“It’s like the universe is trying to tell me I’m sick or something,” I say.
“For the last time, kiddo,” she says, “you do not have to do this.”
“Actually, I do.”
“It’s not worth it,” she says, “and your client is certainly not worth it.”
“I know that,” I say. “But I finish what I start.”
“Even if it kills you?” Norma drops her cigarette and stubs it out on the sidewalk.
I smile at her. “Is that the entire pep talk? Or is there more?”
She smiles back at me and gives me a playful shrug in the direction of the front doors.
“Let’s get this party started,” she says.
As soon as I sit down, a serious case of DA envy once again sweeps over me.
It’s as if Katherine Welsh is the one seated at the cool kids’ table. She is dressed in a to-die-for navy suit that not only is made for her but really looks as if someonedidmake it for her. Somehow she seems to have even more long auburn hair than usual, is wearing heels that make her nearly six feet tall. As far as I can see, she is in absolutely no danger whatsoever of anybody suggesting that she looks like shit today.
Norma Banks sees the way I’m looking at my opponent and gives me a sharp elbow to the ribs.
“Just remember something,” she says quietly, nodding in the direction of Katherine Welsh. “Somewhere somebody’s tired of her.”
Welsh puts down her briefcase next to her chair and walks over to our table. She’s smiling, as if she’s not just ready for her close-up, she was born for it.
I stand and shake her outstretched hand, hoping she doesn’t notice me rising up on my toes as I do.
“So,” Welsh says, “we’re really gonna do this.”
“There’s still time to switch sides,” I say. “I frankly like yours better.”
She leans closer to me. “Is it true that Thomas McGoey is going to be your second chair?”
“Word travels fast.”
“You know how it works with social media,” she says. “Gossip is halfway around the world before I even get my new shoes on.”
I look down at her shoes when she says that, I can’t help myself.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “Those are Manolos, aren’t they?”
“Guilty,” Katherine Welsh says, then says in a throaty voice, “God, how I love that word.”
Then she quickly says, “How are you feeling, Jane? Really.”
I make myself taller again and say, “Just barely strong enough to kick your ass.”
As if I’ve suddenly confirmed to her what she’s probably thought about me all along, Katherine Welsh shakes her head.
“Jane Effing Smith,” she says.
“For the defense.”
THIRTY-FOUR
THOMAS MCGOEY ARRIVES A few minutes later, acting as if he’s out of breath but clearly wanting to make an entrance, dressed as if he’s on his way to the Wise Guys Prom after he leaves court:
