Reasonable Doubt (3 page)

“She sent you another ‘You and me belong together’ note with chocolates?”

“No, she offered to suck my dick.”

“What?” She gasped. ”You’re kidding!”

“Unfortunately not. After that, she told me she was willing to give me her virginity. Needless to say, I’ll be posting a replacement ad pretty soon. Anyone from your office want to work for a better firm? I’ll double the salary.”

“How do you know that
my
firm isn’t better than yours?”

“Because you call and ask me for advice on cases all the time—silly cases at that. If your firm was better, you’d never have to ask.”

“Whatever.” She groaned. “Have you bucked off the online dating wagon yet?”

“
Bucked? Wagon
?” I could never understand her little Southern metaphors. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ugh, god...” She sighed. “It means you didn’t update me about your date last night so I guess it was a bust, which means you haven’t slept with anyone in over a month. That has to be a record for you.”

“It is.”

“Do you want some advice?”

“Not unless you want to come to my office and tell me
in person
.” I smiled.

“No, thanks. Speaking of advice, I’ll need your help Friday night.”

“With what?”

“I just landed a pretty big case. I haven’t gone through all the documents yet, but I already know I’m in over my head.”

I leaned back in my chair. “If it’s that big of a case, you could bring the documents to my condo tonight. I’d be happy to help you sort through them. Categorization has always been my specialty.”

“Ha! Nice try, but I don’t think so.” She continued to talk about her case, but I was only halfway listening. It still struck me as odd that she didn’t want to meet me in person, that she shut down the very thought any time I brought it up.

“Also...” She was still rambling. “I’ll probably have to do some research on those changes. I’m not sure if—”

“Tell me the real reason why I can’t meet you in person.” I cut her off.

“
What
?”

“We’ve known each other for six months now. Why don’t you want to meet?”

Silence.

“Do I need to repeat the question?” I stood up and walked over to my door, locking it. “Did you not understand me?”

“It’s against the LawyerChat rules...”

“Fuck
LawyerChat
.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s against the rules for you and me to have each other’s phone numbers in the first place, for us to act like fucking teenagers and make each other cum over the phone at night, but you’ve never complained about that.”

“You’ve never made me cum...”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You haven’t.”

“So, last week when I said that I wanted you to ride my mouth so I could eat your pussy until you came all over my lips, you were
pretending
to breathe hard?”

She sucked in a breath. “No, but—”

“I thought so. Why can’t we meet in person?”

“Because it would ruin our friendship and you know it.”

“
I don’t
.”

“You’ve told me that you never sleep with the same woman twice, that after you sleep with someone you’re done with her.”

“I’ve never fucked one of my
friends
before.”

“That’s because I’m your only one.”

“I’m aware, but—” I stopped. I had no defense for that.

Silence lingered over the line, and I tried to think of another argument.

She spoke up first. “I honestly don’t want to ruin our friendship over one senseless fuck.”

“I guarantee we’ll have more than
one
senseless fuck.”

Her light, airy laugh drifted over the line, and I sighed—attempting to envision what she looked like. I wasn’t sure why, but over the past few weeks, I’d been longing to experience her laughter face to face.

“You know,” she went on, “for a high profile lawyer, you have a pretty dirty mouth.”

“You’d be surprised how much filthier it can get.”

“Filthier than what I’ve already experienced?”

“
Much filthier
.” I’d been treading the waters since we began this friendship—still hopeful that we’d meet in person someday, but now that we weren’t, there was no point in holding back. “I guess I’ll
talk to you
tonight.”

“Not unless you find another date between now and then. I know you’ll be searching.”

“Of course I’ll be searching.” I scoffed. “Is Alyssa your
real
name?”

“Yes, but I’m sure
Thoreau
isn’t yours. Do you care to finally give it to me?”

“I’ll give it to you when you come to your fucking senses and let me see you.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you?” She laughed again. “What if the real reason I don’t want to meet you is because I’m ugly?”

“I have a good feeling that
you’re not
.”

“But if I
was
?”

“I’d fuck you with the lights off.”

“I prefer the lights
on
.”

“Then I’d make you wear a paper bag over your head.”

“
WHAT
?!” She burst into giggles. “You’re ridiculous! Ugh, there’s a client at my door right now. I have to go. Can I call you later?”

“Always.” I hung up, smiling. Then it hit me.

Fuck...She always finds a way out of that line of questioning...

The willful giving of false testimony under oath.

––––––––

A
lyssa (Well, my real name is “Aubrey”...)

––––––––

“L
ies always catch up to people in the end. Why don’t people understand that?”
That’s what Thoreau’s text message said this morning.

“You don’t think some lies are justifiable?”
I texted back.

“No. Never.”

I hesitated.
“So, you’ve never lied to me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because we barely know each other...”

“Only because you keep me at a distance.”
He sent me another text before I could respond.
“Would you like to know my real name and where I work?”

“I prefer our anonymous arrangement.”

“Of course you do, and I’ve never lied to you. I trust you for some strange reason.”

“Some strange reason?”

“Very strange. I’ll talk to you later.”

I tossed my phone into my purse and sighed, letting that familiar feeling of guilt wash over me. I’d never meant to continue talking to him, to become his friend outside of LawyerChat, but I was in too deep, and I didn’t want to let him go.

Months ago, when I’d spotted the invitation to the exclusive network on my mother’s desk, I swore to only use it when I needed to ask questions for my pre-law classes. I’d used her access code to log in, built a fake profile, and made sure all the questions I asked were weaved in a way that no one would know that they were for homework assignments.

