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That was the year I decided to pursue law as a career at the behest of my lawyer father, and so decided to try out for the debate team.
I can still smell the classroom where Ms. Moody held tryouts after school. Chalk dust and Pine Sol. And then she walked in. Hunter green turtleneck sweater with school logo. Charcoal gray wool pencil skirt that hugged her hips as she walked in with those chunky, lace-up witchy heels and thick, opaque tights. Hair up in a tight bun and thick glasses. She may have had every inch of her skin covered apart from her face and hands, but the way that skirt flaunted her hip sway when she walked was everything. Every stitch of clothing she wore was carefully chosen and created the perfect, soft silhouette. The dip of her waist from her hips was so abrupt, I couldn’t help but picture my hands there, holding her flush against my body. Full lips curved into a slight, knowing smile, and eyes the color of a cloudy day that threatens a storm. She oozed sex without knowing it.
“Let’s begin tryouts. Mister McRae, you’re first. What have you prepared for us?” And that voice: sultry and challenging.
Of course, I’d prepared nothing. I thought I’d wing it, standing up in front of her and the whole seasoned debate team to speak extemporaneously about—what was it again? Oh yeah—
“The death penalty.”
Ms. Moody’s lips quirked upward in a look of skepticism. “This topic has been around the block many times, so you’d better
give me something good, McRae.”
Some dudes might find this emasculating. I actually felt a twitch in my pants while she essentially labeled my topic as unoriginal.
Ms. Moody started the timer and I gave my argument. I completely focused on her, not once muttering “um” or glancing out the window. I did not search the ceiling tiles to try to remember my points, nor at the ground when I was uncertain. I just kept staring into those dark gray eyes of hers. And she stared back at me with her head tilted slightly to the side, her elbow resting on her desk, hand in the air quietly clicking her pen. Call me a late bloomer, but that was the first erection I ever got at school.
When I finished my argument, she leaned back, crossed her arms in front of her and said with a look of someone who’s intrigued but suspicious, “Mister McRae, you are a decent enough speaker. You need to make your point much faster if you want to excel at debate. And you also need to not be full of shit. If I catch you winging it, ever again, you’re off the team.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, my eyes still searching hers for something. How did she know I had totally winged it?
I did get something from the look in her eyes. A glimmer of hope. Damn me if I didn’t see a rosy flush creep up above the line of her turtleneck sweater, and her eyes blink rapidly and cut away to pretend to look at her legal pad, on which she’d written zero notes.
That was the moment I fell in love with her. What can I say? I love a powerful, no-nonsense woman.
I knew I should stay away. Nothing good could ever come from pursuing a teacher as a student. But I never let go of that tiny moment she lost her armor.
The way I pursued her was reckless that year. If anybody suspected anything, she surely never would have been promoted to headmistress now.
Her absence at graduation finally convinced my head to let her go. I thought I could get over her once I moved on to college and law school.
But I knew down deep in my heart that I would always love her.
* * *
Someone hands me a glass of cucumber water.
I look up and it’s Megan, Garcia’s receptionist. “While you wait,” she says with a friendly smile.
I’m grateful for the water so I pound it back and hand the glass to Megan, cucumber slices still intact.
“Thanks so much but cancel that meeting. I’ve…I’m going to go revise this.”
She shrugs, caring absolutely nothing about what I’m up to.
I march back down to my office on the floor below and immediately shred the disclosure document.
Nobody needs to know.
I grab a stress ball from my desk—one of many—and pace in front of my office window, thinking about what to do.
If the case gets reassigned, then that other attorney could get these Chamberlain pricks everything they want. They could bully the board of trustees to hire who they want. They could try to get the school under their control and send it backwards three decades. Everyone ever associated with Greenbridge knew of the constant complaints and bullying tactics of this family.
Well, they can try.
The first thing I learned after being hired on as a new associate at this particular firm is that sometimes you have to take clients who are assholes. You have to just hold your nose and look at the dollar signs. Billable hours and winning are the only things that matter.
In this case, as ludicrous as it sounds, I don’t want to win.
