Until (26 page)

As his smile disappeared Mr. Latrobe said, “Are you serious?”

Betty nodded her head. “Actually, Mr. Latrobe, I don't think I've ever been more serious in my life. I mean this is why I could not enjoy my success before. Because I knew I would have to put up with the normal office politics. I understand, but I didn't become an attorney to return a profit to the partners. And the only way I can avoid it would be to start my own firm.”

“Ms. Robinson, may I ask you a simple question?” Benjamin Latrobe put on his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “How will you start a firm? I know you are an extremely bright woman, but are you aware of how difficult it is on this side of the desk?”

Looking him in the eye, she said, “I have no idea, sir. I have no idea how I will put this together and once again I'm scared to death. But for the first time I'm in control, and I think the risk is worth the reward.”

Several minutes later Mr. Latrobe and Betty emerged from his office laughing and were greeted by Charles Fitzgerald. “Good Morning, Benny. Good Morning, Ms. Robinson. Sounds like you guys had a great meeting.”

“Good morning,” they both said as the laughter died away.

“So are we at a point were we can present something to the partners? This lady's not going to break us, is she, Benny?”

Betty smiled and looked at Mr. Latrobe as he said, “Well, Chuck, we'll talk.” And then he looked at Betty and said, as they shook hands, “Betty, I think you are a fine woman. I was impressed after talking to Chuck about you, but even more so today. You've got guts. Most people are afraid to do what you are about to do. I can't tell you how many associates I have who I know would do well on their own. But they lack courage and that's why most people settle for mediocrity in life, because they're afraid to take a chance. I started this firm with Chuck thirty years ago, and no one thought we could do it. But you've got what my grandmother in Tennessee called
gumption.
You'll do fine, and if you ever need me . . . you have my personal number. Call me.”

“Thanks, Ben,” she said, and then shook Mr. Fitzgerald's hand. “Thank you, too, sir. It was a pleasure.”

“A what?” Mr. Fitzgerald said as he looked back at Mr. Latrobe. “What do you mean, what she's about to do?”

“Chuck, we'll talk. Betty, good luck,” he said as Betty turned to walk away.

As she passed a trash can she tossed Evander's key into it as she heard Mr. Fitzgerald say, “But I thought it was a go. What happened?”

Betty sat in her home office in front of her computer making notes on her yellow legal pad. From the funds she had in her 401K investment portfolio and personal retirement, she
could start her firm without the necessity of going further into debt. She had put together a list of fifty potential clients she had worked with or met while at Murphy, Renfro and Collins, and she had called her friend Agnes Murphy for sage advice. Everything looked so good as she glanced at the numbers on the pad she wondered aloud, “Why didn't I do this years ago?”

The phone rang, and as she blindly placed her hand on the receiver she looked at her Caller ID box and noticed the call's origination. Alachua County Corrections. As the phone rang for the second time Betty took her hand from the receiver. So much was happening that she did not want to revisit the event of the previous week. The phone rang for the third time as she stood and walked away, but on the fourth ring she lunged for it and answered. She was going to be strong and face her fear this time.

“Hello,” she said with no emotion in her voice.

“Betty, thanks for answering. I know you know it's me, so please don't hang up.” Betty remained quiet as he said, “This is my last quarter to make a phone call. I tried to call you at work today, but that bitch Carol lied and said you don't work there no more. Betty? Beep? I know I was wrong. I've thought about nothing else all weekend. I'm not calling you to forgive me, because I know it's too soon for that And I know I don't deserve that I just wanted to call to say . . .” And then he lowered his voice. “I love you. Beep? You there?”

Betty refused to give him the satisfaction of saying a word.

“You've got to believe me, baby. You even heard me tell Martin that when I was on the phone that night.”

Quietly Betty said, “You said you had
feelings,
Evander. That we were just kicking it.”

“Beep, it's the same thing. Men don't go around telling other men they're in love! Understand?” Betty held her tongue as he raised his voice. “Betty? Beep? Like I said, I know I was wrong. Looking back, I can see that now. But today I spoke to the PD's office because I couldn't afford an attorney. They sent this kid here who must be no more than twenty years old. His name is Karl. Karl Guillaume. But everyone in here calls him Karl Guilty because he never wins a case. Beep, I know I was wrong. I admit that, but I
need a fair shake in court too. Just like anyone else. Betty? Are you there? Betty,” he said after a pause, “I know you have friends in the court system and I know you can get me out of this mess. If you want me out of your life, although I think we can get over this, I'll leave. I made a mistake. Have you ever made a mistake? Honestly, Beep. I'll even pay you back the money on the gas card.”

Betty closed her eyes and whispered, “What gas card?”

“Anyway, Betty . . . Beep, this is no place for me. You know I've never been in a place like this before. I mean I've been charged, but I was never booked. About an hour ago, Betty”—he paused as she heard tears thicken in his throat—“two or three guys came after me in the shower. They wanted to—”

“Two or three guys? You don't remember how many?”