Unfortunately for me, the pre-law program at Duke was unlike any other program in the country. It consisted of more hands-on classes, one-on-one mentoring from practicing lawyers, and it was mandated that each student find an internship for the final four semesters. In addition to that, they expected us to read through and interpret case files like we were already lawyers.

If I had known that asking Thoreau for so much homework advice would lead to an actual friendship, I might have stopped talking to him sooner. Then again, just like I was his only friend, he was my only friend, too.

He was open and honest every time we spoke, and I only wished that I could be the same—especially since he seemed to have a habit of saying, “I hate fucking liars” whenever one of his dates deceived him.

Damnit...

Smoothing the tulle fabric of my tutu, I took several deep breaths; I could think about my friendship with Thoreau later, right now I needed to focus.

Today was audition day for a production of
Swan Lake
and I was a nervous wreck; I’d barely slept the night before, skipped breakfast, and showed up to the theater five hours early.

“Please clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen!” The director shouted from below. “The official auditions will begin in thirty minutes! Please clear the stage and make your way to the wings!”

Before heading backstage, I looked out into the audience. Most of the faces were familiar—my classmates, instructors, a few directors from the ballet company I’d worked for last summer, but the faces I needed to see weren’t there.

They never were.

Hurt, I found a corner in the dressing room and called my mother. 

“Hello?” she answered on the first ring.

“Why aren’t you here?”

“Why aren’t I
where
, Aubrey? What are you talking about
now
?” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“My open audition for
Swan Lake
. You promised that you and dad were coming.”

“It’s Aubrey, honey!” She yelled to my dad in the background. “Your recital was today?”

“I haven’t been in a
recital
since I was thirteen.” I gritted my teeth. “This is an audition, a once in a lifetime audition, and you’re supposed to be here.”

“I guess my secretary forgot to tell me about it this morning,” she said. “Have you landed any internships for your major yet?”

“I have
two
majors.”

“
Pre-law
, Aubrey.” 

“No.” I sighed.

“Well, why not? Do you think one is just going to fall from the sky and land in your lap? Is that it?”

“I had an interview yesterday at Blaine and Associates,” I said, feeling my heart grow heavier by the second, “and I have another one next week at Greenwood, Bach, and Hamilton. I’m also about to audition for the role of a lifetime if you’d like to pretend to give a fuck for five seconds.”

“
Excuse me
, young lady?”

“You’re not here.” There were tears in my eyes. “
You’re not here
...Do you know how huge this production is going to be?”

“Are you getting
paid
? Is the New York Ballet Company running it?”

“That’s not the point. I’ve told you over and over how important this audition is to me. I called and reminded you last night, and it would be really nice if my
parents
showed up and believed in me for a change.”

“Aubrey...” She sighed. “I do believe in you. I always have, but I’m in the middle of a huge hearing right now and you know that because it’s all over the papers. You also know that becoming a professional ballerina is not a stable career choice, and as much as I would
love
to leave my high-paying client to watch you tiptoe around on stage—”

“It’s called dancing
en pointe
.”

“Same thing,” she said. “Regardless, it’s just an audition. I’m sure your father and I won’t be the only parents who couldn’t make it today. Once you graduate from college and get into law school, you’ll see ballet for what it really is—
a hobby
, and you’ll be grateful that we pushed you into double majoring.”

“Ballet is my
dream
, mother.”

“It’s a phase, and you’re way past the prime age for becoming a professional last time I checked. Remember how you suddenly up and quit at sixteen? You’ll quit again, and it’ll be for the best. As a matter of fact—”

I hung up.

I didn’t want to listen to another one of her dream-killing speeches, and it angered me that she’d called ballet a “phase” when I’d been dancing since I was six years old. When she and my dad had poured countless dollars into private classes, costumes, and competitions.

The only reason why I’d “quit” at sixteen was because I’d broken my foot and couldn’t audition for any of the dance schools anymore. And the only reason I started to show the faintest interest in law was because I couldn’t do much outside of my rehab sessions except
read
.

My heart had always belonged in pointe slippers, and that fact would never change.

“Aubrey Everhart?” A man suddenly called my name from the theater door. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re next to take the stage. Got about five minutes.”

“Be right there...” I stuffed my bag into a locker. Before I could close it, my phone rang.

Knowing it was my mother calling to offer a half-assed apology, I tried my best not to scream. “Please spare me your apologies.” I immediately picked up. “They don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“I was calling to tell you good luck,” a deep voice said.

“Two minutes!” A stagehand glared at me and motioned for me to head onto the stage.

“
Thoreau
?” I turned my back to the stagehand. “What are you telling me good luck for?”

“You mentioned having some type of audition weeks ago. It’s today, right?”

“Yes, thank you...”

“You don’t sound too excited about your
dream
right now.”

“How can I be when my own parents don’t believe in it?”

“You’re
twenty seven years old
.” He scoffed. “Fuck your parents.”

I laughed, guiltily. “I wish it was that simple...”

“It really is. You make your own money, and despite the fact that you don’t really know shit about the law, you seem to be a pretty decent lawyer. Fuck them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, trying to steer that subject away. “I’m shocked you remembered that my audition was today.”

“
I didn’t
.” He hung up, and I knew he was smiling as he did that.

“Fifteen seconds, Miss Everhart!” The stagehand grabbed my arm and practically pulled me onto the stage.

I smiled at the judges and stood in fifth position—arms over my head, and waited for the first note of Tchaikovsky’s composition to play.

There was a rustling of papers, a few coughs from someone in the audience, and then the music began.

I was supposed to demonstrate an arabesque, a pirouette, and then perform the routine that I’d been rehearsing in class for the past month and a half. I didn’t feel like it, though, and since this was one of my last opportunities to make an impression, I decided to dance how I wanted.