Saving Sarah

The courtroom was packed. Dozens of faces, all of them strangers. Some of them were like me: people in trouble. Their heads were hanging low, their legs crossed, shoulders drawn in, trying to shrink, to be invisible. I was doing the same thing. One of the few times in life I was glad to be so small. I sat in a corner, second row from the back. Some of the people looked angry. Some looked like they didn't care, reclining on the wooden pews, slouched in some grubby T-shirt. I thought of my husband. He'd have definitely been in the "don't give a shit" group. Deadbeat dads, here to give some excuse about not paying child support. Criminals, maybe. Drunks. Tommy would have fit right in. He was the reason I was here. He just had to have that giant TV and all the crap that went with it, and he had buy it with a Best Buy VISA card, and of course since he lost his old job, his credit wasn't worth shit, so I somehow ended up co-signing for it all. And of course, he didn't pay the bill. And of course they had to come after me after my own job had been downsized due to budget cuts.

The lawyers were the worst. They weren't angry or sad or resentful or scared at all. They were happy to be here. What sort of freak is happy to be in a damn courtroom? In their suits, back-slapping and chucking with their lawyer pals while they make jokes about the people whose lives are in their hands here. I know that it's their job, just another day at the office. In my mind, I know that, abstractly. I know that at the clinic I'd done the same thing. But I don't feel it. All I feel is scared.

So I thank God when the judge walks in and everybody shuts up. The first case on the docket is called, Discover Bank vs. Somebody Tucker. A woman shuffles from the gallery and walks forward, nervous. She was one of the sad ones like me. She has no lawyer, but the bank suing her does. They have some bored, conceited little man in a suit and he starts hammering her with questions about this and that and suddenly the judge looks down and enters a judgment against her for $7,000. "But I don't have that." she says. "Then I suggest you talk to a lawyer." the judge responds.

And that's when it hits me. It becomes real. It is about to happen to me. $20,000 plus interest and attorney's fees...I did the math already. It will be dragged out of my paycheck week after week for almost 2 years. I honestly don't know what I'll do. We'll lose the house. Maybe my car. Jeffrey won't go to college unless he can find $60k hidden under a rock sometime in the next 4 years. Unless a miracle happens. I try not to think about the future. Flowers of the meadow, right?

Yeah, right. I know better than to think positive at this point. 14 years of marriage to Tommy Bannerford has taught me better. Another case is called. Some car crash case where the lawyers argue some lame crap that nobody else understands and then they walk out. I'm #5 on the docket. #3 is another poor sap like me who is about to get another debt beaten out of him. I wonder why I am here. I think very hard about just getting up and leaving. It won't matter anyway. They're going to take my money and force me out of my house regardless, so at least I could avoid the embarrassment of having to stand up in front of everyone and testify. But I'm the kind of girl who shows up when called to court. It's the rules, and I follow the rules. I can't help it. So I know I'm going to just sit here and take it like a woman.

"Sarah?"

I jump when the voice says my name, because at first I assumed it was the court calling me up for my legal spanking. Then my mind lurches back, way back and recalls the voice. I can't believe it, and then I look up and see him.

Jordan Cuvier. Absolutely. 18 years and he's barely aged. But...grown. I don't remember him being so tall. Is it the suit? It's a really good suit, and I don't know much about suits. And his hair is long now, straight and smooth and brown to his shoulders. And the eyes are exactly the same. That bright green that haunted me all through college. And the part of my brain that I'm still in control of is deeply embarrassed, but there are butterflies in my stomach and a tingle between my legs because my God does this man look good. And I'm suddenly embarrassed even more. Of course the one day I am summoned to court, my high school lover happens to be there. I thank my lucky stars he looks as as nervous as me. Maybe he's still ashamed for ditching me.

"Jordan!" I say, finally. "It's...good to see you."

A hammer bangs the bench. "Lady, if you need to speak with your attorney, I advise that you do it outside of my courtroom." the judge says, glaring at me. My cheeks burn.

"I apologize, Your Honor." Jordan straightens up and turns to face the judge. "I spoke to Ms. Collins."

I immediately get up and walk outside. He's there right behind me.

"It's Robinson now." I say. "I'm a married woman."

"What are you doing here?" he says.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I'm a lawyer."

