My plate is completely full between dealing with Todd and my single case. If this were any other time in my life, I would be completely focused on my client and winning his freedom; nothing else would exist in my world. But my current juggling act is stretching my abilities to their limit, right along with my sanity.
I contacted Todd's attorney and, typical Todd, warned him that I could not be involved unless he specifically asked to bring me in. Isn't that something? We are each other's chess master, knowing our opponents move before it can be made.
Those feelings I've been having, the standing up of the hairs on the back of my neck, well, I think I've figured out what they are. Blair is definitely having us followed. She is so predictable and if I weren't in a weakened state right now, I would've figured it out long ago. Now, Todd and I have to think of a way to counter-act her strategy once he returns.
I have two more days of preparation for Derek's case. Where has all the time gone? I've done nothing but work on his case for weeks now and I still feel like I'm missing something, but I can't figure out what that something is. I'm sitting here, behind my desk, wracking my brain and nothing is coming to me.
"Hey, time for your shake," Jasmine announces, peeking her head in from the reception area. "It's already in the fridge."
"Thanks."
"You okay?"
I thought she had already disappeared, so the sound of her voice startled me. "Huh? What?"
"I asked if you were okay/"
I fake smile at her, appearing as though my face were too tight to let my smile reach my eyes. From the way she's looking at me, I know she doesn't buy the lie I am about to tell. "I just have a lot of things going on in my life."
"I thought you were cutting back on those 'things'?"
"Well, I was but something came up."
"Uh huh."
She seats herself in the chair across from me. It's funny, but I never quite noticed how pretty she is, but today, there's an aura that lights up everything around her. She knows things; her ability to read people is astounding. The way she looks at me, it's as if she can get inside my brain and see everything that I'm thinking.
"Tell me if I'm being too personal, but I'm assuming it has something to do with Mr. Manning?"
"Doesn't it always?"
"Probably." She doesn't say anything right away, processing her thoughts and reading me I suppose. I shift around in my chair, slightly afraid of what she'll say next. "He's married, isn't he?"
If put on trial, I believe I would be found guilty of breaking up the marriage. In the moral court, I would be judged based upon appearances. It appears that we are committing physical adultery, but we haven't gone that far…yet. Isn't that the important part?
"Okay, so he's married. So what?" Jazz says, reading the expressions on my face as they rapidly change. "The wife is giving you trouble?"
"Well, not really."
"From the way he looks at you, I'd say he's trying to get a divorce and she's being a witch about it?"
"That's exactly it."
"And he won't let you help him?"
I shake my head and answer, "nope. Any advice?"
"Be careful," she answers mysteriously. That only peaks my curiosity more, with my eyes, I beg her to expound.
"Of the wife or of something else?"
"Both." She doesn't say another word; she leaves the office as quietly as she entered.
I scratch my head, searching for more meaning behind her words. Was she warning me of something; does she know more than she's willing to tell? I try to shake off the uneasiness that I'm feeling, but the seeds have been planted and I am now on high alert.
*****
When I arrive at the jail, Derek is seated behind the metal table where we've met so many times before. I watch him through the small, square window on the door; his eyes are cast downward, staring at some spot on the ground I cannot see. He looks so sad, like his entire world has come crashing down around him and he's right. He will never lead a so-called normal life; the stigma will always be attached to him.
I knock twice before entering, giving him time to pull himself together. He looks up and smiles, letting me know it's okay for me to interrupt his thoughts. "Hey," I say, closing the door behind me.
"Hi Ms. Delgado."
I smile back at him, taking a seat on the other side of the table. "You doin' okay?"
"Yup, I'm fine."
Today is not about the law or strategizing, it's not even about this case. When he and I spoke earlier, I got the feeling that he was going crazy in here and needed a friend, at least someone he could trust. He and I have an interesting relationship, one that extends beyond the lawyer/client boundaries; I don't quite know how to describe it. I know I see so much of Todd in him, just in terms of the way they grew up, not in temperament. He's got this innocence about him, that extra something that makes you want to take care of him. At the same time, I think I fill a void in his life and no matter what, I know we won't lose that.
