Champagne Rules (35 page)

When he got back to the office at five on Saturday, the work on his desk brought him back to harsh reality. “Crap.” He was fooling himself, thinking he could juggle his mom, Suzanne and coaching ball, along with his job. Hadn’t he learned his lesson when he was married? He was a one-trick pony. He could do his job, and do it damned well, but if he tried to add in any other responsibilities, he’d fail.

And failure sucked. Big time.

He worked until two in the morning, slept until six, then got up and started again.

Maybe it was this fucking case that was getting to him. He’d come to the conclusion that most of the Family Friend managers really were discriminating against anyone whose skin was darker than milk.

Not that the other clients he’d represented were all that much better. They polluted the environment, forced people out of their homes, drove their competition out of business. But every client deserved a good lawyer. Yeah, he did believe that. That was the only way the justice system could work properly.

Except, it didn’t really work that well. The people with more money got better lawyers than the poor folk. His firm’s clients paid top dollar—and rarely lost. Look at him, putting in all these hours to get a win for Family Friend. 

If he achieved his goal, he’d be another step toward partnership. And a major chain store would have free license to discriminate against more people of color. Whoa. Now he was judging, and a lawyer wasn’t supposed to do that. It was a lawyer’s duty to do his best for his client. That principle had been ingrained in him since he’d taken a high school course on the legal system.

Lawyers presented the case, and judges made the decision. If he was a judge, he’d do his damnedest to make sure that poor and otherwise disadvantaged parties got a fair shake in his courtroom.

The bench. Yeah, he could make it there, if he kept up the way he was going—building a good track record in the courts, making partner.

As a judge, he could make a difference. Affect the world in a positive way. He’d never thought too much about that concept before; he’d been too focused on the notions of success and status, but now it had a certain appeal. Maybe it was worth putting up with all the crap now, so he’d be in a position to aim for the bench. It was a relief to finally put the work aside late Sunday afternoon, and head over to his mother’s. She’d insisted on cooking, so he stopped for wine on the way.

Her street was laid-back: sprinklers running in the yards, kids playing with dogs, the smell of barbecues. The tension in his shoulders began to unknot.

He knocked on her open back door and went into the kitchen, which smelled of cornbread. Today his mom wore jeans and a loose turquoise top and looked young and relaxed. She gave him a warm hug. “It’s good to see you. Hannah and Clare are away for the weekend and the house feels empty.” She handed him an onion, a lemon and a knife. “Rings. Fairly thin.”

He got to work. “What’s for dinner?”

“Salmon barbecued with onion and lemon slices, served with papaya salsa. I’ve got a salad in the fridge and cornbread, as you can smell, in the oven.” She yanked the cork out of the bottle of wine.

“Sounds great. The best meal I’ve had since—”

“Our dinner at Rivoli?”

Knowing it wasn’t wise, he still couldn’t resist saying, “Had some good chicken satay and an interesting salad. Asian salad, she called it.”

“She?” His mom kinked up an eyebrow. “The one you’re not having a relationship with?”

“Suzanne.” He did love saying her name. “We’re getting to be friends.”

He washed his hands and his mother handed him a glass.

“Just friends?”

And hot lovers, but he wasn’t talking about that. “Yeah. Won’t go any further. We have different priorities.”

She led him into the small back garden and lit the barbecue.

“Let me guess, Suzanne’s a nice normal girl who wants a husband and kids.”

He sank into a patio chair. “You got it. She thinks I’ve got my priorities all wrong.”

“And what do you think?”

Was his mom getting on his case too? “I’ve always known what I wanted. From the time I was a kid.”

She took the chair beside him. “And now you’re a man. Kids’ dreams change. Not every little boy turns out to be a fireman or an astronaut.”

“I wanted to be a success, and I still do.” For some reason he felt compelled to say, “Suzanne has a different definition of success. She talks about having a balanced life.”

“Mmm, mmm, I think I’d like that girl.”

Damn. He leaned forward and caught one of her hands. “Be honest, Mama. Do you think I’m wrong? To want to get ahead?”

“ ‘ Mama,’ ” she echoed, squeezing his hand. “You haven’t called me that since we first got here, and you learned that California kids said, ‘Mom.’ You were sure a fast learner, Jax. But once you got an idea stuck in your head, seems like you never let go of it.”

