~ Connections ~

Advocate advocate8704@yahoo.com & Rsawest rsawest@usa.net

DISCLAIMERS: No disclaimers are required. These characters sprung from my (Advocate's) imagination, as well as that of my writing partner, Rsawest. Physically, however, they may remind you of... well...you know. This is the story of old souls meeting again. It takes place in the Twin Cities. Some of the locations are real and some are not (that's why it's called fiction, folks). "Connections" is intended for an opened minded, mature audience. If you're not both of those things, exit now. To assist readers, I've attempted to give a rating to the specific areas of content listed below. We would love feedback. But please remember we're lawyers, not writers. You have been warned. This work is protected by copyright 1999 Advocate & Rsawest, all rights reserved.

Violence: (PG13) This story contains a moderate level of violence.

Drugs/Alcohol/Profanity: (R-rated) Explicit and illegal drug use is depicted within, as well as the consumption of alcohol. They swear.

Sexual Content: (R-rated) This is alternative fiction. You know what that means. If you don't...boy are you in for a surprise (chuckle). This story contains women falling in love and (gasp!) acting on it. There is also a scene between members of the opposite sex (double gasp!). If for any reason you shouldn't be reading this...don't.

Beta Reader: This is where I happily get to thank kd bard (her fabulous stories can be found on several sites but most especially on her home page at http://homepages.together.net/~warriorx/WebPage.htm) for all her corrections and suggestions. She was awesome!

Thanks (Advocate): With all my heart I'd like to thank my husband, Bob. His love, companionship, and patience, teaches me everyday that a soulmate isn't someone who completes you... it's someone who gives you the tools to complete yourself. It was also my distinct pleasure to work with Rsawest.

Thanks (Rsawest): I want to thank Advocate, my writing partner. Her sense of humor and patience has made this a fun story to write. And thanks to JTF for support and encouragement.

PART ONE

CONNECTIONS
Chapter 1

Mark Gustafson recognized the tall, slender figure of his best friend as she approached. He made a small clucking noise as he watched his long time pal wade her way through the crowd. How do I not notice 5'10" of gorgeous? "Hey Claire, where've you been?" he said as they met.

At the sight of her friend, piercing blue eyes warmed and a smile swept across full lips. "Markie," she replied happily. Claire gave the big man a light punch on the arm, their usual greeting, but never slowed her stride. Glad to be out the hot courtroom, she tugged off her jacket and settled long dark tresses over her shoulders.

"Was that John Pears I saw you with?" Mark increased his pace to keep up with Claire.

"Yeah, that was him. That guy makes my skin crawl." Claire made a face. "I took over the Polaski case for Neil and Pears was up to his old tricks, trying to play mind games."

"And if I know you, you kept your poker face and were exceedingly polite. Ah, you and those impeccable manners."

Claire snorted and smiled at the assistant county attorney. He was every parent's "son-in-law fantasy." He looked impossibly wholesome with his wavy blond hair, dark blue eyes and cherubically handsome features. Add his 6'4" height and a solid build and you have a poster child for the Midwest dairy industry. His good looks and boy-next-door charm made him a favorite of jurors, and he was a tough lawyer who knew his criminal law.

"Claire, I haven't seen or spoken to you for almost a month. What's been up? Is corporate law still holding your interest?" Mark had rare insight into the tall lawyer's restless nature and short attention span.

"Same shit, different day," she offered wryly. "This is the last of Neil's cases I'm finishing up."

"Hey, I meant your personal life. I always know what's going on at the firm but you haven't told me about you. Come on, I've known you since we were both twelve years old," he cajoled. "When I don't hear from you after a couple a weeks, I know something's up."

She smiled wistfully. "Really Mark, it's nothing. I'm still me, which doesn't end up being very exciting. I get up. I go to work. I come home, and go to sleep. It's always the same."

"Are you in one of your slumps again?" the tall man inquired.

A dark eyebrow arched. "I just don't feel like seeing anyone. I like the solitude. Hey, by now you must be fully aware of my introverted, anti-social tendencies," Claire teased.

"I also know about your loneliness, Claire." His voice was friendly but serious. "You know that you have a standing invitation to my house for dinner, right? We've missed you the last few weeks."

"I have missed seeing you and the kids." She sighed. "Tell you what, let's try for next week."

"All right, I'll hold you to it. If we have to, we'll show up at your place with dinner. And I know about your new white couch and a three-year-old who would love to express his artistic side with some crayons. You've been warned," Mark joked with a smile.

She laughed and punched him lightly again. "You're such a menace! All right, I'll try to find the time to come over." Steering the conversation away from her personal life, Claire inquired about Mark's caseload. "Hey, any cases going this week?"

"Well, I've got one that's supposed to go, but my case is so solid, I think it'll plead out. I don't want to jinx myself, but this one is a slam-dunk."

"Your humility becomes you, my friend," she smirked. A muffled ringing sound from her briefcase indicated Claire had a call on her office cell phone.

"Hey, I'll talk to you later, I got a couple pre-trials." Leaning down, he placed a light kiss on her cheek and with a wave, he was whistling down the hallway once again, files in arm. Claire smiled as she answered the phone.

"Claire Easton.... Well, I was going to grab some lunch because... Another file? But I haven't even had lunch yet...But...A criminal case, huh? All right, I'll head back. Could you order me something from downstairs? Thanks."

Claire stowed her phone away and slid on her sunglasses. She said something new for me to try. Why don't I like the sound of that? The attorney thought as she headed to the parking lot.

Located in a renovated Victorian home on Grand Avenue in St. Paul, was the Cornerstone Clinic. Amanda Greer and her classmate Jody Penbrook established the clinic nearly two years ago. In addition to a small private clientele, the Cornerstone had a contract with the state correctional system. The contract allowed the two psychologists to see uninsured clients who couldn't afford their standard fee. In order to accommodate the steady stream of court referrals, Amanda's mentor and former teacher, Dr. Iris Park, had recently agreed to see clients on a limited basis at the clinic. Even though she was a talented counselor, it was comforting for Amanda to have Iris nearby. She knew she could always go upstairs and share her thoughts with her mentor.

Mondays were always the busiest day of the week, and this Monday was no exception. Amanda chewed her pencil thoughtfully, remaining silent. It appeared as though the two people in her office were in a staring contest, but in actuality, each was deep in thought. Finally, removing her pencil, Amanda broke the silence.

"How are you doing?" she asked gently.

Mike looked at Amanda a few more moments before answering. Amanda looked as if she was much too young to have graduated from college, let alone have a Ph.D. in psychology. With her shoulder length red blond hair and green eyes, the small, athletic woman could easily pass for a college co-ed. But Mike recognized her skill as a therapist and felt safe discussing his problems.

"I've been better, quite honestly," replied the client.

Amanda leaned forward. "Yeah, it is difficult, isn't it? Life is hard and nothing is ever going to change that completely. But we can have times in our lives that are less difficult than others. It may not seem that way right now, but things do get better. The challenge is to stay in the present and try to solve our problems. But at the same time, we should look forward to the possibility of the future," Amanda explained.

"I hate the way I feel, and I hate the feelings I have. It's so pathetic, Amanda," admitted Mike, his embarrassment clear.

"Mike, you may not be happy or particularly proud of the way you feel, but that doesn't make you or your feelings pathetic. Remember what we talked about at the beginning of our session? Feelings aren't good or bad or impressive or pathetic. They simply are. And our job is to manage them. Be gentle with yourself," she suggested.

"How am I going to be gentle with myself when I think I hate who I am?"

Mike couldn't meet her gaze. He looked around the room. Its décor didn't resemble what he thought would be stereotypical for a "shrink's" office. In the corner near the door, an octagonal table served as Amanda's desk. It was piled with papers, manila folders, various personal pictures and a ceramic figurine of a bear. The rest of the room was set up similar to a comfortable den, with a small table as a centerpiece between a couch and several inviting chairs. Draped over the couch was a woven cotton blanket, while a large assortment of stuffed animals lay resting on the cushions. Art posters, paintings, and an enlarged photograph of a waterfall covered the walls. As required by law, her psychologist's license and graduate diploma, indicating her doctorate was from the University of Minnesota, were displayed on a shelf along with a few small plants. Again, Amanda waited quietly, allowing time for her client to think.

Mandy, maybe you should listen to yourself once in a while. Physician, heal thyself, huh? What did you do when you felt that way? Stew in despair like your client is now?"

Again, it was Amanda's voice that finally broke the silence. "It feels pretty crappy to be in that place, doesn't it? Mike, I don't have a simple answer to that. Although I wish I did. That's something we can pick up next week, all right? In the meantime, give yourself a break. You just have to hang in there and ride it out." She reached out and placed a comforting palm on his knee.

He smiled faintly back at her. "So I can't convince you to wave your magic wand over me and suddenly make me feel better, huh?" he asked in a droll tone.

Actually, if I had one of those, I'd wave it over myself first. Amanda shook her head and smiled. "Afraid not. Even if I did, the insurance companies and the HMO's would have me using it on two or three clients at a time to save money. That's always been one of your gifts, Mike. You have a good sense of humor which helps in the difficult times." She smiled at him encouragingly.

The psychologist got up, walked over to her desk and checked her calendar. "Well, looks like we're all set for next week. Bring your planner next time and we'll set aside some time for the next month." She walked him over to the door. "Take care, Mike."

After he left, she closed her office door again and pulled out his patient file from the locked metal file cabinet. Sitting down at her desk, she jotted down a few notes before leaning back into her ergonomically designed chair. Grimacing, Amanda began to rub her temples in an effort to forestall an impending allergy headache. Running a hand through her reddish gold hair, she added a few more notes before putting the file away.

Although she had a thriving practice, and was making a good dent in her student loans, there was something missing in her life. The young psychologist had recently bought a townhouse in Eagan that she shared with her infant daughter. Melissa was the apple of her mother's eye, taking up most of her time, but there was an emptiness in her life that Amanda recognized as simple loneliness. She couldn't quite figure it out. It was like a constant low-grade fever, nothing too severe, but uncomfortable enough to cause her concern.

Amanda glanced at the clock. Looks like I've got just enough time to run to the bathroom before my next client arrives. Then again, she's usually early.

It had warmed up considerably since she left this morning, and Claire was now carrying her suit jacket as she rode up the burnished brass elevators of the Norwest Center. She pushed a lock of hair from her face and stretched a bit, her back a little sore from sitting. The elevator door opened and she stepped onto the twenty-seventh floor, one of three floors her firm occupied in the building. She made her way past the receptionist to her office, which still contained several unopened boxes from her recent move. Anxious to see the new file, Claire tossed her briefcase and jacket on the nearest file cabinet. Trying to relax, she leaned back in her chair and stretched out. Man, it ONLY took four years to get an office with walls and a door. Adios, to my old cube.

This is what you've worked toward, ya know. I'm out of that lawyer mill but so far the only difference I've noticed is that I get a better office. Looking down, she spotted the new file on her desk. It was a criminal file. Opening it, she discovered the criminal complaint and almost nothing else. Where are the motions to suppress or dismiss? No one's done anything yet!

She scanned the complaint quickly. State v. Levine, six counts, ranging from misdemeanor possession, to possession with intent to distribute. The only other documentation was copies of the search warrants and receipts of what was recovered in the search.

