Incident at Big G By FireWire

Story No. 11

On his way home from a Thursday-night basketball league game, a man sees a Big G supermarket and remembers he needs eggs for breakfast. He picks up the eggs and enters the checkout line behind an elderly woman. After the woman checks out, the man sees a pink cell phone dotted all over by small, red hearts lying on the shelf beneath the checkout counter. When he picks it up, the red hearts become bright, ruby-red LED’s sending the words “I LOVE TRACY” slowly around and around the heart-shaped speaker.

The man stares at the moving LEDs. Cool. How cool is that.

“Cash or credit card?” the cashier asks.

“Is this yours?” the man asks holding up the phone.

She shakes her head.

He pays with cash, grabs the change, grabs the eggs, and trots out the store.

He catches up with the elderly woman. “Pardon me,” he says holding up the phone. “Is this yours? It was at the check-out register.”

The elderly woman looks at the flashing words and laughs. “No. But, I wish it was.”

Watching the LEDs go around and around, the man walks back into the store. He touches some of the red hearts trying to get a dial tone.

At the customer service counter, he holds up the phone. “Anybody ask about this phone?”

“No,” the man behind the counter says.

The man hands him the phone. “I found it at check-out eleven a few minutes ago.”

Walking towards his car in the parking lot, the man zips his jacket all the way to his neck and puts his free hand in the coat pocket. Cold tonight. The wind makes it worse. I should carry gloves and the goofy fur hat with the earflaps in the car for these surprise cold snaps. They would come in handy tonight that’s for sure.

The man gets in his car and starts the motor, but pauses when a woman walking rapidly in the shadows catches his attention. She stops at the grocery cart corral beside him and carefully examines a cart with a child’s riding car in front. Her face is obscured by the shadows and the fur trimmed hood of her coat.

He is aware of only one thing: His hand is moving on its own volition and in slow motion towards the window button. When the hand reaches button, the finger slowly presses on it. When the window is down, the man’s consciousness returns. “Lose something?” he asks.

The woman looks at him anxiously. “My phone. I must have dropped it in the car.” She turns towards the parking lot.

“I just found one and left it at the customer service desk.”

She turns back towards him; her face hopeful.

“Is it pink with red hearts all over it?” he asks.

Her expression suddenly changes: she is embarrassed and struggling not to show it.

“It was a gift,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

Her face has no defense against his eyes.

“Tracy?” he asks.

She slowly shakes her head. “No,” she says softly.

After a few moments, she turns her eyes away from his. “I must go now,” she says. She turns and walks rapidly towards the Big G.

Leaving his window down and turning up the heat, the man waits for the woman to come out.

Soon, she comes out of the store. She looks at his car and mouths the words, “Thank you,” then walks rapidly towards the parking lot opposite him.

At the edge of the parked cars, she stops and looks back towards his car for a moment before turning and disappearing.

Two weeks have passed since the man found the phone at the Big G. It’s late afternoon, and he is shooting baskets in his backyard basketball court. A car pulls into the man’s driveway. A tall man gets out.

“Say Old Man. How are things?” the tall man says.

“Can’t complain,” the man says.

The tall man stands silently watching the man shoot baskets.

After a few shots, the man passes the ball to the tall man. “How about one-on-one?” the man asks.

The tall man shakes his head. “Old Man, the guys want to know when you are coming back. It’s been two weeks.”

“I know it’s been two weeks Stork, but I’ve had personal business to take care.”

“How much longer do you think it might take?”

“I’ll give it another week. After that . . . probably just Thursday nights.”

“For how long on Thursdays?”

“Until I’m dead.”

“Jumper says that every night he’s been to the liquor store near the University these last two weeks he sees you sitting in your car in the Big G’s parking lot. He’s never said anything to you. He figured it was none of his business.”

After a long silence the tall man says, “I know it’s none of my business either, Old Man, but we’ve been getting beat up real bad since you’ve been gone. You may not be aware of it, but we aren’t number one in the league any more. It’s humiliating to walk on the court every Tuesday and Thursday night and get our nose rub in it by those wimps. We need your three-pointer.”

The man shoots a basket. “What about the Zipster?”

The tall man says, “The Zipster! He can’t shoot a three-pointer.”

“How about Snake? He’s deadly from the outside.”

“When the time comes for the big one, he’ll either dribble or pass.” Staring at the ground and slowly shaking his head, the tall man says. “Snake’s not a clutch guy.”

The tall man looks at the man. “Old Man please come back. You’re the captain of our team. We need you.”

“Stork, two weeks ago I remembered I needed eggs and stopped at the Big G near the University. Never been there in my life. While I was checking out, I found a phone, turned it in to lost-and-found, and just as I started to pull out of my parking spot, a stop-the-game—I mean—a once-in-a-lifetime, stop-everything, skip-the-party, lets-go-home babe runs up to the shopping cart corral beside me and starts looking for something in one of the carts. I rolled down my window and said ‘Lose something?’”

