“We have to make it more natural at the wedding,” I instructed Jack and Vanessa.
“Spouting out random bits of information on Scotland is never going to sound natural,” Vanessa said.
“Yeah,” Jack said, “let’s only use the information defensively. Only if someone asks.”
“Agreed,” I said, leaning back toward the wall.
All of the sudden, the lights went out. It wasn’t entirely dark, since the room was filled with candles all over, but the crowd began to murmur.
“What was that?” Jack said, looking around.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Maybe it’s some sort of Scottish tradition! And you two thought we wouldn’t learn anything here. I guess it’s something where halfway through the party, they turn out the lights. I wonder what happens when the lights go out?”
I was thrilled. Even though the place was crawling with Scottish Americans and not actual, real live Scots, we would
“Um, Brooke,” Vanessa said. “What’s that behind your elbow?” I looked behind me and lo and behold, what was behind my elbow was a light switch.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, “I just turned off the lights!”
“Turn them back on,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
“I can’t!” I said. “I’m too embarrassed!” The murmur of the crowd began to get louder. Everyone seemed totally disoriented, and I saw some of the party planners scurrying about, trying to fix the lighting situation.
“Just do it,” Vanessa said. “Standing here in the dark is worse. Eventually, someone’s going to tell everyone where the light switch is.”
As swiftly as I’d accidentally turned them off, I lifted my elbow, quickly hit the light switch while still balancing my plate and my glass and the lights came back on. Only, the light switch must have been a dimmer switch, because it got very, very bright. Uncomfortably bright.
“Turn them down,” Jack said, teeth still slightly clenched. The murmur of the crowd got louder, still. Everyone continued to look around and just generally act confused.
“I can’t,” I said. “Then everyone will know it was me!”
“I think they know already,” Vanessa said and she was right. The entire crowd began staring at me, waiting for me to rearrange the lights.
“Sorry!” I said, as I turned around and readjusted the dimmer.
“So much for learning about Scotland,” Vanessa said, looking for a place to put down her plate and glass.
“Yes,” I said, “our work here is done.” I then made a hasty exit toward the door, without making eye contact with any of the other party guests, with Jack and Vanessa following closely in my wake.
10
“I don’t think that anyone is going to see your bikini line,” Vanessa called in to me as the hair was being ripped from my flesh at the nail place around the corner from our office.
“You never know,” I called back in between rips. I was raised to believe that a woman must always be ready for battle, no matter what. Manicures and haircuts even when you don’t have any plans and pedicures and bikini waxes in the winter because you just “never knew” when some dashing gentleman caller might come around and whisk you off to an exotic weekend in Rio. Okay, granted, that has never happened to me or anyone that I’ve ever met, but isn’t that the point of the whole “you never know” thing?
“I don’t even want to know who you think is going to see your bikini line,” Vanessa said to me as we walked over to the pedicure chairs.
“Well, now,” I assured Vanessa, “anyone who wants to.” Vanessa sighed.
The tubs beneath the pedicure chairs had already been filled with hot water and honey-lemon-scented bubbles. I took off my shoes, pulled my hair out of its bun, put my feet in and closed my eyes. The hot water felt like a warm blanket and I melted into the pedicure chair. I took a deep breath and tried to relax for the first time in two weeks. Who knew that perpetrating a fraud on the entire Scottish community would be so stressful? With my eyes shut, I tried to forget about everything — about work, about Douglas, about…
“I brought you some of my old research on likelihood of confusion,” I heard someone say. I was pretty sure it was not the nail technician who was removing the polish from my toes. I opened one eye to find Vanessa thrusting hundreds of pages of case law into my hands. “I thought it might be a good jumping-off point for you,” she said. She took out her own work — piles and piles of documents she was reviewing on another case to get ready for a round of depositions, all color coded to indicate whether they would help or hurt her client.
“So tall, so thin,” Vanessa’s nail technician commented as she massaged Vanessa’s long lean legs — the product of two New York City Marathons and six-mile runs through Central Park each day.
“Thanks,” Vanessa said back, brushing a nonexistent hair behind her ear. Her hand brushed her drop earrings, making a tiny sound like a set of elegant wind chimes. Vanessa wore her hair incredibly short, like Halle Berry circa 2002, and always wore long drop earrings to fill in the space between her ears and shoulders.
“Beautiful shoes,” the nail technician said to Vanessa as she picked up one of Vanessa’s tan Chanel ballet slippers. “So pretty.” Vanessa smoothed her hair again as she smiled, careful not to hit her earrings again and draw even more attention to herself.
“Can you just tell me what these cases say?” I asked Vanessa.
“I took notes in the margins,” Vanessa said, “and I put the holding of each case on the top so that you can quickly tell what proposition of law each case stands for.”
I put the cases in my lap while I took my BlackBerry out of my pants pocket. I’d taken to carrying my BlackBerry everywhere I went (even attaching it to my pajama bottoms as I lounged around at night) in case Douglas called or e-mailed me. I checked for missed calls or e-mails from Douglas, but he still hadn’t tried to contact me.
I sent an e-mail to Jack:
From: “Brooke Miller” <[email protected]>
To: “Jack Solomon” <[email protected]>
Subject: pop quiz
when are the highland games played each year?
Brooke Miller
Sent from my wireless handheld
A moment later, he e-mailed back:
From: “Jack Solomon” <[email protected]>
To: “Brooke Miller” <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: pop quiz
Does Douglas even know this stuff?
Jack Solomon
Gilson, Hecht and Trattner
425 Park Avenue
11th Floor
New York, New York 10022
*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****
The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht and Trattner by return e-mail to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.
A smile came to my lips.
I began to shuffle through the cases Vanessa had given to me and marveled at the detail of her work. I
