The Common Pleas Lawyer
The Common Pleas Lawyer
A Casey Cort Novella
Aime Austin
Contents
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Also by Aime Austin
The Casey Cort Novels
1. Casey Cort
2. Casey
3. Casey
4. Casey
5. Casey
6. Casey
7. Casey
8. Casey
9. Casey
10. Casey
11. Casey
12. Casey
13. Casey
14. Casey
15. Casey
16. Casey
17. Casey
18. Casey
19. Casey
About the Author
Also Available from Aime Austin
This edition published by
Penner Publishing
14900 Magnolia Boulevard, #57914
Los Angeles, California 91413
www.pennerpublishing.com
* * *
Copyright © 2016 by Aime Austin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. This book is licensed for your personal use only.
ISBN: 978-1-944179-37-3
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Also by Aime Austin
The Casey Cort Series
* * *
The Common Pleas Lawyer
Qualified Immunity
Under Color of Law
In Plain Sight
Conflict of Interest
* * *
Romantic Women’s Fiction
as Sylvie Fox
* * *
Unlikely
Impasse
Shaken
Stirred
Shattered
Don’t Judge Me
The Secret Widow
The Good Enough Husband
The Casey Cort Novels
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See how it all begins.
One
Casey Cort
March 30, 1996
“What did you want?” Lulu Mueller asked. She gave me a look of pure disbelief.
“I…um…thought I could borrow your computer for a couple of minutes,” I replied, awkwardly stumbling over my answer. I wasn’t so dense I didn’t know that ball gowns and email didn’t mix.
“Why?”
From my spot on Lulu’s office chair in her bedroom, I leaned over the sparkly beaded purse to the overnight bag I’d used to bring my gown to my best friend’s house. From a side pocket, I fished out a three-and-a-half inch floppy disk. I held up the gray plastic so my friend could see the sticker I’d carefully labeled months ago.
“Second Year Comments,” she read. “You’ve got to be kidding. This ball, all of this,” she gestured to her half made up face, “was your idea. Now, you want to do work?”
“I’ll be quick, I swear. It’s a memo I’m supposed to send out. Plus you still have to finish getting ready.”
“Because I didn’t spend my day at a spa in Beachwood.”
“Tom mentioned tonight being special. If what’s gonna happen is what I think is gonna happen, a girl’s gotta turn herself into a swan.” I circled my index finger around my made up face and blown out hair. “This is Tom Brody we’re talking about. He could have any girl he wants in the five county area.”
“Fine.” Lulu huffed, but took herself back to the en suite bathroom. “What in the hell is so important, you have to send it now?” Her question echoed off the tiles.
“It’s a general progress report. I’m supposed to give the second-years general and specific feedback on their law review comments. This is their second draft, and they’re still mostly shit.”
“Not everyone is in it to win it, Casey.” Lulu popped her head back in and she was looking a bit more evened out, a bit less like Batman’s nemesis, Two Face.
“Law review is the most prestigious thing you can do in law school. If these kids want to splash journal membership over their resume fifty different times, then they should do the work. It’s not some popularity contest.”
The computer took its time coming to life. When the desktop finally came into view, I double-clicked on the icon that would connect me to the school. The crackling sound of the modem filled the room then dissipated as I made a successful connection.
Careful of my manicure, I double-clicked on her mouse, opening the Word Perfect file and looked at the memo one more time. I didn’t know Lulu was reading over my shoulder until her breath stirred the straight hair laying down my back.
“Hey,” I said, swatting at her. “I don’t want it going curly again.”
Lulu sat heavily on her bed. The frothy pink and white four-poster stood in stark contrast to the purple and black striped walls and homegrown rap group posters.
“Have we ever had the discussion about tact?” Lulu broached.
As always, I resisted pointing out that telling it like it was all the time to everyone was the opposite of tact as well.
“Not this again,” I said, sighing. I swiveled in the chair to face her. “These are not babies. If they can’t take the heat…” I left the rest unsaid. From where I was sitting, colleges and now even law schools were doing way too much coddling and not enough straight talking.
Lulu pulled her glasses from atop her head, and smashed them down onto her nose. She read from my memo.
“Do not use passive voice. Do not improperly use words. Do not make unsubstantiated statements. Do not plagiarize. Do not ignore the foregoing rules. If you do not heed them, you will not produce a publishable comment. You will not elevate.”
Lulu pushed her glasses back up and sat down heavily on her skull-covered duvet. Her sigh was heavy, world weary, overwrought.
“What?” I swiveled to face her again.
She was silent for a beat.
“Just say it.”
“You used ‘foregoing’ and ‘heed’ in a single memo,” Lulu said as if I’d used curse words.
“Your point?”
