Authors: Susan Lyons
“I’ll bring it.”
Sunday night tradition dictated that Bethany and Suzanne bring starters and dessert, while Jane and Michael Brennan took care of the main course and the housecleaning. Tonight, her dad must be the cook. He was a meat-and-potatoes kind of chef. Her mom tended to be more experimental. Sure enough, when they went into the kitchen, it was her father who stood at the stove, his lean waist aproned, stirring gravy. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, then stole a taste from the wooden spoon and gave him an approving, “Yum.”
Her mom poured milk for the kids, then picked up a wine bottle. “Suzie?”
“Please.”
“You’ve had a busy weekend,” her mother commented.
“Not really. Saturdays are always a little frantic at the clinic, but I pretty much vegged today. Caught up on some reading.”
And sleep, after the two late nights.
“It was the evenings I was referring to,” her mother said, a twinkle in her eye.
“Evenings?” Bethany, about to drink from her own wineglass, paused. “So that’s why you’re glowing.”
Oh damn. She wouldn’t lie to her family, nor could she bring herself to be rude and say it was none of their business. She’d made a halfhearted attempt at working out a cover story; now she’d have to see if it flew.
“You are!” Beth crowed. “You’re dating!”
“Not exactly.” Dating. What a high school word for her and Jaxon’s adventures.
“Seeing a heterosexual adult of the male persuasion?” her mother asked.
“When you put it that way.” Definitely heterosexual, and two-hundred-percent male. “But we’re not dating, as in beginning a relationship. Neither of us want that right now, so we’re just hanging out and having fun. Like I do with the gals in the Foursome.”
Her sister cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “Hanging out with a heterosexual man is never the same thing as hanging out with a girlfriend.”
“No, but . . .”
Fortunately, Bethany’s husband, Joel, saved Suzanne by coming into the kitchen and enveloping her in a big hug. “Hey, it’s my favorite sister-in-law.”
“You say that to all your sisters-in-law,” she teased. In fact, he had three others, the wives of his brothers.
“The one I’m with is always my favorite at the moment,” he said peaceably. “And usually that’s you, since my brothers are so nomadic.”
“Yeah, you can trust the Brennan family to be nest-builders, not nomads,” she said.
“Works for me.” He put an arm around Bethany and hugged her to him. “I’m the aberration in my family, the only one who didn’t inherit the gypsy spirit.”
His parents were currently doing aid work in Africa, and his brothers and their wives were all over the world pursuing activities as diverse as photojournalism, medicine and art. In contrast, Joel, like Bethany, was a homebody.
“I think you’re perfect,” Suzanne told him. He was exactly the kind of man she wanted for herself. Though he had a good career as a high school teacher, Beth and the children always came first. He and Beth were a team: they were each other’s best friend, always supportive and their skills complimented each other.
“Suze is seeing a guy,” Beth told her husband.
“Uh-huh?”
Good old Joel, he’d never pry.
“Isn’t dinner ready yet?” Suzanne asked.
Her dad laughed. “Good luck with that technique. Never works for me. But yes, dinner’s ready. Who wants a drumstick?
Declan? Krystina?”
When they were all seated with full plates in front of them, Suzanne picked up her fork and scooped up some potatoes and gravy.
“So, what’s this guy like, Suze?” Beth asked, just as her mother said, “Where did you meet this fellow?”
Suzanne put her fork down. “I’m really not ready to talk about this right now. We’ve just met, I barely know the guy.”
“That’ll come,” Beth said, “the more you see of, uh, Mr. Nameless Guy. Look at Joel. He was a stranger when he came into the shop to send flowers for his mom’s birthday. Then we had coffee a couple of times, started dating, and after we’d known each other three years, we got engaged.”
“Sounds ideal,” Suzanne said, “but I’m not ready for my own Joel to come along yet. I’m only twenty-four, still in school. Right now I just want to have a little fun. Give me another three or four years. Then you can nag me about finding Mr. Right.”
“Makes sense to me,” her father said. “Don’t be in any rush.”
“Yeah, sis,” Beth said, “sow some wild oats.”
Suzanne picked up her fork again, relieved she could finally begin to enjoy her dad’s wonderful meal.
“Sow oats?” Krys said, laughing. “Mommy, you sew clothes, not oatmeal!”
Joel gave his wife a mischievous grin. “Okay, Beth, want to explain about oats?”