The man pauses.

“Then—all of a sudden—she wasn’t standing by the shopping cart corral, and I wasn’t sitting in my car. We were inside each other. I knew she could handle whatever came her way. I knew she would cover my back and never let me down. I knew she would be strong when I was weak, be a great mom, and let the little things go. I knew I was the one she had been looking for. I knew she needed me like I needed her.”

After a several moments of silence, the tall man asks, “Who was she?”

“She seemed extremely anxious to get her phone from the store and get to her car, so I didn’t have a chance to get her personal information. I’ve been at the Big G every night hoping to run into her.”

“How can you be sure she felt the same way? You said she did leave in a hurry, didn’t you?”

“She did leave in hurry, but on her way out of the store, she said “Thank you,” and gave me a look that melted my car. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t have an interest in meeting again.”

“Why didn’t you set up something then?”

“She didn’t actually come to my car; it was from a distance. Her car was in another part of the parking lot.”

“Oh,” the tall man says. He pauses. “How can you be sure she wasn’t like you? Just a one timer.”

“I hope not. I’m hoping Fortune stopped her spinning wheel for me this time.”

After the tall man leaves, the man drives to the Big G, parks, and goes into the store for a quick look around before returning to his car for his nightly vigil.

In today’s world, I could be considered a stalker, but the condition of unwanted contact doesn’t exist. She wants me to contact her. Just the canned goods aisle left. Now that’s a pair of jeans! Top of the line. It doesn’t get better than that. Too bad she’s married. Seems like all the good ones are married. She’s giving the label on that can the third degree. Must not have passed the mom test, she’s turning to put it back. Oh! Oh! From the side it looks like her, but maybe not. I should have realized she was married when she was looking for her phone in the kid’s grocery cart. She’s not wearing a ring. Maybe that’s not her daughter. Maybe she’s baby-sitting. Only one way to find out.

To avoid startling the woman by coming up behind her, the man walks quickly down the adjoining aisle and comes in the canned goods aisle from the other end. The man pauses, takes a can of asparagus from a shelf, pretends to be reading the label, and waits for the woman to notice him.

When the woman sees him, she stops. The man smiles, waves, and walks to her.

“What a coincidence. Do you remember me? We met briefly a couple of weeks ago in the parking lot when you lost your phone. I was the guy who turned it into the lost-and-found.”

“I remember you, although I’m surprised you recognized me. I was bundled up like an Eskimo squaw.”

The man looks down at the little girl in the child’s plastic automobile attached to the front of the grocery cart. The girl is looking up at him.

The man extends his hand to the woman. “I’m Dave Diamond.”

The woman takes his hand. “Crystal,” she says and releases it.

He looks down at the little girl again. “She’s pretty.”

“Thank you. She’s my daughter.”

Looking at the little girl, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Tracy,” the little girl says.

He looks at Crystal. “So she’s Tracy.”

Crystal nods.

He glances quickly at her left hand and crosses his arms.

He looks at the floor for a few moments before looking at her. “Are you married?” he asks.

She slowly lifts her left hand and holds it in front of him. “Didn’t you notice?”

He shrugs. “Due diligence.”

After a few seconds of silence, Dave says, “You have an interesting phone. How does it work? I didn’t see any buttons to press. I pressed the hearts but nothing happened.”

“It’s completely voice controlled. Would you like a demo?”

“I would, but first, tell me how the message “I Love Tracy” turns on and off. It’s been on mind for the last two weeks.”

Crystal laughs. “A typical male. Seduced by a shiny thing with bright lights that blink on and off.”

She takes her phone out of her pocketbook. “The LED message starts when the phone is picked up and stops if it’s either laid down or activated.” She lays the phone in the cart. “See. The message stopped.”

She picks up the phone and holds it like a microphone in front of her mouth. “First, you say a code.‘735’ then, to add a name to the directory, you say ‘Add Name. David Diamond. Add Number””

She puts the phone in front of his mouth. “Say your number into the speaker.”

He says his number.

Putting the phone in front of her mouth, she says, “End Name.” She puts the phone to her ear and says, “735 David Diamond.”

Dave’s phone rings. He puts it to his ear and says, “Hi.”

She smiles at him and says, “End call.”

Crystal puts the phone back into her pocketbook.

“That’s some phone,” he says. “I’ll bet it cost big bucks.”

“I’m sure it did,” she says.

Crystal begins slowly pushing her cart. Dave walks beside her.

At the cookie aisle, she puts a package of Oreos in the cart.

“Mommy, Oreo” Tracy asks.

Crystal opens the package and hands one to her.

They move on to the fresh fruit aisle. As she inspects a bunch of grapes, Crystal asks, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

She puts down the bunch and picks up another. “You’re not a bad looking guy. Why aren’t you married?”

