Practice Makes Perfect

  It was a cop-out, he knew. But the alterative was the truth, and the truth—at least with the way she was looking at him right then—did not appear to be the most viable option.

  Payton stared at him with an expression of disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Is there really anything I could say that would make a difference?” J.D. was pretty certain he already knew the answer to that.

  And here he’d thought her eyes couldn’t get any colder.

  As Payton backed away from him, her gaze was absolutely icy. “I guess we’ll never know,” she said in a flat, emotionless tone.

  Then she turned and walked away.

  Twenty-six

  “WHY THE HELL don’t you have your cell phone turned on?”

  Outside Wrigley Field, J.D. stormed over to the will-call booth where Tyler waited, too angry to bother with a greeting.

  Tyler didn’t appear to notice the frustration in J.D.’s voice. He pulled out his phone and looked at it matter-of-factly.

  “Would you look at that—the battery’s dead. I must’ve forgot to charge it. Oh, well.”

  J.D. could’ve strangled him. Three weeks ago, Tyler had suggested they catch a game the night before the partnership decision, as a distraction. At the time it had seemed like a great idea. But now, after everything that had just happened with Payton, baseball was the last thing on his mind.

  “ ‘Oh, well?’ ” he said. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.”

  “Sorry.” Tyler cocked his head. “What’d you want?”

  “To tell you that I wasn’t going to make it tonight.”

  “You came here to tell me you’re not coming?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes,” J.D. said, exasperated.

  “But if you’re not coming . . . then how are you here? Wait—is this a time-travel kind of thing? If so, you’ve got to tell me how that works, because I would really love to go back to Saturday night and tell myself not to bring home Ms. Looney Tunes, because that girl has—”

  “Screw this.” J.D. whirled around, cutting Tyler off. “I should’ve let you sit out here all night waiting.” He began walking back to his car. Normally, he could take all the shit Tyler wanted to dish out. But not tonight.

  “Hey, J.D.—come on,” Tyler said, following him. “I’m just messing with you. Hold up a second.”

  J.D. slowed down, then finally turned around.

  Tyler saw the look on his face. “What happened?”

  J.D. looked up at the sky, shaking his head. He still couldn’t believe it himself.

  Seeing his reaction, Tyler took a guess. “The firm. They told you their decision,” he said in a somber tone.

  J.D. laughed bitterly. “I wish that was it.” He was struck by his choice of words. That was quite a statement to make.

  Tyler seemed less surprised. He stepped over and put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder. “So, then. Do you want to tell me what happened with Payton?”

  J.D. didn’t know where to start. He ran his hand through his hair. “I . . . wow, I totally fucked it up.”

  Tyler nodded. “I’ll tell you what—we’re both here, and I’ve already got the tickets. Let’s go inside, have a beer, and you can tell me everything.”

  J.D. knew that Tyler had sprung for club box seats, just five rows back from the dugout, and felt bad letting his friend’s money go to waste. Plus, the part about the beer didn’t sound like a bad idea. He was going to need something alcoholic—probably several somethings alcoholic, in fact—just to get through this conversation.

  “Okay,” he agreed. He followed Tyler inside the stadium.

  STAYING TURNED OUT to be a surprisingly good idea.

  It was easier for J.D. to talk while pretending to keep an eye on the game. Discussing his emotions wasn’t exactly something that came naturally for him, and the game gave him the opportunity to look away from Tyler during certain key parts of the conversation.

  He told his friend about the weekend in Palm Beach, about Paytons’s hesitations concerning the partnership decision, and what she had said to him in the parking garage just a couple of hours ago.

  Which then brought him to the conversation Payton had overheard between him and Ben, and more important, to the lie he had told Ben several years ago.

  It was here that J.D. stopped. As much as he might’ve wanted to gloss over that particular part of the story, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Tyler, who had been relatively quiet up until this point, ran his hand over his mouth, and then exhaled loudly. “J.D. . . . that’s pretty bad.”

  “I know.”

  “How did Payton react when you admitted what you’d told Ben?”

  “Not well.” J.D. peered over at Tyler. “She wanted to know why. So I told her that I’m an asshole.”

  “I’m guessing that didn’t go over any better.”

  “No, it did not.”

  Tyler looked at J.D. expectantly. “So? Are you at least going to tell me the truth?”

  J.D. took a moment, then looked back toward the game. “It was a few years ago, at the firm holiday party. Payton had brought a date, some writer she’d met at the gym or something, and they were standing at the bar getting a drink. And I remember, as I watched her . . . I guess it was the way she smiled at the guy. The way she laughed at something he said. It made me think, it made me wonder what it would be like to . . .” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Ben caught me staring at her, and he cornered me the next day at the office and made some jokes about it. I panicked, thinking he might say something in front of Payton, so I made up a story that I thought would get him off my back. A story that would . . . make things seem like less than they were.”

  “Make things seem like less than what?”

  J.D. paused. Then he slowly looked over and stared Tyler straight in the eyes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

  “For how long?” Tyler asked, shocked.

