'Not as much as it used to. Unless there are little kids, it's all about the money.'
Julie went to the shelves and returned with a dark green volume. 'You remind me of a rabbi,' she said as she sat down.
'Why?'
'You think about stuff that rabbis care about. Clothes, what God thinks about divorce, wisdom, ethics.'
'What do you care about?'
Julie looked at me and laughed. 'See what I mean? That's a rabbi question if I ever heard one. You can't turn it off, can you?'
'No,' I admitted with a small smile.
'That's okay. You're not going to offend me. My cousins in New York are ultraorthodox. They're always telling me what to do and think.' Julie opened the treatise. 'Do you know the divorce rate among Christians?'
'A few years ago, it was about thirty percent, the same as everyone else. But that doesn't mean all-'
'I think it's higher, now,' Julie interrupted. 'Closer to forty percent. Guess what the divorce rate is for ultraorthodox Jews?'
'I don't know.'
'About three percent. Tell me, whose belief system is working? Of course, I'm not orthodox and don't want to be, so I won't have the benefit of those statistics.' She opened the book and flipped over a few pages. 'Let's see. Here's where we should start.'
Julie launched into an efficient explanation of the divorce laws in Georgia. I didn't like the subject matter, but it was much easier receiving it spoon-fed by a friendly face than groping along under the sharp questioning of a polemic professor. An hour later, the door opened. It was Vince Colbert, his laptop in his hand.
'Mr. Braddock sent me. It's time for the luncheon.'
12
JULIE CHATTED WITH VINCE WHILE WE WALKED DOWN THE hall. I lagged behind. Her lack of antagonism to my beliefs was nice, but her casual attitude threw me off balance, as if she could trivialize the truth by rejecting it in a friendly way.
'Vince is our designated driver,' she called over her shoulder. 'He knows where to go.'
Several lawyers were leaving the building at the same time. Introductions were made as we passed through the reception area and out to the parking lot. The bald lawyer I'd disturbed when I opened his door grunted when I offered an apology and returned to a conversation with one of his colleagues. Joe Carpenter wasn't in the initial group. Zach Mays was also missing. We reached Vince's car, a new BMW.
'Sit up front,' Julie told me. 'Your legs are longer than mine.'
Vince looked at me as if evaluating the length of my legs. I blushed before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat.
'Did you play sports in high school or college?' Julie asked me as soon as we were settled.
'Basketball in high school. Intramurals since.'
'I played soccer in high school,' she replied. 'My father claims I'd have gone to Harvard or Yale if I'd not headed so many balls. What's Yale like?'
Vince backed out of the parking lot. 'It's a law school. There are a lot of smart people.'
Vince rested his hand on top of the steering wheel. The scar on the back of his hand was very visible. It made me wonder what would happen if it was unprotected against the sun.
'Did you play sports in high school?' I asked him.
'No.'
'Are you going to take notes during lunch?' Julie asked.
'Yes.'
'I wish you would transfer to Emory and join my study group,' Julie said. 'We need someone like you. But that would be a big comedown from Yale.'
If I hadn't spent the morning with Julie, I would have considered it a sarcastic comment.
'She's serious,' I added. 'Julie would love having you in her study group. We accomplished a lot more this morning by working together.'
'I'm not in a study group,' Vince replied. He glanced at me. 'Are you in a study group?'
'No, I'm a loner.'
'Me too,' he said.
I turned and saw Julie roll her eyes. The look caught me off guard and made me giggle. I put my hand over my mouth to suppress an outburst. Vince glanced sideways at me. The car swerved slightly.
'Are you okay?'
'Yes. Julie is trying to make me laugh.'
'There are rabbis who laugh,' she responded. 'It's kosher.'
Vince didn't say anything and stared straight ahead. I suspected he wanted to get out of the car and away from two crazy, immature women as soon as possible.
We turned into the parking lot of a plain-looking building on the outskirts of the historic district. A small sign beside the door identi- fled it as 'The Smith House-Private Parties Only.' Gerry Patrick was standing beside the door.
'Have you been here before?' Julie asked Vince.
'For the rehearsal dinner before my sister's wedding,' he said. 'She was married in Savannah.'
We got out of the car. One of the lawyers came over to Vince, and the two left us. Julie put her hand on my arm and stopped me.
'You'd better keep that laugh under control and out of sight,' she said in a soft voice. 'It may be kosher, but it's also unprofessional. I thought Vince might drive onto the curb and mess up the alignment on his car.'
'It's your fault. Making fun of me because I'm a loner.'
'Don't you think I know what it's like to be alone? I went to a college that didn't have enough Jewish students to fill a table for eight. I almost assimilated.'
'What's that?'
Julie started walking toward the door. 'Lost my distinctiveness in an effort to blend in.'
'That's one type of pressure I understand.'
Ms. Patrick greeted us. 'How was your morning?'
Julie briefly told about our working together. I could tell Ms. Patrick was surprised.
'That's good,' she said, looking at me. 'Being part of a team is a good idea, especially on big projects. Go inside. Your places at the table are marked.'
The inside of the building was dark, and it took my eyes a second to adjust to the change in light. The interior had the look and smell of tradition. The walls were paneled in dark wood and decorated with old English hunting scenes. There was a coat and hat room to the right of the front door and a bar area to the left. An older lawyer with an ample waistline, wispy white hair, and blue eyes was talking to Vince, but when we entered, he came up to us.
'Sam Braddock,' he said, extending his hand.
Mr. Braddock began asking questions that made it clear he'd never seen our resumes. While Julie was summarizing her educational background, the door opened and Zach Mays came in, accompanied by a tall man who looked about the same age as Mr. Braddock but with ramrod-straight posture and assertive eyes. It was Nelson Appleby, the admiralty lawyer. When he shook my hand, I was surprised to notice that the veins on his stood out like those of a patient in a nursing home. His voice, however, was steady.
'Ms. Taylor, I think we're sitting next to each other at lunch,' he said.
We moved into a large room with a table set up in the shape of a T. At the end of each table was a place for one of the named partners. Everyone stood around and talked for a few minutes until Mr. Carpenter arrived. A younger associate who looked frazzled came in with him.