“I haven’t found the right one.”

She puts the grapes in her cart and pushes it towards the dairy aisle.

“Have you ever had a serious affair?”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess you haven’t.”

“Of course I have.”

“How many?”

“Well . . . one,” he says.

She picks up a carton of eggs. “What happened?”

“It’s complicated.”

Looking at the bottom of the egg carton, she says, “How about two sentences.”

He doesn’t answer.

Crystal looks at him.

“She had a habit I couldn’t live with.”

Crystal puts the carton back and picks up another.

She looks at him again. “And?”

“She didn’t want to work.”

Crystal opens the egg carton and examines the eggs.

“What was the habit?” she asks.

“When we had a disagreement, she wouldn’t talk it out. She would give me the silent treatment. We never resolved personal differences. I had to live with the problem. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have married her in a heartbeat.”

“Even though she didn’t want to work?”

“It was an issue we never resolved.”

“What happened to her?”

“She married somebody else.”

Crystal puts the egg carton in the cart and pushes on to the orange juice aisle. She reads the juice cartons.

Dave says, “Amazing, isn’t it, we should meet by chance twice at the Big G in such a short period of time.”

Crystal puts a carton of orange juice in her cart. “The first time was just an isolated incident. This time you’re rolling the dice . . . but if you land on me, you’ll go directly to jail.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m seventeen. I’m under the age. If you mess with me, you’ll be prosecuted so aggressively and relentlessly that you’ll be grateful when the prison door shuts.”

Dave looks at Tracy.

“That’s right,” Crystal says. “I had a baby at fifteen. I’m a slut. I’m damaged goods.”

Dave shakes his head. “No you’re not.”

Crystal takes an Oreo out of the package in the cart, kneels down, and hands it to Tracy. Slowly stroking Tracy’s hair, she says, “You’re Mommy’s best little girl. Mommy loves you more than anything else in this world.”

She stands up and turns to Dave. “Friend, the message is that this is the aisle to nowhere and it’s check-out time.”

She pushes the cart to the front of the store while Dave follows.

In the checkout line, Dave asks, “When will you be eighteen?”

“April.”

“April is only six months away. What day in April?”

“April 1st.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“April 1st is my mom’s birthday. What a coincidence.”

“That’s right,” she says. “Just a coincidence. Just like the incident in the parking lot. Nothing more.”

“What day of the week is it?” he asks.

“I have no idea.”

“Dave looks at his phone. It’s a Thursday. Why don’t we meet in front of the Big G on the following Saturday which would be April 3rd, at 12 noon?”

“I can’t. I’ll be studying for exams.”

“When I was in high school, nobody studied at noon on Saturday for anything.”

“I’m not in high school. I’m a sophomore at the University and, believe me, I’ll be studying. Being a single mom puts priorities where they belong.”

Dave is silent as they go through the checkout line.

In the parking lot, he walks beside Crystal as she pushes the cart to her car. There’s money somewhere, a custom-made cell phone and now a big, black, Mercedes sedan. I’m in the wrong league. I can’t support that life-style. She probably doesn’t know what work is. I blew it.

After Crystal straps Tracy into the car, Dave hands her the groceries as she puts them in the trunk of the car.

When all the groceries are in the trunk, she closes it and says, “Thanks for your help. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future.”

“Are you going to accept my offer?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t mean the offer to meet in front of the Big G at noon. The offer I mean is the offer I made when we first met.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In those few minutes we were together, your face and your eyes told me you had a big problem, a deep-down problem with no way out. My face and my eyes offered to share the burden, to find a way out.”

He pauses.

“A man and a woman complement each other. Let me address whatever is so disturbing—bring a man’s point-of-view into the situation.”

She looks at him. “What makes you think I don’t already have a man’s point-of-view?”

“Your eyes told me.”

“You wouldn’t have a chance,” she says. “Nobody would. Thanks for the offer though.”

She pauses.

“You are very perceptive.”

She turns, walks to the car door, gets in, and backs out of the parking space.

Dave is holding onto the shopping cart, watching her straighten the car. Once the car is straight, she pauses, looks at him for several seconds, smiles, and drives away.

He pushes the cart to the return corral. She’s different that’s for sure. Nice smile. Wonder what it means? Spontaneous? . . . or . . . Premeditated? Is Fortune turning her wheel again—my opportunity gone? I guess I’ll know in six months. Right after April Fools’ Day.

It’s 11: 30 on Saturday, April 3rd, and an unseasonably hot day. Dave parks his car and walks to the entrance of the Big G.

Best to get here a little early in case she got the time mixed up.

12: 15.

I’ll give her to 12: 30. Traffic is heavy.

12: 45.

Looks like a no-show. I should have expected it. I’ll never find another woman like her. She was from another planet. Damn it all.