  J.D. considered this. “About eight years now, I guess.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Tyler’s expression was one of disbelief. “All this time.”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “This whole entire time.”

  “What do you need to know, like, the exact moment?” J.D. asked.

  “Well, now that you mentioned it, I am kind of curious. Wait, let me guess—from the first moment you met her,” Tyler joked.

  “Actually, no, smart-ass.” J.D. paused. “It was the second moment.” I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, J. D. Jameson. Yep—he had spent years trying to deny it, even to himself, but that sly little look of hers had pretty much done him in for good.

  Tyler laughed. “No offense, J.D., but isn’t that a little deep for you?”

  “I’ve managed to remain remarkably shallow in pretty much all other aspects of my life. I figure it balances out.”

  Tyler nodded. “Good point.”

  The crowd around them suddenly roared and things turned ugly as people began booing the umpire. For a few minutes, J.D. and Tyler were distracted, swept up in the game. Then the fans quieted down, satisfied that their indignation had been properly expressed, and everyone went back to their beers, hot dogs, and peanuts. They were Cubs fans—they got over disappointment quickly.

  Tyler and J.D. ordered another round of beers from a vendor passing by. After they shuffled their money down the row, and the beers made their way back, Tyler settled into his seat.

  “You have to tell her, you know.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” J.D. said. “I don’t think she’ll care. You didn’t see the look on her face as she walked away.”

  “But before that, she came after you to tell you she wanted to be with you. There’s hope in that.”

  J.D. took a sip of his beer. “Even if she could forgive me for the thing I told Ben, I think she’s right. At the very least, it’s going to be awkward between us after the firm’s decision. And there will be tension
, lots of it. Maybe even resentment.” He switched his beer back and forth between his hands. “I don’t want to start something with her that’s destined to fail. That would be worse than not being with her at all, I think.”

  Tyler shifted in his seat. “Have you considered . . .” he trailed off, uncertain whether he should even suggest such an idea.

  “Yes.” J.D. had already considered the possibility, even though he couldn’t say it out loud. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I, uh . . . whew.” He took a deep breath. “I really don’t know that I could do that. Maybe if I knew it would make a difference. Maybe.”

  “There’s no way of knowing that, J.D.”

  “I’ve grasped that, yes.”

  Tyler grabbed J.D.’s shoulder. “I wish there was more I could say, buddy. But I think you’re just going to have to ask yourself what you’re willing to risk for a chance to be with her. That’s really what it boils down to, isn’t it?”

  J.D. took a moment to consider his friend’s words. “It’s not just the job, you know,” he finally said. “I’d like to at least walk out of there tomorrow with my pride. I’m not exactly good at putting myself out there.”

  Tyler laughed. “You don’t say?”

  “Do you have any advice that’s actually constructive? Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy trite commentary and rhetorical questions as much as the next guy, but can you at least throw me a bone with something helpful?”

  Tyler turned serious. “Listen—I can’t give you any advice on what to do about the thing you don’t know if you can do. Only you can make that decision. But in terms of whether you should put yourself out there, I’ll tell you this: If I was Payton, and I had overheard what you’d said to Ben, I wouldn’t even have bothered to give you the opportunity to explain yourself. I would’ve pulled out my white glove and slapped you across the face and walked away.”

  “I just want to clarify—in this scenario, are we also in a Bugs Bunny cartoon?”

  “It’s a metaphor, J.D.”

  “I would guess so.”

  “Fine, I’ll be more blunt: You don’t like to put yourself out there? Well, too bad. Fuck your pride—it’s the only chance you’ve got.”

  “You’re asking me to sacrifice the two things that have probably most defined my entire adult life,” J.D. said.

  “I’m not asking you to do anything,” Tyler told him. “I’m just telling you what I think has to happen if you want any chance of making things work with her.”

  J.D. nodded and fell quiet. There really wasn’t anything else to say on the subject.

  Like it or not, he knew Tyler was right.

  Twenty-seven

  PAYTON STARED OUT her office window.

  She had just discovered that she had a view of the lake.

  True, it wasn’t a good view. In fact, it wasn’t even a mediocre view, but if she looked to the right, there it was: breaking between two black skyscrapers, a narrow sliver where the crystalline water of Lake Michigan met the brighter, lighter blue of the summer sky.

  Strange that she had never noticed that before. Then again, maybe not so strange—she hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time in her office gazing out the windows.

  Laney had called and offered to wait with her, and though appreciative, Payton had declined. This morning was something she needed to face on her own. Besides, she wasn’t exactly good company right then.

  As she’d already done several times, Payton checked the clock on her desk. She closed her eyes. Ten o’clock. Finally.

  It was time.

  As if on cue, she heard a knock on her door. Payton turned around, saw Irma through the glass, and nodded.

  Irma stepped inside. “Ben said you can come down to his office now.”

  Payton couldn’t help it—she glanced across the hall. She saw Kathy leave J.D.’s office, presumably having just told him the same thing. She could see J.D. through the glass and noticed that he appeared to be hesitating.

