Leaving the LAW Read online

“Nope. Finished it up a couple of days ago.”

  “Between cases?”

  “Kind of,” I said. “A friend of mine who’s a vice principal wants me to talk to a kid at his school, see if I can convince the kid to clean up his act.”

  “Trying to skew younger, business-wise?” he asked.

  “I had the kid’s mother in class back when I was a teacher. She and my friend made the connection, and she asked him to see if I’d be willing to speak to her son.”

  Irv waited a minute before he spoke again.

  “You remember that high school program I was involved in last summer?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Some kind of computer literacy course, right?”

  “Yeah. I was supposed to do mostly supervisory stuff, but I ended up working with the students a lot, anyway. These were kids who had to attend summer school because they’d failed some of their classes the year before. Tell you what, JB, there were some real hardasses there. And the lady in charge of summer school told me that the worst kids don’t even show up over the summer.”

  “So,” I said, “you’re saying you think I have a high probability of success with this endeavor.”

  “Sure, JB, about as high a probability as Mr. Starbucks and me having that lunch.”

  Chapter 4

  When I left Starbucks, I walked several blocks to my office, which is just a loft in an old warehouse on the perimeter of the business district. Any day now, I expect the landlord to tell me he’s sold the place to Gap for Kids or Bed, Bath and Beyond, and that I have thirty days to vacate the premises. Truth be told, I don’t really need an office, since I conduct most of my business out of my home. The office has an answering machine, and I check it daily, along with the e-mail. Occasionally, though, it’s helpful to have a place to meet clients, make’em think I’m a grown-up.

  My mail was mostly junk. The total amount of credit being offered to me this week by Visa and MasterCard was just over thirty-thousand dollars. I thought about a month in Tahiti. Then I thought about bankruptcy, so I tossed the applications. Easy come, easy go.

  I sat at my desk and wrote out a couple of bills to people who owed me money, one to a woman who’d hired me to find out if her business partner was running a scam on her, the other to a man who’d asked me to see if his wife was cheating on him. In the first case, I’d discovered that the woman’s partner was completely honest, which, as it turned out, wasn’t at all what my client wanted to hear. Apparently, she was looking for ammunition to use when she tried to force her partner to sell his share of their company to her. I’d already billed this woman once, and I knew she could easily afford to pay me. She was just pissed at the outcome of the investigation.

  As for the man with the unfaithful wife, he’d told me he was hoping against hope that he was wrong, but he didn’t think he was. This wasn’t about a bitter divorce or alimony or getting even with one’s spouse. The couple had already gone through counseling once, and the guy seemed to really love his wife. He said he’d held off for a long time before hiring a detective, because part of him was willing to just live with the situation. In the end, though, he’d decided he owed it to himself not to spend the rest of his life with someone who didn’t value the relationship as much as he did. It had taken me just three days to learn that his wife was meeting an old college boyfriend, and had been for some time. When I gave the guy my report, he read it through quickly, asked me if I was sure, and I said I was, and then he told me to send him the bill and got up out of his chair and left. I’m pretty sure there were tears in his eyes.

