"Not yet. I want to hear Dewey."
"But he'll be last. I know how these things work. A million of his cronies will stand up" -- "Not a million. Maybe a dozen."
"At least a dozen, and they'll tell all kinds of lies" -- "Not lies. They'll talk about his good points and joke about his bad points." He paused.
"Yeah, they'll lie." He paused again.
"Want to go?"
She grinned.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Without another word, they worked their way to the door, crossed through the lobby and went out into the night. A cold blast of air might have cleared their heads some, but the weather was mild, as New England autumns could unexpectedly be. So, lightheaded and lighthearted they headed down School Street.
"Not Chinese," Sawyer said, as though he'd been debating the merits of Kung Pao shrimp ever since Faith had mentioned it.
"Want to go to Houlihan's?"
"On a Friday night? We'd never get in."
"Sure we would. All it takes is a ten slipped into the right hand."
But Faith didn't want to go to Houlihan's.
"I've been there for lunch three times in the last two weeks. How about Seaside?"
"Talk about lines getting in."
"Talk about slipping a ten--won't it work there?"
But Sawyer didn't want to go to Seaside.
"I represented the wife of the owner in a scruffy divorce. Her husband's a bastard. On principle I avoid the place."
Faith could understand that.
"How about Zachary's?"
"Too far away. I want to walk. How about the Ritz?"
She screwed up her nose.
"Too stuffy."
"And Zachary's isn't?"
"How about the Daily Catch? I want to go to the North End. I feel like squid." She caught his eye.
"Do you like squid?"
"I have been known," he said, "to be so mesmerized by the taste of the body of the thing that I forget and leave the tentacles dangling down my chin."
Faith sputtered into a laugh. She looped her arm through his.
"You're fun to be with. Jack would never say anything like that. He'd never do anything like that."
"So why did you marry him instead of me?"
"Because I didn't know you when I married Jack.
Besides, by the time I met you, you were married to Joanna. "
Sawyer grunted.
"She never laughed. She smiled sometimes, but she never laughed. She wasn't the type." They turned onto Washington Street and he declared, "Squid sounds just fine. I'm in the mood for the North End. Think there's a festival going on?"
"If there is, we may not get into the Daily Catch."
"We'll get in."
"You're slipping tens again?"
"Don't have to. I represented the owner when the city was giving him liquor license trouble. We won. He loves me."
Faith tried to decide whether she'd heard about that case, but her mind wasn't as sharp as usual. What she did decide was that it didn't matter whether she'd heard about the case or not. "Why is it you have all these illustrious clients? Mine are nowhere near as exciting."
"So why are you on television all the time?"
"Because I'm attractive, articulate and female." She tugged at his arm and drew him down Water Street.
"I want to go home and change first.
I'll stick out like a sore thumb walking through the North End in a silk dress and heels, and my feet hurt. "
Sawyer was feeling thoroughly agreeable. He had no problem with changing clothes first. And she did have a point. The North End was best enjoyed wearing sneakers.
"I'm at Rowes Wharf. You're at Union Wharf. If we stop at my place first, yours is right there on the way to the North End."
So it was decided. They talked as they walked, laughing most of the way once Sawyer got started on jokes. He had a knack for telling a story, could put on an Irish brogue, an Arkansas drawl or a Brooklyn bark with equal skill, and his repertoire was endless. Some of the jokes were funnier than others, some dirtier than others. Faith was muzzy enough to laugh at anything.
By the time they reached his condo, they were feeling quite good, which was why Faith didn't refuse him when he uncorked a chardonnay and poured her a glass.
"I don't drink," she reminded him as she took a sip of the wine.
"Mmm.
This is nice. "
"It should be. It was a gift from a friend's wine cellar on the occasion of my settling a malpractice suit for him." He sampled the wine, then arched an approving brow.
"Not bad."
"Not bad at all. Go change. I'm hungry."
Setting his glass on a coffee table, he headed down the hall.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."
Faith wandered across the living room. The decor registered in the back of her mind as being modern enough, pleasant enough, coordinated enough. The object of her interest, though, was the view from the window. The harbor's darkness was broken by the lights of passing boats, by buildings flanking the water, by the airport. She could see plenty of boats and buildings from her place, but she had nowhere near as good a view of the airport. Sipping her wine, she watched a plane take off, another one land, a second take off, a second one land.
She loved traveling. She'd done some when she'd been growing up, when her father had still been paying the bills and she'd still had the time. After that, she'd slacked off. Traveling with Jack hadn't been much fun. He wanted to see all the places she'd already seen, busy places like London and Paris, where he could plan out a daily program and sightsee from morning to night. She tried to understand that his job wasn't as demanding as hers. He worked in his father's business, and there was nothing particularly riveting about the manufacture of cardboard boxes. Her job, on the other hand, was both busy and challenging. Her idea of paradise was a long stretch of white sandy beach, a frothy fruit punch and a juicy novel.
So, after a while, she hadn't encouraged Jack to make travel arrangements. She'd contented herself with a week each summer in a rented house on Nantucket, plus whatever legal meetings she could spare the time to attend. But she missed the anticipation of going somewhere new, somewhere just to play. "Like the view?" Sawyer asked, coming up behind her. He'd changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and was carrying his wine.
