Dirty Blonde

You are beautiful, you know that?

“In a word? Yes.”

“Impossible!”

A NASTY, DIRTY WHORE

“It happened? It’s true? You go into those bars?”

“Yes, but it’s over.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I’m going to say this straight. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Cate eyed his roses, which weren’t even drooping yet. Can the flowers last longer than the relationship? “Graham, why don’t you give me a chance to explain it to you?”

“There’s nothing you can say. This party I was going to take you to on Saturday night, it’s with all my best clients and their wives. They read the paper.” Graham raised his voice, getting angrier. “I’ve already gotten calls from two of them who knew I was seeing you. You don’t want to know what they said.”

No, I don’t. Cate closed her eyes.

SHE’S A WHORE UNDER THEM ROBES

“You’ve made me a laughingstock.”

“We went out three times. It’s not about you.”

“Am I going to be in the TV show, too?”

“No, of course not.”

“And you gave me that crap about babysitting, and I fell for it!”

“I was babysitting-”

“I’m sorry. It’s over.”

“What if we had dinner and talked-”

“I don’t think so, Cate. This doesn’t work for me.”

Cate nodded, suddenly maxed out. “Okay, fine, I understand.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You, too,” Cate said, and hung up. She couldn’t blame him, and she refused to feel sorry for herself. This wasn’t the time or the place. She had to move on. She got up, slid out of her robe, crossed to the closet, and hung it back up. Then she returned to her desk, lifted the bouquet of roses from their glass vase, and dropped them, dripping, into the wastebasket. The cloudy water in the vase left a funky odor.

“Eau de stockbroker,” Cate said, to nobody in particular. She shook down her wrist, so the gold bracelet slid out from under her black suit sleeve. She unfastened the clasp, and the bracelet fell into her cupped hand.

Give me your wrist.

Cate opened her drawer, pulled out an envelope, and slid the bracelet inside, to be sent back to Graham. She had more important things to worry about.

Like Chief Judge Sherman.

CHAPTER 32

“Come in, Cate.” Chief Judge Sherman rose from behind his desk and motioned to her with a smile. “Please close the door behind you, dear.”

“Got it.” Cate closed the door. Cigar smoke lingered in the air.

“I’m having tea. Shall I ask Mo to get you some?”

“No, thanks.” Cate entered his lovely office, crossing the Oriental rug and passing the jewel-toned tapestry couch. Rain beat outside his window, too, because all of the chambers shared the eastern exposure, but it seemed less gloomy here. Warm incandescent light glowed from Waterford crystal lamps on the end tables, and Cate made a mental note to finally move into her office.

“Please, sit down.” Sherman picked up his black reading glasses, and Cate seated herself in a club chair in front of his desk. “Did you have some lunch?”

“No, I’m not hungry.” Cate had been trying to ignore the jumpy sensation in her stomach. She’d already thrown up this year.

“Our cafeteria served delicious chicken today. Chicken marsala, imagine!” Sherman chuckled, easing back into his chair. “Aren’t we fancy?”

“Chief, let me say how sorry I am, about all of this.”

Sherman raised a hand, still chuckling. “I must say, when I was growing up, you know what I ate every day for lunch?”

“No, what?” Cate asked, playing along. If he was trying to put her at ease, it wasn’t working. She could hardly meet his eye, and she’d been doing so well with the eye-meeting thing this morning.

“Every day, I went home for lunch. The school was only three blocks from my house. I went to Merion Elementary, in the suburbs. Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Merion’s only twenty minutes outside the city. The golf club is there.”

Cate sensed she should know it, but she didn’t.

“In any event, every day, I’d go home for hot dogs with baked beans. Every day, my brother and I ate the same thing. The only difference was that sometimes we put the hot dogs in the beans, and other days we ate the hot dog on white bread. You know, that soft white bread?”

“Wonder Bread.”

“Of course. Wonder Bread!”

Cate smiled. “It is a funny name.”

“‘Builds strong bodies twelve ways!’”

“What twelve ways?” Cate said, and they both laughed. “They used to spray it with vitamins.”

“Ha! Imagine if you tried that today. Think of it. At home, Ellen buys that artisanal bread, from Whole Foods. Dark brown, with what, tree bark sticking out, for God’s sake.”

Cate laughed.

“You can hardly tear it apart with your teeth. I lose my bridgework, every time. Fifty-five grains, or some such silliness.”

“Builds strong bodies fifty-five ways.”

“Right! Perfect, Cate.” Sherman laughed heartily, holding his chest, his reading glasses still in hand, their stems like crossed legs. “Everything old is new again, isn’t it?”

“It sure is.” Cate felt her stomach relax a little and eased back in the chair. “Your master plan is working, Chief. I’m starting to feel better.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Sherman said, doing a passable Montgomery Burns, and they both laughed again. Then he cleared his throat. “Tell me, Cate. How are you holding up through this travail?”

“Not terrible, not great.”

“I understand you had quite a morning.” Sherman nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about the man in your courtroom today.”

“It was bad, but it’s fine now.”

“Your attacker was unarmed, I understand from the marshal service.”

“I figured. He wasn’t really an attacker. He was more like a heckler. He began yelling during the colloquy and running wild. It disrupted the entire proceeding and I got off the bench.”

“Safely, I trust.”

“Yes.”

Sherman nodded. “The only problem with public service is the public, it seems. And yesterday, what