Damn, heroin and high school kids? This is just great! Well Aaron, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye, cause you're gonna be in the custody of the Commissioner of Corrections for at the next least twenty years.

Claire closed the file and read the attached Post-it note.

Fixating on Evan's inadequacies, Claire thought of the string of first year associates that were assigned to Evan and how he put them through a meat grinder, and then took credit for their work. He was even too egotistical to allow them to second chair the cases they had worked so hard on. Another glance at the file and Claire noticed who the prosecutor was.

My first felony trial and have to go up against my best friend who happens to be one of the best drug prosecutors in the state. Maybe, we won't be having dinner next week, she mused.

Claire knew that her friendship with Mark would survive the trial. This was business, not personal. They had long since accepted that one-day they might be on opposite sides of the courtroom. Sighing heavily, she began reading. There was a ton of work to do and she only had 48 hours to prepare for her first criminal case. And what a piece of shit it was.

"That concludes the State's case your honor." Mark nodded to the Judge, confidant that this was one rich-boy punk who wouldn't get away with his crimes. Selling and doing drugs with high school kids in the bleachers of the school stadium. Talk about crappy! The State's case had been carefully laid out, no details being left to chance. Too many of these guys have been way too lucky lately. Time to win one for the home team.

Claire watched as Mark put on a nearly flawless case. Although, several times she did manage to cast a scintilla of doubt on the State's key witnesses. But she knew it wouldn't be enough. How could it be? It's so totally obvious this scum is guilty! The police did everything by the book and Mark hasn't let anything slip. Evan, you are truly an incompetent idiot! Why are we even here? Why didn't you advise this twerp to take the offered plea bargain? For Christ sakes! It was a more than a fair offer. And we have no case. At the very least you should have insisted on a jury trial.

Claire looked over at the conspicuously empty jury box, then back to Judge Rumble. There is no way "Uncle Luther" is gonna let this guy off. What were you thinking? She mentally rolled her eyes. That is, if you thought about this case at all. Even an inadequate asshole like you knows that with a jury you always have a chance of acquittal, no matter how hopeless your case. But a bench trial? It's suicide for a guilty defendant. Any second-year law student knows that. It's nearly impossible to razzle-dazzle or distract a good judge. I think you just didn't want to be here when this dirtball is found guilty and gets a huge sentence! Nothin' like passing the buck. Well, look on the bright side Claire, at least this guy will get what he deserves and be off to Stillwater Penitentiary.

Oddly, even though it was clear she was going to loose her first big criminal case, she was comforted by the fact that the outcome would be just. Heh. Somehow I don't think that thought is going to be very comforting to Levine.

Judge Luther Rumble removed his wire-rimmed glasses, rubbing tired eyes. In a clipped serious tone, he spoke. "Thank you Counselor." Looking at Claire, "Ms. Easton, are you ready to proceed with the defense?"

"May I have a moment, Your Honor?"

"Five minute recess." CRACK!! The sound of the gavel boomed through the small courtroom. Judge Rumble leaned back in his dark leather chair, motioning to his clerk up to the bench. Shutting off the small bench microphone he leaned forward, and along with his clerk he started to shuffle through contents of the criminal file. The old judge grimaced and began fussing with the stiff white collar of his shirt.

You'd think he could get Helen to stop having the cleaners starch his shirts after 50 years. Claire smiled, thinking of the childhood cookouts her family and the Rumbles shared. How many years has it been now? Twelve? Fifteen? And those God awful formal dinners. Ughhhh! If Mom and Dad hadn't bribed me with the possibility of hearing some of Uncle Luther's legendary courtroom stories, I don't think I even they would've been able to force me to attend. The mental picture of herself in a horrible lavender party dress shook Claire out of her brief trip down memory lane. Putting a stop to her mental ramblings, she took this opportunity to lean over and quietly speak to her client.

"No! I told you! I can't go to jail," Aaron hissed.

"Mr. Levine, were you paying attention to the prosecutor's case? Weren't you the guy sitting next to me when they paraded out witness after witness? Weren't you sitting here when each one of those witness pointed right at you and detailed EXACTLY what happened that night?" Claire could see this approach wasn't working. Corporate defendants are soooo much more practical. Okay. Plan B.

"Aaron, if you're convicted, based on these charges, you're looking at nearly 22 years in prison. You know that right?" Aaron nodded and for a brief moment he almost looked ashamed. However, as quickly as the look appeared, it was gone, replaced by that annoying, cocky grin, he had been sporting the entire trial. Claire clinched her jaw, and continued. "I'm your advocate Aaron. And I'm thinkin' what's best for you is not to go to prison for so long that when you're finally released... Rogaine and Viagra will be regular items on your shopping list. Maybe if we stop this right now it won't be too late to accept the plea? Wadda ya say?" That's assuming Mark has pity on you, Buddy. I know I wouldn't. I know he smells the blood in the water. Claire looked hard into Aaron's muddy brown eyes. Fuck. He's too stupid to even help himself.

"Are you ready to proceed Ms. Easton?" The clerk had returned to his chair and the criminal file was now laid open and spread across the bench. Judge Rumble had just finished cleaning his glasses, and looked oddly impatient.

"Yes, your honor."

"Proceed."

She briefly flashed a look over at Mark who smiled slightly. Shit. That was a pity smile if I've ever seen one. Rising, Claire buttoned her blue silk jacket, and addressed the Court. Her eyes were still scanning her notes as she made a purely perfunctory motion.

"May it please the Court. Based on the evidence presented by the Prosecution, Defendant moves for a directed verdict of acquittal."

Silence.

Claire looked up from her notes and glanced at Mark who was now leaning forward, intently watching the Judge Rumble. For a full 30 seconds the judge was silent. What the hell is going on? Is he actually considering my motion?

Mark was visibly growing more and more agitated. One of his fists was in clinched in a tightly ball. His knuckles were turning white and a slight flush began to appear around his collar. The unadulterated disbelief that the Judge would even consider acquitting this defendant, ESPECIALLY before he had even presented his own case, was plainly written across Mark's face. Claire returned Mark's look and was surprised when his face seemed to grow cold and even angrier. Now what? Then Claire turned to Aaron Levine and took in the smug look on his face. I wouldn't count your chickens just yet you little shit, she thought disgustedly.

The murmurings from the "peanut gallery" increased steadily as Judge Rumble remained silent. Finally, he cleared his throat and the courtroom went silent.

"Based on a careful consideration of the case presented by the State, this Court has no choice but to dismiss all counts... save count six...the misdemeanor possession charge. With the evidence presented, it is clear that a finding of guilt on counts one through five would be impossible."

The courtroom exploded. Claire was stunned. Did I just win? Aaron Levine immediately jumped to his feet and began hugging his shocked attorney. His words barely registered.

"See? I knew you'd do it! You just had to keep the faith." Claire wasn't responding. "Earth to Ms. Easton...Earth to Ms. Easton. Hey, are you still in there?"

What? Oh. "Ya...ya...congratulations Mr. Levine. But listen, the trials not over yet, we still have to worry about that misdemeanor possession charge. And..."

"ORDER! Keep it down in here or I'm CLEARING this courtroom." CRACK! CRACK! Judge Rumble raised the gavel a third time but stopped mid-motion as silence descended in the courtroom once again. This time you could hear a pin drop. His face was deadly serious and slightly flustered. "Counsel approach the bench," he commanded, and clicked off the bench microphone.

Mark was still trying to compose himself as he slowly made his way around to the counsel table and approached the elevated wooden bench. Claire followed behind Mark not wanting to look him in the eye. What in God's name is Uncle Luther thinking? Did I miss something?

Quickly raising a placating hand to forestall Mark's questions, the judge made his position clear. "Save it Counselor. I've made my ruling. I'll explain my reasoning in my Order and Memorandum. The only thing left to discuss is what you are going to do about count six."

"I won't voluntarily drop the charge," Mark challenged.

"No one is asking you to, Counselor." The judged turned back to Claire. "Come on Claire, we all know your client needs help. Isn't there any way to get him to take a plea so we can all go home?" The judge's voice had softened, and his eyes appeared watery.

What's with this case Luther? What's got you so upset? Claire glanced at her client, who was now hugging and kissing his spiky-haired girlfriend. Bet Mommy and Daddy had a cow when you brought her home, she mused silently. Oh yeah...I'll bet they were pissed. Or is that the whole point?

Turning back toward the Judge and still avoiding direct eye contact with Mark, she spoke. "He won't accept jail time under any circumstances. And I can't convince him otherwise. It's his choice."

"This is a lousy misdemeanor possession charge," the Judge groused. Who's talking jail time?" The judge was now solely focused on Mark. The inference was clear. "What about drug counseling?"

Mark briefly closed his eyes. How am I gonna explain this to my boss? Crap! I've gotta get somethin' here. This case was a no-brainer. Anything, even a guilty plea to this one last pissant charge is better than nothing. I know when I'm licked. Mark drew a deep breath and looked at Claire's face, but not into her eyes. Angrily, he stuffed his fists into his trouser pockets and murmured, "Minimum of 15 drug counseling sessions with a court contracted clinic. He misses even one session and he's violated."

Claire nodded. "I'll talk to my client. It shouldn't take long." The tall attorney made her way back to the defense table and a clearly pleased Aaron Levine.

"Why should I plead guilty to anything? Judge Rumble already tossed out the other charges," Aaron protested arrogantly.

"Because, the Judge made it clear he believes you have a problem Aaron. He wouldn't have come to that conclusion if he didn't think you were using. Trust me on this, you won't skate on the misdemeanor too. Look, there's no jail time involved just a couple months of drug counseling with a court appointed psychologist." It was clear Aaron was considering the deal. Finally, he's starting to listen to reason. Am I ever glad I didn't have to work for this dickweed before today. I already feel like I've spent a lifetime with spoiled brats just like him.

"Ok, Ms. Easton. You can tell the Prosecutor you've got a deal."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "I think that was a really smart choice, Aaron. It won't be too much longer, we'll just need to read the agreement into record and proceed with a few formalities."

Aaron leaned in towards Claire and clasped her arm tightly. "No jail right? I won't do actual jail time?"

"No jail time. You'll have to attend fifteen counseling sessions. And I mean all fifteen. If you miss even one then you'll be right back here. Understand?"

"Sure Beautiful, I understand." Aaron flashed his most charming smile and his grip on Claire's arm loosened. His hand slowly made its way down to her wrist.

Jerking away her hand, she stared at him coldly. "I'll be right back Mr. Levine." Yuck! I wonder if I could get away with breaking his arm right here in court? Then again, after what I saw today...I'm not so sure I couldn't.

Smoothing the sleeve of her jacket the attorney visibly straightened her posture and made her way back to the bench. Mark and Judge Rumble were both occupied with their own thoughts and appeared to be oblivious to the other.

Claire stopped next to Mark and spoke quietly, fully knowing that the day was a raving success for her client, which meant it was a rousing failure for her friend. "He'll take the deal, Mark."

The big man smiled at Claire's good sportsmanship. This was clearly a huge victory, especially since it was her first venture into criminal defense. "Well, I think they'll be a celebration over at Maylor & Moore. Good for you, Claire." Mark spoke softly to Claire, his smile never reaching his eyes.

"Come on Mark, let's get this over with and head over to Ryan's Pub for a drink. I'm buyin'."

