“She will eat you alive,” I say.
“Why?” Jacobson says. “Because she’s another woman who thinks she’s smarter than me?”
“Well, for starters, yeah,” I say.
I am still managing to keep myself under control. But barely. I can feel the heat rising in me, ready to explode. Mount Saint Jane.
“Just listen to me for once,” Jacobson says. “So maybe I might not be able to charm the pants off the esteemed Ms. Welsh. I’ll concede that. But I sure as hell can do it with the women on that jury.” The smirk is back, just like that, not that it’s ever very far away. “And maybe a few of the guys, too. You might not believe this, but dudes dig me, too.”
My father made me learn the Serenity Prayer after he finally stopped drinking and joined AA. I can hear him reciting it to me inside my head now, from what feels like a hundred years ago.
Give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change …
Jacobson lays his palms flat on the table, making me think he’s finished his dumb-assed presentation.
“So are we done here?” I ask.
“Not quite,” he says, then adds, “I’ve been saving the best for last.”
He pauses, but only briefly.
“You’re not going to be the one questioning me, Janie,” he says. “Thomas is. And I’ll tell you why before you even ask: Knowing Thomas, it won’t bother him nearly as much as it would bother you when I get up there and lie my ass off.”
I sit there in a kind of stunned silence. I thought I was beyond being surprised by him. Wrong again.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Just this one thing you’ve heard before,” I say, my voice still sounding relatively calm, but knowing that the explosion is here. “But something about which I am now as serious as cancer.”
I get up now and walk around the table and get so close to him our noses are nearly touching, and my voice explodes out of me, nearly knocking him back over in his chair.
“I fucking quit.”
ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
STILL ON FIRE, I walk out and down the hall and blow past Judge Michael Horton’s assistant so quickly there’s no attempt made to stop me, and I give one firm rap on his door and walk right in on him without being announced.
“Pardon the interruption,” I say.
I expect him to be angry with me, as he so frequently is in his courtroom. He’s dressed in an old-fashioned cardigan sweater with pockets on the sides; he’s clearly getting ready to leave. But instead of chastising me, he surprises me with a wide grin.
Pardon the Interruption?Horton says. “I love that show.”
I know he’s talking about an ESPN show, one I’ve occasionally watched myself. But I’m not here to kick around the sports issues of the day.
“You seem upset, Ms. Smith,” he says.
“No shit, Your Honor,” I say, “with all due respect, of course. I only need a couple of minutes of your time.”
“That’s all you’re getting,” he says. “Mrs. Horton has promised to hand me a martini, perfectly chilled, when I walk through the door.” He cocks his head slightly. “A martini I richly deserve after today’s antics.”
“I’m withdrawing as Rob Jacobson’s counsel,” I say, then add, “effective immediately.”
He sits back down behind his desk, briefly closes his eyes, opens them.
“May I ask why?”
I imagine in this moment that he’s slipped his robe back on and slipped right back into character, if reluctantly.
