Guilt By Degrees

49

Daniel Rose was a lawyer’s lawyer. When attorneys talked about the best in the business, his name was always front and center. He’d turned that considerable reputation into a niche business by becoming a Strickland expert-a lawyer who gives expert testimony on the competence, or lack thereof, of other lawyers. It was a job that took him all over the country, both for testimony and for lectures. But we’d begun dating during his slow season, so I hadn’t known how much time he actually spent on the road. We had six blissful months before the other shoe fell. When it did, my old fears of abandonment and commitment came flooding back and ultimately drowned our love. Of course, at the time I didn’t have enough insight to realize that that was the problem-understanding came later. It’d taken me a long time to get over him, and there’d been many nights when I’d thought it’d never happen. Eventually, though, the wounds became scars and the scars thickened and grew tough. I moved on. And with Graden in my life, I’d thought my feelings for Daniel had finally ebbed away. But seeing him now, twinkling eyes behind wire-rimmed glass, thick salt-and-pepper hair-now a little more salt than pepper-I wasn’t so sure.

“Daniel,” I said, trying to force my throat to open. “What are you doing here?”

His smile was warm. “I’d guess the same as you.”

I glanced behind him but didn’t see anyone.

He saw me looking. “I’m alone,” he said. “You too?”

I nodded, aware that my answer applied to more than just dinner.

“Would you like some company?” he asked. “Please feel free to say no. I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, not at all,” I said, feeling a smile spread across my face. “Sit. Try this wine.”

After he sat down, I leaned in and whispered, “And don’t look at that lady behind you.”

“Now I have to.”

“I know, but be subtle.”

He managed to be graceful about it, turning just a hair farther than necessary when the waiter came to take his drink order. Daniel said he’d share my wine, then took another moment to watch as the waiter responded to the woman’s peremptory wave. Daniel turned back, chuckling softly.

“She’s drunk as a skunk,” he observed. “And still manages to be imperious.”

“But her imaginary friend seems like fun,” I remarked.

“Lucky her,” Daniel said. “Mine are all pissed-off judges.”

“They’re not imaginary. And they’re not your friends.”

“That explains a lot,” Daniel said with a rueful smile.

“What brings you downtown for dinner all by yourself?”

“I’ve got a trial of my own for a change,” Daniel replied. As opposed to being a witness on someone else’s case.

“What’ve you got?”

“Civil case. I’m suing an insurance company for denial of benefits.”

“Doing the Lord’s work. Here’s to that.” I raised my glass, and we clinked and drank. I’d finished my wine, and Daniel picked up the bottle to pour.

“Empty,” he said, examining the Pinot Noir in the light. “This is unacceptable. I deserve more toasts for my display of valor against the forces of darkness-”

“So we’re not counting your hefty contingency fee?”

“The one I don’t yet have and may never get?” he replied, flagging the waiter over.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. That one.”

I knew he’d win the case, but we don’t jinx each other by saying things like that. The waiter appeared, and Daniel ordered another bottle. We both asked for the Colorado rack of lamb with osso buco ragout.

“So you’re driving downtown every day?” I asked. “That’s a hell of a commute.”

Daniel had a home in Hidden Hills, near Calabasas. It was a beautiful, horse-zoned, very pricey neighborhood, but it was at least an hour from downtown. With morning commuter traffic, it’d take him closer to two hours.

“I know, that’s why I’m not doing it,” Daniel replied.

The waiter returned with the bottle and poured a taste for both of us. We approved, and he poured us each a glass.

“You’re not?” I asked when the waiter left.

Daniel shook his head. “I’m staying downtown in a condo for the duration. You still in the Biltmore?”

I nodded.

“I’m about six blocks away from you,” he said, smiling.

I managed to stretch a polite smile across my face and say something like “That’s great.” Then I picked up my glass of wine and gulped it like it was a Slurpee.