"Damn right you are, Kiddo," he said gruffly. But this time the smile was genuine. "And, I may need two."

After having a few drinks with Mark at Ryan's Pub, Claire returned to the office to find David Bartolo, the head of the firm's criminal defense department, waiting in her office. He was stretched out on her couch, reading the latest issue of the National Law Journal.

"And here she is, the newest member of the criminal defense department!" he proclaimed as soon as she entered the room. Leaping from his prone position he congratulated Claire by slapping her hard on the back.

Claire smiled at the veteran defense attorney. He was a small, wiry man with a full head of wavy dark hair and a mustache. His dark eyes absolutely twinkled with excitement. Although she was pleasantly surprised by the victory, there was something not quite right about the whole situation. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that something was downright wrong. What she didn't need right now was Dave Bartolo schmoozing her.

"Thanks Dave, but I haven't joined your department yet."

"It's just a matter of time. You and Evan will be the next legal dream team," he gushed.

Evan and I the next dream team? Dave, whatcha you been smokin'? Wonder boy just got lucky. He wouldn't know where to sign a motion unless there was a "sign here" sticker to help.

Before Claire could respond, Dave started pulling her out the door. "Well, I sense some hesitation. But if you aren't convinced now, you will be soon. The grumpy old men have thrown you a victory party. Your parents will be there," he added excitedly.

"Where are we going?" I don't feel like celebrating.

"Luci Ancora. They rented out the whole upstairs!"

If this is so great how come I feel like shit? Claire pondered as the elevator door closed.

Luci Ancora, a peculiar two-story olive green stucco structure, was one of the finest restaurants in the Twin Cities. There was precious little parking so valet parking was an option. Dave had insisted on driving her there in his new Range Rover, promising to have someone drive Claire's Explorer back to her suburban home in Mendota Heights. Since it was nearly 7:00 p.m., the restaurant was crowded with eager diners. Dave proudly led Claire to the upstairs room. I feel like a blue-ribbon heifer at the State Fair, she thought testily. If this guy doesn't lay off, I'm gonna spew.

Claire immediately spotted her parents who were talking with one of the senior partners. Anxiously, they waived her over. One look at the Easton clan and it was obvious where Claire got her good looks. Claire's father was a tall, distinguished looking man, his thick black hair streaked with gray. His startling blue eyes were visible beneath designer glasses.

"There she is, the latest rising star at Maylor and Moore," laughed Robert Maylor as Claire sat down and inattentively began to peruse a menu. She'd managed to ditch Dave when he became distracted by one of the new attractive receptionists.

"You know Bob, we always thought Claire was a corporate lawyer, but she's proved us wrong!" declared Matthew Easton.

"Dad, please..."

"Claire, your father is so proud of you, we didn't know you had it in you to do criminal defense." Judge Anne Porter Easton was clearly ecstatic.

Claire took a deep breath as she released her napkin that was now twisted beyond use. "Well Mom, I guess I surprised myself, didn't I?"

Sensing the approach of an awkward moment, Claire's boss launched into a detailed account of the trial. Her parents were immediately absorbed in the tale. Claire looked around the room. Christ, I don't know half the people here. But no attorney worth his salt would turn down a chance at free liquor. Add in the opportunity to schmooze the senior partners, and attendance might as well have been mandatory.

Looking up from the bottom of her glass Claire noticed a crowd at the door. Evan Moore had arrived. Evan cut a dashing figure with his tall, lean build, reddish hair and expressive hazel eyes. He simply oozed charm and charisma. His infectious laugh drew an attentive crowd of admirers. As he greeted the people around him, his eyes found Claire. Smiling, he strode over theatrically and took her hand.

"Well, well, we had a criminal defense lawyer locked away in the corporate department, I see. Good show! Hell of a good job," he proclaimed heartily as shook her hand with vigor. He ended the handshake with a firm slap on the back.

What is it with these criminal defense lawyers who love to slap people on the back? Isn't a handshake enough?" She reciprocated with an insincere smile and a lukewarm pat.

"You are amazing Claire, just like that, it all disappears," gushed Evan, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

"Actually, he did plead guilty..." began Claire.

"A chicken shit misdemeanor! I would have paid to see the reaction on Captain America's face when Rumble granted your motion," interrupted Evan.

"Mark put on a damn good case and he's a good friend of mine." Claire raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Claire, no one is criticizing Mark's ability," her father soothed. "Evan is just proud of your victory."

Claire just sighed and stopped talking. Claire knew better than to try to change her parent's minds. Ignorethemigorethemignorethem, she silently repeated the familiar mantra. Claire's sour mood didn't escape the perceptive eye of the firm's founder.

"Young lady..." Robert Maylor pointed directly at Claire "you are a good attorney." Noting the dark circles under her eyes he added, "You look tired. I know we aren't easy on our junior attorneys, but I can see our training has definitely paid off with you." Claire tried to ignore his condescending tone. "But we aren't TOTAL slave drivers. I know you've been working your tail off. You have another appearance next week?"

"I have some discovery motion next week for the... uh...what's the name again????? Robertson file," she rebounded.

He smiled. Quick on your feet, hey. "Okay, after your motion, you are going to take some time off."

"That's very considerate of you Bob, but I really enjoy my work..."

"You're talking to an old man who still is a workaholic. This firm was founded on my drive, but now I have children I barely know and I hardly see my grandchildren. I've learned my lessons. I don't want you making those same mistakes. This.. is.. a.. direct.. order." A pointy finger emphasizing each word.

"After your motion next week, you take some time off. Don't worry about your cases. We have to keep those summer associates busy somehow." He smiled in anticipation.

The younger lawyer could see that arguing was futile. "All right, but after two weeks, I reserve the right to come back. I get bored easily when I'm not working," Claire confessed.

"The work will still be there when you get back. You just need some rest. Once you're rested up you'll realize how important that victory today was," he soothed.

Either that or I'll bail on criminal law altogether. A directed verdict...why?

Claire practically jumped out of Dave's Range Rover. She was pathetically grateful to be home. Her family heritage and high salary permitted her to indulge in many luxuries, but this house was one of the few she allowed herself. It was her sanctuary... a place where she felt completely safe and secure when the world became too much. The white brick house sat on an acre of land surrounded by trees and was nearly invisible from the street beyond.

It's lucky I didn't have to drive home tonight, she thought wryly. I'm still feelin' the effects of that last scotch. Or was it the last four? Come on, I need to chill out and let myself enjoy this victory. Why can't I just enjoy this without waiting for the other shoe to drop?

She gingerly made her way up the driveway, trying not to fall flat on her face. Claire noticed that the flowering trees and tulips were beginning to bloom. She had spent last fall planting row upon row of her favorite flower and was satisfied to see the fruit of her labors.

Maybe I should just garden full time and become a landscape architect? It doesn't involve being responsible for people's lives. There wouldn't be any guilt about outcomes. If your customer doesn't like a your work...fuck'em... he can plant his own trees. She snorted.

Shuffling through the door, and tossing down her jacket and briefcase, she stumbled into her modern but bare kitchen. The sleek marble countertops and oak cabinets were mostly empty, a testimony to her lack of culinary interest. The stainless steel refrigerator, did however, contain enough pre-packaged and carryout food to last her the week.

God, I hate nylons. Ripping them off as she walked towards the stairs, she nearly fell. I gotta change out this moron uniform. Heading upstairs to her bedroom, Claire passed her baby grand piano which sat lonely in her sparsely furnished living room.

Leaving a trail of clothing as she went Claire wobbled by her library, office and two spare bedrooms. Shower. I must have a shower.

The steaming hot water began working its way through Claire's scotch induced haze. Shutting off the water, the brunette. Claire wearily pulled open the shower curtain and grabbed a towel. After several minutes of riffling through the clothes on the floor Claire finally hit pay dirt. Shit...I guess tomorrow is laundry day. Sitting on her unmade bed, it took great effort to slip on her favorite pair of running shorts and threadbare T-shirt.

What am I in the mood for tonight? Dammit , don't go there. You know you're in the mood for something you can't have. Messages, then music...

Punching the button on her answering machine she smiled faintly as the messages played. They were mainly notes of congratulations for winning her first criminal trial. Claire took a deep breath after listening to them, still troubled by her "victory."

Even given her non-existent experience in criminal defense, she still understood how rare a directed verdict was. Mark presented a devastating case. He should have won!

Her thoughts shifted to Evan. How does an incompetent lawyer like Evan get such a kickass reputation? Evan probably spent more time on the Post-It than researching the case.

Am I jealous of Evan? Am I jealous because it comes so easy for him and you had to work so hard to prepare this case? Be honest with yourself. What's wrong with this picture. My gut is telling me something. I just don't know what...Yet.

After retrieving the last of her messages, she noticed how thirsty she was. That's what you get for emptying half a bottle of scotch. Well, at least it was good scotch, she laughed aloud.

Opening her refrigerator she reached to the back corner and retrieved some apple juice. 1:00 a.m.? What could possibly be on TV this late? She slowly padded into the den and began channel surfing, finally settling on the History Channel. I forgot how thirsty drinking makes you, she thought, as she gulped down the last of the juice.

Claire found herself mildly interested in the Greek archeology show, but she couldn't concentrate. Sighing, she clicked off the television and made her way into the living room. She needed to relax, and in a world of uncertainties, there had always been one constant - the piano. Playing was her favorite way to relax and think.

She didn't bother turning on the living room light. The dim lights streaming in from the hallway barely allowed her to see the keyboard. Sitting down on the padded leather bench she stretched out long fingers. Closing her eyes for a moment, she cleared her mind and began playing the beginning aria of Bach's Goldberg Variations. The gentle phrasing and flowing melody flowed through her. Although she liked playing all types of music, she preferred the classical masters like Bach, Handel and Scarlatti. The precise notes and the repeating patterns allowed her to concentrate. I must be an idiot-savant. I'm actually playing better with a buzz.

All right, I've got to put an end to this obsessing or it's going to drive me batty. Tomorrow I can go to the office and take a look at Evan's files. Maybe I can figure out what happened to his other cases. Then I can let it go ... or, not. Deft fingers crossed the keyboard.

Come on Claire, quit fooling yourself. You won't let it die until you get to the bottom of the whole thing. God, I'm obsessive! I know it, and I still can't stop myself. But I can't do another criminal case until I know what happened with this one.

Her playing was fluid, hands moved up and down the keyboard with a natural grace. She started to play a Scarlatti sonata.

Hold it. You're not responsible for the kids Aaron Levine sold dope to. The only person I can control is myself. I had to learn that lesson the hard way, remember?

Claire finished the Scarlatti and went to another Bach piece.

Finally having made the decision to act on her suspicions she was able to relax. She stopped playing and sighed.

"Landscape architecture. Maybe I missed my true calling," she said with a sad laugh.

The traffic going into St. Paul was surprisingly light for a Monday morning. Claire crossed the over the Mississippi River and into the outskirts of the city with her mind on a mission. Her review of Evan's old case files had left her with more questions than answers. It appeared that Evan had been granted a directed verdict in several recent trials. Claire became even more suspicious after she noted that all of Evan's clients were ordered into counseling at the Cornerstone Clinic in St. Paul. As she got off 35E at the Randolph Street exit, her mind focused on her conversation with Mark last night. The two friends had made plans for Claire to come to dinner later this week.