Dave puts his hands in his pockets and slowly walks towards his car. His phone rings. He looks at the screen. It’s blank.

He puts the phone to his ear. “Dave Diamond.”

“Hi David, this is Crystal. Where are you?”

“Exactly where I said I would be at 12 o’clock noon today. In front of the Big G. Don’t you remember?”

“Tracy and I are at the salad bar. We’re going on a picnic. Would you care to join us?”

“I’ll be right there.”

As he puts his phone away, he chuckles. She’s bad. Real bad.

When Dave is in sight of the salad bar, Crystal’s back is too him with Tracy standing beside her. Her grocery cart is full.

Oh wow! Look . . . at . . . those . . . shorts. She’s beautiful from any angle. Beautiful in every way.

Dave picks up a plastic salad plate, stands beside Crystal, and says, “What do you recommend?”

She looks up and smiles. “The fruit salad.”

Looks down at Tracy, Dave says, “Hi Tracy. Do you remember me?’

Crystal bends down, takes Tracy’s hand, and says, “What do you say?”

“Hi David Diamond.”

Dave smiles. “You have a super memory Tracy.”

“Mommy told me.”

Crystal and Dave look at each other for a moment before Crystal says, “We can drop these groceries at my place, then go to the park by the river for a picnic. It has an area with swings and slides and kids for Tracy to play with. I’ve paid for the groceries, so when we get our salads, we’ll be on our way.”

Crystal and Dave are sitting on the grass in the park watching Tracy playing with two other little girls.

They sit in silence until Crystal says, “I saw you on campus.”

“When?”

“In January. The first Saturday of the semester. I was on my way to a nine o’clock biology lab.”

“You should have thrown a snowball. We could have met for coffee after your lab.”

Crystal hesitates.

“I followed you.”

“Oh?”

“I sat on the bench outside your class for a while. There weren’t any other classes. The hall was empty, and I could hear your lecture.”

“How was it?”

“Interesting.”

Another period of silence.

“I went to the Registrar’s office before the class was over and asked the lady at the desk the name of Dr. Diamond’s course. She said Mr. Diamond wasn’t a member of the facility, but a practicing attorney who taught the law school’s only Saturday class. She thought I wanted to take your class and said it had a waiting list. If I wanted to take your class, the next chance would be next semester’s class registration—first thing in the morning of the first day. The class fills up fast. Then she gave me a sharp look and said, “I am sure you are aware his class is non-credit. It’s one of the University’s community outreach classes.”

She pauses.

“The lady never told me the name of the course, so I looked it up in the catalog. Litigation. Courtroom litigation.”

“I like teaching and students are a good source of referrals,” he says.

“You’re older than 27.”

“No I’m 27.”

“Am I missing something? You graduated law school at 25 and at 27 you are teaching courtroom litigation at the most prestigious law school in the country. Expertise in courtroom litigation comes from courtroom litigation—not books.”

“You are missing something.”

“What?”

“I graduated the University law school at 22. The same year I received my undergraduate degree. I've been practicing law for five years.”

“That’s impossible!” she says.

“It would be—unless you had my parents. Here comes Tracy. Let’s take her over to the swings.”

Dave carries Tracy to the swings on his shoulders, puts her in a child’s swing, and slowly pushes her back-and-forth while Crystal stands beside him.

“Here’s the deal,” Dave says. “Both my parents were attorneys—undergrad and law school graduates of the University. Their parents were attorneys—all graduates of the University. The legal profession goes back generations in my family. As for me. I have been interested in law as long as I can remember. At 14, I was earning spending money as a part-time legal secretary for my parents. After they were elected judges, I would sit in their courtrooms after school and watched attorneys argue cases. I was hooked on the drama and intellectual combat being played out. When I graduated high school, I wanted to get in the courtroom as fast as I could.”

Dave stops the swing and asks, “How are you doing Tracy? Do you want to keep going?”

Tracy smiles and nods.

“I can push for a while,” Crystal says, “and takes the swing.”

Dave says, “When I told my Uncle Frank what I wanted to do, he said, “How would you like to try the impossible. How would you like to attend undergrad and law school at the same time? I think you can do it. You can enter the University under the Gifted Scholar program. I’ll arrange everything. The worse that could happen would be you drop out of law school until you graduate undergrad.” That’s how it started. During the summers, I was in the courtroom helping my parents.”

“How did you enter law school without an undergraduate degree? Did your uncle make a big donation to the University?”

“He’s Dean of the law school.”

Crystal is astonished. “Weren’t there repercussions, like charges of nepotism?”

“Nope. We don’t have the same last name. Uncle Frank is my mom’s brother. I was bigger than most of the other students and was low key about everything. Outside my parents and grandparents, you are the only person I am aware of that knows Dean Keenan is my uncle. When he retires next year, it will be the end of the story.”

