The Tenth Song (3 page)

For months she had been resisting his advice to go to a real salon in Manhattan to get it properly straightened. But she realized now that she had absolutely no choice. She couldn’t very well go to her own engagement party looking like a “crash and burn One L.”

One L. The first year of law school in that private language that conjured up harried, privileged, and near-neurotic inductees into a secret society. But it hadn’t been so bad.
Paper Chase
and Scott Turow’s
One L
were really history. There was a gentler, kinder cloud hanging over Harvard Law these days. A new dean had banished the ogres and injected some Technicolor into the aging sepia overtones of a school drowning in tradition. The curriculum had undergone the most radical changes in a hundred years, making Harvard Law less “the factory” its cynical graduates had nicknamed it—a mass-production line for legal hacks to defend corporate sharks—and more, as the new dean said, a place for: “engagement with the world… a place… for people who love ideas, because ideas make a difference.”

Even the old campus buildings—she looked behind her at stately Austin Hall where Professor Dumbledore would have felt at home—were soon going to be relics, overtaken by the new Northwest Corner expansion, which would transform the musty halls of power into a magnificent modern enterprise.

Although Yale was still being listed on Web sites as the premier law school in America, no one actually believed that.

She remembered her first day of classes, standing in the hallway outside Ames Moot Court in Austin Hall waiting to be officially “welcomed.” Leaning shyly against the wall, she took a leisurely survey of her fellow students. They stood in conversation knots: skullcaps talking to skullcaps; stiletto heels talking to preppies; Midwesterners talking to people from New Jersey. Chosen from over seven thousand applicants, the privileged five hundred or so of the entering class of 2006 would soon be divided into sections. She wondered which of them would constitute her friends, competitors, and classmates for the most challenging year of her life.

She saw him standing in the middle of a group of laughing men and women, people magically at ease, filled with the open friendliness that comes from extreme self-confidence. He was tall and slim, with shining blond hair that caught the light, distracting her from whatever blah, blah was being said. When they
were finally divided into sections, she was disappointed to find he wasn’t in hers.

She soon forgot about it. She had no time for a social life anyway, she told herself, as the incredible pace of study, classwork, and exams swung into full gear. She was overwhelmed, wracked with doubts, wondering when and if she would finally crash-land into the side of the mountain she was trying so desperately to clear. More than that, the coursework itself began to fill her heart with fears. Torts, especially, gave her nightmares, filled as it was with way-out scenarios of horrible things one person did to another intentionally or unintentionally. Take the case of the poor woman who was on a subway on the way to the beach when someone dropped firecrackers on the tracks, resulting in a huge scale hitting her on the head from the other side of the platform. Life, Kayla began to realize, was totally unpredictable. And so was the law.

She didn’t dare admit any of this, of course. She felt isolated and lonely, walking a fine line in class between showing off and shirking participation. And while she met people, and joined study groups, she never felt she was making new friends. Everyone seemed to have an agenda, the same agenda: to live through year one and pass all their courses. To that end, it was a community of moles, blindly dedicated to self-preservation, competing for sustenance, i.e., help with notes and outlines, and a good word from any professor. They were in a race, charging toward the finish line and the honors that came with the best grades. She had no illusion of being a worthy contender. She just wanted to keep her head above water.

In the middle of her first year, after four months of hibernation, her best friend, Shana, insisted on fixing her up on a blind date.

“He’s my boyfriend Mark’s second cousin. He’s twenty-eight. He was a few years ahead of us at Hebrew Day School. He’s also just started Harvard Law. He has a B.A. from the University of Massachusetts, Boston, in anthropology and international relations.”

“A state school?”

“His parents are wealthy, but cheap, Mark’s mother says. He managed to get into the MBA program at Stanford and wound up winning the Siebel Scholars jackpot, $25,000 a year for the remainder of the program!”

“He’s got an MBA from Stanford? So what’s he doing in law school?”

“Mark says he went to work for a high-tech company in Silicon Valley but didn’t like it. But he stayed there a few years to make enough money to partially fund law school.”