  I’m world-class at detecting but not so hot when it comes to collecting money from people. When I was a student at Penn State, one of the many jobs I had was collecting overdue bills for a furniture store owner, guy named Carmichael. He gave me his pickup truck and the addresses of people who owed him money and told me to come back with either the money or the furniture. My first call was to a family who lived in a trailer out in the boonies, someplace called Bald Eagle. When I got there, the woman of the house, who appeared to be about 25, invited me inside and gave me a cup of tea. She told me that one week after she and her husband bought a table and chairs from Carmichael, the husband had been laid off from the mill. He couldn’t find work in the area, so for the past few weeks, he’d been over near Philadelphia, picking up day labor at a new housing development. He got home most weekends. As she told me this, her two kids sat quietly on the sofa opposite me, just staring at this stranger in their home. The woman asked what they owed, and I told her seventy-five dollars, and she went to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a business-sized envelope and looked inside and fingered a few bills. Then she turned back toward me and said that she could maybe give me fifteen dollars, would that be enough, because there was the heating oil bill due next week, and the youngest one needed more medicine, so she would really appreciate it if Mr. Carmichael could give them just a little more time, they’d pay him every penny, they really would. Her smile was bright and earnest and hopeful, but I could see the little bits of fear and strain behind it. I told her I was sure that Mr. Carmichael would be reasonable and that I didn’t think there was any need for me to take any money that night, and then I sat and drank my tea and played some with the kids before I left. Later that night, I met Mr. Carmichael at the back of his store and told him I hadn’t collected any money or repossessed any furniture. I said I didn’t expect to be paid for the night’s work, and that I had filled his gas tank for him. He looked at me for a minute and then said, “Son, I don’t think you’re cut out for this line of work.” Then he kicked the ground a little and added, “Maybe I’m not, either.”

  I left my office and walked back home. Along the way, I dropped the businesswoman’s bill in a mailbox, but I held onto the other bill, the one for the cheated-on guy. I don’t usually take cases involving marital disputes. They tend to be messy and acrimonious, and, more often than not, both parties are not a lot of fun to deal with. This guy, though, well, he’d gotten to me, I guess. I’m a romantic at heart, and so was he. You could almost feel how much he wanted me to tell him that everything was all right, that he and his wife were, indeed, going to live happily ever after. Instead, I’d ended up telling him that the dream was over, at least that particular dream, anyway. And now I had his bill in my hand as I walked along Walnut Street. There was a large trash bin at the corner where I turned on to my street. That’s where I tossed the guy’s bill.

  Hey, I said I was a romantic.

  Chapter 5

  I met Laura Fleming about six months ago. She’s a kindergarten teacher at the same school where Angie Ventura teaches 4th grade. Angie and I met when we were five, and she wanted me right away. Well, she wanted my chocolate-chip cookie, and to a five-year-old, that’s practically the same thing. After all, when you think about it, You Are What You Eat is really nothing more than the logical extension of I Am My Cookie. Anyway, it was Angie’s idea to put Laura and me together. At the time, I wasn’t very optimistic, given Angie’s rather dubious record at setting me up, but this time she got it right. Laura and I clicked right from the start, and although we’ve never formally acknowledged the fact in any public forum, neither of us has gone out with anyone else since that first date.

  Laura lives at the Tennis Club Apartments in Monroeville, a suburb of Pittsburgh. We’d arranged to meet at her place after school, and she was waiting for me in the lobby of the building when I pulled up in my Toyota 4Runner. Watching her walk towards me, I had the same thought I often have when I see her: I’m a really lucky guy.

  “I’m a really lucky guy,” I told her as she stepped up and slid onto the passenger seat. She was wearing a camel-colored coat with fake fur collar over a dark brown pinstriped pants suit with a white silk blouse.

  “Hi, cutie,” she said, and leaned over to give me a kiss. “Why are you so lucky today?”

  “Because I’m going to the mall with the hottest babe in Monroeville, possibly the hottest babe in Monroeville and Wi
lkins Township and all of Pitcairn.”

  She smiled that smile and said, “Possibly?”

  Pulling away from the apartment building, I said, “Okay, not possibly. Let’s say probably.”

  Again with the smile.

  “I wore this pants suit to work today, but not the silk blouse. I just put it on a few minutes before you got here.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. And while I was at it, I thought, what the heck, maybe I should change into one of those feelies bras you seem to like so much.”

  “Hmmm. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. And this time I got the smile and the upturned eyes with just a hint of mischief. “Probably?”

  “All right, all right,” I said. “Definitely the hottest babe in the whole county.”

  I glanced over at her for a moment.

  “Which feelies bra would that be?” I asked. “The pink one?”

  “We’ll discuss that later, during our geography lesson.”

