A Southern Girl: A Novel

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Flow 341 My monster carries me to the door. I am just about to congratulate him on our restraint when he grasps the knob and violently slams it behind us as, for the second time in an hour, I shatter glass. j 35 i We leave today at 1:41 p.m. My morning is spent at Natalie’s office, niched in a drab walk-up on King Street north of Calhoun. In the reception area, a framed print of Matisse’s Joy hangs above a small, efficient couch, and beyond this cubicle is her office, furnished in an essentials-only austerity befitting the limited budgets of both the attorney and her clients. “I want you to sue them for me,” I tell her before relating the events of the night before. She sits behind her desk, her head propped against her hand, scribbling notes on a legal pad. Her strokes in ballpoint are abbreviated, not shorthand but a personal hieroglyphic that concentrates a paragraph of my speech to a line or two on her page. Twice she raises her head to ask a detail, a clarification. When I reach the meltdown with Adelle, I watch for signs that she is celebrating the demise of her rival but she is unflinching. “And don’t,” I conclude, “tell me I told you so.” She looks up, unsmiling. “I can’t possibly draft this before you leave. It will require at least a couple of days for research, maybe more.” “I assumed so. Do you think we have time to do this?” “There are two ways to view it. One is to automatically assume time limits us and the other is to hand that liability off to them.” “How?” “By waiting until the last possible moment to file and putting all our chips on the District Court judge. We ask for an injunction against them barring her from attending the Ball. The Society will have to hire counsel and they will have to bring themselves up to speed, which as you know takes time. They won’t have much. If we get a favorable ruling, the burden of appeal shifts to them and we just might sneak in before they get organized. But if we lose locally, clearly the time liability hurts us. I’ll have Susan research all this and draft a brief in advance so that if that happens we can shoot it to the Fourth Circuit without delay.” A Southern Girl 342 “I’ll come straight here as soon as we get back,” I assure. “If you draft it, I’ll sign it.” “What does Allie say about this?” “That newspaper coverage a few weeks back gave her a taste of what is now to come and she didn’t care for it. But she says she’ll go through with it. I think you’ve been a strong influence on her.” “I’m flattered, but I hope you won’t hold that against me.” “I feel at peace with all but one thing.” “Which is?” “That first evening at your apartment, you mentioned legal ethics. Now that I’m your client, will it prevent us from sleeping together?” “Is that what you want?” “You know it is.” “Me too.” She stares in mock reproach. “We have some time to decide.” “Are you going to get Susan to research that as well?” I grin at her. “I think I’ll handle that one myself.” I lean over the desk and kiss her. “I wish you were going,” I say. “I wish you weren’t.” I leave her still seated at her desk, her pen in hand and a legal pad full of notes before her. At the house, Allie is pacing, her luggage assembled on the side piazza next to the driveway. “You’re going to change, right?” she asks as I step from the car. “I’ll be down and ready in ten minutes,” I say, breezing by her. “Dad, don’t forget to wipe the lipstick off.” Our flight from Charleston to Chicago is packed but smooth. Mr. Quan, already waiting at the Charleston Airport when Allie and I arrived, is glued to the window as we approach O’Hare. He has never been here, he tells us. Our collective mood is the brightly lit spirit of friends on holiday . Allie has brought along a new novel but is too excited to focus. We change planes, then head for Hawaii, a refueling stop. The sun has chased...