Hi Litsters,
This is a set of disconnected vignettes about the women in Heather Franklin's life. I have written them as a separate series to distinguish them from her stories which are more closely bound to her job as a lawyer. Your votes, comments and private feedback mean the world to me, so please do not forget to leave them.
Hat-tip to House MD.
As usual, a profound vote of thanks to my editor, Bramblethorn, for whom no praise can be too effusive.
"The burden of the world is too great for one man to bear, and the world's sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer."
- A House Of Pomegranates, Oscar Wilde
*****
"Read out the number again."
"Three hundred and fifty million dollars," said the triumphant senior associate. "We got Holmann Pharmaceuticals on patent infringement
and
the jury gave us three hundred and fifty fucking million."
"It's a shame most of it will go to our client though."
"Don't worry. Whatever we get plus legal fees will mean there's still plenty to go around."
"There had better be," replied a perky young paralegal. "I need a new convertible this year. I've got half an eye on a Maserati."
"What are we still doing in office?" yelled the senior partner in charge. "Let's go to the Ritz and celebrate."
There were hoots and yells of approval from all directions.
"I'll get going then."
All eyes turned in the direction of that voice. Heather Franklin leaned against the lobby wall, covering the tip of her Marlboro with her hand. She lit it carefully and looked up at the crowd goggling at her.
"I'm not much of a party fan," she said, taking the fag out to blow a thin stream of smoke into the air.
"C'mon, Heather," insisted the senior partner. "After all, it was your cross-examination that won us the damn thing."
"Thanks, but no."
"What if we get a cocktail waitress for you to make out with?" snickered someone else.
"It might come as a shock to you, but lesbians don't feel the random urge to make out with every other woman they see," she said with a roll of her eyes. "If you must know the truth, I have an early dinner date."
She stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette and left, leaving a whole series of jaws hanging open in her wake.
**
Per Se is one of the most high-end restaurants in the city, befitting someone of Heather's stature. Even though her reserved table was removed from the bustle of the main floor, she could still see the occasional whisper and finger pointed in her direction.
She bided her time, smiling back once in a while. One of the perils of being a known media face was the instant recognition. She looked at her watch, still ten minutes to go.
Heather hoped the dating site algorithm had matched her with someone who could afford to eat at Per Se. She leaned back and let a few more idle glances flit her way. Right at the allotted time, she saw her favourite waiter coming, with her blind date in tow.
The woman looked to be in her mid- to late thirties. She had a graceful gait and fit body. Her hair was red, several shades darker than Heather's, and it complemented her wine-red cocktail dress. As she came closer, Heather saw the expected gasp light up the freckled face. She looked like the cutesy girl next door who'd grown up.
"Wow... this is a surprise."
"Does that mean I don't have to introduce myself?" said Heather, rising to meet her date. They shook hands.
"Rebecca Maitland," her date said, giving her a perfunctory peck on either cheek. "I have a double speciality in oncology and paediatric oncology and am the head of the department at Clinton Memorial."
"A doctor, interesting," Heather said, putting a finger between her lips. "Somehow I can't seem to picture you in a white coat."
"I actually was wearing one like half an hour ago," Rebecca said, dabbing the sweat off her forehead. "Just got off an eighteen hour shift, mostly supernaturally boring meetings."
"No actual patients?"
"I do that too, once in a while. As a department head, most of time goes in approving budgets, hires and other such uninteresting stuff."
They were interrupted when the waiter brought a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
"With compliments of the house, ma'am," he said with a bow.
"Thank you," said the lawyer and accepted his offering. She turned her attention back to her flustered and somewhat uncomfortable date.
"You don't do this very often, do you?"
"Is it that obvious?" Dr Maitland asked meekly.
"Frightfully so," replied Heather.
"To be honest, I didn't even know I
had
a date till today. Some of the young doctors created a profile on a dating site with my name and details. They quite literally forced me into it, saying I work too hard."
"I know the feeling. I just wrapped up a long trial myself. For the past three months, I don't think I had a single weekend."