  “Geography lesson?”

  “Hm-hmm,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Just the county?”

  And then she began to giggle. She has a very sexy giggle. In fact, I think you could say that Laura gives great giggle. It’s very contagious, and by the time we arrived at Monroeville Mall a couple of minutes later, we were both laughing uncontrollably.

  You had to be there, I guess.

  * * *

  Holding hands, we walked in through the main entrance to the mall and took the escalator down to the food court. There are a couple of restaurants in the mall where you can sit down and be waited on, but the purpose of this trip wasn’t to eat, but to shop. The department stores were having one of their Day ‘N Night sales, and Laura was looking for some new school clothes. When we got to the bottom of the escalator, we split up, Laura heading for the Potato Patch for a salad and a baked potato, me for Manchu Wok, where I got some General Tso chicken, fried rice, a pork roll and a Diet Coke.

  When we sat down and began to eat, I asked Laura about her day.

  “I’m thinking about a career change,” she said. “Any openings at Barnes, Inc.?”

  “Rough day with the five-year-olds?” I asked.

  “Well, let’s see,” she said. “Alena cried all morning because she’d come to school without her red pencil, the one she never uses, Samuel tied his shoelaces together so tightly I had to ask Jeff Arnold to come in and untie them, Turner was mad at Todd because Todd said Turner had one ear bigger than the other, Devon peed his pants at naptime, and, oh yes, after lunch, Rowan told me she thought she was going to be sick, and then she was, right on schedule.”

  “You know, Laura,” I said, “I believe the school board offers a variety of workshops aimed at helping teachers like you learn how to maximize their classroom management techniques.”

  She gave me a stunning smile and said, “So I guess the sex last weekend tuckered you out so much that you haven’t fully recovered. Good. Gives us more time to shop tonight.”

  “On the other hand,” I said, “it’s quite possible, indeed, I would say absolutely definite, that the problems you experienced today were far beyond the scope of even an extraordinarily gifted educator such as yourself.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  “Speaking of education,” I said, and then I told her about my conversation with Augie the night before.

  “So you’re going to talk with this Anthony?”

  “Probably. As Augie said, it can’t hurt, and his mother was an okay kid when I had her in class.”

  “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

  “I’m not,” I told her. “But isn’t that a rather pessimistic viewpoint, especially coming from you. You’re usually so positive about the kids.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just that lately I’ve seen a real change in the kinds of kids we’re getting in the system. Sue and I were talking about it just this morning. We agreed that, within just the first few days of kindergarten each year, we can predict which of the kids will be troublemakers up through high school and beyond. It’s depressing, I know, but more often than not, it’s true. And anyway . . .”

  She stopped for a moment and then continued.

  “And anyway,” she said, “that’s not why we’re here, is it? Let’s finish dinner and then do some serious shopping. Are we having dessert?”

  Since I had once again managed to finish my meal before Laura had finished hers, I volunteered to get dessert for us. I wondered over to the Baskin & Robbins, just in case, and what I saw there caused my heart to skip a beat. Almost, anyway. A few minutes later, I was back at our table.

  “Okay, woman,” I said, as I sat down across from her, “hold on to your hat. Baskin & Robbins has brought back Maui Brownie Madness.”

  “I’m not wearing a hat,” she said, “and what is Maui Brownie Madness?”

  “Only the best lowfat yogurt in the world. Here, I got two spoons. Try it.”

  She tasted it and then said, “It’s pretty good.”

  “And,” I informed her, “I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason that Baskin & Robbins only offers it occasionally is that it’s such a powerful aphrodisiac. If it was on their menu all the time, people would be embarrassing themselves in food courts all across the country. Tell the truth, aren’t you getting a little warm?”

  “Yes,” she said, as she stood up and grabbed her coat. “I always get this way when there’s shopping afoot. C’mon.”

