Page 30 of Lord of Justice

The third day is the most exhausting.

I move in and out of three different dresses with extremely high heels. I'm told I'll be wearing them so that the top of my head will reach Andrey's shoulder. This, I can handle. Skyscraper heels are my specialty. I once chased an asshole down a club hallway in my five-inch Prada’s to slap him across the back of the head for grabbing Rose's ass.

It seems that when it comes to sitting, I have been doing it wrong for these last twenty years.

"You sit down with your back straight and chin held high, legs crossed and tilt your knees slightly to the left." I'm a little concerned that Jessica’s going to pull out a wooden ruler like the nuns used on us at parochial school. "Keep your hands gracefully clasped on your lap."

Am I still living in this century? I'm not sure.

Jessica then acts as my interviewer/interrogator, pelting question after question at me on camera, and then playing the footage back, forcing me to see the "key highlights" of where I can improve.

When I'm allowed a very late lunch, I huddle in a quiet corner of the studio, stuffing down a sandwich. I send one of the camera clips to Rose.

"I look like an asshole, Rosie."

She offers the loving, calming support that I knew she would, by laughing so hard that it takes her a minute to get the words out. "You kind of do! What that hellisthis look?"

"Thank you for yourcomfortingsupport, my beloved sister," I say sourly.

"Yeah, sorry but this is too good." She valiantly tries to stop laughing. "You look like one of those super uptight anchorwomen or an awards presenter. Are you supposed to look that rigid?"

"No," I admit, slumping in my seat and ignoring the aioli from the sandwich dripping down my hand. "I'm supposed to appear poised, and competent. My answers should show my deep conviction that Andrey's going to be the best fucking Supreme Court Justice in the history of New York and surrounding states, and blah, blah, blah."

"They're not… terrible," she says, attempting to cheer me up. "The blue suit you're wearing now is totally office chic. It's lucky you have summer off from school. I'm glad they're appointing Andrey in September because I don't know how you can keep this act going and keep up your GPA at the same time, Little Miss Oh, I want to finish my double major in three years instead of four."

Then, I say the thing I fear the most. "I don't looklike Mom, do I?" It bursts out of me, frantic and Rose's face softens.

"By the end, I don't think she was functioning as an actual human being, she was more like a lizard. No. You look nothing like her."

"It's bad enough to have the kind of mother who would sell you off so her husband could get a corner office, but it would be even worse if I turned into her." I smooth down the soft wool of the suit. Mom would haveloved this.

"No chance of that," Rose says decisively. "I don't care what the glow-up people do to you: you're still the girl that can turn any man into a drooling idiot within ninety seconds. You're the girl who hijacked that case of Strangelove NYC perfume - which sells for fifteen hundred dollars a bottle - and resold the whole thing within the same day! These people can't fuck with the essential you!"

My laughter dies off as something occurs to me. "Oh shit, what if Jackson or one of our other douchebag felony acquaintances comes forward with a story? You know how much this would be worth?"

She turns quiet. A trickle of something dark and scary slithers down my spine. "What?"

"I haven't wanted to bother you," she says reluctantly. "I haven't heard from Jackson, not onceafter that first phone call about the Rolexes. I asked a couple of our mutual friends at the coffee shop where we did most of our drop offs, and they said he left town. The next time I went in, none of them were there, either. In fact, I can't find any of our former associates."

The bite I'd taken out of my sandwich lodges in my throat and I have to spit it into the wrapper, hacking weakly.

"You don't think Andrey…" She doesn't finish the sentence and she doesn't have to. We both know what she's thinking, what we'reboththinking. Is the entitled lunatic who made me marry him thorough enough to simply kill off any inconvenient reminders of our felonious past so they don't stain his perfect reputation?

"Hey, this is a good thing," she says, trying to sound cheerful. "It's a fresh start for both of us. It's not like we could keep doing it anyway. Your arrest was a wakeup call. We'll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves."

"Yeah, but we can't even torture men anymore," I say sadly. "You're engaged to be engaged and well, there's Andrey."

"Hah!" She pounces on my comment. "Your claim that you fell madly in love with him and how he made you feelsafeis getting weaker and weaker by the day, my beloved sister." Her tone turnsserious. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

"No!" I snap. "Andrey is fantastic. He's deeply considerate and he just bought me a shit ton of expensive new clothes."

“How is he in bed?"

"What thehell, Rose!" I shriek, then hastily take a drink of water when everyone turns to stare at me. "I am not going to talk to you aboutthat.Remember, we had a deal that when we started having sex, it would be the basic information only, and nothing weird like dick size."

"What about dick size, darling?"

Two beautifully polished Louis Vuitton dress shoes stop in front of me and I look up to see my husband gazing at me with one eyebrow raised. Rose hears him, of course, and oh, she'showlingnow. Still holding his gaze, I say, "You're a horrible human being and I'm hanging up now, Rose."