On the way to the cell, Danny asks me if I've gotten any news on Willie's appeal. He obviously can sense that I have.
“I really want to talk to Willie about it first,” I say.
He nods. “I understand. I hope he gets the new trial.”
I just nod, still noncommittal. It would seem a betrayal of Willie to tell anybody else before I tell him.
Danny continues, “I don't always root for the prisoners, you know? But I like Willie. I don't know what he did, or didn't do, but I judge 'em on how they are in here. And I like Willie.”
Willie is waiting for me, but trying to act nonchalant. He can't quite pull it off, but it doesn't matter. I get right to it.
“We heard from the Court of Appeals. We got the retrial.”
Willie sort of flinches when he hears it. I was nervous waiting to hear what Hatchet would tell me, and I'm just the lawyer. Willie was listening to hear whether he would live or die. He's going to live, at least for now. I can't imagine what this moment would have been like if I had to tell him the appeal was turned down. I don't know how I could have done it.
I call Laurie and tell her the good news. We agree to meet the next morning at eight o'clock in my office. There's going to be about three months of work to do in the next four weeks, and Laurie is going to be responsible for a great deal of it. She doesn't mention Nicole or the situation between us, but neither does she whisper sweet nothings into the phone. It's going to be the longest, shortest four weeks of my life.
NICOLE ANDI HAVE DINNER PLANS TONIGHT. I'M still feeling guilty about Laurie, so I exact my revenge on Nicole by taking her to a sports bar that I've never been to. It's a sign of how hard she's trying that she doesn't voice a complaint about the choice.
The only sports Nicole tolerates are sports cars, and occasionally sports shirts. It was a problem in our marriage. One time I planted myself on the couch and watched football for so long that she came over and watered me. Tara licked it off my face and I didn't miss a single play.
This place actually turns out to be pretty cool, with nine large-screen TVs and headphones that plug into the table so you can hear whatever game you want. Unfortunately, the only game on is a hockey game, which doesn't interest me. I have this rule: I'm only a fan of sports in which I can pronounce 30 percent of the players’ names. I don't think Nicole is a big hockey fan either; she glances at the screen and asks me what inning it is.
Nicole doesn't seem terribly impressed by the place. She has this hang-up about wanting edible food when she goes to a restaurant, and her meal doesn't seem to measure up. I make the mistake of inquiring as to how her salad is.
“Actually,” she says, “I've never said this about salad before … but it's too tough.”
I nod with characteristic understanding. “Same thing with the burgers. It's good for your teeth.”
She smiles and takes my hand. “It's just good to be together.”
At this point I'm thinking that she might be right. Things are getting more comfortable, more like old times. Of course, old times led to our separating, but I'm willing to overlook that right now.
I've known Nicole since I was fourteen; my father and Philip Gant were old friends who had gone on to Yale Law School together. They both then went on to work in the District Attorney's office. Though it became my father's life and passion, it was a résumé-builder for Philip, and after four years he left crime fighting behind to fight for votes.
Tevye would have been thrilled with our courtship; it was the closest thing to an arranged marriage as the United States Constitution permits. We were introduced at a charity ball at Nicole's family's country club, an important enough event that my mother bought me a new navy blazer and khaki pants. I went reluctantly, much preferring to waste time hanging out with my friends than to meet this ritzy prep school girl. I was cool, my friends were cool, the ice cream stand we hung out at was cool, and the country club was said to be very definitely uncool.
For an uncool place, it had some of the coolest things in it I had ever seen, and one of the coolest was Nicole. She was gorgeous, five foot eight, with curly black hair, bare shoulders sloping down from a perfect neck, and a smile that brightened up the entire room. But most importantly, most significantly, most amazingly, she had cleavage! Yes, actual cleavage! And she wore a dress that revealed it! In retrospect, there wasn't that much of it, but at that age, on that night, it felt like I was staring into the Lincoln Tunnel.
I almost choked on my tongue when we were introduced, but as the night wore on things became more comfortable. I regaled her with stories of my baseball prowess, and she told me about her trip through the Orient with her family. She had a slightly rebellious air about her, and a smile that said she realized how absurdly ostentatious these surroundings were, but that was tough, because she was damn well going to enjoy them. She was funny, smart-and she touched my arm when she talked.
I think we both knew from that night on that we were going to wind up together. School and family obligations conspired to keep us mostly apart over the next eight years, but we never lost touch. We'd even talk about our respective relationships, as if they were just passing, unthreatening fancies until we got back to the real thing. Each other.
When I was in my third year of law school it somehow simultaneously dawned on us that the time was right, and we started dating seriously. Less than ten months later we were married, followed by a wedding reception, the cost of which could have fed Guatemala for three months.
It seems too simplistic to say that we grew apart, that our respective lifestyles finally lost their capacity to blend together. But as near as I can tell, that's basically what happened, and when Nicole finally left me, the dominant feeling I was experiencing changed from sadness to relief.
But now she's telling me that it's good to be together, and I'm buying into it. I made a lifelong commitment to this woman, and that is what I'm trying to fulfill. What this world needs are more honorable, responsible people like me.
Now she has said that this feels right, and I raise my bottle of beer. “I'll drink to that. How's your father?”
“Very busy. They're still hassling over that crime bill … trying to pass it before the summer recess. But he's really happy we're working things out.”
A few days ago she said we were “trying” to work things out. I guess we must have succeeded while I wasn't paying attention.
“My father would have been just as happy. It must be a father thing.”
She nods as if that is sound wisdom. “Any luck with Nelson's mysterious money?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. You know, all those years I thought I married you for your money, and now it turns out you married me for mine.”
She laughs. “Twenty-two million dollars? To us Gants, that's tipping money.”
She's joking, but not that far off. Nicole comes from real money, money so old it was originally called wampum.
She leans forward seductively. It's a lean she has mastered. “But you rich men do excite me.”
I give her a sexy lean of my own, but I'm not quite as good at it. “When I stand on my wallet I'm six foot four.”
“What about when you're lying down?” she purrs.
We haven't had sex since she came back, so there's more excitement here than I remember. We're like two kids teasing each other, but both knowing where it will wind up.
“How about coming back to our place?” is my clever response. It seems to work pretty well, because the next thing I know we're back home, standing next to our bed, slowly undressing each other.
Tara's outside the room, pawing at the door. Nicole has always felt uncomfortable having Tara in the room when we have sex. Right now I don't even hear Tara's whimpering; Nicole has my undivided attention. This is not feeling like a husband-wife thing, and I can sense she's a little nervous. Join the club.