"Obviously." I say. "I mean, why are you here today?"

"Certifying a class action."

"I don't even know what that means."

"What's wrong?"

"Your 'class action' thing sounds important. I don't want to waste your time."

"It's not a waste. Maybe I can help."

"You don't even know why I'm here."

"You're being sued by a credit card company."

"What? How do you -"

"I saw the docket."

"It could have been a different Sarah Robinson."

"But it wasn't."

I stop. I don't really know how the conversation got there. My mind was on autopilot, and I feel like there's this storm of emotion in my head, like a storm at sea in some painting. A maelstrom. That's the word. Half of me feels like suddenly I'm in high school again after he left for college and forgot me. And I want to slap his face and blast him for everything. And the other half, the mature half, interjects and points out the fact that a) I really, desperately need a lawyer right now, b) I can't afford to pay anyone, and c) there is a lawyer standing in front of me offering to help.

"What do you charge?" I'm talking business now.

He laughs, then stops when he realizes that I'm not joking. "Really? Oh. You? I won't charge you anything."

"I don't want a handout."

"OK. $325 an hour." He says. "Out of court. $400 in court."

I try not to look shocked, but apparently fail. I've never hired a lawyer before.

His face turns serious and holds out a hand. "Give the Complaint." he says.

"The what?"

"The paperwork they filed with the Court."

I pull it out of my purse and hand it to him. He flits through the pages like some sort of scanning machine. He stops and looks hard at a billing statement attached.

"Is this all?" he says.

I nod. "I don't have a chance, do I?" I say. The evidence was all there.

"Have you spoken to their lawyer?"

"No. I was waiting until-"

"Don't. Sit in the back of the courtroom and stay quiet. I'll handle this." I follow him back in and do as I'm told.

They call my case out and the little collection lawyer stands up and starts talking about the credit card.

Jordan stands up and announces that he's here for me. Then he starts talking some legalese about hearsay and authenticity and cross examination and I don't really get it, but I do see the collection dweeb looks perturbed. The judge looks over at him and asks if he has any real evidence. The collection lawyer just stammers something and the judge nods him to shut up.

"Dismissed with prejudice." the judge says. Jordan turns around to leave and he motions me to come back outside.

"What just happened?" I ask.

"I took care of it." he said.

"Took care of it? What do you mean? Are they going to cut me a break?"

He looked incredulous. "I took care of it. It's done."

I had to sit down and take it in. I'd been sleepless about this damned credit thing for weeks. I didn't know you could just walk in and burn $20,000 of debt. Some other lawyer came up to Jordan and started talking to him, I guess about their other case. I was sobbing.

"Hold on, Frank." he said to the other lawyer. He came over and sat by me. He definitely put his hand on my leg and it sent alarms off in my head. But it also felt good. Really good. A part of me wanted to just wrap around him and lay there. "Hey." he said. "You're going to be fine." I nodded. The alarms kept singing, but I also felt...warm and tingly inside. I'm a married woman. He's a married man - I know because I'd seen his model-perfect wife on Facebook. "Stay right here, Sarah. I'll be done in a few minutes and I want to talk to you." The way he talked, the way he moved and looked at you, everything was so calm and assuring. My instinct was to just do what he said. So I did. A few minutes went by while he went back into court. I could see him through the gallery window standing up and making some sort of argument, the judge nodding along.

I bet the women judges loved him. Was he always this good looking? Or did I just have lower standards now because I was married to a balding fat man? A pang of guilt came at the thought of my husband and I knew I had to get out of there. I couldn't go back to some fancy office tower and listen to how great his life was and how mine wasn't while I daydreamed about lying on my back and looking up at those eyes as he -

STOP! Don't even go there. I got up and ran to the elevator and when it didn't come, I ran down the 4 flights of stairs and through the security checkpoint and then as fast as I could out of the double glass doors.

Into the pouring rain.

The rain had begun before I got to the courthouse, but instead of slacking off as the weatherman predicted, had only gotten worse. My husband was supposed to pick me up at the corner but his car was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to pay the parking meter, so he said he'd drive around for a while and run some errands. What sort of errands could be more important than standing by his wife while she got taken to court for his bills? Ugh! I was soaking wet, and cold. I pulled out my phone to call and find out where the hell he was at, and as soon as I did, a car came by and splashed water from a puddle right at me. I shrieked when the water hit me.

