. David needs a father.”

  “And I’m supposed to go out shopping for one?” There was no mistaking the skepticism in her voice.

  “C’mon, Celia. With your looks, you know you don’t have to do any shopping. I’ve seen the men flock around you.”

  Enough! The conversation with Gina still reverberated in her mind, but Celia had to concentrate on negotiating the icy streets and on the work ahead. Di had said she’d be there, and the security guard would be alerted to Celia’s arrival. He was, and friendly and helpful as only the tip-conscious guards in the luxury apartments along Harrison could be.

  Dark haired, movie-star gorgeous Di welcomed her warmly, grasping Celia’s hand in both of hers. A male figure hovered in the background. Celia vaguely remembered what J. T. looked like from his news photographs, and this male didn’t fit the picture. Much younger, much more attractive. She slipped off her heavy shoulder satchel and was beginning to look around at the surroundings she was eager to start transforming, when Di beckoned to her companion and introduced him to Celia.

  “Meet my brother, Anthony Morelli. Anthony, this is Celia Fleming, who is going to change this hovel into a palace.”

  The smile was pleasant, the handshake firm and warm. Celia decided his features were too rugged for him to be called handsome, but they certainly weren’t hard to look at—though she was peering up from her barely five-foot height at someone more than a head taller.

  Beyond a “nice to meet you,” Di gave them no chance to talk. “Anthony and his ex-wife lived here for about three years, so he knows the place better than I do. It was three years, wasn’t it, Anthony?”

  Anthony nodded. “Yes, but it seemed much longer.”

  Celia smiled at the remark. Di guffawed. “As you might guess, Anthony’s memories of his marriage aren’t the happiest. Anyway, if you have any questions, he’s the one to ask. But if he gets under foot, just kick him out. In the meantime, I’m off to rescue J. T. from a business meeting he doesn’t want to go to.”

  Celia had difficulty picturing Anthony getting under foot. “I’m sure I can use someone to hold the other end of the tape measure, but I’ll be mostly taking pictures today. Serious planning comes later.”

  Anthony was pleasant company, and his occasional suggestions made sense. With her digital camera, Celia photographed the apartment from every conceivable angle. Her mind was racing with color schemes, wall changes, completely different furnishings. The two of them spoke little, since she was wrapped up in her plans, impatient to get to the computer so she could manipulate the photos into images of the apartment’s potential future. Anthony was bemused with watching the small, almost fragile figure going from room to room, thoroughly businesslike in her approach to the task at hand.

  Satisfied finally with what she had stored away in her camera and her brain, and with the morning almost gone, Celia was packing away her equipment when Anthony suggested he make them some coffee. She accepted somewhat reluctantly, then smiled at his fumbling attempts to operate the unfamiliar coffee maker before herself taking over the task. He gave an answering, rueful smile. “The kitchen is pretty obviously not my strong point.”

  “What do you do?” She asked this more to make conversation than from any genuine interest, since she was busy resurveying her surroundings, calculating where a new Sub-Zero would fit and trying to decide the dimensions of a center island.

  “I play baseball.”

  Celia caught a strange, quizzical expression on his face as she frowned and said, “No, I mean what’s your occupation?” She wondered how any rich playboy could have a hobby requiring knickers. But then she admitted to herself that Gina was right. She knew virtually nothing about sports, and even less about American sports. Maybe baseball for the nouveau rich
e was now the rage. In any event, she’d escaped it all in high school by putting her physical prowess, such as it was, into swimming. University—actually design school—was as far removed from sports as she was.

  Anthony broke into a smile. “That is my occupation. I’m a baseball player.”

  “Oh.” The conversation slipped off into other matters.

  Celia glanced at her watch, and Anthony took the hint. “You really are devoted,” he said. “I can see you want to get back to work, so I won’t hold you up.”

  Embarrassed by her too obvious eagerness to leave, Celia still managed to escape gracefully with the promise she would be in with her remodeling contractor on Monday. She urged Anthony to be there with suggestions.

  The photos were fantastic. The new software program even more so. Celia wondered how anyone did remodeling before computers and digital cameras. As she fed in data, the machine produced the virtual surroundings at a touch of a button. Keying in possible changes also brought up a running total of costs. Not that costs were important this time. Di had as much as told her the important thing was results and that J. T. would cover anything and everything she wanted.

  Even so, as she flashed the variations across the screen of her laptop for Di’s benefit the following Monday, she felt obliged to call attention to the scrolling amounts in the lower left-hand corner. Di laughed and said, “You can shut that off. J. T. spends that much on smuggled Havana cigars.”

  “By the way,” Di continued, “Anthony has a bachelor’s pad that needs reworking. If you’re interested, I’ll let him know. But you have to finish this first. I’m not going to let my kid brother steal you away before you’re through here.”

  “Contractor couldn’t make it today, but he’ll be here tomorrow,” Celia said, only half-digesting an offer she would have jumped at prior to this major job. Anthony’s arrival, the unexpected absence of the contractor, and the impossibility of any significant planning in his absence led Celia to accept Anthony’s invitation to at least look at his apartment.