Until I Saw Your Smile (14 page)

She can't be my age, can she?
“No, really? You look young for your age.”

Angela laughed. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“That didn't come out the way I wanted it to,” Matthew said.

“You should have stopped at ‘you look young.' ”

And this moment, she does look young. She has such a smooth face with only a few tiny crow's feet around her eyes.
“Honestly, Angela, you look like you're fresh out of college.”

“Don't I wish,” Angela said. “I didn't get the opportunity to go to college.”

“You still can.”

“That requires money I do not have.” She flattened her hands on the table. “And may never have.”

“Maybe going back to school and a career change are what you need,” Matthew said. “You're young enough to learn new skills and not too old to hate the learning process. Believe it or not, I used to work for Schwartz, Yevgeny, and Ginsberg.”

Angela blinked and shook her head. “You used to work for those idiots?”

She has definitely heard of SYG.
“I was one of their biggest idiots.”

“Did they fire you, or did you quit?” Angela asked.

“A little of both, and in a blaze of glory. I blew a case on purpose.” He closed his eyes. “I had a meltdown during a summation.” He opened his eyes. “They frown on that sort of thing at SYG.”

Two customers came in.

“Hold that thought,” Angela said. “I'll bring you some more coffee, too.”

“Okay.”

After she waited on the two customers and they left, Angela returned with a fresh pot, filling Matthew's cup to the top. “Tell me about your meltdown.”

I haven't told anyone but Joy, yet here I am spilling it to Angela.
“Not many people know the full story. SYG kept a pretty tight lid on it. They wouldn't like the world to know that one of their lawyers had a sudden streak of integrity.”

“That would ruin them for sure,” Angela said. “What happened?”

“We were suing an upscale, state-of-the-art retirement apartment house in New Jersey on behalf of its former tenants,” Matthew said. “One of the residents left a pan on the stove too long, and the place burned down. No one was killed, thank God, but we put together a class-action lawsuit that would have destroyed two of the nicest people I had ever met. Bill and Emma Turman. They really took a deep interest in the people in their care.”

“But you sued them anyway,” Angela said.

“Yeah.”
We were leeches.
“And the whole time I
knew
it wasn't their fault. They had everything up to code—the best sprinkler system, every safety device possible, emergency exits clearly marked. All the smoke alarms were blaring, and their outstanding, dedicated staff did an expert job clearing the building. I told the jury all of that in my summation. I even said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm sorry for wasting your time this past week. Please don't give these money-grubbing people what they
don't
deserve.' And they didn't.” He smiled. “After that, I took what SYG affectionately calls ‘an early retirement.' ”
It was really a ridiculously lucrative severance package designed to keep me quiet. SYG didn't want the world to know how badly they screwed up by making me lead counsel on such a high-profile case.

“I can see you saying all that,” Angela said.

“You can?”

Angela nodded. “Have you ever regretted doing it?”

“No.”
Well, only when I look at my bank statements.
“My only regret in life is that I didn't have a meltdown sooner. Okay, I regret quitting Brooklyn Legal, too. I was doing good things all the time there, but there was so much to be done. I couldn't keep up with the misery. There's so much need and misery around here.”

“I know.” She smiled. “And now you're on your own.”

“And living off the money I earned with Schwartz, Yevgeny, and Ginsberg.” He sighed. “They paid me an ungodly amount of money for hurting people. And now I don't have many clients, and most of the clients I do work for I never see again. I'm kind of a one-night-stand lawyer. See me once and you'll never have to see me again.”

“Who was your last client?” Angela asked.

“The Haitian wannabe adulteress,” Matthew said.

Angela blinked slowly. “No way.”

“Well, actually her church was my client,” Matthew said. “I made a hundred bucks in two hours.”

Angela shook her head.

“What?” Matthew said.

“Nothing.” Angela wrinkled up her lips. “Nothing at all.”

Oh, I think I know what that “nothing” means.
“You think I only represent the women I date these days.”

Angela shrugged. “It seems that way.”

“You know, it does.” He shivered. “I hope Allison doesn't need me for anything.”

Angela stood, pressing her hands into the small of her back. “You could represent me against my landlord and the ridiculous rent increase he's asking.”

She must not sleep well. But who am I to talk? I sleep in an easy chair.
“Is it a standard lease agreement?”

“Yes.”

“I read thousands of those at Brooklyn Legal,” Matthew said. “If you signed it, your landlord has every right to raise the rent when the lease is up as long as he gives you adequate notice of the increase.”

“Could you at least talk to him for me? I want to scare the man a little.” She picked up his phone and turned it on.

The phone buzzed again.

“Did you two . . . did you . . . get intimate?” Angela asked.

“No,” Matthew said, his face reddening. “She passed out. Chicken
piccata
chased by ten beers ended up on her white bedspread. Twice.”

“Ouch.” She punched in a number. “I'm sure he's awake. Evil never sleeps.” She handed Matthew the phone. “His name is Mr. Jacobs.”

“Capable Management Company, this is Hal Jacobs.”

Capable Management. Man, Angela couldn't have a worse landlord. We received hundreds of complaints against them at Brooklyn Legal.
“Mr. Jacobs, this is Matthew McConnell, and I represent Angela Smith. I understand you're raising Miss Smith's rent in June.”