My phone's screen flickered and went out. It had gotten splashed too, apparently. Could it get any worse? I just stood there, frozen for a minute. Then the rain stopped. No, it stopped falling on me, but kept falling everywhere else.

"Hey." It was Jordan. Standing behind me holding an umbrella over my head. Little dark grey spots started to appear in the silver wool of his suit. It looked expensive. It fit his form perfectly, buttoned at the waist like James Bond or something. No excess material, no stiffness. Tommy had one suit that he dusted off for funerals and weddings. It was a baggy black thing he got from JC Penny about 15 years ago. He'd never buttoned it before. I had never noticed until now.

"Your suit-" I said.

"I have others." He said. "You don't have a ride?" I said nothing, just looked up and down the street for Tommy's car.

"Ah," he said. The disappointment on my face must have been obvious. "Come to my office. You can dry off and make a phone call."

He held my arm to help me across the puddle and something went through me. A thrill. A shock, maybe. 'Electric' sounds so cheesy, but it isn't far off the mark. I hadn't touched another man in 16 years. A part of me was alarmed, sure. But I wasn't going to sit in the rain forever.

His office was an old French Colonial mansion that overlooked St. Francis Street. It had been restored completely, and if you love old houses, you'd have loved this place. The floors were heart pine from the 1880s. The receptionist did a double take when I came in, looking first to Jordan then back to me a couple of times, her face a mix of pity and question.

"Katherine, this is Sarah." Jordan said. "She's a new client. What news?"

"Mr. Springfield called about that Fair Housing case, Stephens, I think. He said they'll offer $200,000 if you'll agree to confidentiality."

"No."

"I'll relay the message. Also, Mrs. Reese from the DOJ called. They want your input on some discrimination case they're working on."

"Perfect. Email her that I'll call her at 11:15 tomorrow." He turned to me. "Come on."

His office was formerly the sitting room of the old mansion, and definitely not what you expect from a lawyer's office. It had a grand old fireplace of limewashed red brick. Paintings were on the walls. All originals, by the look of it. A leather couch and some chairs surrounded a coffee table near the fireplace. Cozy and comfortable.

"Do you live here?" I asked.

"Ha!" he laughed, "Sometimes, yes. When I'm working on something big. Or when I'm troubled."

"You come to work to escape trouble?"

"I like my job." He smirked. It was a crooked, twinkle-eyed, mischievous smirk that I absolutely loved when I was 17. And I absolutely love it now, I thought. It was just as charming, just as fun and promising of some secret surprise up his sleeve. But it was deeper now, grown into something that promised more than just fun and good company. It promised care and protection and a sense that he was so...competent. That was the word. From the first time I saw him, standing in court, when he was walking in the rain, talking to the judge or his receptionist, he exuded it. He was utterly unafraid and in charge. It was intoxicating. I could sit here in his presence all day just watching him be what he was.

He got some matches from his desk and lit the fireplace. There were logs in it already.

"The contractor advised that we close the chimney up because of its age," he explained, "but I wouldn't have it. There's nothing like a good fire."

"I think it's lovely." I said. Our 2-bedroom house in the burbs had one of those cheap gaslog inserts. I'd never lived in a house with a real fireplace.

He went into a bathroom and brought back a towel.

He wrapped the towel around me and that little alarm sounded again. But it was easy to ignore this time.

It would be fine. Somehow I knew. I felt warm inside. I felt like a huge burden had been lifted. I felt taken care of. I felt...happy.

It hit me like a meteor, the realization that I'd spent the past decade or so slowly carrying more and more cares and responsibilities, while everyone else seemed to be just fine. It was like the more I gave, the less I got. And you just trudge through life like that, because people are depending on you, because you have kids to care for, because you have to keep up the rat race and try to be normal. Or at least look normal.

And all I ever wanted was to be taken care of. I'll go ahead and say it. I'm not one of those powerful ball-crushing CEO type women. I'm not some proto-feminist who wants to wear pant suits and have short hair and hyphenate my kids' names. If that's your thing, fine, go get it. But I don't care about all that. All I ever wanted was to feel safe and assured like when I was a little girl. And for the first time in so, soo long, I had that feeling again.