“Sounds indecisive. Or is he just one of those perpetual students?”

“Are you kidding me? With an MBA from Stanford and a law degree from Harvard, he’ll be able to write his own ticket! Not to mention he looks like Brad Pitt in
Thelma and Louise.
Stop being stubborn! You’ll kiss my feet when you meet him.”

“Shana, I appreciate it. But I just don’t think dating and law school are ever going to mix. First of all, there is no time! Second of all, there is no way you can fit a male Harvard Law student and his ego into the same part of the city, let alone the same restaurant! Besides, if he’s as gorgeous as all that, he’s probably gone out with every single available Jewish princess in Brookline already.”

This turned out to be true. It also turned to be irrelevant.

She looked down at her engagement ring. The stone wasn’t large, but it was absolutely flawless. And the setting, a custom-made platinum band with two small rubies, was special.

She leaned back on the steps, looking at her watch again. He was now twenty minutes late. A sudden chill gust made her fingertips tingle. She zipped up her jacket, sorry she hadn’t worn a warmer one. She folded her arms across her chest and closed her eyes. Her lids felt warm.

Somehow, she’d gotten through her first year. The second year had been easier.

For one thing, unlike her first year, which was pretty much mapped out with requirements, she had had the opportunity to choose her classes. Her first instinct had been to enroll in Child Advocacy; Child Exploitation, Pornography, and the Internet; Law and Social Change; or Bioethics. But following a long and heated argument, Seth had talked her out of it. “When the recruiters start wining and dining you, what are you going to offer them? Little Orphan Annie law? If you want to pay back the thousands of dollars a year for your student loans, you better take Bankruptcy, Corporation and Taxation, and Securities and Regulation. And throw in Business Strategies for Lawyers for fun.”

She didn’t remind him that she, at least, didn’t have thousands of dollars in student loans. In fact, she had no loans at all, a sore point between them since
his parents had refused “on principle” to help him pay his tuition. While he had some money saved from his high-tech days, it was not nearly enough for three years at $42,000 a year plus living expenses, forcing him into serious hock.

But whenever the subject came up, Seth declared that not only did he understand his parents, he even agreed with them, defending them, Kayla thought, a little too passionately.

“I’m going to do the same with my kids…”

“Our kids…”

“Our kids. Why should anyone think they deserve a free ride through life? Besides, how can you connect with clients who have money problems if you’ve never experienced any? You live such a sheltered existence, Kayla, and your parents are such enablers!”

“And your parents are cheapskates, and snobs, and social climbers…” she’d replied with hurtful accuracy, thinking it wasn’t her fault if her parents were too rich for her to apply for a scholarship. Why should she be punished by being forced to take expensive, interest-bearing loans from strangers; people who would not be as understanding as Daddy when or if she had cash-flow problems?

They didn’t speak for days. Although she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t in Harvard Law just for the money, she had to be honest: She wanted the American life. The good life. The life of her parents. The life she was used to. Although she knew her parents would pay for her education and would be generous when it came to a down payment on her first home, after that, it would be considered in bad taste to ask them for anything. And even though she knew Seth would likely be earning a top living in one of the best law firms, she also knew that both their tastes were very, very expensive. In addition, the statistics about divorce were not encouraging. She wanted to be able to depend on herself.

The recruiters, she knew, held the key to all her dreams. They’d be looking for the top students in the areas that made the top money. Harvard Law had often been accused of training lawyers to serve the upper 10 percent of the nation’s earners. Kayla knew that for many of her classmates, that was not so much an insult as a description of aspirations.

Going against her instincts, she’d enrolled in Civil Procedures; Legislation
and Regulation; Bankruptcy; Administrative Law; and three other courses that were sure to be difficult and time-consuming and consummately boring. At least, she had no interest in them. Seven classes was a ridiculous workload. She knew it would be torture. She also knew she’d do well. She always did. Now she was beginning her third year, and the recruiters were knocking on her door.