  Three hours later, we were back at her apartment. As I helped her hang up the last of her newly-purchased clothes, she turned and snuggled against me.

  “You know,” she said, “maybe there’s something to that aphrodisiac theory of yours after all. I believe I’m feeling a little randy.”

  “Could be the Maui Brownie Madness,” I agreed. “But it could also be the Day ‘N Night sale. The longer we stayed at the mall, the more flushed your face became. And when you found that Ann Taylor jacket at half-off, your nostrils definitely flared.”

  She leaned in a little closer.

  “So,” she murmured, putting her face close to mine, “are you more interested in the cause or the effect of this particular phenomenon?” And then her tongue flicked out and grazed my lips.

  I was right.

  It was the pink one.

  Chapter 6

  When I opened my eyes at a little before seven the next morning, Laura was sitting up in bed next to me, writing in one of her school notebooks. She was wearing the sheer yellow nightie she’d slipped on after our lovemaking the night before. As I moved closer to her and rested my arm across her lap, she put her notebook and pen on the nightstand.

  “Hi, sailor,” she said. “Come here often?”

  “A couple of times last night, if memory serves.”

  Fluttering her eyelids, she said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, sir . . . but it certainly sounds delicious. And speaking of delicious,” and she raised the blanket for a second, “you look pretty scrumptious in those burgundy briefs.”

  “Please,” I said. “I blush easily.”

  “I know. It’s one of the reasons I find you so adorable.”

  I moved my hand up and under the nightie.

  “You know,” said Laura, “if we’re going to have breakfast at the club before we play racquetball, we’re going to have to hurry.”

  I began moving my hand more quickly, and a little higher.

  She laughed and said, “I meant we’re going to have to hurry and get ready if. . . oh . . . well . . . that feels good.” She closed her eyes and slid down lower in the bed so that we were lying side by side. Turning to face me, and softly caressing my stomach with her hands, she said, “Perhaps this is one of those times when we should monitor and adjust.”

  “I love it when you talk that dirty education stuff,” I said.

  “And do you also love this?” she asked, as her hands began to move a little lower.

  Turn
s out the club has a brunch on Saturdays.

  * * *

  By mid-afternoon, we’d spent some time in a racquetball court, where I was teaching Laura the game, and in the weight room, where she was almost as experienced as I was, just with lighter weights. Her rent at the Tennis Club Apartments included a membership in the adjacent Tennis Club, one of the best facilities of its kind in the country. After a two-mile run on the indoor track, we showered and dressed and walked back to Laura’s place. She had to get ready to go to an all-girls party that night for an old school friend who had just gotten a promotion at work, so I grabbed some of my stuff, kissed her goodbye, and drove back to Shadyside. Along the way, I thought about our relationship. As I said, it is definitely exclusive on both our parts, and happily so. As for the future, I didn’t know what to think. Neither of us has said the L word yet, but it’s pretty obvious that that’s where we’re heading. Not too long before we met, Laura was involved in a relationship that ended badly. On the very night that she was half-expecting a proposal, some fool named David told her he thought they should spend less time together. I’ve come to know that Laura is a strong-willed person, but her confidence in her ability to read other people’s character took a hit that night. So even though I’m ready right now to make a commitment to a future with her, I’ve backed off, sensing that Laura needs more time. We’re good together, and if it takes her a little longer to realize that I’m the man of her dreams, so be it. And if it turns out that I’m not the man of her dreams, well, I can always try hypnosis.

  I spent the rest of the day doing a few things around the house, and then I walked to Blockbuster and rented Lifeguard again and watched it that night while eating a pepperoni pizza I’d picked up on the way home. Laura called at a little after ten-thirty.

  “How was the party?” I asked.

  “It was fun,” she said. “I’m happy for Debbie, and I hadn’t seen Sheila and Rebecca in almost two years. It’s always nice to catch up. Right now, though, I’m exhausted, which I think is due at least in part to the change in my usual routine this morning.”