"I don't know if this is sour grapes or not, but my track record has been lousy with Evan lately. What's even more surprising is that it was Uncle Luther who granted that motion. He's always been such a hard-ass, especially with drug dealers," Mark had explained.

Claire decided to check out this Cornerstone Clinic to see just what kind of services they offered. Turning off Lexington Avenue and onto Grand Avenue, she began looking at the building numbers. The clinic was located near Billy's, a favorite student hangout for the nearby William Mitchell College of Law. Claire found a parking space about a half a block down from the clinic and walked along Grand Avenue, stopping in front of a neatly remodeled brownstone Victorian house. She looked at the discreet sign outside. This was indeed, the Cornerstone Clinic.

Claire carefully pulled open the door and went inside. She immediately encountered a waiting area, complete with a large couch and several chairs. Spotting a coffee table that held some magazines, Claire picked one up and looked at the date. At least these magazines aren't two years old. She also saw an assortment of toys and a tiny plastic picnic table in the other corner. There were two doors leading to the offices of the psychologists, Amanda Greer and Jody Penbrook. It appeared that the clinic was the sole occupant of the building. Claire wandered over to the stairs and looked up, seeing two other offices, a bathroom and a small kitchen.

Looks normal enough, Claire thought as she went over to a wall rack with brochures and booklets next to the offices. She picked one up entitled, "About Cornerstone Clinic," and scanned it quickly. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just some background on the services provided and educational information about the two psychologists. Claire looked at another one entitled, "The Therapeutic Process and You," and was about to read it when one of the doors opened and a man walked out of the office and into the waiting area. He went directly to the drinking fountain, giving her a friendly smile. She smiled back and went on reading the brochure, before picking up another one. The other office door opened and a woman walked over to greet Claire.

"Hi, are you here for an appointment?" asked a brown-haired woman in a friendly tone.

"Uh, no, not exactly. I was just here to... pick up some brochures about the clinic, you know," Claire replied a bit nervously.

Claire noticed another woman out of the corner of her eye. She was casually dressed in khakis and a soft cotton shirt. Claire felt that she was being watched and turned her full gaze to the petite women. The woman looked very young, her reddish blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were a unique green which Claire couldn't recall seeing before. The attorney found herself smiling sheepishly at the woman, before turning her attention back to the brunette.

The woman smiled. "Okay, well take your time. You might want to look at this one." She handed Claire a pamphlet. If you have any questions, give us a call."

"Thanks. I will," Claire added, as she left the building.

Claire snapped out of her little trance and shook her head. Shit. What was that all about? One smile and you're feeling all warm inside? It has been a long time, hasn't it? She shrugged. Maybe I know her from somewhere.

The padded oak rocking chair tipped back into its normal position as Amanda rose and stepped forward. With a muffled groan she twisted her head. Straining her neck, she smiled with satisfaction as the vertebrae popped back into place. Careful not to wake the sleeping form resting against her shoulder, she swayed slightly backward and was rewarded with another audible pop, this time in her lower back. Amanda continued to unconsciously sing the song from her own childhood, even after she recognized the soft, even breaths of sleep, which tickled her neck.

Several squirming seconds later, the girl was sound asleep and Amanda hesitantly removed her hand, immediately missing the warmth of the connection. She spent a full minute simply gazing at the baby, wondering how such a small person could have such a profound impact on her life. With a soundless sigh and one last adoring look at her daughter, she turned to leave the room. At that moment her stomach decided to protest its sad treatment as of late.

Oops. Time for snack I think. Amanda made her way to the small kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. What do I want? Healthy or decadent? I'm definitely in the mood for somethin' bad for me and I'm waaaay too tired to fix somethin' healthy. Any of those cookies left? Small hands fumbled around blindly through the cupboards. Finally! "Yummmmy, Oreos," she purred. Grabbing several cookies she turned and opened the refrigerator, the bright light temporarily blinding her. Man, that's bright. Milk. Where's the darn milk? Ahhh. Okay, all set.

Finally, a little quiet time to think. Blindly, she made her way to her favorite recliner. Snuggling down, she gazed through the glass of her patio doors into the night. The light pattern of the rain tapping against the glass and her rhythmic chewing began to relax away the day's tension. With eyes closed she leaned back heavily into the soft fabric, relishing its softness, and letting her mind drift back over her day.

I wonder who she was? I hope she's not a patient. A mental frown. Then again, I'd love to get a better look at her...just under different circumstances. She was pretty. Snorting slightly, Okay...admit it. She was more than just pretty. How often can you actually say that about someone? And those eyes. Wow!

Even from the doorway of her office Amanda could make out the depth and brilliance of their color. She realized she must have been staring for an inappropriate length of time when the woman suddenly looked up at her and broke into a slightly crooked smile, then quickly shifted her focus back to Jody. Quite without her permission, Amanda found an answering grin on her own face. I wonder if she's shy? Jody handed the women some brochures and she was gone. She didn't look like she had a drug problem. Maybe she was there for marriage counseling. Was there a ring? Knowing the absurdity of her own thoughts, Amanda chuckled. Okay, and she didn't look like she had too serious a problem. Some of the people that came in for drug counseling truly did appear to be on their last leg. She looked healthy. Strong even. Amanda felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at the more than likely prospect of never seeing this woman again. Well, if she's not coming to see us professionally, maybe it's because she's deliriously happy. I hope she is. Someone should be.

With that depressing thought, she sighed deeply and got up, pulling the curtain shut on the patio door. Leaving her glass on the coffee table, she turned towards her bedroom and away from gentle sound of the spring rain against the glass.

Amanda sat looking around the empty jury room that smelled like wood, dust and sweat. Rising from the uncomfortable wooden chair she walked to the window and peered out at to the grass below. The day had been a complete disaster. The hellish metro traffic had nearly caused her to be late. She arrived in court only minutes before she had to testify. She rubbed her temples in frustration. Her testimony had not gone well. Her client was a recovering alcoholic who had, at least temporarily, lost custody of his 8-year-old son.

His attorney had subpoenaed her to testify to her client's life improvements, apparently through successful rehabilitation. After receiving the subpoena she'd tried to contact her patient's attorney. For a solid week she left voice and email messages, with no response. The day before she was scheduled to testify she was desperate enough to skip over the attorney completely. She phoned her client directly only to get his answering machine.

The therapist knew the kind of testimony they wanted. She was expected to take the stand and say that her client had gotten his life together, that he had recovered from the disease which had crippled him for years, and that he was now capable of being a fit parent to his son. Only problem was...it wasn't true. Her client had made vast improvements since he began counseling. But improving didn't mean he was ready to have his son back. It was too soon.

Amanda earnestly testified that her client was making progress, all the while praying that she wouldn't be directly asked if she believed he was emotionally ready to take on the responsibility of an 8-year-old child. But of course, she was asked. And she responded in the only way possible. She told the truth. Her client had been livid, calling her a traitorous bitch. Their doctor/patient relationship was damaged beyond repair. She wasn't sure if she wanted to shout or cry. Months of progress had been effectively wiped away in all of 15 minutes. She only hoped he would continue with his treatment elsewhere. Now she stood, alone in the quiet jury room, licking her wounds and wishing she had stayed in bed this morning.

"That shouldn't be a problem. I've got a few minutes before my hearing so I'm gonna find a nice quiet spot and review the briefs... Okay...I'll be by later today and pick up some reading material so I'll have something to do on my enforced vacation...Ha..ha..very funny. See you later." Claire snapped her phone shut and began climbing the steps to the third floor jury room.

Boy, it's been a while sense I've come up the back way. I don't think I've even been up here since I stopped clerking for Judge Peters.

Shifting her briefcase into her left hand Claire opened the door to the jury room. It had been a favorite work spot when she was a judicial clerk. The room provided better lighting and more space than her small office and whenever it wasn't in use she'd claim it as her own. Claire sniffed as she opened the door. Oh yeah...must have been a close one... criminal maybe. Setting down her briefcase she suddenly noticed a silent figure in the corner of the room, standing in the shadows. Disappointed she exhaled, I guess I shouldn't have expected the place to be empty. Stay or go? The woman in the corner had her back to Claire and was staring out the window. She was apparently oblivious to the fact that someone else had entered the room. Claire noticed the woman's shoulders slightly lurch. Is she crying? Well, so what if she is? She obviously wants to be alone or she wouldn't be in here. Man...This is none of my business! But even from behind she looks so sad. A moment of indecision. What the hell.

Not wanting to frighten the woman, Claire made her approach much noisier than necessary. Hearing the loud steps, Amanda turned around quickly wiping an angry hand across her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I thought it would be okay if I used this room, it was empty so..."

"No, no, it's fine for you to be in here you just looked a little...er...upset... and I was just gonna see if you were okay ... or if there was anything I could do," Claire offered uncomfortably.

"I'm fine but thanks for..." Amanda stepped forward, completely out of the shadows and each woman immediately recognized the other. "Thanks for asking," the blonde finally finished.

Claire felt an instant tightening in her chest when she saw the trail of dried tears on Amanda's cheeks. Anger? Am I angry at whoever's made her so upset? Claire didn't have time to analyze the strange feelings before Amanda spoke again.

"You were at the Cornerstone Clinic earlier this week right?" she questioned.

She actually remembers me? Why not? I sure as hell remember her. "Yes, I was picking up some brochures for a friend." It's not a TOTAL lie. Time to change the subject. "What's got you so upset? Dr. Penbrook?"

"Nope, that's my partner." Amanda extended her hand. "I'm Amanda Greer."

Claire gently gripped the offered hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Greer. I'm Claire Easton." Her hand feels so soft. Claire released the hand a second later than she should have. Jesus, I need to get a grip. One look at those pretty green eyes and my mind goes blank. Embarrassed, Claire quickly refocused on whatever was bothering Amanda. "Have a seat." She gestured to the nearest chair. "Why are you in here all alone, and obviously upset?" she asked again.

Amanda's first reaction was to simply say she was fine and to leave it at that. But for some reason, she found herself more than willing to share what had happened.

"To make a long story short, I testified in a child custody hearing this morning. My client is the one who subpoenaed me. But he wasn't too pleased with my testimony." Amanda frowned. "Then my client's attorney must have decided to discredit me or...whatever... because he suddenly turned on me, basically trying to make it look like I wasn't considering my clients best interests and..." Amanda stopped and looked up at Claire. "That's probably more than you wanted to know, huh?" Amanda cringed, embarrassed that she'd been rambling.

Claire winced knowing she'd employed that same tactic herself on rare occasion.

"Are you in here hiding too?" the smaller woman asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Chuckling, Claire responded. "Not this time." Then her face grew serious and Amanda wondered what she could possibly be thinking. When she spoke again her had eyes softened and she sat down next to Amanda. "Sounds to me like you could use some hints on how to survive in court."

"Are you offering?" Amanda queried, hoping the answer was yes. Maybe this day won't be a total loss.

"I guess I am." Claire shifted in her seat. "Wanna get together for lunch on Monday? I could give you a few pointers." Say yes!

"Do you get sued a lot or something?" Amanda joked. The friendly banter felt...comfortable...familiar even. That's weird.

"No." Claire laughed, but was painfully aware Amanda hadn't accepted her invitation. "I'm an attorney. I could tell you a little about what to expect in court. To be honest, your client's attorney should have done that before he ever put you on the stand."