Crystal stops the swing and says to Tracy. “Let’s go to the creek, so you can play in the mud with the other children.”

Tracy is playing at the edge of a shallow stream with some other children while Crystal and Dave sit on a rock a few feet away.

“How did you get to be a sophomore at 17?” Dave asks.

Silence.

“I told you when you asked.”

Silence.

“How can I help you if you give me the silent treatment?”

She gives him a sharp look.

After several seconds she says, “I don’t need help, and I’m not giving you the silent treatment. This isn’t going to go anywhere, that’s all. I’ll drive you back to the Big G.”

“You may not be giving me the silently treatment, but you’re withholding information. If nothing comes out of this, then nothing comes out it . . . at least give me a chance. What do you have to lose?”

Silence.

“Do you have an uncle in high places at the University?” he asks.

“No.”

“Did you max out your SAT’s?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

She looks at him for a moment before saying, “To make an extremely unpleasant story short, going back to high school was not an option after I had Crystal, so Dad met with the Chairman of the University's Finance Committee and asked him, point-blank, how much of an anonymous, no-strings-attached donation would get me in. It was a lot.”

"I see.”

"My SATs were high enough and no rule existed against admitting a 16 year-old with a GED because they didn’t think a 16 year-old with a GED could score well on the SATs. Mom wanted Dad to file a discrimination action, but he said it would take too long.”

This time, Dave is astonished. “Your last name wouldn’t be Stillman would it?”

Horrified, Crystal says, “How did you know? Not even the University Dean knows who gave the donation. Only the Chairman of the Finance Committee knows. I would be expelled if it became known Dad paid to get me in.”

Dave holds up hands. “Don’t be alarmed. Uncle Frank is also the Chairman of the Finance Committee. He said something awhile back which puzzled me, and I drew the inference just this second.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Even an attorney like Stillman knows where the University is concerned, common sense and a smile prevail over legal action.’ The comment stuck in my mind because, first of all, I had never heard the phrase before, and, secondly, I had never heard of a connection between your dad and the University.”

Dave pauses.

“Don’t worry. The University Dean doesn’t want to know. Why risk a scandal over an insignificant matter. An anonymous donor is an anonymous donor.”

After a few moments, Dave says, “Now I understand why you said I would be grateful when the prison door shut.”

Crystal stands up and reaches for the stroller. “It’s time for me to leave.”

In the car, Dave says, “I didn’t mean anything negative about your father in what I just said. He is one of the best litigators in the country.”

“You really mean one of the most ruthless, don’t you.”

“Well . . . That too.”

When they get to Dave’s car at the Big G, Dave says, “I’d like to see you again. Could I take you and Tracy out to dinner next week?”

Crystal shakes her head. “I can’t. I study every night.”

Dave looks down, trying to think of something to say to keep the relationship going before he gets out of the car.

“But you can come to my place,” Crystal says.

Dave looks up. “I can? When?”

“Tomorrow night at six. I’ll make spaghetti.” She looks at Tracy. “You like spaghetti don’t you honey.” Tracy smiles and nods.

Crystal looks at Dave and chuckles. “Be prepared. She also likes to throw it from-time-to-time.”

When Dave arrives the next evening, Crystal introduces him to Mrs. Jenkins from a company named Companion Services and explains Companion Services provides 24/7 coverage which includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, and baby-sitting. Companion Services uses a room on the first floor, while Crystal and Tracy live on the top two floors.

At the end of the evening, Dave stands and says, “Thanks for inviting me over. I never played “dodge the spaghetti” before.”

Crystal laughs. “I warned you.”

“Yea, but you didn’t tell she was ambidextrous.”

Crystal chuckles, stands, and they walk slowly down the steps.

At the front door, Dave says, “Crystal, I want to keep seeing you, but given your situation, I’m at a loss of what to we could do together other than grocery shopping.”

“That’s about it,” Crystal says.

They stand in silence for several moments until Crystal says. “Let’s go sit down in the kitchen and talk about this.”

When they are seated, Crystal says, “Every summer, after school is out in June and until it starts in September, my family, which includes all four of my grandparents, goes to France. We own houses in Provence and Nice. Dad cuts back on his caseload and commutes back-and-forth so he can spend time with us.” She turns her eyes away from Dave.

Dave waits for her to continue.

After a long silence, Crystal looks up and into his eyes. “Dave, we can’t go on. If I was finished school and had a job, things would be different.” She pauses. “But not now . . . I’m not free. I wish so much that I was.”

Their eyes are fully engaged now—emotions saying what words can’t say. Dave understands what he must do, and Crystal understands he will find a way to do it.

When the intensity subsides, Dave says, “I take it the summer is strictly a family affair.”

“Yes.”

“And you are obligated to be part of it.”

“Yes.”

