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“Sam? Are you there?”
“Yes, Linda. Uh . . . what kind of legal matter?”
“I’d like to take some time to explain it, maybe over lunch or dinner? I’ll pay, of course.”
Must be a mighty interesting case. I decided to hear Linda out. Besides, it had been ages since we’d seen each other, and who was I to object to a free meal?
“Well, there’s room on my calendar tomorrow to meet for lunch, if you’d like.” Yes, I think I can manage to squeeze you in, old friend.
“Great! Why don’t we meet at the Flanders Farmhouse Restaurant near the College Park Airport. Eleven-thirty, say? Can’t wait to see you.”
We hung up, and I thought, I can’t wait to see you, too. I thought briefly of an old line another lawyer used to say: “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.” I felt chilly, despite the day’s warmth; then, the chill passed.
*****
At eleven-thirty on the dot I walked into the restaurant, housed in a pseudo-French farmhouse circa World War I, and was escorted to a table next to a big picture window where the waiter removed the napkin from my goblet with a flourish and poured my water with equal ceremony. Linda was nowhere in sight. The place had a low wooden ceiling with thick parallel beams and a brick fireplace in the corner.
I vaguely recalled seeing a show on the History Channel about bombs buried under real farmhouses in Europe during World War I as a defense against the Germans. The British were taking steps to tunnel down and recover them. However, some of them were going off accidentally. Possibly due to lightning strikes.
I sat in my solid wooden chair and admired the detailed recreation of history, including the brass pots and pans hanging near the fireplace and the mantel clock. A bookshelf lined one wall. A piano player banged out a recorded ragtime tune in the background. Each table was adorned with a pristine white tablecloth draped over a red one and full place settings arranged around a candle flickering in a cut glass holder, in hopeful anticipation that someone might sit there. No threat of the Kaiser, no bombs concealed below the painstakingly decorated eatery. None that we knew of.
I shifted in my seat. For some reason, my jaw felt rigid, so I tried smiling. Then I figured sitting by myself smiling made me look goofy, so I stopped. My mouth was dry, so I sipped my water. One sip of water didn’t quench my thirst, so I took another. My mouth still felt dry. Why was I so nervous?
I looked around again at the tables, all neatly set, waiting for customers. So far, the only takers were myself, one quiet couple, and a group of four men and two women who, all in suits, were talking about sales figures and laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes. I turned away to gaze out the window, guzzled water, and watched a Cessna make a lazy circle over the landing field.
Linda came in about thirteen minutes later, moving through the room with the fluid grace of a gazelle and the self-assurance of a woman on a mission. A smile broadened across her pale, freckled face, and her wavy red hair flowed back as if blown by a secret wind. The air seemed to freshen in her presence, as if she’d brought some of the outdoors in with her. I stood and we hugged.
“Sam,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
“Feels like a million years,” I said, overlooking her tardiness and lack of explanation. “You were with the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service the last time we spoke.”
“Can you believe I’m still there? I’m probably a lifer even though they make me do more with less budget every year. But how many jobs are out there for biologists?” She shrugged. “The bureaucracy and paperwork just seem to worsen over time, too. But if you can ignore the bullshit, it’s decent work.”
“I know what you mean.” My problem was, I couldn’t abide the bullshit of office politics and bureaucracy. That’s why I’d left the Prince George’s County Public Defender’s Office years ago to start my own practice.
As we took our seats, she said, “I’m really sorry I’m late, but I got waylaid at the office.”
I waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s so great to see you again. You’re well worth the wait.”
Her and the free lunch.
We scanned menus the waiter had left with me. Linda chose the Cobb Salad, but urged me to get whatever I wanted. Well, okay, then. I decided to go all out with filet mignon, since Linda was paying. This meal could be both lunch and dinner.
After the waiter took our orders, Linda turned to me and said, “How’s business?”
“Fine.” Never let them see you sweat. Even if they’re old friends you haven’t spoken to in forever. Not if they’re going to be your client, maybe.
Linda peered at me. “Are you all right? You look a little . . . pale, I guess.”
I shook my head. “No, no. I’m always pale, remember? I never could get a decent tan.” Plus I don’t feel like playing games, and why are we talking about this?
Linda raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”
I sighed. “I’ll be honest. Things are a bit slow right now, but they’ll pick up I’m sure. They always do.” That’s me. Little Miss Sunshine.
Linda leaned toward me and touched my arm. “I wish we had more time to catch up, but I can tell you about my case and you can see what you think, okay?”
I sat up straighter. “I’m all ears.”
