Jack With a Twist

about the paper cut/hand issue.

But, I won’t let Jack see me sweat. I will just act like the tough no-nonsense attorney that I am. I am woman, hear me roar!

Although he probably figured out how hard he made me work on that document production since I came home three hours after he went to bed last night.

But, come on, I ask you, who was the one who was really punished in that scenario?

“You look a little tired, Miller,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me out onto the dance floor, as the first dance ends and the dance floor begins to fill with wedding guests.

“Tired?” I say, “why, no. I slept like a baby. Didn’t you?”

“Well, I would have slept better if my fiancée had been there to keep me warm,” Jack says, drawing his arms around me even tighter.

See? I told you so. Loss of consortium is always harder on the man than it is the woman. Although, I must admit, Jack is very good at keeping me warm. In fact, I’m getting a bit warm right now, the closer and closer he holds his body to mine.

“Well, I would have been home sooner,” I say, “but I’ve got this big case that I’m working on. The guy that I’m litigating against is a real animal.”

“Growl,” he whispers into my ear and then takes a little nibble. Animal, indeed! “Well, if you can’t handle such a large-scale litigation, maybe you should just concentrate on keeping your fiancée warm and drop the case.”

“Am I hearing that you’re ready to talk settlement already, counselor?” I whisper back into his ear.

“No way in hell, Miller,” he says, and spins me. I almost lose my footing as I come back to face him.

“Why not?” I ask with a smile, now on steady ground, “Isn’t it in both of our clients’ interests?”

“My client isn’t settling,” he says, drawing me in close.

“You have an ethical obligation,” I lecture Jack, “to go to your client with any settlement offer that I make to you.”

“That rule only stands if there is an actual offer,” Jack lectures me right back. “You haven’t made me any sort of firm offer.”

“Oh,” I say, sidling up to him, “I’ll give you a firm offer.”

“That’s my line,” Jack says, looking down at me, baby blues shining.

“Right,” I say, feeling my face heat up, “I confess, maybe I am just a touch tired.”

“I knew it,” he says, “I knew that the document request would work. I must admit, I figured you’d just come home to me and convince me to drop the suit in a very, very unethical way, but—”

“What way did you have in mind, counselor?” I ask, as he spins me and then pulls me in to him. Our faces are so close that his features all begin to blur into each other right in front of my eyes.

“Something,” he says, voice lower, “that I can assure you the Bar Association would frown upon.”

“Do tell,” I say, putting my cheek next to his.

“Surrender,” he whispers back.

“Never, Jackie,” I say and pull back. We stare each other down, each one waiting for the other to back down, but we both stand firm.

“Never say never, sweetie,” Jack says, “Now, I know I taught you that.”

I try to formulate a response, but just then, Savannah Moore, the bandleader of the band, comes over to introduce herself.

“Everyone’s about to sit down for the first course,” she says, “let’s sneak into the caterer’s office for a few minutes to talk about your wedding.”

We follow Savannah out of the reception room and down a long hallway. She’s a tiny little thing, dressed in a black bias-cut cocktail dress, just like the other two female singers in her band. I like that they are all dressed the same, even though Savannah is clearly the star. Doing it this way makes the band look like a cohesive unit and she obviously understands that. All of the singers dance to the music in unison, and they are all clearly having a blast up on stage, which is another thing I like. If the band is having fun, I can’t help but think that our guests will be having a great time, too.

Savannah turns around, her bouncy red hair flipping over her shoulder, as she gets to the caterer’s office door. She looks just like Ann-Margaret with her lithe frame and thick red hair. I can practically see her singing along with Elvis to “Viva Las Vegas.” Actually, that might be a really cute dance number for the wedding. I wonder if Jack’s dad would think that an Elvis impersonator at our wedding would be considered tacky.

Savannah knocks gently on the caterer’s office door, and then, not hearing a response, motions for us to come in. I detect a slight Southern accent that she’s trying to overcome as Savannah begins to tell us about how many pieces come standard in her band (eleven—four singers, four strings, drums, piano and a flute player), the price (so expensive that I’m embarrassed even to say it here, God knows how I’ll stir up the courage to tell my dad), and how many hours they play (four, with an additional hour for the ceremony for a nominal fee). Even as she explains the most mundane of details, Savannah is high-energy and sweet.

“You know who you remind me of?” Jack asks her, after she’s completed her spiel on the basics.

“Yes,” Savannah says with a smile, “I get that a lot.”

“You do?” Jack says, “Well, I was actually thinking of this associate I work with.”

He’d better not be talking about who I think he’s talking about.

“Right, sweetie?” Jack says, looking at me. “She’s just like Miranda!”

“She is most certainly not like Miranda,” I say a little too quickly, smiling widely as if the comparison doesn’t bother me one bit. Which it doesn’t, of course.

Only, Jack’s been raving all week about how fabulous she is. Savannah, not Miranda, I mean, but it’s almost the same.

All I can think is, Why couldn’t he have just said Ann-Margret like a normal person?

“Well, you remind me of Ann-Margret,” I say, hoping to change the subject.

“Why, thank you, Brooke,” Savannah says, smiling, “I’m very flattered. I get that a lot, and I consider it to be such a huge compliment. She was really largely talented, and—”

“Ann-Margret was from Sweden, Brooke,” Jack says, cutting Savannah off without even realizing it, “I detect a slight Southern accent from Savannah. Am I right?”

When did Jack become such an expert on Southern accents? Is this what Miranda’s been helping him with under the guise of working on the Monique case together?

“Guilty!” Savannah says. “I’m from a tiny little town outside of Savannah. But my father always wanted bigger things for me, so he named me for the biggest city he could think of.”

Clearly, Savannah isn’t sure whose family is paying for the wedding yet, so she’s trying to be equally nice to both of us.

Big mistake.

“Well, it’s time for me to get back up there and do my thing,” Savannah says, “you two can take as long as you’d like in here to talk things over, and then you can feel free to come back out and listen to a few more numbers. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Jack says, rushing up to his feet to shake Savannah’s hand.

“Thanks so much,” I say, “thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure,” Savannah says, as she walks out the door and shuts it quietly behind herself to go back to the party.

“Maybe we should see what else is out there,” I say, once the door has closed. “Just to make sure that there aren’t any other bands that we missed. We wouldn’t want to sign with someone so quickly that we regret it later.”

“She’s the only female bandleader in the entire Tri-State area,” Jack says. “For some reason, I like that. It’s so cool that she’s a woman doing it in a man’s industry. And doing it so well. She brings a certain grace to the whole thing. And, of course, there’s her stellar reputation.”

“I still think we should see other bands,” I say, picking at a stray cuticle.