The House

“That old guy who was about two hundred years old?” he asked, sounding as though he were struggling with something, like getting into his car, or picking up a heavy bag.

“He was ninety-nine. Yeah, him.” They spoke with a shorthand they had developed over four years. Like their relationship, there wasn't a lot of romance to it, but it seemed to work for them. Their alliance wasn't a perfect match by any means, but she accepted it. Even if not totally satisfying, it was familiar and easy. They both lived in the here and now, and never worried about the future. “I'm really sad. I haven't felt this bad over something like this in years.”

“I always tell you not to get too involved with your clients. It just doesn't work. They're not our friends. You know what I mean?”

“Well, in this case I did. He didn't have anyone but me, and a bunch of relatives he'd never even met. He didn't have kids, and he was really a nice man.” Her voice was soft and sad.

“I'm sure he was. But ninety-nine years is a hell of a good run. You can't exactly say you're surprised.” She could hear by then that he was in the car, on his way home. He lived six blocks from her, which was convenient a lot of the time, particularly if they switched locations from her place to his, halfway through the weekend, or had forgotten something they meant to bring.

“I'm not surprised. I'm just sad. I know it sounds dumb, but I am. It reminds me of when my father died.” She felt vulnerable admitting it to him, but after four years, they had no secrets from each other, and she could say whatever she wanted to, or needed to at the time. Sometimes he got it, and sometimes he didn't. So far, he didn't tonight.

“Don't even go there, babe. This guy wasn't your father. He was a client. I had kind of a shit day myself. I was in deposition all day, and my client in this case is a total asshole. I wanted to strangle the son of a bitch halfway through the deposition. I figured opposing counsel would do it for me, but he didn't. I wish to hell he had. We'll never win the case.” Phil hated losing cases, just like he hated losing at sports. It put him in a bad mood sometimes for weeks, or days at least.

He played softball in the summer on Monday nights. And rugby in winter. He had played ice hockey at Dartmouth, and had lost his front teeth, which had been beautifully replaced. He was a very handsome man. At forty-two, he still looked thirty, and was in fantastic shape. Sarah had been bowled over by his looks the first time they met and, much as she hated to admit it, ever since. There was some sort of powerful chemistry between them, which defied reason or words. He was the sexiest man she'd ever met. It wasn't enough to justify the four years they had spent in a weekends-only relationship, but it was definitely part of it. Sometimes he drove her nuts with his inflexible opinions, and frequently disappointed her. He wasn't deeply sensitive, or overly attentive, but he definitely turned her on.

“I'm sorry you had such a lousy day,” she said, feeling as though his didn't even begin to compare to hers, although admittedly depositions could be a bitch, and so could bad clients, particularly in his line of work. Labor law was incredibly stressful. He handled a lot of discrimination and sexual harassment cases, mostly for men. He seemed to have better rapport with male clients, maybe because he was such a jock. And his firm had a lot of female partners, who worked better with their female clients. “Do you want to come over on your way home? I could use a hug.” It was a request she almost never made of him, except when it was direly needed. And it was tonight. She felt terrible about Stanley, no matter what his age when he died. He was still her friend, and not just her client, whatever Phil said and even if he was right about it being unprofessional. Phil never got emotionally involved with his clients, or anyone else, except her to some degree, and his three kids. They were all in their teens, and he had been divorced for twelve years. He hated his ex-wife with a passion. She had left him for another man, as it happened, a running back for the 49ers, which had nearly driven Phil insane at the time. He had lost to an even bigger jock, which was the ultimate insult to him.

“I'd love to, babe,” Phil said, in response to her request. “I really would. But I'm wiped out. I just played squash for two hours.” She knew he must have won, or he would have been in a rotten mood, which he didn't seem to be, just tired. “I've got to be back in the office at eight in the morning, to get ready for another deposition. I'm in depos all this week. If I come over, one thing will lead to another, and I won't get to bed till late. I need my sleep, or I'll be a mess at the depos.”