"That sounds great I'd..." Amanda stopped, the smile dropping from her face. "But...well...maybe we shouldn't." Claire felt her heartbeat increase, and she unconsciously gripped the arm of her chair, waiting for the inevitable excuses. "I mean I know you said you were picking up the brochures for a friend and all, but if there's a chance you'd end up a patient I really can't...ah.."

"NO!" Claire exclaimed, a little too loudly. Grabbing hold of her emotions she softened her voice. "No. There's no chance of me being a patient," she reassured. "Honestly."

Amanda's smile immediately returned.

When she smiles she gets the cutest lines around her eyes and nose. Claire thought. Aackk! God, I'm downright disgusting!

Amanda stood and gathered her purse from below the table. "I have to be going. How about noon?" Claire nodded. "Okay, then. Since you know where I work why don't you pick me up there and we can leave from the clinic?" The tall attorney nodded again. "Till Monday then," Amanda waived and strode out the door.

As the door closed behind Amanda, Claire finally found her voice. "Bye," she called out to the empty room.

Chapter 2

It was a beautiful day for golf, and crowds of anxious golfers flooded the Hazeltine Golf Course clubhouse. Lawyers, judges, politicians, industry leaders, and local celebrities were often seen on its luxurious links and in its rich facilities. At least two of the trio at the ninth hole preferred not to be seen at such a high profile place, but the third person insisted.

Stuart Chow adjusted the brim of his baseball hat to shield his eyes from the mid-morning sun. He was still jet lagged from the hastily planned trip from Hong Kong. Adding to his irritation was the fact that someone of his rank was sent to deal with such a minor problem. Stuart, however, realized that nearly any "minor" problem could be blossom into something major. Why else would Baba have sent he and his sister half way around the world to the Twin Cities?

Elizabeth Chow was listening politely to the tall man who spoke as he set down his tee.

"...So finally I tell the guy that I'm not your average tourist and that he'd better give me a better price on that camcorder. When he didn't respond, I told him that I was a personal friend of H.C. Chow..."

Stuart clamped down on his jaw to keep from blurting out a Chinese obscenity. He used my father's name to get a discount? I don't know how you obtained this position. Are you stupid... or arrogant... or both?

"Junior, do you know the reason my father sent us?" asked Elizabeth.

Junior nodded then took a few practice swings as he spoke. "Yeah, I know that Mr. Chow is worried about the way things are going."

This guy plays dumb well. I see why he was given such a position. Beneath that sunny exterior is truly a ruthless, calculated player. He looks like...how do the Americans put it? Ah, yes...the boy next door. Very smart Baba. I now see why Junior is our point man here, thought Elizabeth.

Her brother wasn't in a reflective mood. "Father is worried about these arrests. We're losing a lot of product and the publicity isn't good for business," Stuart stated bluntly.

Junior stopped swinging his club and faced both Chows. His eyes went cold as he spoke flatly. "Mr. Chow does not have to worry about things here. Just as I have taken care of things in the past, I will take care of things now."

"And the missing product, Junior?" questioned Elizabeth.

"With the size or our operations, you're worried about a few kilos here and there?" Junior retorted.

"It shows signs of carelessness. A little bit of carelessness can become a huge problem. A problem, I'm sure, for which you will not want to be responsible," Stuart reminded.

Junior resumed his swings again. "Does Mr. Chow express a lack of confidence in my skills?"

"Not at this point, but he is beginning to worry."

"Have I let the organization down in the past, Stuart?" He kept swinging and then bent down to adjust the depth of the tee.

"Thus far, no. But you have never faced this type of situation before. Father was wondering whether..."

"I knew exactly what I was doing when I joined the organization. Mr. Chow chose me over several others. He shouldn't have to wonder."

"All right Junior, I'll tell Father that things here will be...fixed. The next time we call, I expect that our supplies will be at normal level and the arrests will be down significantly. You know what you need to do," Elizabeth urged.

"Don't let us down. Don't let Father think he made a mistake when he gave you this position. Control your people, get the product back out there, and teach your grunts to be more careful," Stuart stated coldly, as he walked back to the golf cart and sat down.

"You still here Jody?" Amanda inquired, as she poked her head around the edge of the doorway and stepped into her friend's office. Hands on hips, she began to grin as she looked around the room, noticing several new additions to the already chaotic décor. The room was hectic, wild even, but in an odd, comforting sort of way. Amanda walked across the hard wood floor until she was standing on a multicolored woven rug of southwestern design. She stopped, eyes flickering from one object to the next.

In the corner of the room was a short black marble table. Perched in the center, a lava lamp peacefully pulsed. No one in a million years would believe this is a psychologist's office, Amanda thought as she brushed her fingers lightly over carved wooden animals, which were probably purchased at a local flea market, and stood proudly alongside crystal antiquities. Bleached wood bookshelves lined two walls of the room. Interspersed among the novels and reference books, were items familiar to an American childhood. A George Jetson thermos and an ever-trusty magic eightball were book-ending Gray's Anatomy. Anne Rice was poised to frighten a Faberge egg. High on the wall opposite the entrance, a pigmy blow-dart tube crisscrossed a Japanese samurai sword. Amanda exhaled loudly and smiled. This room... is... just...so... Jody.

"Here to steal my treasures I see," Jody observed as she marched into her office and peered over Amanda's shoulder. She immediately began to inspect Amanda's pockets in case any of her "treasures" had decided to leave with the shorter woman.

Playfully slapping Jody's hands away, Amanda growled. "Enough all ready with the touching. You know I won't be pawed by the likes of you," she teased.

"Humph....you should beeee so lucky. I'll bet your new lawyer friend wouldn't get scolded for seeing what's inside your pockets." The brown-eyed woman grinned evilly.

Despite her best efforts to stop it, the blonde began to blush. "I only said I wouldn't be pawed the likes of you," she valiantly bantered back.

"Ouch! Now I rank below a lawyer? You really know how to hurt a girl." Jody plopped down onto the low, thickly padded love seat and looked up at her friend.

Her face suddenly lost all traces of the prior teasing. "Amanda, you do know what they call a lawyer with a shit-eatin' grin on his face, doncha?" she asked seriously.

Amanda rolled her eyes but gladly played along. "No, Jody...what do they call a lawyer with a shit-eatin' grin on his face?" She looked down at her stoic faced friend who was doing her best not to giggle out loud.

" A cannibal of course!" Jody exclaimed as she burst into laughter.

"Ha...Ha...Jody. Veerrrry funny," she stated seriously. But a second later she was laughing along with her friend. When the chuckling finally died down, Amanda turned away from Jody, who was still looking incredibly pleased with herself and her latest joke. Scanning the room, her eyes finally found and rested on Elvis, whose hips swayed rhythmically back and forth, and whose stomach heralded 11:50 am. Jody watched silently as Amanda began roaming the office again, stopping every so often to inspect a nick-nack. The older counselor didn't miss her partner's glance at the clock.

"A little nervous, Amanda?" she prodded. It took her only a split second for Jody to realize her friend really was genuinely worried. Wow! I haven't seen her fidget like that in a while. Jody's demeanor softened instantly. "Hey, it's just a lunch date...not a death sentence...It'll be fun." Jody walked over and stood along side Amanda.

"I know," the smaller woman stated somewhat guiltily, head dropping slightly. With great effort, Amanda put a halt to her nervous restlessness and tried not to focus on the anticipation that was making her stomach upset. Jesus, Mandy...what's wrong with you? You don't even know this woman. There's no reason to be so...so...freaked out. If you don't hit it off, you'll never see her again. Nooo, that would be bad. Wouldn't it?

"Listen, my friend." Jody wrapped a denim-covered arm around Amanda's shoulder and steered her back toward the love seat. "If she's not a perfect gentleman, she'll have to answer to me. I have experience in this area, you know." Plopping back down onto the love seat in unison, both women giggled as they remembered their first meeting nearly 10 years ago.

"Yes, you would," Amanda replied confidently.

"Ok. Maaaybe," she hedged. Changing the subject, Jody brought them back to the present. "So tell me, where ya goin' on this date?"

Amanda stomach lurched slightly as she looked up at Elvis, noticing it was just a few minutes before noon. "I was thinking D'Amico and Sons. We can walk there from here."

"Good idea. It'll give you a little more time to get to know each other."

Still sensing her friends tension, Jody tried to lighten the mood. "Did she have to be lawyer, though? You know what that shark did to me in the divorce," she grumped.

Bidding Elvis goodbye, Amanda focused on her friend. She sighed. "The lawyer didn't do anything but his job, Jody. You're the one who decided to commit legal suicide by representing yourself." Amanda laughed, remembering the expression on her friend's face when she read the divorce clause entitled "property division."

"How was I supposed to know Chester would go out and hire some slick mouth-piece to take me to the cleaners?" she protested. "Shit, Amanda. I'm paying him alimony for Christ's sake! What kind of man takes alimony?"

Rolling her eyes at her partner Amanda noted, "Well...I don't what kind of man would do that, But... I do know how we can spot the ones that do. They'll be driving their ex-wife's car, living in her house, petting her dog, still hanging out with her friends... and..." she teased.

"Enough already!" Jody lightly punched the smaller woman in the shoulder. "Since when did you get so mean? Why, I remember when you were this sweeet, kiiiind-hearted..."

"Ms. Greer, are you here?" A velvety voice called from the waiting room.

Amanda immediately jumped up, straightening her skirt with one handwhile smoothing her hair with the other. "Do I look ok? I mean...it's just a casual lunch," Amanda whispered nervously.

"Well, well, well. It looks like princess charming has arrived. Let's go inspect the goods, shall we?" Jody rose and turned towards the door, only to have Amanda grab her arm and stop her from exiting.

"Be nice!" she growled in a whisper.

"Just what are you implying?" Jody eyes went round in her best imitation of a precious moment's figurine. The looked failed miserably. Giving up the innocent routine, Jody whispered back, "I just want to make sure her intentions are honorable. You know, freak her out a bit," Jody grinned mischievously.

"No thanks," Amanda whispered firmly. "I already have one father. Soooo I don't need another."

Jody relented. "Ok, I'll be good." Seeing Amanda's disbelief, she hastily added, "I promise."

Satisfied, she released Jody's forearm and nervously straightened her hair once again. "Okay, let's go. Wait! I'll go first." Jumping in front of Jody, Amanda marched out of her friend's office.

Claire stood in the middle of the waiting area gazing at the eclectic collection of watercolors that peppered the walls. Nice. She spun to look at another. I should get some of these for my new office.

Exiting Jody's office, Amanda approached Claire from behind. Claire was wearing a deep brown, linen pantsuit and casual leather flats. She's definitely tall enough to forgo the heels, thought Amanda. Her raven hair hung loose and looked slightly wind blown. That's different from how she wore it at the courthouse. I like this better. Boy... Amanda sucked in a nervous breath. Even from the back she's gorgeous!

Hearing footsteps, Claire turned around to see Amanda and Jody approach. Claire had selected a pale yellow, v-necked silk blouse to wear under her suit. Completing her outfit were a pair of diamond stud earring that sparkled in the light as she turned to meet Amanda and Jody head on. Stopping a few feet from each other, Claire and Amanda stood silently. Pale blue eyes twinkled as they took in Amanda.

The blonde shifted slightly, from one foot to the other, wishing she'd worn anything else, had a different hairstyle, and a different figure and...