"Oh, yeah." She looked him over.
"Not bad. Sawyer. You're staying in shape. Still running?"
"Sure am."
"Every morning?"
"Bright and early. Boston's great at six. Just me and the pigeons and the street cleaners and the dozens of yuppies who live around here and think it's cool to run." He chinked his wineglass to hers.
"Cheers."
"Cheers," she said and took a drink.
"But you're not a yuppie."
He swallowed his wine.
"Nope. Know who is, though?"
"Who?"
He grinned smugly.
"Wally Aheam."
Faith couldn't believe that.
"Wally Aheam? No way. Wally Aheam was so and establishment he was nearly outlawed on the law-school campus."
"But he got his degree."
"Yeah, wearing a gauzy something his guru lent him. Wally Aheam a yuppie? He run sT Something about the way she said it--and about the image of Wally as they remembered him in the guru's gown--made them both laugh. Sawyer forced himself to sober, but only after he'd taken a healthy drink of wine.
"Trust me. Faith," he said in a trustworthy voice.
"Wally no longer looks like a walrus."
"Okay, chalk walrus, and if he's a yuppie, he can't look like a hippie, but I can't, I can't see him wearing three-piece suits." She frowned.
"He's not actually practicing law, is he?"
"Nope."
"I didn't think so. I always imagined he'd go off to the hills and raise honey bees, or something. Somehow a law degree didn't fit him."
She raised the glass to her lips.
"He's a proctologist."
Faith's wine went down the wrong way. Putting a hand on her chest, she began to cough. Sawyer slapped her back, stopping only when she'd caught her breath.
"Why do you say things like that?" she cried.
"Because it's true." When she gave a final cough, he said, "Take a drink. It'll help." She took a drink, then a deep breath, and when she'd finished doing that, he drew her to the sofa.
"Sit."
"I can't sit," she said.
"I want to go home and change, then get something to eat." But she sat. After a minute, she began to laugh.
"A
proctologist? That's too much. "
Sawyer retrieved the wine bottle from the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. "Have I ever lied to you?"
"No, Sawyer."
"I'm an honorable man." He refilled her wine glass, refilled his own and sank down into the chair across from her.
"The last of the good guys." Leaning forward, he chinked his glass to hers.
"Cheers."
"Cheers," she said, and took a drink. As the wine warmed her senses, she thought for a minute.
"You and Larry O'Neill. The saviors of our class. Where's Larry now?"
"Springfield, Illinois. He's doing tax work." "I can believe that. He has a big family to support. How many kids now?"
"Eight."
"No!"
But Sawyer nodded.
"So help me, eight kids."
"He had three when we graduated, and that was nine years ago. He's been busy."
Sawyer laughed.
"His wife is the busy one. Do you remember her?" "Charlene? Of course, I remember Charlene. She was always pregnant.
Still is, I guess. " She raised her glass.
"To Charlene."
"To Charlene," Sawyer said and took a drink.
"So how about you, Faith?
Do you want kids? "
"Sure I do. I want twelve."
"Twelve!"
"Three sets of twins and two sets of triplets."
"I can't picture it."
"Why not?" she asked, sounding hurt.
"Doctors can do anything nowadays. I put in my order, they get out their little test tubes and their little petri dishes, I get my kids."
"Ahhh," he said sagely.
"That's right, ahhh. So how about you?"
"Me? No way. I'm not getting pregnant with one, let alone twins and triplets. Don't want to ruin my figure."
She laughed, and a grin remained long after the sound had died. She sat back in the sofa, feeling more relaxed than she had in months and months.
"You're fun. Sawyer. How could I have forgotten that?"
"Out of sight, out of mind."
"But we always had such good times. Remember the lunches we had with Alvin Breen? Or the seminars we went to? Remember the time we served on a panel together in Pittsfield?"
"Do I ever," he said. There was a wry twist to his lips and a playful gleam in his eye.
"You were the only woman, and you took advantage of it to the hilt. You wore a bright red dress, bright red shoes, bright red lipstick, bright red nail polish, and you sat there looking like a perfect piece of fluff. Boy, did you fool them. Their mouths dropped open when you began to speak."
Faith sipped her wine, then said with an innocent tip of her head, "It wasn't my fault they thought I was dumb."
"You let them believe it, you shameless hussy."
"They chose to believe it. Most men do."
"Doesn't it make you mad?"
"Mad? When I get such satisfaction seeing them with egg on their faces?"
Sawyer threw back his head and laughed.
"I love it," he said, then sat forward.
"You're remarkable." He chinked his wineglass to hers.
"To you."
"To me," she said with a grin and, with a nourish, finished her wine.
She was feeling delightfully warm. Any rough edges that were left over from the week had melted away.
Sawyer rose, took the wine glass from her and set it on the table, then grabbed her hand and drew her up.
"Let's go. I'm hungry."
"I think I'm a little high."
"Me, too. We need food."
Minutes later, they were heading down Atlantic Avenue in the general direction of Faith's place.
"This is fun," he announced.
"I haven't done anything spontaneous in a long time."
"Me, neither. My life is predictable. There's work, work and more work."
"Ever get tired of it?" "Yup. Then the phone rings, I get a new case and I'm revived."
They walked along at a jaunty pace.