“This is not win friends and influence people language. More like alienate people and piss them off language.”
“They turned in shit, Lulu. Unsubstantiated, derivative shit. I swear they should have to elevate before being able to put law review on their resume. It’s like they got on the review, slapped it on some heavy cream stock, then ran out to on-campus interviews with their shiny new accomplishment. Actually working on a journal that has to publish six issues a year doesn’t seem to be in the picture for these people.”
I turned back to the computer, clicked send, then shut it down. I was done thinking about law school for a night. Tom and graduation and what all that meant about the future needed my complete focus and concentration.
Whatever else Lulu was going to say was cut off when her mom came in, designer shoeboxes in hand. I was suddenly very glad my best friend, her mother, and I both wore a size seven-and-a-half shoe.
“You cleaned up…surprisingly…well.”
That was one of my co-editors, Roxy Wyles, giving me the most backhanded of compliments. Roxy, Lulu, and I were in the bathroom of the Lakewood Country Club. Outside the heavy wood door, The Advocates Ball, our law schools class’ answer to the senior prom was getting started.
“You think?” I did a quick twirl in my pale blue halter dress. It had set me back a real pretty penny at Dillard’s. But I planned to pay off the charges I was racking with this ball and my graduation expenses come fall.
Morrell, Gates & Noble’s first year salary, which would yield me a cool seventy thousand dollars, would have me covered. More than covered. It was above and beyond what my parents had probably ever made in any year, and they’d bought a house and raised me. In impossibly high heels, Roxy teetered off to powder her nose or something.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Lulu whispered. A few of our classmates’ dates had come into the room, their giggles and gossip drowning out our voices. The placard on the door that had read ‘Women’s Lounge’ was a one hundred percent accurate description. It was more living room than ladies room. Plush leather chairs, a basket of designer perfumes, and soft-looking tissues filled the bathroom. There wasn’t a toilet or sink in sight. Done scanning the room, taking in what would be my future, I turned back to Lulu.
“Tom really wanted me to come,” I said. I wasn’t a formal party kind of person, but my boyfriend was. So I’d dragged my best friend to the ball as well.
“You think he’s going to pop the question?” Lulu asked, grabbing and shaking my arm insistently.
I didn’t answer while peeling her fingers from my skin. Instead, I looked away, trying to hide my longing. I hoped more than anything there was a diamond in my immediate future. After spending half of last week shopping for this new dress and
new underwear to go with it, I’d burned through the rest of my credit limit on a manicure, pedicure, and blowing out my hair. It was the first time in my life someone other than me had painted my fingernails and toenails, or had made my curly flyaway hair runway model smooth.
I’d done my part, now I was ready for Tom to do his. Like a movie, I could envision Tom tapping on the mike at the front of the room, getting the band to play something appropriately sappy. Then a spotlight would shine down on him as he came to me on bended knee. The ring would sparkle like fire under the lights. All my classmates would applaud for the desirable girl, the girl every guy in the room was sorry he’d overlooked. I’d stop being the ambitious girl who had clawed her way onto the law review masthead and into the inner sanctum of a white shoe firm.
“You’re thinking about that ring, aren’t you?” Lulu demanded. That question brought me back down to earth from my daydream and tuned me back in to the world around me.
“Your outfit turned out…nice,” I said, watching Lulu touch up her hot pink lipstick.
“I look like an extra from Sixteen Candles,” Lulu said.
Our eyes met in the mirror and I couldn’t help laughing. She was totally right. Lulu Mueller had what I always thought of as…eclectic taste. On most days, she looked like a rap video reject. Tonight the sequins on her dress competed for glitter champion with the sparkling cat-eye glasses that were her favorite accessory. Maybe a Madonna or Cyndi Lauper video girl more than John Hughes actress.
“You didn’t have to come,” I said.
“You’re so full of shit. You practically twisted my arm. So here I am with the dastardly Jason Sullivan.”
“Is he that bad?” I hoped he wasn’t that bad. He was one of Tom’s good friends. One of his rich inner circle. When James had asked Lulu, I thought it would be perfect. We could double date, and if Tom popped the question, at least my best friend would be there to witness it.
“It’ll be fine. I don’t have to marry Jason. We’ll drink. I’ll dance. He’ll bore me to death with cases from securities law, and the night will end in,” Lulu checked the tiny gold watch her mom had lent her, “T minus four hours.”
Once Lulu had put the nearly neon lipstick back in her bag, I linked my elbow with hers and escorted her out of the lounge door.
“Let’s get some wine,” she suggested. It was the best idea of the night so far.
We came back to the ten-person table, wine in hand.
Tom stood and pulled out my chair. I nearly died from the chivalry. When he wanted to, when he made even the tiniest effort, my boyfriend could be the absolute best. “I hope you guys didn’t talk about us too bad in there.”