Without her permission, a nervous smile graced Claire's lips as she observed Amanda's fidgeting. She looks a wreck, Claire thought. Looks like I'm not the only one who's nervous. Claire focused on lightly flushed cheeks. She doesn't hide her nervousness very well, does she? Oh well, if this career has taught me anything, it's never let em' see ya sweat.

Amanda suddenly stopped all motion and looked directly at Claire. Mossy green eyes met brilliant blue and held them. In response, Amanda felt a smile stretch across her face, mirroring the one on the darker woman. Neither woman spoke a word.

Sensing an impending moment of embarrassment, Jody broke the deadlock by thrusting her hand toward Claire. "Nice to see you again, Ms. Easton. I didn't introduce myself before. I'm Jody Penbrook, Amanda's business partner... and best friend," she added somewhat possessively as she shook the woman's hand.

Claire's eyebrow drifted up as she finally broke eye contact with Amanda and looked at Jody. She's a psychologist? Claire starred at Jody's black corduroy pants and faded denim top. She looks more like someone whose about to work in the garden than a doctor.

Extending her own hand, "I'm Claire Easton." A firm shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Amanda came back to her senses and realized she'd been staring again. Okay. Time to get a grip. Nice save Jody. I owe you one.

Turning her attention back to Amanda, Claire tried her best to keep a goofy grin off her face. God, how old am I? Straightening her back, she spoke softly as she looked down at Amanda. "Are we ready to go? I'll trust you to pick the place. I don't get down here too often."

"You bet. How does Italian deli sound?" Amanda reached into the closet to retrieve her purse. Suddenly, her stomach rumbled loudly.

"I'm thinkin' it sounds pretty good to you," Claire chuckled. Is she blushing? God, that's adorable! Wait...she's not a puppy. But, damn she is cute. "Where'd you get the watercolors? They're fantastic," she said, mercifully changing the subject. Claire motioned toward one of the smaller pieces near the entrance to the other office.

"Actually," Amanda smiled, "that one's mine."

Both eyebrows lifted. "Mine as in you own it, or 'mine' as in you painted it?"

"Well, both, I guess."

"You're an artist?" Claire questioned, clearly impressed.

"I don't think I'd go that far. They're just..."

"I keep telling her they're great. Maybe she needs to hear it from somebody besides me," Jody interjected.

"Jody's right. It's really beautiful." I wonder if I'll see that blush again? Oh...yeah... here it comes.

"Thanks," Amanda replied as her face began to color. "I guess we should get going. D'Amico's can get kinda busy this time of day."

"Do you want me to drive? I had to park quite a ways down the street but..."

"I was thinking we could walk. It's really nice out today and it's only a couple of blocks. I mean...if that's okay with you?" she hastily added.

"Absolutely. Lead on." Turning back to Jody, Claire extended her hand once again. "It was nice meeting you." A quick shake. Releasing Jody's hand, Claire made her way back along side Amanda. "Ready then?"

A smiling nod. "Let's go."

In two long paces Claire was in front of Amanda, opening the door. She gestured for Amanda to pass through. Amanda glanced back at Jody, both women's eyebrows raising simultaneously, in acknowledgment of the gallant gesture.

"I'll see you at 1:30 for that joint session with Mr. and Mrs. Berger," Amanda called to Jody as she exited the clinic. Without a glance back, Claire stepped out the door behind her.

Well...I don't know about the princess part but she certainly is charming. Amanda deserves that. Jody strolled back to her office thinking about Claire and Amanda and the frozen burrito she would be having for lunch. They did make kind of a cute couple.

"So tell me a little about yourself. All I really know is that you're a lawyer." Amanda asked, as she reached up and brushed back a windblown lock of hair. She noticed Claire was slightly behind her so she slowed down her gait. Amanda turned her head to look, waiting for a response. Nothing.

"Claire?" Is she still in there?

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about where to start," Claire mumbled somewhat defensively. Uh...oh. That didn't come out the way I wanted.

Frowning slightly, Amanda stepped down off the curb and onto the street. "This isn't a cross examination, Claire. I was just trying to make conversation. You..."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," Claire interrupted, worried she had already offended her date. "As if you couldn't tell, I'm just a little nervous," she admitted.

She is? Could've fooled me. "You don't look nervous," Amanda said skeptically, as she looked both ways before crossing the street.

Claire chuckled and jogged a few steps to keep pace. "Well, you'll just have to trust me then. I don't date a lot." She paused. What the heck. "And ...I ...well..." A deep breath. "Sometimes things come out a little jumbled."

A large stagnant puddle stood between Claire and the curb. In one long stride she agilely jumped over it, landing gracefully on the sidewalk beyond. Turning, Claire saw Amanda hesitate before jumping across.

Claire extended her arm towards Amanda. "Here, I'll help you over," she beckoned.

Amanda looked at the puddle, her gaze shifting to both sides, as she noted she would have to maneuver around several cars in order to get around it. She looked back at Claire, who was waiting patiently, arm still outstretched.

"Okay. But don't blame me if I ruin that pretty suit." Amanda swayed back then leapt forward extending her right arm out far in front of her. Before Amanda's back foot even left the ground, Claire could see she wasn't going to make it across. She immediately lunged towards Amanda and tightly grasped the outstretched hand. Pulling as she stepped back, Claire saw Amanda's front foot land on the edge of the curb.

"Whoa, whoaa!!" Amanda squealed, arms flailing, as she tried to balance on the edge without toppling backwards. With another quick tug she was propelled forward, directly into Claire's arms.

"I gotcha," Claire muttered as she pulled Amanda to her, twisting slightly she deposited the slightly rattled woman back onto her feet.

Amanda hesitantly cracked opened her eyes. I can't believe I'm not on my butt, in the mud. Instead, she found herself in a comfortable warm space, wrapped tightly in strong arms. Hmm. She inhaled. She smells like roses. Amanda intentionally kept her eyes focused on the pale yellow blouse that was only inches from her face. I will not blush in front of her again. "What do you eat for breakfast? You're a lot stronger than you look," she teased.

Looking down, Claire reluctantly opened her arms and began to untangle herself from the smaller women. Taking a small step backwards, she released Amanda. "Coffee." White teeth flashed. "The breakfast of champions," she bantered back.

The light teasing relaxed both women. Chuckling, they resumed their trek toward the restaurant.

"Well?" Amanda's eyes drifted sideways, watching Claire as they walked.

"Well what? Oh, yeah...right." Claire cleared her throat formally. "My life in less than 30 seconds by Claire Easton."

"I didn't ask for the Cliff Notes version," Amanda protested. A sharply raised eyebrow greeted her comment. "Okay. Sorry. Go on, go on." Jeesh.

Claire lowered her arching eyebrow with a slightly smug look. Smiling, she continued. "I'm a Twin Cities native, but I earned my undergraduate degree at Indiana University and my J.D. at University of Chicago. I'm thirty-one years old and I live in Mendota Heights."

A few more steps. Silence... Amanda looked back up at Claire who was strolling along looking quite pleased with her revelations. Patience...be patient, Amanda admonished herself. Another two steps....Uggh! She couldn't help herself.

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say?" Amanda asked incredulously. Mentally rolling her eyes, she'd make a perfect P.O.W.! "Don't talk my ear off or anything."

Claire knit her brows and scowled. "I'd rather hear about you anyway."

Completely ignoring her companion's statement, Amanda cocked her head slightly to the side. "What's J.D. stand for? I've always wondered."

"Juris Doctor." Claire replied, shifting her body to allow a small group to pass.

"Really?" Amanda questioned. "Then how come attorneys aren't called Doctor? I mean, if you have an M.D. you're called doctor and if you have a Ph.D. you're called doctor, why not people with a J.D.," she reasoned.

Claire's eyebrows disappeared behind dark bangs. "Is this lawyer joke?" She shot a stern look toward Amanda, causing her to gulp. "Cause if it is," her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I probably already know it," she finished with a grin.

"I can see you've got a twisted sense of humor." Amanda's reply was casual though she was forced to admit she was relieved. Her guts still churned at the thought of truly upsetting her new friend. "Lucky for you I only know one lawyer joke." And I don't think I'll be telling that one, she smirked to herself.

Amanda abruptly stopped and motioned to the door on her left. "Here we are," she announced, her mood visibly brightening at the prospect of food. "I hope you like pasta, they've got really great pasta."

The yeasty smell of fresh bread and the tang of ripe olives and vinegar wafted out as Amanda opened the door and they made their way inside. The deli was small and crowded, but not overly so. A line of customers snaked out from the cash register, running along the deli counter and stopping half way to the door.

After only a few moments of waiting and chatting, both women looked into deli case, Amanda's eyes flashing from dish to dish. "I'll have the chicken pasta salad and sliced tomatoes," the blonde informed the bored looking young woman at the cash register. "And a pop," she quickly added. The cashier looked to Claire. "I'll have a roast beef sandwich and tea." The young woman nodded and started ringing up the orders as Amanda began to open her purse.

"I asked you to lunch, remember?" Claire nudged Amanda. Grabbing the two empty glasses the cashier sat on the counter, she thrust in them into Amanda's hands. "Here, you take care of these and get us a table ok?"

"Okay." Amanda smiled. "But hurry up. I'm starving!"

Claire looked back at the man at the deli counter, who was piling chicken pasta salad onto a shiny white plate. When his hands stopped, Claire leaned forward, gesturing towards his hands. Hey buddy," she glanced back at Amanda and chuckled indulgently, "you might want to keep going."

The early afternoon sun had disappeared behind dark clouds by the time both women emerged from the restaurant. Their conversation was more relaxed, each woman moving past her initial nervousness and easing into an almost familiar sense of camaraderie. The lunch crowds had thinned and traversing the popular street was much easier.

"Wanna see a picture?" Amanda asked excitedly, as she began digging through her purse. "This one is only a few weeks old, I took it at the park near my townhouse." Her pride evident, she smiled and passed the photograph to Claire.

Claire stopped walking so she could examine the photograph more closely. Pictured was a toddler standing in bright sunlight and perched on a wooden park bench. A laughing smile showed several small teeth along with a few toothless gaps. The child's reddish blonde hair was tussled and her cheeks were a rosy pink. She looked happy.

"It was still kind of chilly for a trip to the park but I couldn't resist. Cabin fever I guess," Amanda admitted, taking back the photograph and neatly zipping it in an inner compartment of her purse.

"She has your eyes." Claire used the neat segue as an opportunity to look directly into Amanda's.

Amanda's smile widened as she spoke. "Everyone says that. I guess...Well...I sorta see it too." She looked down at her watch. "Whoops, we'd better hurry back. My 1:30 p.m. appointment should be here in about 10 minutes."

"How old is she?" Claire continued, curiosity driving her question.

"She's already 19 months. I can't believe how fast time flies. But I think she's got a jump start on the terrible two's," Amanda offered wryly.

After a few more steps Claire abruptly stopped. Several seconds later Amanda realized she was alone. Looking back she saw Claire standing beside a large S.U.V. "Oh...is this yours?" I can't believe lunch is already over. That sucks!

"Yep......listen." A deep breath. "I had a really nice time and...er..." Crap! She's gotta go, I need to say something...

"I had fun too." Amanda worked herself a little closer to Claire.