“I want to keep seeing you, at least until summer,” Dave says. “We had nice time tonight just sitting around talking. Could I come again another night?”

“This is very stressful for me,” Crystal says. “To keep seeing you when I know our friendship must end. I don’t want to imagine the consequences if my Dad found out I was seeing you. He doesn’t want me to have friends—period!”

“What about your mother?”

“She knows it’s not right, but after what I did, Dad got the upper hand.” Crystal shrugs. “It’s the way he is. His way is the only way.”

She pauses.

“To answer your question,” she says. “Do you agree that at the end of the semester, we will go our separate ways. I want a doctorate in neuroscience, so I can do research in neuron communication and memory formation. If I stay on schedule, I will finish in eight years.”

“What day.”

“What day?”

“So I can be standing in front of the Big G at noon.”

She laughs. “That’s not funny. Do you agree that at end of the semester we won’t see each again?”

Dave looks at the floor. “I agree.”

“Then you can come any evening except when my parents are here, which is usually every other weekend. Most of the time, you will have to watch TV or keep an eye on Tracy, since I’ll be studying either at school or at home.”

Dave nods.

April and May pass quickly for Dave. He is at Crystal’s townhouse every night except basketball league nights on Tuesday and Thursday and the weekends her parents are there. Crystal treats him as a member of the family—a husband without sex benefits. Their social life doesn’t extend past the Big G or local afternoon outings on the weekend with Tracy, but Dave doesn’t mind at all. He doesn’t mind her honesty, her humor, her intelligence. He doesn’t mind the occasional touch of her hand, the passing brush of her body, the constant attention of her eyes. He can’t get enough of her teasing, flirting, and laughter because he know it’s all for him and him alone. He knows without a doubt and without her confession that he is at the top of her agenda.

On the last Friday of May, Dave rings Crystal’s doorbell. Mrs. Ryland from Companion Services opens the door and hands him an envelope. He opens the envelope.

Dear David,

As we agreed in the beginning, the time has come for our friendship to end. These two months together were the best. Unfortunately for both of us, the ties binding me to my parents leave no room for another. Please keep your promise.

Love,

Crystal

“I assume she is not here,” Dave says.

Mrs. Ryland nods. “Miss Crystal and Tracy left yesterday for France. Miss Crystal asked me to stay until you came.”

“Well, nice knowing you”

“Likewise.”

At the bottom of the steps, Dave reads the note again and smiles. She finally used the word “love”—in a “Dear John” letter. She tells me the game is over, and then, without a warning buzzer, she puts the ball into play at the other end of the court. Those two ladies turned my world upside down.

He looks up at the brownstone. Do you guys miss me as much as I miss you.

As he thinks about the letter, Crystal enters his heart. She is standing beside his car on the first night they met. Her beautiful face takes control of his consciousness just as it did then. “It’s up to you now,” she says. “Only you can give me the power to make us both happy. It’s all or nothing.” She pauses, smiles, and is with him once again.

On the third Friday of August, Dave is in the office of John Walsh, the Senior Partner of his law firm.

“I appreciate your taking time out to see me today, John,” Dave says.

“Your e-mail asking if we could get together today came at just the right time,” John says. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but it seems like you’ve been on the road all summer.”

“I have been on the road. I hope it’s not a problem. My billings haven’t fallen.”

“What I wanted to say was, “Thank you.” I’m amazed by the number of referrals you bring to the firm on a continuing basis. I’m grateful you share them with the other attorneys. Your unselfish attitude during these lean times is a real morale booster to everybody our office.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Dave says. He shrugs. “The referrals are certainly more than I can handle.”

“What brings you in today?” John asks.

“I need your help.”

Dave pauses.

“Next Wednesday, Julius Stillman is presenting closing arguments in a San Francisco court. I want to argue against him.”

John is visibly surprised by the request, but is silent.

“These last three months I have been observing Stillman and his attorneys in various courtrooms around the country,” Dave says. “They have a set pattern. Stillman’s attorneys do all the trial work, and on the last day, Stillman flies in and presents the final argument.”

“So, what was your impression of Stillman?”

“He’s God giving Moses the Ten Commandants. Physically imposing and intimidating. A charismatic and compelling speaker with a photographic memory equipped with instant recall. It took me several cases before I was able to neutralize the “WOW!” factor.”

“And you want to argue against him on Wednesday in San Francisco? You want to argue against Darth Vader and his storm troopers?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Are you familiar with the 1994 Stokes Realty case?” Dave asks.

John shakes his head.

“On Wednesday, Stillman will argue that his client, Burns LLC, should be allowed to immediately evict the ninety plus low-income families who live in an apartment complex Burns has just purchased. Burns wants to replace the apartments with luxury condos.”

Dave pauses.