“I inherited stubborn from you,” he muttered. “Are you saying you don’t want me to make partner, then maybe be a judge or a politician?”

She tugged her hand free. “I’m saying no such thing. That’s your choice to make, son. You follow your own dreams, not your old mama’s dreams.”

“What are your dreams?”

Her brown eyes met his. “I don’t think you want to be asking that.”

“Yes, I do.”

She bit her lip, then lifted her chin. “Grandbabies.”

“Oh . . .” He let his breath out in a whistle. “You’re always teasing me. I didn’t realize you were serious.”

“I once dreamed of having a bunch of kids myself. But when I married your stepfather, he wanted to wait. Guess he was trying me out, not sure he wanted to commit.”

And he’d always had problems with Jax—a little black stepson—and likely wasn’t sure he wanted to father a mixed-race child.

“After we split up,” she went on, “I didn’t have time to think about anything other than keeping food in our mouths. Now it’s too late for me, but then you married Tonya and I hoped . . .”

Hell. “I can’t do everything, Mom. Now you’re talking grandkids. Look what a bad job I did at marriage. I’m not a superman, I can’t do it all. D’you realize I average more than fourteen hours a day at work, seven days a week? You ought to know what it’s like. You used to work two jobs.”

Even as he said the words, he realized there was a flaw in his argument.

“I did it for you,” she said, chin raised. “So you’d have every opportunity to be what you wanted to be.”

“I know. You told me I could be anything a white guy could be, and even better. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

“You’re out to prove something, I know. But maybe it’s time to think again just what it is you want to set about being. A superstar lawyer, or a happy, satisfied man.”

“I am happy. Getting ahead makes me happy.” Damn, he was sounding defensive.

“If that’s what makes you happy,” she said wearily, “guess I haven’t done a very good job of being a mother. I meant to encourage you, help you believe in yourself, not to blinker you so’s all you could see was some kind of success track.”

He wasn’t about to argue, not with his mom. “Sorry. I’ve let you down.”

She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “No!”

She gripped his shoulders. “Don’t think that. Oh son, I shouldn’t have said those things. Look, the grandkids thing was
my
dream. A selfish one, I guess. Maybe I’m just as blinkered as you.”

Were those tears in her eyes?

“But damn,” she said, “I’d be one fine grandma, and you’d make a wonderful dad if you—” She broke off, released his shoulders, and went to put the salmon on the grill. He saw her raise a hand, like she was wiping her eyes.

“If I what?”

She stood still for a moment, then slowly turned to face him. Her gaze met his across the tiny patio. “Find what you’re looking for. Believe in your heart that you’re as good as any other man.”

“I am!”

“I know that, son. Are you sure you do?”

* * *

On Monday night, Suzanne chose Greek again, this time opting for Athene’s, where the Foursome could sit outside in the sun. They ordered wine and their usual favorite here, a huge dinner platter for two that was plenty big for the four of them. As they waited for the food to arrive, Suzanne gave her friends an update.

“Okay,” Ann said, “you’re now officially in over your head, Suze.”

“I’m not. I think it’s wonderful that we’ve become friends as well as lovers.”

Rina touched her hand. “You’re a great friend. You’re so generous and caring.”

“Thanks.”

“Caring,” Ann said, “is the operative word.”

“So? So I care about him. As a friend.” Suzanne took a sip of wine. “That’s all. Just like I care about you three.”

“You’re not thinking of having red-hot sex with us, are you?” Jenny teased.

“Sex is sex and friendship is friendship.” Suzanne tilted her chin defiantly.

“Except when the person you’re having sex with is someone you care about,” Ann said.

“I’m
not
falling in love with him.”

“Did anyone say that?” Jenny demanded.

“No, but you’re all hinting.”

Rina tugged on her hand, calling for her attention. “Suze? If Jaxon wasn’t a workaholic, if he wanted marriage and kids, wouldn’t he be the perfect man for you?”

“Uh . . . He lives in San Francisco.”