For an instant, Claire felt as though she would panic. Amanda was standing so close and she wanted to see her again but...

"I'd like to see you again," Amanda said, lightly squeezing Claire's arm.

YES!!! "That'd be great." Thank God. Claire was hugely relieved. "I'd like to see you again too. Here." Claire reached inside her jacket pocket and withdrew a business card. Checking her pockets she realized she didn't have a pen. Shit! She began to unlock her car door. "I just need to grab and pen and I can give you my home number and..."

"Here." Amanda thrust forward a pen. Claire looked up in surprise. "I was hoping you'd need one," Amanda said impishly. The taller woman smiled and penned her home phone number on the back of the card. Handing back the card, she was surprised when Amanda immediately tore it in half. Taking back her pen, Amanda wrote on the now half card, and handed it back to Claire. "That's my home phone and pager number. But I'll call you tonight and we can set something up, okay?" Her voice suddenly sounded a little insecure.

"Not if I call you first," Claire stated confidently. "I should be home after 7:00 p.m. I'll talk to you later then. Goodbye Amanda." Neither woman could keep a goofy grin off her face.

"Bye." Wow. That voice alone is enough to make me melt. The therapist watched as Claire got into the Explorer and drove away. After standing there for another moment lost in thought, Amanda looked down at her watch. "Uh...oh," she muttered, and began jogging the last block back to her office.

Pulling around the block, Claire caught a final glimpse of Amanda jogging back towards the clinic. Great legs! Opening her glove box Claire pulled out her constant driving companion, Gumby. Bending his flexible green arms and legs she expertly attached him to the top of her steering wheel and began talking.

"Things went ok, Gumby. She wants to see me again. Yeah, I figured I blew it about a million times but either she didn't notice or she was just being nice." Claire nodded as though Gumby had responded. "You're right. She was probably just being nice. I did sound like a real dork. More than once," Claire snickered. "Considering what she does for a living, I think I'd better keep you in the glove box if she's around. Can you imagine what she'd say if she knew I actually talked to you? I'll bet I could be an entire case study all on my own."

Claire amused herself by picturing her tall frame lying on a dark leather couch where a man with a clipboard answered her every observation with thickly accented German. "VERRRRY INNNNTERESTING, Ms. Easton," she mimicked. "Nope Gumby, I think you'll be my little secret."

"When she passed over that picture, you could see in her eyes how much she adores that baby. No mention of the father though. I guess whoever he is, he's out of the picture." At least I hope so, she thought grimly. "I like kids...sort of. I mean, I've never really been around many...even when I was one." Claire shrugged.

Her own childhood was normal she supposed. Her parents were kind but were largely preoccupied by with their careers. She was raised mostly by nannies. Being an only child, she grew up in an adult world. Consequently, she found herself not having much in common with her contemporaries. Rather than hanging around kids, with whom she felt uncomfortable, she simply preferred to spend time alone, reading or horse back riding. By the time she was ten she had acquired the necessary skills to "work a party" as her father put it. By the time she was fifteen, she was fully accepted in the same social circles as both of her successful parents. She was one of "them." Though she often wondered if "they" were aliens or some equally strange creatures. More than once she'd had the distinct displeasure of fending off some of her parents more amorous associates.

Merging onto the interstate Claire hit the gas hard. Time to get back to work and figure out what the hell is going on. Please... please, don't let Amanda or her partner be involved. Claire and Gumby swung into the fast lane.

Expertly steering with one hand, she opened her briefcase and retrieved the ringing cell phone. "Claire Easton," she answered as she adjusted the phone, changing lanes once more.

"Hello Beautiful," the voice smoothly stated.

Recognizing the voice Claire grimaced. "Hello, Mr. Levine." I can't be disappointed it's not Amanda. I only left her fifteen minutes ago!

"Please, after everything you've done for me, don't you think you should call me Aaron?"

"Is there something you needed Mr. Levine." Claire only partially hoped she'd kept the irritation out of her voice. Some guys just can't take a hint.

"I was hoping you'd agree to have dinner with me tomorrow. I'd love the opportunity to show you how much I appreciate your efforts."

Mommy and Daddy paying the bill was all the thanks I needed, Twerp, Claire thought. However, she replied, "that won't be necessary Mr. Levine. I was just doing my job."

"I insist. What time can I pick you up?" he persisted.

Claire was just about to tell him where he could shove his dinner when a light bulb popped on inside her head. This could be the connection I need. Aaron could lead me to information those stale files could never divulge. One dinner with the brat is a small price to pay if it helps me figure out what's going. Right?

Claire deepened her voice, fairly purring out her next words. "Alright, Aaron. I can see you're not the type of man to take no for an answer." She rolled her eyes and continued. "You can pick me up at 7:30 p.m., my secretary will fax you directions." A pause. "Oh, and Aaron?"

"Yes."

"I trust a well-connected man such as yourself, knows how to show a lady a good time." It was a statement not a question. Too subtle for the moron?

"Count on it, Claire. I'm happy to see we think alike."

She could picture his smug leer. Yuck! "I will. Until tomorrow then..." Claire snapped closed the phone as she began pulling into her parking ace. What have I gotten myself into now?

Amanda had a lot on her mind as she climbed the stairs of the Cornerstone Clinic. She felt a wave of relief when she saw that Iris' office door was open.

"Iris?" said Amanda as she peeked in.

Iris Park looked up from a stack of papers, her reading glasses still perched on her nose. "Hi Amanda, how are you?" Iris' smile went right to her gray-blue eyes. Sitting back, she pushed her papers away.

Amanda studied the woman in front of her for a moment. Iris hadn't changed since the first time they met nearly ten years ago. Amanda was a student in her class, and eventually, Iris became her supervisor. What always surprised the young psychologist was how much presence and energy this red haired woman radiated. She exuded confidence in those around her.

"Not too bad," Amanda said, leaning against the doorframe.

Iris peered at Amanda over her glasses, giving her the familiar look that said, "What's really bothering you?"

"I've met someone."

Iris nodded and smiled, taking off her reading glasses.

"She's amazing and it's been such a long time... I don't know how to react anymore," explained Amanda, closing her eyes.

"Sound like a big crush to me," said Iris with a smile.

"A crush after one date? Well, I guess I can't disagree with you," Amanda laughed.

"Some things never change, Dr. Greer," agreed Iris, who started laughing too. Then she sobered. "Amanda, it's okay to want this you know. I'm sure Jody would agree."

"I don't know. It's awfully risky. It's only been one date and I already nearly fell into a puddle. And she hasn't meet Missy yet..."

"So does she like hockey?" interrupted Iris, with a glint in her eyes.

"I'm going to ask her over to watch the playoffs this weekend."

"Not a bad start there, you know. Could do worse."

"It's been a long time since I was in a relationship. This was my first date in months. How can I feel this way so quickly?"

"You know that some things defy explanation. Sometimes things seem like magic."

"Come on Dr. Park, my rational mentor and mother-figure, you're not saying that this is magic?"

"Not in the mainstream sense, no. But how do you explain reasons people get together? I can't explain human nature. It just is. And it just happens when it happens. We can't plan for it."

Amanda shifted against the doorframe. "So you have a sense about this?" she asked hopefully.

"The only thing I have a sense about is that you're ready for a relationship. You deserve to be happy, Amanda. "

"What about Missy?"

"Doesn't she seem happy?"

"Yes, as far as I know, she's a very happy baby. She knows how much I love her."

"So why would this make Missy unhappy then? Go with your instinct. Trust it. Missy's mom deserves to be happy," Iris encouraged, as she stood up and walked over to Amanda.

Amanda was silent as she stared out the window. Iris laid a hand on her shoulder. "You do deserve to be happy, Amanda," she repeated softly and smiled.

"I think I am beginning to believe that Iris."

Claire sat down her empty wineglass and propped her feet against the coffee table. Fiddling with her sock, she pondered her current predicament. Should I call her? She said she'd call you, remember? A voice interjected. But it's already 9:00 p.m. I don't wanna wait anymore!

Maybe she was just trying to let you down easy. She probably has no intention of calling you. It's just easier to blow someone off from long-distance. You've done it yourself, the voice taunted.

RING... RING... Claire jumped over the coffee table and then stood, staring at the phone as it rang. Taking a deep breath she answered. "Hello."

"Hi, Claire. It's Amanda."

Yes!! Thankyouthankyouthankyou. "I was just thinking about calling you." Fuck! Why did I say that? Could I sound a little more anxious?

"Really?" A pause. "Are you still interested in getting together again?" Amanda had her fingers crossed on the other end of the line.

"Absolutely." The goofy grin Claire had been sporting off and on all day made a reappearance.

"Great. How about we get together late Saturday afternoon at my place? Are you interested in watching the hockey playoffs on television?"

"That sounds wonderful." Does Minnesota have a hockey team? "How about if I show up around 4:00 o'clock."

"4:00 o'clock sounds perfect. Do you need directions?"

"I've got the address. That's all I need. It's a date then?" Man, I hope my gaydar doesn't need maintenance.

Amanda could hear Claire's smile through the phone and she didn't miss the implications of the simple question. "It's most definitely a date. I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye, Amanda." Click. The line went dead. Well, at least I've got nearly a week to figure out how to stop acting like a hormonal teenager around her. Plus, it'll give me plenty of time for hot showers. Just thinking about going out with Aaron Levine makes me feel dirty.

"I know. I know. But I still wanted to check to see how she's doing...No, that's okay. I know how much she loves playing in the tub. Just tell her I said hi, and I love her, and that I'll pick her up in the morning.... Okay, Mom.... I love you too...Bye."

Sitting the phone back in its cradle, Amanda returned to her stool and began squinting her eyes, trying to imagine a picture on what was still a clean white canvas. Bringing the paintbrush to her mouth she began chewing the already gnarled wooden tip.

DINGDONG...DINGDONG...DINGDONG.

"Ugh!...Coming!" Laying down the brush Amanda exited her spare bedroom and began unbuttoning her paint smock. Reaching the front door, she stopped, and called out loudly. "Who is it?"

"Jeffrey Dahmer," replied the decidedly female voice.

"Hmmmm." Amanda tapped her chin with her index finger. "I'm very finicky when it comes to the serial killers I let into my house. I might consider Manson, or Son of Sam, but Dahmer is just too creepy. Try again tomorrow."

Amanda immediately stepped back as the front door flew open and Jody marched in. "You really should lock your door. A real lunatic might try to get in one day."

"Apparently."

Jody narrowed her eyes, and plopped down on the couch. "I'm here in a shameless appeal for sympathy," she sighed.

"Men are pigs, right?" Amanda asked.

"I haven't told you what happened yet!" Jody protested.

Amanda brought her hands to her hips, "Okay, tell me."

"I was stood up."

"Men are pigs."

"Are you always this impatient?" Jody asked, slightly irritated.

"Was that a real question? Besides, why did you come over?" Amanda sat down next to her friend, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

Jody looked slightly guilty. "So you could tell me that men are pigs."

"Well then, look how much time I just saved us," Amanda replied reasonably.

"I guess." Craning her neck, Jody scanned the townhouse. "Where's my buddy? It's not past her bedtime already, is it?"

"She's spending the night at my folk's place. It was weird. They just called me out of the blue and asked if she could come over. They said something about not seeing her much lately. Which...is true...I guess. I don't know. I suppose I should bring her over more often." Shrugging, Amanda removed her feet from the coffee and stood up.