  If he was waiting for her, thinking they would walk down to Ben’s office together, he was going to be waiting a long time. In light of what had happened yesterday, she had absolutely nothing to say to J. D. Jameson.

  After a few moments, Payton saw him leave and turn down the hallway toward Ben’s office. She gave him a moment’s head start, then not wanting to delay any further, strode out of her office with what she hoped was an expression of optimistic confidence. Even if she didn’t feel it, she was determined to look the part.

  When she got to Ben’s office, she found not only the head litigation partner there but also the other six members of the firm’s Partnership Committee. They sat in chairs flanking Ben’s desk, forming a semicircle with him in the middle. Two empty chairs had been placed in front of the partners, presumably for her and J.D.

  “Come on in, Payton,” Ben called from his desk.

  Surprised to see both chairs empty, Payton looked around and saw J.D. standing off to the side of the room. He looked up as she entered and for a moment, Payton was tempted to avert her gaze. Then she thought—The hell with that—and stared him straight in the eyes. With her head held high, she took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Ben’s desk.

  Ben glanced over. “J.D.?”

  Payton kept her gaze fixed on the partners as J.D. took the seat next to her.

  “Payton, J.D.—you obviously know why we brought you here,” Ben began.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Payton could see J.D. glance in her direction.

  “We know how important this is to both of you, how much dedication each of you has shown to the firm. All of us on the Partnership Committee deeply regret the circumstances that have forced us to make this choice.”

  Payton could feel J.D.’s eyes rest on her as Ben continued.

  “You’re both very talented lawyers, and that has made our decision extremely difficult. Nevertheless, it was a decision we had to make, and we have done so.”

  Payton could see J.D. shift again in his chair, and she noticed that he bounced his leg nervously. Finally, unable to resist, she looked over.

  As if he’d been waiting for just that, J.D. held her gaze. His eyes searched hers, and he had an expression on his face that she had never seen before. One of uncertainty.

  Then something happened. Payton saw a flash in his eyes, and he clenched his jaw.

  “All right, Payton,” he said. “Fuck it.”

  He turned to Ben.

  “I quit.”

  Payton’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  That was the collective reply from pretty much everyone in the room.

  J.D. stood up from his chair. “I resign. Effective immediately.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Payton told him.

  J.D. looked down at her. “Yes, I do.”

  Now Payton stood up, too. “No, really, you don’t.” She turned to Ben. “Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Anyone who knows J.D. knows he’s willing to do anything to get this.”

  J.D. moved to her side, speaking in a lower voice. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks.” Without further ado, he took her by the elbow and led her to the corner of the room.

  When they got there, Payton folded her arms across her chest and lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “How dare you even think about trying this,” she hissed. “I told you before, I won’t win by default.”

  “I’m resigning, Payton,” J.D. said firmly. “Even if they did choose me, I couldn’t accept it. Not after what I said to Ben.”

  “Fine, I get it. Mea culpa. I don’t care—I’m ready to accept the firm’s decision, whatever it is. At least after today, I’ll never have to see you again. So can we get on with this?” She turned back toward her chair, but J.D. grabbed her by the elbow again.

  “No. I want to talk to you.”

  “Sorry—you had your chance to talk yesterday. Now I’m focused on more important things.”

  “What happens
between us isn’t important to you?”

  “Are you kidding me with this shit?” Payton gestured to the row of partners who were staring at them in utter confusion. “Seriously, J.D.—you want to talk about this now?”

  “Yes. Now,” he said.

  “Oh, in that case . . . sorry—still no.” Payton pointed. “And by the way—I forgot to tell you this last night: you’re an asshole.”

  Over at his desk, Ben sat upright in his chair, obviously having at least caught that part.

  “Whoa—Payton, J.D.” He looked between them, confused. “When the hell did you two start fighting?”

  A thousand snide retorts came to Payton’s mind. She was quickly scrolling through the list, debating whether she could get away with any of them, when she felt J.D.’s hand on her arm.

  “I want to talk to you, Payton,” he repeated. “We can either do this here or somewhere more private. You decide.”

  From the determined look on his face, Payton could tell he was serious. She turned and saw seven pairs of stunned and extremely curious Partnership Committee eyes on them.

  She smiled politely.

  “Would you excuse us? We’ll only need a moment.”

  PAYTON AND J.D. stepped out of Ben’s office and turned the corner into the main hallway. They both stopped, surprised by what they saw.

  A crowd—it had to be at least half the office—had gathered in large, gossiping groups. Attorneys, secretaries, legal assistants, everyone. They all fell to a hush as soon as the two of them came around the corner.

  J.D. noticed a particularly tight group huddled around Irma and Kathy’s desks that included a very sheepish-now-that-I’ve-been-busted-looking Tyler, the Brandon/Brendan kid, and what looked suspiciously like the top of Laney’s head peeking out from behind the plant on Irma’s desk.

  Everyone was silent, staring at them.

  J.D. felt compelled to say something. “We’re on a break.”

  He heard the confused whispers.