“Okay, dammit! It was one, Beep. But damn, the brother was huge and he tried to take advantage of me. Someone tossed me this sawed-off mop handle and I hit him. Actually, I knocked the shit out of him, and they tell me as soon as the paperwork goes through, I'll be in lockdown. The only way I'm making this call is because a friend of mine works here. Betty, I know I was wrong, but you can't let them send me away for this. Beep, please!”

Betty leaned back in her chair and said softly, “Evander? Let me get this straight, because I want to be fair to you. You may not believe it, but I really do. You deserve that much because I know deep inside you're a sincere person. But what you did hurt me more than anything I can ever remember. So let me repeat what I believe you are saying. Okay?” Betty paused, remembering the time when she'd asked him in her bedroom, “Evander? Will it always be this good?”

“Okay here goes,” she said. “You violated me, right?”

“Well, Beep, I wouldn't call it . . . well, yeah, I guess . . . yeah, I was wrong.”

“Okay. And now you want
me
to get
you
out of jail for something you did to me?”

“Baby, please. See, actually, I found out they couldn't hold me on the first charge, but they can send me away for a criminal assault charge.”

“I see.”

“Betty? Please don't make a decision now. I know you
are a fair person and I know you are not vindictive. I know you are bigger than that. But please, baby, just think about it overnight. What I did was wrong and I'm prepared for the consequences, whatever they may be.”

“Evander, as long as I've known you, I've known the very gentlemanly, kind side of you. And God only knows there are too many black men in jail today. But do you realize that in this entire conversation you have not once said the words . . . ‘I'm sorry'?”

“Beep, I did. I said it when you picked up the phone. I'm sorry. See? I'll say it again. I'm sorry and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

Softly Betty said, “When I sat in my car that night I tried to blame myself for what happened. I kept asking myself over and over again, what did I do wrong. Why couldn't
I
make
you
happy?” And then with a pause to gather her composure she said, “I tried to tell myself that it had to be fifty-fifty. That it took two to tango. But that night was the first night I could understand how abused women might feel. Monday night was the first night I truly understood how those women felt in the class action suit. When someone takes something away from you that even money could never replace. I also understood something my foster mother told me years ago. Sometimes in order to live, a little bit of you must die. That never made any sense to me . . . until that night. A part of me died on the floor of that room, Evander. But somehow I know it has made me stronger. It gave me the strength to make other changes in my life. So as I sat in my car thinking about you and all the good times we had . . . about the first time you sent me flowers and when you gave me the keys to your house . . . when I sat there thinking about the trip to Orlando, all I wanted to hear from you was an apology. All I wanted was for you to say, I'm sorry.”

“Betty,” he said contritely. “Again, baby, I was wrong. I'm sorry.”

Betty smiled sadly and said, “You know, Vander? I thought that would make me feel better. I guess once again I was wrong about you. Good night.”

   Dear Drew:

Thank you for making me smile at the beginning of each day. Since I try to get up before the sun rises, it's nice being able to read your letters over a cup of tea. I know that is an odd way to start a letter, but so often in life I think we take small things for granted. I know I have in the past.

In one of your letters a while back you were reminiscing about Felicia and what she meant to you. I did not want to answer when you asked me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realize Zelma was right when she said Felicia loved you more than you knew but could not face reality. Death is a terrible thing to have staring at you. I have often wondered how I would handle being issued a death sentence, and I can't truthfully say I would have handled it any differently than she did. Think about it. This young lady has waited her entire life for happiness, for a man to send her roses, to take her to vacation spots many people can only dream of. And one word takes it all away. The word “cancer” turns her dream into one long nightmare.

Deep inside, yes, I feel she loved you. So much so she could never end a letter to you with complete finality. She closed it by saying Until . . . because she could not bear saying good-bye. A love like that. Drew, would never hurt you intentionally.

If you love something, can you hurt it? My point is, maybe it was just hard love. Maybe she did not want to see you dwelling in the past. Possibly it was a way for her to allow you to get over her death.

I' ve often thought of the story you told me about the birds and finding your south together. Maybe this was just a way to assist you in finding your south.

I read a book recently where this lady was abused by her husband who was a police officer. When she was faced with no other viable options, she decided to go into something similar to a witness protection program for battered women. But to do so, she had to change her name, move to another state, and leave her old
life. And it reminded me of something someone once told me. Something I rarely thought about until the past few weeks, and now I can't get it out of my mind. A part of her had to die in order for her to live again. Drew, maybe you had to suffer that pain in order to be ready for love next time around, because I am a firm believer that it's in those moments when we do suffer that we discover our truest character.

As I was driving home last night, the song “Joy Inside My Tears” came on and I kept asking myself, how could there have been joy inside the tears I shed a few weeks ago for Evander? And then it became clear to me. Before him, I thought I was emotionally impaired because of something that happened to me early in my life. Now I know that is not the case. I know I can love and I can feel loved. So I guess to answer my own question, the lesson I have learned from this experience is that what I've worked so hard for my entire life is out there, somewhere. And also that whatever we go through in life . . . if finding our south is the outcome . . . it's worth it all.

