Page 15 of Courtroom Drama
I wonder what Damon thinks, as I glance at his forearms covered in their own ink, about him and Cam sharing this common interest.
Damon leans into me and whispers, “Do you get the sense Cam is the online sugar-free gummy bear reviewer?”
I look up at him, brows pressed together.
“Do you not know the sugar-free gummy bear reviews on Amazon?” he declares.
I shake my head.
“I insist this be the first thing you look up when we get our electronics back.” He looks down at me with a ruminant stare. His face is strict, jaw firm, but his words are playful. When I don’t speak, he adds, “They’re comedic gold.”
I continue to stare at him, wondering what his angle is here. Does he think I will just ease into joking with him like old friends?
“Okay, you go,” Cam says, pointing to Tamra.
“Alright,” she says, leaning forward, her face contemplative. “I have six grandchildren.” She pauses, looking up at the fluorescent lightabove us. “I’ve been married four times, and I once had a one-night stand with Bob Dylan after his concert in Nashville in ’88.”
I raise an eyebrow as I observe Tamra. That last one is highly specific.
“Who’s Bob Dylan?” Cam asks, and Tamra and I give him a collective eye roll as Damon hangs his head and shakes it.
“You haven’t been married four times,” Damon says.
She nods. “Been married thirty-four years to my Charles.”
I’m rather impressed with Tamra, both for the marriage and Bob Dylan.
Damon points at me before I can ask Tamra any follow-up questions. “You’re up,” he says, a mild grin lining his mouth—one that seems to feed off my discomfort. I’ve seen that exact stingy smirk so many times before it’s as though we’re preteens again.
“Okay, fine,” I say, sure to showcase a lack of enthusiasm for this game that rivals Gray Man’s enthusiasm for being here generally.
I suddenly feel a bit hot. I don’t care for the attention to be on me, especially regarding personal details. At work, I can command a room with confidence. But when you’re the daughter of the town philanderer, you work mightily to draw no personal attention. And now, all three sets of eyes descend on me expectantly.
9.
Icebreaker (n.)
a game or activity used to introduce people so they feel more relaxed together
my formidable adversary
“I...” I look to Damon to find him watching me intently. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s doing that soul-staring bullshit. I rush out the first three things that come to mind. “I work as a corporate mediator, my father is a pilot, and I... I love hairless cats.”
I glance reflexively at Damon, wishing I hadn’t brought up my father.
“That’s it?” Cam says.
“Easy,” Tamra scolds.
“I’m sure there’s more,” Damon says gently.
“You don’t like hairless cats,” Cam says, not waiting for me to confirm. “Damon, you’re up.”
Damon clears his throat, his eyes lingering on me as if still dissecting my answers, before turning his attention back to the group. “Okay, fine. I ride motocross, as part of my job I write the sayings on the digital freeway signs, and I... also like hairless cats.” He looks at me when he says the last one.
“You ride motocross? That’s awesome. What kind of bike?” Cam and Damon launch into a discussion I quickly lose the details of, grateful to be done with Cam’s game but lost in Damon’s admissions.
My breath is caught somewhere in my chest. He writes the roadway signs I chuckle at and even look forward to during my daily commutes with Mel. I believed we hadn’t had any contact over the last ten years, but in this unwitting way, we have.