I leaned over and laid my lips on Tom’s smooth cheek. He smelled like some kind of spice, cloves maybe. I loved that smell.
“Nothing too embarrassing,” I said, and then winked at him.
“Where are you after graduation?” Jason Sullivan asked before my butt could even hit the chair properly. He hadn’t taken a page from Tom’s playbook, and Lulu was doing the best she could to scoot into her own seat without catching her hem on a chair leg.
“Morrell Gates,” I finally answered, nearly as proud of that name as I was of my own.
“That’s right,” Jason said, leaning back in contemplation like he was a man twice his age. “I remember now. Tom got you an interview at one of the biggies. Good for you.”
“Ah Jason, my dad got her the interview. She got the job on her own smarts,” Tom interjected.
It still burned a little that my top of the class grades and law review credentials hadn’t been enough to get in the door at Morrell. My mother said it didn’t matter what opened the door, it only mattered that I’d proven myself last summer enough to earn an offer.
Done with me, Jason turned to Lulu. “And you’re going to Dalton Lacey down the street.” When Lulu made no move to respond, he looked from me to her and back again. “Cozy.”
“Are you looking forward to going in-house with the new women’s NBA team?” I asked to spare Lulu the tiring job of being Jason Sullivan’s sole entertainment. I’d thought about pretending I had no idea of Sullivan’s plans, but that would have been a shit thing to do. There wasn’t anyone within earshot of this country club who didn’t know he was going in-house with Cleveland’s latest sports team, a WNBA franchise scheduled to start up in the city next year.
Sullivan, a tall Irish kid, who’d probably slept with a Larry Bird pillow until he was eighteen, enthused about basketball and what a women’s basketball franchise would mean for the city for a good half hour. I could see Lulu taking sneak peeks at her watch when she thought no one was looking.
Openly, I looked at my own watch. T minus three-and-a-half.
Dancing had never been one of my skills, but I was thrilled when the music changed from orchestral to Top Forty and drowned out the talk of career plans. The lights dimmed just that bit more, and Tom leaned closer. I nearly fell off my chair in anticipation.
“It’s a special night,” he said. Those were exactly the right words. I waited with bated breath for more, but nothing else followed.
“I’m glad I came,” I said, prompting him. And I was, finally, glad that I’d come around to the idea of a gown and a country club and all the pomp and circumstance involved in dressing up to hang out with people you saw every day because the payoff was just around the corner.
I half wondered if he’d buy me some brand new ring from that jewelry store we’d once visited on Mayfield Road oh-so-conveniently located across from the bridal store, or if there were some kind of family ring passed down through generations of Brodys that I’d wake up to on my finger tomorrow morning.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” Tom said.
I fought to hear him over the roar of anticipation in my ears.
It was coming.
Finally.
The night I’d been waiting for, patiently, for two and a half years. This would be the day we cemented the plans we’d been dancing around for months. This would be the day I was going to become the fiancé of one Tom Brody.
In six months, I could stand next to Tom at the Supreme Court swearing in ceremony, my ring winking in the camera flash as I held up my bar certificate in family photos.
Bryan Adams’ ‘Heaven’ came from the cover band on the small raised stage.
I took a deep breath.
I was ready.
“Anything, Tom,” I said. I wanted him to know that I’d say yes to whatever he asked.
“Dance with me.”
I stood, letting my date, handsome as ever in his tuxedo lead me to the miniature parquet dance floor set up in front of the band. Privacy, of course. I should have realized a guy like him would have wanted that. Needed that. He wasn’t the type to propose between chardonnay and WNBA chat.
We didn’t possess any moves between us, but we swayed to the music nonetheless.
“You had something you wanted to ask me?” I prompted again. Tom’s barely discernible wince, told me I was graceless. Between him and Lulu, I was thinking finishing school wouldn’t be out of place.
“I asked you, dear pretty lady, to dance with me,” he said, whirling us in complete three sixty.
Spinning and white wine didn’t mix. I gulped air to keep Lulu’s mom’s rugelah down.
I turned my head, laying my cheek against his chest. I didn’t want him to see my disappointment. I wasn’t owed an engagement. He’d said just last weekend that he couldn’t wait for us to share a future. That would have to be enough for now.
Bryan Adams faded, and the band announced a break. Music from a low-key mixtape came through the speakers. I lifted my head, ready to go back to the table or the buffet of appetizers. A lot of other students had gone out to a pre-dance dinner, but Tom had had some kind of family obligation. Lulu and I had skipped the meal—all the better to fit into our dresses—but wine on top of a couple of cookies and dancing was making my head feel like it could float away from my body at any moment.