Jack With a Twist

anyway, since I have it back in a bun to look professional for court, but still. And she’s unbelievably—annoyingly— thin. I could never understand how Southern women could ever be thin with all of that delicious comfort food they grow up with in the South, but Miranda is. I guess that she is able to ignore a buttered biscuit and fried chicken in a way that I never could.

Today she’s got on a fitted salmon-colored Nanette Lepore suit with a little silk camisole underneath that’s bordered with lace. I’m in my most conservative charcoal-gray suit with a black turtleneck sweater, black opaque stockings and black pumps. The contrast is striking—she’s Susan Dey in LA Law and I’m Marcia Clark before the makeover. I bet Miranda’s even got garters on under that pastel-colored number.

Thank God I still have an in with the judge by way of my future father-in-law.

“Jack told me all about you,” she coos. I hate that she knows my fiancé. Visions of them cavorting naked in conference rooms while working on a “document production” fill my mind.

“He did?” I say, smoothing back my hair with the back of my hand, wishing I’d worn it down today.

“See? No typo,” the deputy informs me. “You’re appearing against Gilson, Hecht today.”

“Yes,” I say, “thank you.” And then, under my breath, “I can see that.”

Our case is called at 11:00 a.m. and Miranda and I make our way into chambers. Judge Martin sits behind a massive mahogany desk with case files piled high on either side. The bank of windows is right behind his shiny bald head and I almost have to squint as I sit down in my chair. He looks much older than Jack’s father does and I wonder if that’s because he was ahead of Jack’s dad in law school or if that’s because of his huge pot belly and the two hundred and fifty pounds he’s carrying around.

Note to self: Must start wedding diet, stat.

“First,” Judge Martin begins, “at the outset, I’d like to tell you, Ms. Foxley, that although I do not personally know Ms. Miller, I do know her future father-in-law and, as such, I will be attending her wedding to his son. I don’t think that this should present a problem, but, before we go any further, we should discuss right now whether or not you’ll be making a motion for me to recuse myself from this matter.”

“I have no objections, Your Honor,” Miranda says with her thick Southern accent. I’m certain that she’s putting the accent on even thicker for the judge’s benefit. “I know that you and Judge Solomon were both Harvard Law, class of 1962.” Why didn’t I think to do a Westlaw background search on Judge Martin?

Or, had she done one on Jack’s father?

“Ms. Miller, I assume that you don’t have a problem with me being on this case?”

“Of course not,” I say, glowing at the mention of my wedding. Surely, by my wedding day, I will have won this case by a landslide and by spring, Judge Martin will be at my rehearsal dinner giving a toast: Beauty and brains, the total package, that’s our Brooke.

If I were Miranda, I might have considered a motion to recuse Judge Martin from the case. It is so clear that I already have an advantage here. It’s obvious that the man already thinks of me as his surrogate daughter. And, I’m litigating against an associate who is junior to me. This case is going to be so easy that it’s almost unfair. But far be it from me to point that out.

Judge Martin glances over the court papers. “So, we seem to have a little bit of a disagreement here.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Miranda pipes in, sitting up straighter in her chair. “My client is countersuing. He helped build his wife’s business and he is not going to allow her to cut him off from its future profits. It was his personal savings that first—”

“I wasn’t aware that we’d be arguing our cases today, Your Honor,” I say with an innocent smile, cutting Miranda off. Normally, I wouldn’t be so bold as to say something like that, but on a case that I had with Jack three years ago, a similar situation arose where opposing counsel began posturing on his client’s behalf before the case even began and that was what Jack said to shut him down immediately. It worked like a charm in that initial conference—simultaneously shutting up opposing counsel and currying favor with the judge—and I was hoping for a similar result.

I wish Jack was here with me right now. If he were here, he’d put the fear of God into this little Southern belle and we could probably force a settlement right now. Since leaving Gilson, Hecht, the one thing I miss most is working on all of my cases with Jack. Not only is he an amazing attorney, but he also used to give me something nice to stare at when I was bored to tears at these things.

“Ms. Miller is correct, Ms. Foxley,” Judge Martin says, “this is just to set up our court calendar. I won’t have you posturing on your client’s behalf. Unless you’re ready to talk settlement already?”

“No, sir,” Miranda says, looking down at her papers and straightening them out.

“We are ready to talk settlement whenever you are, Your Honor,” I say. “In fact, we really were expecting a very basic dissolution of partnership. Totally by the books. We weren’t at all expecting a contentious litigation.”

Wow, didn’t that sound, like, totally dramatic? I’ll have to remember to tell Jack about that little zinger later.

“Counselor?” Judge Martin says, looking at Miranda for a response.

“Sorry, Your Honor. My client is firm. He wants to proceed with litigation.”

“So, then let’s set up a calendar for the discovery process,” Judge Martin says, taking out his calendar, a huge red leather book that he places on his desk with a big slam.

“Would it be all right to take a very brief recess?” Miranda asks. This is highly unusual. An initial court conference is generally so brief that there’s no time to take a break.

I give a disapproving glance in Judge Martin’s direction, indicating that I do not want to take a break and that I’m ready to continue with the conference. He already took my side when Miranda started posturing and I just know that he won’t allow a recess if I indicate to him that I don’t want one. The control I’m already exerting over this case is embarrassing. I’ve got this guy eating out of the palm of my hand. But, it’s okay, since I’ll only be using my superpowers of litigation for good.

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Martin says. “Let’s take five minutes.” He must have misconstrued my disapproving glance as saying: I really need to go to the ladies’ room.

Anyway, a five-minute recess will give me enough time to call Jack and get some tips on how to deal with Miranda. You’re not allowed to bring cell phones into a federal courthouse, but Jack showed me a tiny trick that’s hardly even that illegal to sneak your phone in to court—you just turn your phone off as you go through security and hide it in an inside pocket.

Granted, I’m still not allowed to tell him that Monique is my client, but I can ask him about litigation strategy without revealing anything about the case. After all, asking him for tips on how to deal with an annoying adversary (with a totally put-on Southern accent) is not a breach of my ethical duties to my client.

I dial the number and hear the familiar ring tone for Jack’s cell phone. It’s the song “Hello, I Love You” by the Doors. I have the same one on mine. As I hear it ringing, I can hear the actual phone coming down the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” I say, as Jack rounds the corner, practically walking into me in his effort to covertly answer his phone while avoiding the glare of any federal marshals lurking in the hallway who might confiscate it.

“What are you doing here?” he asks right back, talking into the phone. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to court today.”

“You’re supposed to turn the phone off when you pass through security,” I remind him, taking my own phone away from my ear.

“I taught you that trick, sweetie,” he says, shutting his phone and grabbing me for a little kiss. “Are you here on a case?”

“Super-secret client,” I stage whisper. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I try to say this last bit all flirty and sweet, just like Calista Flockhart on Ally McBeal. I love that I’m still flirting with Jack even though we’re already engaged. I hope that I still feel that way when we’re old and gray. Well, okay, I’ll probably never be old and gray. I’ll be old with a totally kick-ass natural-looking dye job, but you know what I mean.

“Super-secret client?” he laughs, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “Me, too. What judge are