“Absolutely. On Krys’s thirtieth birthday.”
The adults all laughed. Krys looked puzzled and her little brother chose that occasion to reach for the salt shaker and spill his milk in the process.
Sowing wild oats
, Suzanne mused as she helped clean up the mess. Beth was right, that’s exactly what she was doing. And it did make sense, as her dad had said.
She paused in mid stroke wiping the table. Oh God, she’d thought she was so risqué, seeking out an erotic escapade, and all along she was just being sensible Suzanne! A laugh escaped. Everyone paused in what they were doing and turned to look at her.
“Hey, better to laugh than cry over spilled milk, right?”
Jax’s alarm went off at five thirty on Monday morning. He groaned, wishing he could cancel six A.M. racquetball, but Rick would be up and on his way to the BART. His pal lived and worked in Berkeley, and it was great that he was willing to make the trip downtown for their Monday, Wednesday and Friday matches.
An hour later, he wasn’t so happy with Rick. Jax floundered across the court, smacked up against the wall as the ball flew past him, and listened to his pal crow with glee.
“Man, you’re a lawyer-slug today.”
The ultimate insult. He and Rick, both lawyers as well as former basketball teammates, had nothing but contempt for their colleagues whose asses got fatter and bellies rounder each year.
Jax retaliated by returning Rick’s serve with a smashing stroke that sent it flying into a back corner. But Rick, damn him, flew over to intercept it as it dropped. Used to be, Jax had been the better athlete. Playing college ball, he’d been the guy whose discipline and drive regularly made him team captain or MVP. Rick had been a great team player, an all-round fine athlete, but he didn’t go the extra mile. Jax was pissed that, over the past year, more often than not, Rick had won their racquetball matches.
When their court time was up, the two men headed for the showers. “You spend the weekend riding a desk as usual?” Rick asked.
Jax’s foul mood lifted and he couldn’t stop a grin. “Believe it or not, I took some time off. Had to make up for it last night though.”
“Time off? Notice you didn’t spend any of it coaching b-ball.”
Rick was always after him to help coach the underprivileged kids he worked with. A weird pastime for a guy who’d been born into a well-off, third-generation African-American family.
“You still working out that guilt trip for havin’ grown up so damned privileged?” Jax teased.
“You still trying to ignore your roots and pass for white?”
his pal taunted back.
“Oh yeah,” Jax said easily. “Still trying to figure out how to bleach my skin.”
It was their same old shtick.
Later, as they were getting dressed, Rick said, “Come to dinner one night this week?”
No way, not if he hoped to see his mom tonight and free up time this weekend for Suzanne. “Can’t. Thanks anyhow. Too much work.” He shrugged into a pale blue cotton shirt that had set him back more than a hundred bucks. On sale.
“That excuse is getting stale.” Rick put on his own shirt, blue and cotton as well, but casual denim. “Rosa’s got to thinking you don’t like her. That right, man?”
“No, Rosa’s great, and so’s Jase.” It was true. Rick had married a Latina college teacher who was bright, gorgeous, sexy, sophisticated, and also warm, loving and fun. And their kid, Jason—what was he, about three now?—was lively and smart as could be.
Jax tied his tie and pulled on his suit jacket. “Honest, it’s just work.”
“You work too hard.” Rick, who’d left his own shirt unbuttoned at the neck, hadn’t brought a jacket. And you don’t work hard enough. “That’s what it takes to get ahead.” Which he would, and Rick wouldn’t. All those privileges Rick had grown up with had worked against him, robbing him of the drive to succeed.
The other man shook his head. “Same old, same old. Different definitions of ‘ahead.’ ”
Jax laughed. “Yeah, and we each think ours is right.” Well, he damned well knew his was right, but a guy had to make some concessions to keep the peace.
“Maybe they both are,” Rick said. “Mine—a general practice in Berkeley, little house, wife and kid—that’s what works for me. Yours . . . Well, no one ever said you weren’t ambitious. Whatever you want to be, Jax, you can do it.”
Within reason, Jax amended silently. It’d be nice to think he could have it all, but a guy had to know his limitations. Like knowing he made a crappy husband, just like Tonya’d told him a couple months after they got married. Back then, he’d been pissed, challenged, tried harder, but he still couldn’t hack it, not the firm and the marriage. She’d been right to bail, to find a man like Benjamin, who could give her what she needed. Benjamin, like Rick, was a good guy.