“The Stokes case is an obscure case where Stokes’ attorneys were citing state and local laws to evict low-income tenants in a Stokes owned apartment complex in Birmingham, Alabama. The court found the Stokes tenants were protected from eviction under Federal law. The tenants met the nine conditions listed under Title 42, Section 45, Subchapter 1, Section 3604 and Subchapter 2, Section 3631 of the 1968 Federal Public Health and Welfare Act.”

Dave pauses.

“The Burns tenants also meet the nine conditions.”

As if he is dealing with an adolescent, John says, “Dave, in a few years, you’ll be able stay in the courtroom with Stillman, but not now. As for the nine conditions, the judge might have an outside chance of keeping track of them, but by the third condition the jurors will be staring at the ceiling.”

“I’ve grouped the conditions into two concepts which can be understood by my Thursday night basketball league teammates. I have been sitting in the San Francisco courtroom for the past week. The tenant’s pro bono attorney has not mentioned the Stokes case.”

“No doubt he has never heard of it,” John says.

“The jurors are in their 50s and 60s. Conservative personalities screened by Stillman’s team and predisposed to agree with Stillman.”

“And no doubt they will.”

“But surprise and youth are on my side. The minute Stillman enters the courtroom, he will dismiss me as an inconsequential nobody just out of law school who is sitting at the defense table with his head down, shuffling papers around looking for something or other. He will look at Ferdinand Semana and see a nervous defense attorney who has been worked over and overwhelmed by the storm troopers. He will look at his watch and make the decision to catch the early flight to France to bring his family back home.”

“So?”

“So as the defense attorney, I will have the final argument. Stillman may be God, but I will be the jurors’ children who live in those apartments and have no place to take their families when they are illegally evicted. Because people are predisposed to judge strangers based on their appearance and mannerisms, the jurors will identify me with their son or daughter. This emotional process of stereotyping a stranger is called transference.”

After pausing for a moment, Dave says, “During my argument, I will engage in counter‑transference. As a juror’s perceived child, I will engage them at the emotional level of a family member. I will tell them they have the power to protect me from being illegally evicted by deciding in favor of the tenants.”

“Just how will you be able to make this final argument?” John says sarcastically. “You aren’t the defense attorney.”

“Elizabeth Myers, an attorney in our San Francisco office, has been a friend of Ferdinand Semana’s since grade school and will call him on my behalf. She is certain he will welcome an experienced trial lawyer at his table. All she wants is your approval to make the call.”

“Everything you’ve told me today requires you—not Semana—present the final argument. How are you going to perform that feat?”

“The same way I lead the firm in referrals for new clients.”

John looks his desk for several seconds before looking at Dave and saying, “I knew Stillman had an out-of-control daughter in high school, who had a baby before she could drive, and no clue as to which boy was the father, but I didn’t know he had an older daughter.”

Looking John straight in the eye, Dave says, “The daughter I know is a junior at the University. A Biology major with straight A’s. She’s a single mother who encourages her daughter to play in the mud with other children. She’s a thirty-year old in an eighteen-year old body . . . I’ve never respected a woman as much as I respect her.”

John looks out the window for a while, then looks back at Dave.

“Pack your bags. It’s your neck.”

The following Monday, Dave is sitting on a hallway bench outside the courtroom in San Francisco when court opens. He follows Ferdinand Semana into the courtroom. After Semana puts his papers on the defense table and boots up his computer, Dave approaches the table.

“Good morning Ferdinand.”

Semana looks up.

Dave extends his hand. “I’m Dave Diamond. The Boston attorney Elizabeth Myers called you about.”

“You are?” Semana says. “There has been a miscommunication. Elizabeth said you were an experienced trial lawyer. One of the best in her firm.”

“I am an experienced trial lawyer. Very experienced.”

Dave sits down beside Semana. “Are you familiar with Stokes Realty Holdings vs. the Tenants of Mayfield Gardens in Birmingham Alabama, 648 Southern Reporter Second 1241,1994?”

“The following Saturday in the late morning, Dave is parked in the Boston suburb where Crystal’s family lives. He is staring at his cell phone.”

She may still be in France. This is just the first Saturday in September. Maybe I should wait until next Saturday to call her. If I call her now, and she is still in France, she’ll tell me to get lost and won’t answer the next time I call. The first call has to do the job. He continues staring at his phone. He can’t hold back any longer. He has to see her. He makes the call.

Crystal answers the phone. “David, why are you calling me? We agreed to go our separate ways. I’m not seeing you again.”

“I understand that, but the way you left—without telling me—without saying goodbye—no chance for me to accept I would never see you again.”

Crystal doesn’t answer.

“I need to see you and know it’s the last time. To exchange a few parting words. My heart needs closure.”

Crystal doesn’t answer.

“We can have lunch. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“You can’t come here. My Dad is here. I had to go to my room when I saw your number. I’ll meet you at the Coffee Works on South Street.”