"Was it another murder?" Rebecca asked, curiously. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry... but was it?"
"No, it was something much less sensational. Your run of the mill patent violation."
"I must sound like a total flake here," said the good doctor. "I promise there is more to me."
"I'll find out soon enough," said Heather, beckoning for the appetiser to be brought. "I don't suppose I have to give you my life's story, if you caught the Belvedere trial."
They shared a laugh before Heather spoke up again.
"What did your doctors say about me?"
"Born in Scarsdale, graduated summa cum laude from Yale in '07, and have been practising law in this city ever since," she rattled off. "There were a few more things, but I think I captured the gist."
"There's not much more to me," Heather lied genially. "What about you? What's your story?"
"I was born and raised in Syracuse, not all that far from here. My Dad was a high school track and field coach and my Mom stayed home to raise my brother and me."
"Are they still in Syracuse?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. My Dad died of thyroid cancer when I was sixteen. He's buried there. Mom didn't deal with it well, taking solace in the bottle. She's in assisted living now. On a good day, she knows me by face. Her neurologists say her dementia is progressing fast and I'll soon be another unknown face in a sea of faces," she said matter-of-factly. "My brother, on the other hand, is a successful Wall Street broker. We had a bad falling out years ago and have not been on speaking terms since."
Heather gaped at her, unsure whether to offer condolences or say something about her remarkably calm tenor. Rebecca sensed her discomfiture and explained calmly.
"When you see people lose their loved ones on a daily basis, it desensitises you to grief," she went on. "Trust me, Heather, there is so much suffering out there that mine looks tame in comparison."
"I lost my mother to ovarian cancer," said Heather, taking a bite of her appetiser. "She suffered for one whole year before the cancer finally killed her."
"In the case of my Dad, it was detected in the final stage itself, so we only had a few weeks to say goodbye. It's what made me want to be an oncologist."
"So you can see more people with cancer?"
"So I can save lives," said Rebecca, taking a spoonful of braised tenderloin in her mouth. "At least that's what I managed to convince my sixteen-year-old self."
"You don't sound entirely happy with that choice."
"My job has its moments," she admitted, taking a sip of the wine. "Sometimes, the definitive test comes back showing the cancer in an early stage. It feels rewarding to see the relief all around when they beat it early."
"And other times?" asked Heather.
"Other times... it takes some self-prescribed Zoloft," she admitted. "You'd think it gets easier after seeing it the first thousand times."
Heather sensed she had touched a raw nerve. She mumbled half an apology and concentrated on the pale strips of salmon that had come to the table. Rebecca ate quietly as well for a few long minutes.
"Desyrel," Heather spoke up. "It's my poison of choice."
"You sure picked a bad one," the doctor shrugged. "If you were my patient, I'd totally give you a disapproving stare right about now."
"Do you prescribe anti-depressants to your patients? To lift the gloom of their final days, even a little bit?"
"No," she replied, cutting into her veal. "Some of my colleagues do, but I refuse. No amount of drugs can take away the reality that you're living on borrowed time. The best thing you can do is stay lucid and spend what little time you have left with those that matter the most."
"This is probably the most depressing first date in history," sighed Heather, taking a bite of the poached halibut. "All we seem to talk about is death and dying When was your last date?" the lawyer asked.
"It would have to be back when Bush was still in office. I hardly have the time for recreation."
"I have a proposal to make and I hope you'll see it for the pragmatic solution it is."
"Okay," Rebecca replied, unsure.
"We're both busy working professionals. The stars must have aligned for us both to get the night off. Who knows if we'll ever even see each other again. I think you understand that a long term relationship is out of the question."
She nodded, wiping the corners of her mouth.
"You know the usual drill - many dates, movies, Broadway plays before one of us finally woos the other into bed. It's all very romantic, but what if we make an exception and skip to the end for once?"
Rebecca almost choked on her wine. She looked up, surprise writ large on her face.
"You want to have sex with me? Tonight?"
"My apartment isn't all that far from here and I have my car."