“He’s a lawyer,” Ann said. “If he wanted to, he could practice here. He might have to article again, and do the Professional Legal Training Course, but it’d take less than a year. Or you—

much as I hate the thought—could be a vet down there. If you got married, you could work in each other’s countries. For heaven's sake, Suze, this is the twenty-first century. Distance isn’t a reason to break up.”

“Break up? We’re not dating. We’re just . . .”

“Being friends and having dynamite sex,” Jenny finished. “I really want to believe you, Suzie Q.”

“I’m—” Suzanne broke off as their waiter brought a huge platter of food.

By the time they’d all dished out a few things to start with—

with the by now obligatory joke about calamari and cock rings—the conversation had turned to Rina’s troubles with the too-friendly father of one of her clarinet students. Suzanne had trouble concentrating. Sure, there’d been a point where she might have fallen for Jaxon, but once she’d learned that their priorities were poles apart, she had pulled back emotionally. Hadn’t she?

If so, why was she wearing lacy bras and thongs to work, and feeling like sexy Suzanne had inhabited her body full-time?

Why did she think of Jaxon dozens of times every day?

The sexual cravings she could understand. After all, sex with Jaxon was fabulous.

It was the other cravings that disturbed her. Why was he the first person she wanted to tell when something good happened? Why did she long for his shoulder when she was sad? In the past, she’d turned to family or friends. Now, Jaxon’s name was the first to enter her mind.

Maybe she needed to pull back even more. Before she really did get in over her head.

In his office, trying to work, Jax glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. He’d known Suzanne was out with her girlfriends when he left a message on her machine. When would she get home, and would she return his call tonight?

It was almost ten when his cell rang. “Suzanne. Thanks for calling.”

“Happy to. What’s up? You, big boy?”

Oh God, she thought he’d called for sex. “No, sorry. I just called to talk.”

“Sure, that’s great.”

“It happened,” he said slowly. He’d called because he wanted to talk to her about it, but now he felt hesitant. “Jefferson offered me a partnership today.”

Her squeal almost made him drop his cell. “Oh my God!

Jaxon, that’s fantastic. Congratulations! Wow, you weren’t expecting it so soon, were you? Oh God, I wish I was there, I’d bring champagne. Tell me all about it.”

He’d left the message hours ago, but still hadn’t figured out what to say. “I met with him this morning, to discuss a big case I’m working on.”

Before he could go on, she said, “And he was so impressed with how you were handling it, he made you a partner? Jaxon, you must be thrilled.”

“Well . . .”

“Come on, don’t be modest. Tell me everything. Did he call you into his office?”

For the first time that day, he smiled. “It was our Fridaynight boardroom. He took his usual chair and I remembered sitting there in those red boxers, imagining you on my lap. Imagining myself buried deep inside you and—”

“But what did he say? Come on, Jaxon, this isn’t the time to be thinking about sex. Tell me, I’m dying of curiosity.”

And he’d rather think about sex. Or anything else. Jax remembered how he’d told Jefferson about the problems he was running into with the Family Friend managers and his doubts they’d stand up to cross-examination and not blurt out something to incriminate themselves.

“Are you saying you can’t prepare them thoroughly?”

Jefferson had said coldly.

“No, of course not.” He tried to speak confidently, to not let his frustration come through. “I’m saying I could prepare them for days and some would still be loose cannons. They aren’t very bright and don’t have much self-control. If they’re baited, they’ll lose their tempers, say things they shouldn’t.”

“Hmm.” Jefferson leaned back and steepled his fingers.

“What about drugs?”

Had he heard correctly? “Excuse me?”

“There are drugs that will help keep them from flying off the handle.”

Jefferson wanted him to drug their client’s witnesses? That couldn’t be ethical.

He opened his mouth to say that, then stopped himself. Wait, think this through. Jefferson wouldn’t ask him to violate professional ethics.

Okay, a lawyer’s first priority was his client’s best interests. Really, it was just a matter of how you framed things. Slowly, he said, “If a witness seems anxious about taking the stand, it’s reasonable to suggest he might want to take medication to help him stay calm.”

“Precisely.”

His mind racing, Jax said, “It might be even better if the CEO of Family Friend recommended it to him.” In other words, take drugs or you’re fired.

Jefferson nodded. “Good thinking.”