"You mean you're free for the evening!" Jody exclaimed with undisguised eagerness. "Let's have a girls night out."

"Actually, I was hoping to do some painting and..."

"Come on Amanda," Jody interrupted. "When was the last time you got out and cut loose?" Looking down, Jody began rotating the tip of her foot into the carpet. Continuing her adolescent behavior, she pulled out the big guns. Puuuleeeease," she beseeched with puppy dog eyes.

"Jody, I really wanted to..." Amanda looked at the pathetic pout her friend was displaying. It was all she could do not to laugh... "go out with you tonight," she finished.

"Great. If you insist," Jody grinned smugly. "Besides, maybe I'll get lucky. I could use a change of luck in the man department."

"And just how many times have you gone out already this month?" Amanda inquired, eyebrow arching. Not waiting for an answer she began walking towards her bedroom. "Lemme go change."

"I dunno 4 maybe 5. I don't keep track of exact numbers." Following Amanda into her room, Jody sprawled out across her bed and waited for her friend to pick out an outfit. Emerging from the walk-in closet Amanda held up light blue knee-length dress in one hand and a pair of white bib overalls, which were spotted with yellow daisies, in the other. Pointing at the dress Jody smiled, "That'll work." Nodding, Amanda disappeared back into the closet. "You can't fault me for loving men," Jody called after her.

"And often."

"Ha...Ha."

Amanda poked her head out of the closet. "I would feel sorry for you except I haven't been out that many times in the past year." Her head disappeared back into the closet and Jody could hear her digging for shoes.

"You know, Amanda, sex can be a two-person activity."

"Slut!" rang out the voice in the closet.

"Spinster!" Jody retorted, as she ducked the sneaker that came flying out of the closet.

Amanda reemerged wearing the powder blue dress and a pair of gray pumps. "Spinster?" she squealed in mock indignation. Crossing the room, she flipped on the light and entered the attached bathroom. Rolling over on her belly, Jody propped her chin up on a fist and waited.

Stepping out, Amanda held up a tube of red and pink lipstick. "I won't be thirty for another year or so. But I seem to recall your thirtieth birthday party what....six, seven, years ago?" she teased.

Scowling, Jody pointed toward the pink lipstick. "That was uncalled for," she whined. "It was three years ago and you know it!"

"Time drags for us sexually frustrated spinsters...How do I look?" Amanda slid in her second gold hoop earring and stood before her friend.

"Gorgeous as usual. You'll have every guy in the place after you."

"Great," she replied sarcastically.

"It is for me. I'm bound to catch some poor cast off," Jody laughed.

Turning off the lights as they went, the pair made their way to the front door. "By the way," Amanda asked, "where exactly are we going?"

"Who knows where we'll end up? The night is young and so are we."

Amanda was about to offer a smartass comment when Jody growled. "Not another word Amanda." Laughing, the friends made their way into the night.

"Okay, it's almost show time," Claire muttered, as she glanced at her watch. She still had another ten minutes before she was supposed to meet Aaron. Thank God, I called and arranged for us to meet at the restaurant. I can't stand the thought of Aaron knowing where I live, much less coming inside my home.

Adjusting her rearview mirror, Claire added a fresh coat of lipstick. "Well, Gumby, I dropped so many hints that he's gotta believe I'm interested him or at the very least a drug score. Yeah, I know...YUCK! And what makes it even worse..." Claire blotted her lips "... is I get the feeling that when it comes to Aaron, I need to actually connect the dots. But if I can make him work to impress me, maybe he'll let something slip."

Claire looked at her watch again and took in her surroundings. The streets were just beginning to pulse with nightlife. Couples and small groups began passing by Claire's Explorer with increasing frequency. Aaron had instructed her to meet him outside Origami, a place she hadn't visited in years.

Origami was located in the warehouse district of Minneapolis. The once dilapidated brick buildings, now housed some of the hottest nightspots and most elegant eateries in the Twin Cities. The early evening shadows gave the area an aura of mystery and excitement it didn't have in broad daylight. Origami, the popular Asian restaurant and bar, was trendy without being overly exclusive. It's patrons ranged from yuppies trying to remain "fresh," to entertaining businessmen.

So Origami has got more going on inside than sushi? I wonder if Mark knows this is where Aaron's "friends" hang out?

A black Mercedes pulled up along side Claire's Explorer. When the driver exited, Claire took at deep breath and bid farewell to her faithful-driving companion. I knew I should have paid better attention when I was watching Miami Vice. "Wish me luck, Gumby. I may need it." Grabbing her purse Claire made her way out to greet Aaron.

Aaron had spared no expense in efforts to impress the lanky brunette. His Mercedes had been detailed and the streetlights reflected brightly off its glassy finish. He wore his dark hair slicked straight back, in an effort to look dangerous and sophisticated. Claire thought it extenuated his prematurely receding hairline. His black Armani suit was impeccably pressed and his new Italian shoes shone. He wanted to bed Claire, plain and simple. And tonight he was willing to do nearly anything to make sure that happened. Why shouldn't Claire want him? So what if she was a few years his senior? He was still a man to be reckoned with. The County Attorney's office couldn't touch him. No one could. Aaron puffed out his chest. He could show a beautiful woman like Claire a good time. He had the right connections, and he'd stretch them to the limits for the chance touch her...taste her.

Aaron smiled, his eyes traveling up and down Claire's body. "Hello, Claire. I'm glad you decided to take me up on my offer. I wanted the chance to thank you personally. You look lovely." Aaron reached out for Claire's hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. Claire's stomach lurched.

You can do this! "Why, thank you Aaron. I've been looking forward to tonight." Claire intentionally freed her own charismatic force. Both her looks and demeanor demanded attention and oozed raw sexuality. "I hope before the evening is over we'll both get what we want." Claire smiled and let the implication hang in the air. Aaron swallowed hard. That's right Aaron. Start believing you've got a shot. "Shall we go inside?"

"Of course." Straightening, Aaron offered his arm to Claire.

Slipping her arm around his, Claire wasted no time in her quest for information. "Nice choice Aaron. Do you have the opportunity to come here often?" Claire questioned as they began walking inside.

"It's where I meet with business associates and..." he looked at Claire "I thought it would suit a beautiful woman like you." Aaron held open the door and Claire passed in front of him.

Christ, I think I really am gonna be sick! Does he think that's suave? "Well, I am partial to exotic flavors." Claire deepened her voice and looked at Aaron, "I'm sure I won't be disappointed." Aaron shifted slightly, Claire's words clearly making a physical impression.

After a quick check with the hostess, Aaron returned to Claire and informed her that their table would be ready in a few moments. "Why don't we wait at the bar upstairs? I'm sure some of my associates would be delighted to meet you," Aaron offered pointing to the staircase.

Claire began to make her way upstairs. Trying to hide her surprise she asked, "You mean they know we're coming?"

"No, not exactly. It's just..." Aaron leaned closer to Claire "...I had a little business to attend to tonight anyway so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. You don't mind do you?"

Jackpot!!! "Of course not. I'd love to meet some of your associates. You never know, maybe I could end up transacting a little business myself." You are making this way too easy. But I already knew you were involved with drugs. What I need to find out is how that ties in with criminal cases being tossed out. If you had the cops in your back pocket there wouldn't have been an arrest to begin with. What's the common thread?

Origami's bar was far too crowded for Claire's tastes. Bodies were pressed tightly against each other as the patrons moved in a mass pilgrimage toward the bar. Finding a relatively empty corner, Claire leaned back against the cool brick and watched as Aaron went to fetch her scotch and soda. Blue eyes scanned the bar and its customers. What am I even looking for? Shit! What am I gonna do if it actually comes down to me buying drugs? I don't know anything about drugs and there's no way I'm buying or using. I'm not risking my entire career for...

"Here you go." A drink appeared before her eyes and Claire immediately flinched back.

"Jesus Aaron, don't sneak up on me like that! How'd you get back here so fast? There's no way you could have made up to the bar and back so quickly," Claire observed, taking a large swallow of scotch. The burn of the alcohol reminded her of her recent over indulgence and she winced remembering the resulting hangover.

"Sorry Gorgeous, I didn't know you were so jumpy. I have a friend at the bar." Oh yeah...she wants me bad. You don't need to be nervous, Babe. I'm a sure thing.

Smiling at Aaron's arrogance, Claire immediately composed herself, and was back in the game. Stroking a fingertip up and down Aaron's sleeve she whispered in his ear. "Are you always this confident?" She could feel Aaron's shiver. Casually, she took another sip of her drink. "You certainly seemed confident at your trial," Claire observed innocently.

"Let's just say I had a feeling things were going to work out."

"I guess it wouldn't do for an important man like you to end up in prison." Claire stilled her teasing finger and waited for Aaron's reaction.

Aaron began choking on his martini. "P...Prison!" he exclaimed. "I told you there was NO way I was ending up in prison." Aaron's tone turned condescending. "Claire, I belong to a very important and powerful organization. In order for business to continue running smoothly, that organization can't have its executives cooling their heels in jail now, can they?"

Claire's eyebrows shot skyward. Executive? You wish. Claire mentally snorted. It doesn't take Dick Tracy to figure out that you're only one step above an errand boy. Claire's finger resumed its journey. "Well, it seems I underestimated your status Aaron. I won't make that mistake again."

A small Asian woman waived a hand at Aaron then quickly descended the stairs. "Looks like our table is ready. We can come back up after dinner. My associates should be here by then." Without waiting for Claire's response Aaron began making his way through the crowd and down the stairs.

Claire sat down her empty scotch glass and began to follow. I'm half way home asshole. I knew your acquittal was no accident! Now all I need is a few names, and a little detail and I can take this to Mark. Half way down the winding open staircase Claire was assaulted with a pungent odor. God, I hate pickled ginger.

"I love pickled ginger!" Amanda squealed.

"I know. Why do you think I picked Origami?" Jody replied, laughing at her friend's enthusiasm.

"Oh, I don't know." Amanda pretended to be considering her options. "Could it be this is the spot where you were stood up earlier and you're hoping to catch a glimpse of the future emergency room patient?"

"Er...should I say no?" Jody looked down sheepishly at her shoes.

"Don't bother. But you do realize I'm not bailing you out." Amanda glanced at her scowling friend and stifled a giggle. "Come on slugger, let's go inside. I'll buy you a beer."

Opening the door, Amanda was surprised by the large mid-week crowd. "Wow, I haven't been here since undergrad. I don't remember it being this busy," Amanda squinted, "or this dark."

"You need to get out more, my friend. This place is always packed. Let me go check with the hostess and see how long wait is. Maybe they're still holding my earlier reservation." Slipping away, Jody moved towards the hostess while the blonde did her best to avoid being squashed by the people coming and going near the door.

A few moments later Amanda saw Jody wave and point toward the stairs leading to the bar area. I guess we're going to the bar first.

Amanda placed a hand on the stair railing and looked up preparing to take a step. As her eyes drifted upward her foot stopped mid-motion. Standing at the top of the stairs was the most stunningly beautiful women she had ever seen. Amanda forgot how to breathe.

Claire stood at the top of the steps in a form fitting, blood-red strapless dress, that barely extended below her panty line. Amanda swallowed hard, contemplating the unlikely existence of any panty line at all. Claire's t