Derek is a Lakers fan through and through. During the playoffs, he asked me to recap the games for him. I am not a sports fan, so it was asking a lot of me. I would sit in front of the television with a legal pad, taking notes on everything that happened. He laughed at me when I presented him with this thick legal pad with blue scrawled between the lines. We got into a groove though, and he looked forward to my "analness," as he called it.
I have a friend in LA who's a sports agent. He and I have sporadically communicated over the past several years, but it had been awhile since we last touched base. We dated off and on throughout college, but he wasn't "troubled" enough; the relationship was doomed from the very beginning. Anyway, I called him, chit-chatted and asked if he knew any of the Lakers. Come to find out, he represents one of them, Robert Fox or somebody, so I asked if he could get him along with Kobe O'Neal to sign a jersey. He laughed for a long time, before agreeing to my request. The very next day, the jersey was Federal Expressed to my office with it. I had to beg the guard to let me bring it to him, but he eventually relented, letting me give the package to Derek. I place it in the middle of the table without saying another word.
"What's this?"
"Open it and see."
He tears into the wrapping like a child at Christmas. I watch his eyes closely, waiting for the exact moment when they become as big as saucers. There's something to be said about the joy of giving, especially to someone who hasn't been given many things in his life.
His mouth drops when the golden color comes into view. He looks from me to the jersey and back again, not quite sure what to say or do next. "You can take it out of the box," I encourage, "it's yours now."
He lifts the delicate fabric from the protective tissue wrapper like it's the most precious thing in the world. He casts his eyes downward, to the bottom of the shirt, to the swift motions of Kobe's signature, and then to the middle where somebody Fox signed.
He doesn't say anything but I know if he were to speak, his voice would come out broken and strained; and with that would come the tears. If we were not separated by this barrier, I would've taken him into my arms and let him cry on my shoulder, but such things are not allowed. So, with a strained voice, he thanks me.
"It's no big deal," I insist.
"No big deal?! You don't know how much I love this."
I do know because it's all in his eyes, the way they twinkle every time he looks at that golden uniform. If I ever had any doubt about why I was put on this earth, it no longer exists; I'm meant to do things just like this, give anything I can to the people I care about.
"When I was a kid," he begins, "I wanted to play for the Lakers, but back then, they had Magic and them."
"Yeah? Tell me about it."
"Aw, Miss Delgado, you should've seen 'em. You ever see any of the old tapes?"
"Um, no."
He stands up and pretends like he has a basketball in his left hand. "Magic, he'd make the defenders come to him in the middle with a double team," he is moving around invisible defenders, guarding that ball like his life depended on it, "and then he'd dish it of to the corner and boom-"
"Boom?"
"Yeah, he'd pass the ball to Byron Scott and he'd shoot it like…swish…nothin' but net." I can feel his love of this sport; I liken it to an all-consuming romance, something like what Todd and I have…had…have…whatever.
"You're a student of the game."
"Yeah," he says sadly, "I used to be; I used to watch games all day and all night. Nobody really cared what I did as long as I kept playin'."
His voice takes on a different tone, something so sad it shakes me to my core. He had everything and one stupid little mistake snatched it from underneath him like an old carpet, like it didn't matter. Damn them, I think, damn them for destroying his life.
"When I was out there, man, nothin' could touch me, you know? You know how that feels?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do."
"But you can still feel that, I can't."
"I wish I could still feel that, but things change, people change and you adjust."
"Not this, not love." He sighs loudly, running his hand over his bald head, "I loved playing."
"And that's what never goes away."
"What?"
"The love."
You're unnerved because you've spent your whole life thinking nobody is looking over you, and suddenly your subconscious is an open book. We are, for the first time, experiencing changes in natural reality by a force not our own. -- Snow (Solaris)