Drew, I have no idea what tomorrow holds for me, but for the first time in my life I am no longer waiting . . .

Until . . .

Betty

Betty spent the rest of the day looking for discount furniture for B.A. Robinson, attorney at law. She had secured a location to lease from a client who also promised to give her his business in the future. Her former secretary, Carol, had resigned and would join her the first day the firm opened. When she'd gotten the call she'd thought it would be just another
guess what is happening now in the firm
call. But Carol, who was nearing the point when she would have secretarial seniority, told her that working for O'Shaughnessy was not the same. That his style of plodding through cases reminded her of just how much she enjoyed working with Betty.

“Carol, I'm flattered, and God only knows I could use the help. But I could never ask you to—”

“Then hire me.”

“Carol, honey, it's not that simple.”

“I know. But hire me anyway.”

“But I don't have any—”

“Don't worry about it. If we can get a couple of juicy cases, the money will come. You don't work in a town this many years and not know anyone, so I think I can help you there too. I was the third secretary Jack hired, and I remember a lot of things he did starting out. I know things have changed, but I'll do whatever I can to help you build the firm. Besides, I can't stand working there anymore.”

Betty was speechless. Finally she asked, “Can you start next Thursday?”

“Betty, I could start yesterday.”

And then she'd received a call from Burt Collins, who'd invited her to lunch. He'd indicated the partners had voted him into the office of senior partner, and in that capacity he wanted to meet with her personally to find out what had
happened and what, if anything, they could do to bring her back.

Betty had ended the call by saying, “Thank you, sir, but no, thank you.”

As she sat at her desk, the fears of starting the firm dissipated. Agnes Murphy had put her in contact with a friend who was unsatisfied with the attention his business had received since the death of Jack Murphy. Over lunch he'd handed Betty a retainer check which allowed her to start the firm without the necessity of depleting her 401K or other personal assets. Feeling good, Betty took a break and reread a letter from DLastRomeo.

   Dear Betty:

I woke up early this morning to write you another letter, only to find you had beaten me to the punch . . . again. When you initially told me you were starting a business I got the sense from your letter that you were doing it because you did not find a suitable company to work for and did not want to leave town. But now I sense the reasons flow deeper for you and I am excited about your future as an entrepreneur. The fears you feel are only normal. After the number of years I have been in business I still have those fears. But those emotions are what push me and they will do the same for you.

The advice you gave me about Felicia was indeed needed. It's difficult being a man and expressing that side of you. I feel women in the office get a little tired of it, and while I am not always successful. I try to keep my personal business out of the firm. I talked to my mother about it. but she just said that I needed to get over it and get on with my life. So it's wonderful as a man to have a friend with whom I can share all of the aspects of my life. Betty, to me you are such a friend.

Your last letter made me think about a number of
things, but what stands out the most is what you said about dying in order to live. I prayed and asked God more times than I will say, why? And what's the lesson in all of this? Where was my silver lining? Thank you for helping me to see a different viewpoint.

I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but Felicia had a passion for reading. I always read too, but my books were mostly motivational authors, as I mentioned to you in our first conversation. She would always try to get me to read novels, and I just never had time. I remember when everyone was talking about “Exhale,” and she went to a book signing and brought me an autographed copy. I never read it. They tell me she fell asleep on her last day on this earth reading “If This World Were Mine.” Kinda appropriate, huh? I finished reading that book for her and now I share that same passion for reading. Even in death, the woman continues to teach me how to live.

Remember I shared with you a few problems Walt and Peggy were going through? Peggy followed him to a hotel one day after work last week and she sat there watching him having sex with another woman through a crack in the curtains. I asked her why she would put herself through that and she just said she had to see it for herself. Don't ask me why she would endure such pain, but she is convinced it has helped her come to terms with it better.

Peggy moved out last night with the boys. She told Walt she loved him and always would. But she had lost her trust in him and felt it would never return.

Grace is still dating this guy who plays for the Jaguars. He had an off-season accident which I doubt will allow him to see much action next season. But as a result they' re spending more time together and I would not be surprised if they're engaged in a couple of months.

Remember my friend Zelma? Well, she just got a
promotion and is now one of the vice presidents of Con-National. Unfortunately she is still alone as far as I know. Her ex-fiancé Vince came back into her life for about a month, although he's married, but could not deal with the money issue. So now she spends her weekends attending expensive tennis lessons and gourmet cooking classes, and she spends her nights dining and going to plays . . . alone.

Well, I must wrap this up because I am running late for a wedding. About a month ago I got a call from this lady who asked me what I thought about the prospects of her marrying this guy. Initially I was totally against it. But the more she talked, the more I sensed a side of her I had never heard before. She spoke of the love they had shared and how that love had endured through the years. She was married before, but the man, although he was a good guy. was never what she would call a friend. So now she is happy and I have given her my blessings. Today, in my parents' backyard, I will give my mother away in marriage to Mr. Douglass, and I've never seen her happier.

Love's a funny thing, isn't it?

Until . . .

Drew