“I have the right,” Mr. Jacobs said, “and if she can afford a lawyer, she can afford an increase in rent.”

Should I tell him I'm being paid only in food so far?
“Why are you raising the rent, Mr. Jacobs?”

“La Estrella is opening across the street from her,” Mr. Jacobs said.

“We both know La Estrella might not last through the spring,” Matthew said. “You saw what happened to Starbucks a few years ago. They put too many stores out there and lost a ton of money.”

“I believe La Estrella is different,” Mr. Jacobs said. “It fits the neighborhood.”

He has a point. The neighborhood is much more Hispanic than when I was young.
“Mr. Jacobs, there are at least two dozen coffee shops in Williamsburg that I know of. One more won't make much of a difference. Williamsburgers are a loyal breed. They stick to their favorite coffee shop.”

“Until they close,” Mr. Jacobs said.

Nice guy.
“Aren't you worried that the rent increase will put Miss Smith out of business?”

“So it puts her out of business,” Mr. Jacobs said. “That's the way things go sometimes.”

Jerk.
“And then you'll have to lease out this space to someone new.”

“I already have much interest in her property,” he said. “
Much.
”

In your dreams, Hal.
“Has Miss Smith ever been late on her payments?”

Silence.

“Mr. Jacobs?”

“No,” he said. “No, she hasn't.”

Matthew covered the phone. “Angela, how many years have you been here?”

“My family has been in this space for forty years,” Angela said.

Wow. This is a family business, and I know nothing about her family.
He uncovered the phone. “Has Miss Smith or her family ever been late on a payment in forty years?”

“No.”

“Mr. Jacobs, that's almost five hundred on-time payments,” Matthew said. “Isn't that rare?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Isn't it nice to get a guarantee in life like that?” Matthew asked. “You can always count on Angela Smith, can't you?”

“Yes, and I will count on her to either pay the increased rent or vacate the premises in June,” Mr. Jacobs said. “Good-bye, Mr. McConnell.”

Matthew closed his phone.

It buzzed again.

He turned it off.

“He's a tough sell,” Matthew said sadly. “How much is the increase?”

“Five hundred a month.”

“Ouch.”
That man is high in every sense of that word.

Angela drifted toward the counter. “At least you tried. And thanks for saying what you said about me.”

“What'd I say?” Matthew asked.

“That he could always count on me.”

“Hey, so can I.”

Angela smiled. “Finish your breakfast. It has to be cold.”

I think I've made a friend. I like to see her smile. Okay, I like to
make
her smile.

Matthew watched Angela interacting with a steady stream of customers from eight until ten. She greeted each customer by name. She knew everyone's “favorite” before anyone even asked. She cracked jokes, and she smiled the entire time.
She does the soft sell so well, but it's her smile that makes the sale.

Around 10:30, during a lull, Matthew approached the counter with his plates.

“I would have gotten to them,” Angela said.

“But I work here,” Matthew said.

“Temporarily.” She wiped the counter. “Why are you still here?”

“I have to clean up later.”

“So come back later.” She polished the already sparkling surface.

He held up his phone. “I feel safer here.”

“Go home,” Angela said. “Come back later. I'll still be here.”

He snatched the towel from her hand. “I need your undivided attention.”

Angela blinked at him. “Okay. You got it.”

This feels right.
“Angela, what if someone covered the increase in your rent?”

“Who would do something like that?” she asked. “And why?”

I would, because I don't want you to go. You belong here. There would be an incredible void on this street without you.
“Well, let's say a once high-flying lawyer needs clients because he's rapidly going broke.”

“And let's further agree that potential clients come into this truly iconic coffee shop every day, a small percentage of whom desperately need a lawyer's help,” Matthew said. “If said lawyer can help even one person who comes in to drink your coffee and eat your pastries, word-of-mouth advertising will do the rest, and the lawyer will thrive again.”

Angela continued to blink.

Is she breathing?
“Angela, I can be a coffeehouse lawyer. You'll be the barista, and I'll be the barrister. What do you think?”

Angela pointed to her sign. “I'm
not
a barista.”

“I know,” Matthew said. “I was making a play on words. So, Angela, what do you think?”

“I think . . . you're as crazy as Allison is, and I think you're even crazier because I know you're sober.” She snatched back the towel.

It's my turn to blink rapidly.
“It's a completely logical proposition.”

“I've never heard of such a thing.” She resumed polishing the counter. “A coffeehouse lawyer?”

“Come on, Angela,” Matthew said. “The Italians have had something like this for centuries. You need to see the
guy,
you go in to see the
guy,
you ask to see the
guy,
you see the
guy,
the guy hooks you up, you
owe
the guy . . .”

“The
guy
is crazy,” Angela said.

She seriously doesn't like my idea.
“But I love this place.”

She waved the towel at the middle booth. “You love that booth. It already has your butt prints on the seat.”

“Well, it's comfortable,” Matthew said, “but you'd need to make some changes if I am going to become your partner.”

“My what?” Angela asked.

“Do you have Wi-Fi?” Matthew asked.

Angela shook her head slowly. “Are you kidding? I don't want people loitering in here all day and running up my electric bill. No way.”