But Jax would go farther in the world. It mattered more to him.
Sometimes Jax wondered why he and Rick had remained buddies all these years. When they’d met, it was natural to hook up, two black b-ball players both in pre-law. As they got to know each other, though, their differences became more apparent. Rick’s assumption was that everything would come easily to him. Jax, the impoverished immigrant on an athletic scholarship, wasn’t able to take one damned thing for granted. As they walked out into the pale morning sunshine, Rick said, “Wednesday?”
“Sure.” Then Jax said, a little awkwardly because they didn’t talk much about personal stuff, “Why do we keep doing this, man?”
“Racquetball?”
“Yeah.” Keeping in touch, he really meant. Fact was, though, it was only the racquetball that kept them in touch. Rick slapped his shoulder. “So’s you don’t turn into a whitewashed lawyer-slug.”
“Yeah, sure, that’d be it.”
Rick headed off to catch the BART back to his office. Jax, feeling like he’d sweated off pounds, picked up a couple of fried egg bagel sandwiches and the tallest, strongest coffee available. He was at his desk by seven thirty, ready to pick up where he’d left off a few hours ago.
At nine every Monday, the litigation lawyers met to discuss their cases. After they’d gone the rounds, Trent Jefferson, the senior partner, said, “All right. New files. Family Friend’s been slapped with a class-action suit alleging discrimination in employment practices.”
Hank Campbell, one of the other partners, whistled. “That’s got to hurt, with their wholesome image.”
Family Friend, a major client of the firm’s, was a huge department store chain that promoted itself as having a corporate culture based on Christian values. The company’s popularity had risen immensely in post-9/11 days.
Jefferson glanced around the table, and his gaze landed on Jax. “You want to run with this, Navarre? Check out the claims, talk to the client?”
“Absolutely.” This was the biggest file that had come his way. He’d have to work his tail off, but he could handle it.
“Most of these cases settle,” Jefferson said. And if it did, Jax would lose an opportunity to go to trial. But . . . “That’s true, but maybe not this one.”
“Why do you say that?” Campbell asked.
“It’s true lots of giant corporations have faced allegations like this and settled. But they could afford to. And I don’t mean money wise, I mean in terms of PR. They hadn’t built their business around a good-guy reputation. If Family Friend settles, even with a confidentiality agreement and no admission of guilt, you know how the public will interpret that: guilty as charged. That could really hurt business. Look at all the flack with the allegations around Wal-Mart. Business has suffered, without anyone even proving the allegations are true. Seems to me, the best strategy here is to answer the charges in court, and win decisively.”
There were nods around the table, and he gathered he’d passed the first test.
“You figure out a way to win this one,” Jefferson said, “and you can sit first chair.”
Lead lawyer, on a suit this big? Man! Jax could barely keep a grin from busting out as he gazed at the men who controlled his future. “Sounds good to me.”
Jefferson handed him a file. “Copy of the complaint’s in here. Read it, call Sam Miller, the CEO at Family Friend, do some research. Plan on starting in the San Francisco area, with the complaints against management at the head office and the local stores. If we decide not to settle—and I agree with your thinking on that—you’ll need to interview managers all over the country.”
Jesus, this thing really
was
big.
“Report back next week,” Jefferson went on, “with a plan, a schedule, an outline of the firm resources you’ll need. Bring Marianne in on it if you need assistance.”
Marianne Bryant, who was at the moment staring all hungry eyed at the file in Jax’s hand, was an associate. An ambitious one. Jax figured he wouldn’t need any assistance. Why train the competition?
As Jefferson moved the discussion on to the next file, Jax was already making his plans. He’d set up a meeting with Miller, work through lunch, get all his ducks in order, then take off for dinner with his mom. Likely it’d be his one free night in the next couple of weeks, so he might as well enjoy it. Oh fuck. Suzanne. He’d have to call off the weekend. Too bad, but hell, he knew his priorities.
At six, Jax joined a crowd of commuters and caught the BART
to Berkeley. His mom lived in the same general vicinity as Rick and his family, in a two-story bungalow with a small garden. Not fancy, but prices were so damned high in any neighborhood that was decent. When Jax first started work at Jefferson Sparks, he’d saved every penny other than what he needed to spend on rent, food and an appropriate wardrobe. First priority was paying off student loans; second was scraping up a down payment to buy a house for his mom.