Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3
Frustrated, I slipped out of bed and walked down the hallway—straightening the “E” and “H” frames that hung on the wall while trying not to look too hard.
I was going to need more than my usual few shots to get through tonight, and I was starting to become extremely annoyed that I hadn’t f**ked someone in what felt like forever.
I poured two shots of bourbon and tossed them down back to back. Before I could pour another, my phone vibrated. An email.
Alyssa.
Subject: Performance Quality.
Dear Thoreau,
I’m sure that right now you’re in the middle of f**king yet another conquest, and are seconds away from giving her your infamous “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” line, but I was just thinking about something and HAD to email you…
If you enjoy sex as much as you claim you do, why do you only insist on one night? Why not a strictly friends with benefits relationship so you won’t have so many dry spells? (I mean, this is day thirty of “Operation: Still No Pussy” for you, correct?)
I’m actually starting to wonder if the only reason you give one night is because you already know that your performance won’t be good enough to warrant another...
Having a subpar dick isn’t the end of the world.
—Alyssa.
I shook my head and typed a response.
Subject: Re: Performance Quality.
Dear Alyssa,
Unfortunately, I am not in the middle of f**king another conquest. Instead I’m busy typing a response to your latest ridiculous email.
This is indeed day thirty of your appropriately named, “Operation: Still No Pussy,” but since I’ve f**ked you over the phone and made you cum, it hasn’t been a complete failure…
I do in fact enjoy sex—my c**k has an insatiable appetite for it, but I’ve told you countless times that I don’t do relationships. Ever.
I refuse to even address your last paragraph, as I’ve never received a single complaint about my “performance” and my c**k is far from being subpar.
You are quite correct in your closing statement though: Having a subpar dick really isn’t the end of the world.
Having an un-fucked pu**y is.
—Thoreau.
My phone rang immediately.
“Seriously?” Alyssa blurted out when I answered. “Does your message really say what I think it says?”
“Have you suddenly forgotten how to read?”
“You are ridiculous!” She laughed. “What happened to your date tonight?”
“It was another f**king liar…”
“Aww. Poor Thoreau. I was really hoping the thirtieth day would be the charm.”
I rolled my eyes and made another drink. “Is living vicariously through my sex life your newfound hobby?”
“Of course not.” Her light laughter drifted over the line, and I could hear the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Where are you from?”
“What do you mean, where am I from?”
“Exactly what I asked,” she said. “You can’t be from the South. There’s no drawl or even a hint of an accent in your voice.”
I hesitated. “I’m from New York City.”
“New York?” Her voice rose an octave. “Why would you ever leave there to come to Durham?”
“It’s personal.”
“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave New York. It seems so perfect. And there’s just something about the lights and the lives of people who stay there, how they all must have these huge dreams and…”
I tuned her out and tossed back my shot. Her poetical waxing about that desolate place needed to be put to a stop. Fast.
“And wouldn’t the law firms in New York be far more alluring than the ones here?” She was still talking. “Like, one of my favorite—”
“What’s the name of that ballet you’re auditioning for this year?” I cut her off.
“Swan Lake.” She always dropped the subject if I said anything about ballet. “Why?”
“Just wondering. When is the audition?”
“A few months from now. I’m trying as hard as I can to balance my classes—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m trying really hard to balance my case loads with my practice time.”
“Why don’t you just ask your boss if you can work weekends in exchange for a couple weekdays off?”
“I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”
“Of course it would work,” I said. “There’s a lawyer at my firm who works Saturdays through Wednesdays so he can pursue music. If the firm you work for is worth a damn, they’ll be flexible with you.”
“Yeah, um, I guess I’ll have to look into that…”
Silence.
“What firm do you work for?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“What’s one of the partners’ names?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
“But you can tell me how deep you want my c**k to be buried inside of you later tonight?”
She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that drove me insane the more I heard it.
“How much longer do you think I’m going to put up with just talking to you on the phone, Alyssa?”
“For as long as I want you to.” Her voice sounded more confident now.
“You think I’m going to talk to you for another month without being able to f**k you? Without being able to see you in person?”
“I think you’ll talk to me for several months without f**king me. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll talk to me for years without f**king me because I’m your friend, and friends—”
“If I haven’t f**ked you within the next month or two, we won’t be friends anymore.”
“You want to bet?”
“I don’t have to.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop, ready to give Date-Match another try. The second I clicked the prettiest woman on the page, an email from Alyssa popped onto my screen.
Subject: Trust Me.