She jumped up. He was now officially twenty-five unforgivable minutes late. At this point, she was really more alarmed than angry. That was
really
not like him. She dialed his number for the third time. Again, it was busy. She hated that, hated that he was involved with someone else when he should have been there with her, on time. Unless, of course, he’d been in a car accident, and the phone was lying in the gutter beeping away just as the ambulance drove off with him. But in that case, it would just ring until the voice message came on.

Ten more minutes, she thought, feeling a knot grow and expand in her stomach. If he’s not here by then, and I still can’t get through, I’ll start calling his parents, his friends, the police. I’ll walk over to his house. Because thirty-five minutes would mean that some of the world’s unpredictability had finally caught up with them.

3

“Seth, come look at this…”

“In a minute, Medgar,” he said without raising his head. “I’m in the middle of memorizing a casemap for Civil Procedures, and I’ve got at least another ninety pages of reading for my contract class. On top of that, I’ve got to meet Kayla in fifteen minutes. So, if it can wait…”

“It can’t,” his roommate answered decisively, tapping him insistently on the shoulder, then pushing a laptop into his face. Seth reeled back in surprise. “What the hell… !”

Medgar, a black honor student from Brooklyn College who had been rooming with him for fourteen months, was levelheaded and quiet, a person who studied hard and respected boundaries. This was totally out of character.

“Just look at it,” he insisted quietly.

Seth stared, grabbing the computer with white-knuckled fists. “It’s got to be some kind of mistake!” His eyes pored over the screen, taking in the images and the words in growing disbelief. “My God!”

“Too bad A. J. Hurling is involved. He’s practically an icon. You know the story: a street hood who rose up from his prison background, founded a successful software company, becoming a role model, a contributor to urban charities… .
People are going to be outraged that Mr. Samuels involved him in a dirty scheme to fund terror networks who are killing American soldiers…”

It was a nightmare. “People are innocent until proven guilty… icon or no. It could just be yellow journalism,” Seth protested weakly.

“For sure. But once the press gets hold of you…” Medgar shrugged, gently prying away his laptop and closing it, erasing the offensive images. “Did Kayla mention anything?”

Seth shook his head. “I… Nothing. She hasn’t said anything…” At least not to me, he thought bitterly. He reached for the phone to call her, but it was already ringing. “Father. No, no. I didn’t. I don’t know anything. She didn’t mention… I’m just about to meet her. I’m sure she would have told me if…” He pressed his lips together furiously. “What is that supposed to mean? She wouldn’t do that. She would never hide something like this, not from me!”

Even as he said the words, a small doubt crept into his heart. “No, I don’t agree. I don’t think postponing the party is a good idea. It’s not up to Mom! It’s up to us. Look, I’m late for an appointment. I’ll call you later. Yes… yes, I’ll think about it. Good-bye.”

He hung up and immediately began to dial Kayla’s number, but something stopped him. He put down the phone. How was it possible she hadn’t known? Surely her father had warned the family he was in trouble. But it would be better to discuss this face-to-face, he thought, putting on his shoes, his jaw flexing in fury.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyes rolling as he considered his options. If he switched it off, she’d just call back.

“Mother.” He closed his eyes, pressing the phone to his ear. “Look, I’ll know more when I talk to Kayla. Yes, I’m just about to see her… . What do you mean? That’s ridiculous! There aren’t going to be any reporters lurking behind the bushes on Harvard’s campus! Why would you say that? She’s my fiancée, and he’s her father! You’re being hysterical.” He fell silent, listening intently for a long time. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Don’t cry. I said I’d think about it! Good-bye.” He turned his cell phone off, then slammed it shut.

Medgar squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, man, whatever I can do…”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And Seth?”

“Yes?”

“She’s worth it.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I know.”

“See you later, bro.”

With relief, Seth watched the door close behind him.

He needed to be alone. He needed peace and quiet and time to make up his own mind and decide what it was he thought and what he was going to do about it. His mother was beyond hysterical. She was talking about calling off the engagement altogether, not just postponing the party. She felt tricked, betrayed.