Dave doesn’t answer.

“Crystal immediately calls Dave back, but gets his voice mail. Thinking he didn’t get her message about meeting in town, she decides to wait for him on the front porch so she can get in the car without her dad seeing him.”

Crystal goes back to the family room and says to her mother, “It was a friend from school. We’re going into town for lunch. I’m going to wait on the porch.”

When Crystal turns to go, Julius Stillman, who is reading a magazine says, “That was sudden. Is your friend someone we know?”

“No.”

“Are you going to introduce her to us? We don’t know any of your friends from school. We would like to meet her. Where is she from?”

“Boston.”

“What’s her name?”

“It’s a guy.”

“Oh. What’s his name?”

“David.”

“David from Boston.”

“Yes.”

Crystal starts to walk out of the room.

“What’s David’s last name.”

Without turning around or stopping, Crystal says “Diamond.”

She hears Stillman get out of his chair.

“Come back here!” he shouts.

She turns. The anger in his face frightens her.

“What do you mean by associating with that low-life trash. Get back in this room.”

Stepping towards Crystal, Stillman shouts, “Now!”

“Don’t leave this room,” Stillman commands as Crystal comes back into the room. “That goddamn asshole is never setting foot in my house. Don’t you understand? He’s no good. Worthless. You’re setting yourself—and us—up like you did before. Didn’t you learn anything from that? You’re never going to learn are you?”

Stillman walks rapidly towards the front door, jerks it open, and slams it shut as he walks out.

Confused and hurt, Crystal sits down beside her mother. “He doesn’t understand,” she says. “He just doesn’t understand?” With no hope of protecting David from her father, the deep emotional pain overwhelms her, and she cries for the first time since she was 15. Her mother puts her arm around Crystal's shoulders and holds her tight.

Coming to the end of a long, tree-lined private road, Dave sees a mansion with two chairs beside the circular driveway. Stillman is sitting in one of the chairs. The empty chair opposite him is positioned to face the sun.”

Parking beside the two chairs, Dave gets out of his car.

Pointing to the chair, Stillman says, “Sit down.”

Dave sits down.

“You look familiar,” Stillman says sarcastically. “San Francisco. Right? Superior Court of California. Last Wednesday.”

Dave nods.

“Ferdinand didn’t have the courtesy to introduce us. I could attribute his bad manners and lack of professionalism to bad breeding and ignorance, but that wasn’t case. He was seduced into unethical behavior by you.

Dave extends his legs, leans back in the chair, interlocks his fingers, places his hands flat on his stomach, closes his eyes, and looks up at the sun.

“That was a cute trick when you pulled your California law license out of your pants pocket and handed to the judge after I told him you weren’t licensed to practice law in California. My fact-finding team didn’t include the last bar exam results when they checked your credentials. They assumed only a fool or an idiot would be stupid enough to think a three-week old license was qualification enough to argue against me.

Dave crosses his ankles.

“Only a nitwit would present an entirely new argument in the concluding argument and expect a jury to understand it. I knew all about the Stokes case, but had not referred to it because Semana hadn’t. You couldn’t even remember the nine conditions, which I could have easily paraphrased. Lumping them in two classes didn’t provide enough information for the jury to make an informed decision.”

Dave adjusts his shoulders against the back of the chair.

“Semana should have made the closing argument. He was the tenants’ lawyer, not you. You should have been embarrassed by the way you stood in front of the jury and whined. I was embarrassed to be in the same courtroom with you.

Dave clears his throat.

“This time, you had the advantage of surprise and a liberal jury,” Stillman says harshly. “This time you blindsided me, but next time, I will grind you into dirt.”

After a brief silence, Stillman says, “Until just a few minutes ago, I thought you were a punk out to make a quick reputation, but now it’s obvious to me you had an entirely different motive. Before you get in your car and get the hell off my property, tell me why an 18-year old girl with a three-year old daughter would compel you to make such an extraordinary effort to seek me out.”

Dave sits up slowly, leans forward, and looks Stillman in the eye. “I like her cell phone.”

“What kind of jackass answer is that?” Stillman says sharply.

Dave continues to look Stillman in the eye.

The seconds pass slowly until Stillman chuckles, stands up, and extends his hand.

“Let me give you a hand up Dave. It’s time you met Crystal’s mother, Valerie.”

As they walk to the house, Stillman puts his arm around Dave’s shoulders and says, “Valerie and I are concerned Crystal is growing up without a social life. A young woman shouldn’t spend all her time studying and hanging around her family. She needs to get out and enjoy life, and Tracy is at the age where she needs a father. Why don’t you and Crystal go out for the evening? Valerie and I go to bed early, so we’ll be asleep when you bring Crystal home. If it’s not too late, you and Crystal can watch a movie. Our bedroom is at the other end of the house on the second floor. You won’t disturb us.”

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