You and I will still be friends a few months from now, and you’ll be completely okay with not seeing my face.
Watch.
—Alyssa.
Subject: Re: Trust Me.
You and I will be f**king a few months from now, and the only reason I’ll be okay with not seeing your face is because you’ll be riding my c**k as I bend your ass over a table.
Watch.
—Thoreau.
Testimony (n.):
Oral evidence given under oath by a witness in answer to questions posed by attorneys at trial or at a deposition.
Andrew
“Miss Everhart, you can take the floor and question Mr. Hamilton now,” Mr. Greenwood said from across the courtroom.
It was the last day of the month, which meant that we were finally getting use out of the million dollar courtroom that sat on the top floor of GBH. There was no need for this room, but since the firm had more money than it knew what to do with, the space was being used for the interns’ mock cases.
Today’s “trial” was about some idiot who defrauded his own company’s employees—leaving them without insurance and health care, and unfortunately, I was playing the accused.
Standing up from the defense table, Aubrey grabbed her notebook and took the floor. She and I hadn’t spoken since I kicked her out of my condo two weeks ago, but from what I could tell, she seemed unfazed.
She’d been smiling quite often, being extremely nice, and each time she delivered my coffee she did it with a smirk and an, “I really hope you enjoy this coffee, Mr. Hamilton.”
I’d been stopping at the coffee shop up the street ever since…
“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, smoothing her tight blue dress, “is it true that you previously cheated on your wife?”
“I’ve never cheated.”
“Stick to the character, Andrew.” Mr. Bach whispered from the judge’s seat.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. There was a time when I cheated on my wife.”
“Why?”
“Objection!” One of the interns shouted. “Your Honor, do we really need to know the specifics about my client’s love life? This mock trial is about his involvement in a conspiracy.”
“If I may, Your Honor,” Aubrey spoke before the “judge” could say anything. “I think assessing how Mr. Hamilton behaved in his previous affairs is a good assessment of his character. If we were trying a client who abandoned his company due to incompetence, it wouldn’t be out of line for me to ask about his previous personal relationships—especially if our mock client is a high profile one.”
“Overruled.”
Aubrey smiled and looked at her notebook. “Do you have commitment problems, Mr. Hamilton?”
“How can I have a problem with something I don’t believe in?”
“So, you believe in engaging in one night stands for the rest of your life?”
“Your Honor…” The opposing intern stood up, but I raised my hand.
“No need,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Aubrey. “I’ll entertain Miss Everhart’s inappropriate line of questioning...I believe in living my life however the hell I want and dealing with women whenever I want to deal with them. I’m not sure how who I sleep with has anything to do with this mock conspiracy case, but since we’re discussing my sex life, you should know that I’m happy and satisfied. I have a date later tonight actually. Would you like me to report the details to you and the jury tomorrow?”
The interns in the jury box laughed as Aubrey’s smile faded. Even as she forced it again, I could see a hint of hurt in her eyes.
“So…” She took a deep breath. “Regarding the case—”
“So happy you’re finally getting on topic.”
The jurors laughed again.
“Do you believe in morals, Mr. Hamilton?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you think you possess them?”
“I think everyone does to a certain extent.”
“Permission to approach the witness?” She looked at Mr. Bach and he nodded.
“Mr. Hamilton, can you read the highlighted portion of this document please?” She placed a sheet of paper in front of me, and I noticed a small handwritten note at the very top of the page:
I f**king hate you and I wish I’d never met you.
“Yes,” I said, taking a pen out of my pocket. “It says that my company was unaware of insurance policy changes at the time.”
As she handed a copy of the document to the jury panel, I wrote a response to her note:
Sorry to see that you regret meeting me, as I don’t regret meeting you—only that I f**ked you more than once.
She asked me to read another section to the court, and then she took the paper away—glaring at me once she read my words.
I tried to look away from her, to focus on something else, but the way she looked today prevented that from happening. Her hair wasn’t up in her signature bun—it was falling past her shoulders in long curls that grazed her br**sts. And the dress she was wearing, a highly inappropriate one that hugged her thighs a little too tightly, rose up an inch every time she took a step.
“I have three more questions for Mr. Hamilton, Your Honor,” she said.
“There’s no limit, Miss Everhart.” He smiled.
“Right…” She stepped forward and looked into my eyes. “Mr. Hamilton, you and your company led your employees to believe that you cared about them, that you had their best interests at heart, and that you would literally communicate the actual changes you would make before termination. Are those promises not directly from your company’s brochure?”
“They are.”