Bad blood

16

“You really ought to get some sleep,” Nina said. “It’s almost midnight.”

“How often do I have the chance to sit up all night and talk to you?”

Joan and Jim had organized a sunset clambake for the thirty guests who had arrived for the wedding. The glorious stretch of Black Point Beach was on the Atlantic Ocean, and with bonfires ablaze, we had feasted on local shellfish taken right out of Tisbury Great Pond, hot clam chowder from the Bite, burgers from the Galley, and dozens of lobsters from Larsen’s Fish Market.

When I returned to the house after the festive evening, Nina-who had randomly been assigned as my roommate from our first day at Wellesley-was settling in after her long trip from California. We had taken different paths in both our personal and professional lives-Nina marrying a college boyfriend and mothering her young son, Gabe, while also making partner at a powerhouse L.A. law firm, with an expertise in packaging large entertainment projects for screen and television movies.

Nina had opened a bottle of Sancerre and nestled into the oversize armchair in a corner of the living room, and I filled my glass and settled in on the floor in my sweatshirt and leggings, resting my head on a pillow at her feet.

We caught each other up on family, I listened to Nina talk about the contract negotiations of her latest deal, and she indulged me while I tried out my response to Lem Howell’s motion to dismiss Brendan Quillian’s murder indictment for failure to make the People’s case.

“So, cut to the chase, Alex,” she said, yawning and pulling a cashmere throw over her robe. “Didn’t you tell me that you were bringing a guy to the wedding? For almost a month his name was in every e-mail you sent me. Then he dropped off a cliff.”

“Easy come, easy go. I got in a bit over my head, and our pal the bride didn’t exactly help.”

“This was your airplane pickup?”

“Yup. Dan Bolin. Met him in April, when Joanie was up here with me for the weekend. Came on way too strong but even she thought he was charming.” I reminded Nina of the story of our meeting.

“Did you…?” Nina said, lifting her eyebrows as she tried to tease an admission out of me.

“No. Never got that far.”

Her leg straightened out and she poked her toe against my knee. “It’s me you’re talking to. Tell the truth.”

I smiled and sipped my wine. “Turns out he wasn’t quite as separated as he told me he was when we started dating. Couldn’t ever see me on Thursday evenings. I bought the story that it was his standing racquetball game and dinner with the guys.”

“What was it?”

“Marriage counseling. They were still trying to find a way to put things back together. Dan’s one of those guys who just can’t stand being alone for a minute.”

“Thank goodness he told you before you got in any deeper.”

“He didn’t tell me. The florist did.”

“What?”

“Way too many flowers. The Dan Bolin signature. All flowers all the time. About six weeks into our dating frenzy, there must have been a particularly heartwarming session with the counselor. The estranged wife got a magnificent bouquet, and mine must have been pretty nice as well.”

“You never saw it?”

“Nope. The florist mixed up the delivery. I got hers with a note promising reconciliation as soon as his head cleared, and whatever enticing words he penned to lure me into bed landed in her hands. She called him while I was still up in court. The whole thing was over before it began.”

“Sometimes, when I’m dealing with the PTA and playdates and car pools, I’m so envious of your lifestyle I want to scream. And then I think of how miserable it would be to be back on the market and wouldn’t swap with you for all the money in the world. Didn’t Joan have a fix-up for you months ago?”

I rolled on my side and stared out the window at the nearly full moon that lit the lawn and the surface of the water at the bottom of the hill. “She’s always got a prospect for me. I just can’t stand blind dates. I’ve got nothing to talk about but my work.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve got great friends, you do interesting things, you’re a voracious reader, and you happen to have a job that gives you enormous emotional satisfaction. Talk about those things.”

“Yeah, but most guys really think the job is strange. That I must stay in the office because I hate men or something.”

“Don’t they understand how rewarding it is to take victims into court and help them regain their dignity?” Nina said. “Guys like Mike get it. Why couldn’t you convince him to come up here this weekend?”

I got up from the floor, kissed Nina on the crown of her head, and embraced her.

“It’s only been six months since Val was killed. It’s still way too raw for him. I keep trying to find ways to-you know-ways to get him out of his morose mood, bring him back. It’s like I’ve lost my right arm.”

I started toward my bedroom as Nina corked the bottle.

“I know what you can do to bring him back, Alex. You know it, too, don’t you?”

I waved her off.

“You fly up here with Mike one weekend, to this incredibly romantic setting. A few logs in the fireplace, more of this great wine. You’ll both be better for it. You haven’t forgotten how, have you?”

“I’m cutting you off, Nina,” I said, wagging a finger at her and laughing. “I work with the man. We’re partners on some of the most serious cases in the city, and you know as well as I do that our professional relationship would have to end if-if-”

“If you got smart and took a chance? Worst that happens is that somebody else will work the big trials.”

“I need the judge and jury to speculate about my sexual escapades, too? You’ve met Lem Howell-Mr. Triplicate. That would be a really sweet cross-examination, wouldn’t it?” I paced the floor, doing my best imitation of Howell’s manner and delivery. “‘Isn’t it true, Detective Chapman, that Ms. Cooper asked you-no, ordered you-demanded that you come up with some kind of confession from my client? Isn’t it true that you fabricated this statement in order to get yourself into her arms-into her pants-into her bed?’”

I stopped and shook my head. “I can’t believe I actually worry about how complicated my friendship is with Mike.”

“Bad news and good news.”

“What? That with my track record the romance won’t work, and I’ll also be out of a job for going after it?”

“The bad news is that you’re dead-on about the line of questioning from a good defense attorney,” Nina said. “The good news is that you even think about it.”