The fire crackled and I kicked off my shoes and warmed up my toes. It was heavenly.

He appeared beside me with a glass in his hand. A dark red liquid swirled in it.

"For you."

"Wine?"

"You've had a hard day."

"I don't think..." I hesitated. But why? His eyes were so clear and bright, and so calm and honest. He was right. "Alright." I said.

We talked by the fire. Then we ran out of wine and he came up with another bottle. The secretary came in and said she was leaving at some point. From the minute I saw him, he'd never once looked uncomfortable or uncertain. He exuded a certain type of manliness that I hadn't really experienced this close before. This was a man who faced problems head on. His problems, other peoples' problems, whatever. This was a man who took care of things. And, once my second glass of wine loosened me up enough to be honest with myself, he was, actually, really freaking hot.

Yes, hot. A week before I'd have described him as 'attractive,' or used some other mature and appropriately distant word. But that was when I'd closed off the girlish parts of me, the carnality that we all have down deep inside. I had accustomed myself to just not look at other men. Tommy was my husband and I was stuck with him, beer gut and irresponsibility and all. I used to love sex. It was good at first, too. But the first time he lost his job, just after our second was born, it became too much. I'd always thought that I wanted a big family, but we couldn't afford any more children. So Tommy got a vasectomy and a crappier job and we slowed down to maintenance sex after that. It was a chore for me like everything else. Like doing the dishes.

And now I'm sitting here drinking wine by a fireplace feeling the hots for my high school boyfriend while he tells me about some sailing trip to Iceland in a boat he built with his sons. I'm about to tell him how awesome it sounds to build your own boat, but I recall something that'd been bothering me all afternoon.

"Jordan," I grab his hand without even thinking. It is warm and rougher than you'd expect. "Thank you."

"For...?"

"You know. For today. For saving me from financial ruin. I really don't know what I would have done. God, it was so embarrassing."

"Don't be. A lot of people are in the same boat. Being broke is no crime."

"Well, I just... I owe you."

"Yes," he said, "you do." That took me aback. I was pretty sure he said he wasn't charging me anything.

"Um," I said, "what's the price?"

"A kiss."

My heart was pounding. I couldn't even make the words for an answer. He moved in quick to my lips.

And then it was on. Like something from a movie, he dove into me and I came right back. I was starving for it. It was like when you go to sleep hungry but sleep through your stomach growls, and then when you wake up, you're just ravenous. My body was ravenous for this man. This man.

I clawed at his shirt. My dress was over my head, my bra hit the floor. He picked me up and carried me to the big leather sofa. I realized I had nothing on my black panties. I was slightly nervous. I'd seen his wife on facebook. She was one of those tall, beautiful women who look good in everything. She looked like a model.

But he didn't look disappointed. His eyes lingered on my waist.

"What?" I asked, wondering if my fat butt had turned him off.

"You look.."

"Is my ass too fat? You're not used to-"

"Your ass is perfect. It's so...round. And your hips," he said, running a hand down my side, feeling the curve of me. "Like a fertility goddess."

His hand came around behind me and gripped my butt. He flopped me over so that my ass was in the air. I wasn't wearing a thong, but my panties had ridden up into my crack because my ass is so big. They were totally soaked through.

"You, you like it?" I questioned, looking back at him. He didn't say anything, but those lovely eyes that were normally so cool and all-business were burning now with lust. His hands roamed over me as he stood there, entranced.

"I...I've never seen anything like it. I love it. I have to..." his voice went deeper and became stone-cold serious. "I have to have you. I'm going to have you." The words should have been alarming me and sending me running, but they were sweet music now. I was far too turned on to stop him.

He slapped my ass and it shook. This exposition should have embarrassed me, but it didn't. I was turning him on, and that turned me on more than anything. This deliciously hot man who was once a half-forgotten lover and now was the man I'd always hoped for, a man in charge of his life and everything around him, this man was turned on by my round white ass. I lowered my shoulders and arched my back like a cat, and slowly gyrated for him while I watched his eyes follow the motion of my hips. I could feel his lust radiating towards me, growing in power as I moved for him, and the obvious pleasure in his eyes doubled my own lust, until my body was burning, I wanted him so badly.