Diane is cross-examining the prosecution's key witness and Will finds himself leaning forward on his elbows, hanging on every word.
He's seen his new law partner argue in court three times before, and each time she struck him as a formidable litigator – but this time her success is his success.
Damn, she's good.
He sees her small triumphant smile before she sits beside him at the defense table. He nods to her.
"Nice."
She stiffens. "Thank you."
She's been decidedly chilly to him ever since their first meeting and Will suspects that she hasn't been looking forward to working with him. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it either. From what he's heard, he took her for a real battle-axe and expected to have to fight her on everything from what cases to take to what letterhead design the firm should use. But watching the way she handles herself in court and in the office, he can't help liking her. She's a pro. Passionate, sure, but pragmatic as well.
Nevertheless, he can easily see that she doesn't yet trust or approve of him. Which makes the matter he has to broach now even more awkward.
The judge announces that the trial will continue at eleven o'clock tomorrow and dismisses everyone.
Will and Diane gather their belongings and walk out together.
As they reach the courthouse exit, he clears his throat and goes ahead.
"I've been meaning to ask you – I run a regular pickup basketball game on Wednesday nights. A lot of lawyers and judges play in it. I'd love it if you'd come."
Diane has put on her sunglasses, which makes her harder to read, but he thinks he sees the corners of her mouth turn up in the faintest suggestion of a smile.
"Do I look like someone who plays basketball to you?"
Is that a trick question?
"Come anyway," he says. "Come after the game for a few minutes. It's a good place to meet judges and prosecutors who matter."
He smiles apologetically, realizing too late that it's more than a little presumptuous of him to suggest she needs help in that area.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
Will is about to drop it because he never expected her to say yes. He only asked because it would have been rude not to. But she doesn't look like she's through talking to him. In fact, she is looking at him thoughtfully. Something in her expression makes him brave.
"So what's your sport?"
"Pardon?"
"If you don't play basketball, what's your sport? Golf? Figure skating? Rugby? Beach volleyball?"
"Beach volleyball?!"
For a second he thinks he's gone too far. Then he realizes she's suppressing laughter.
"You must have some way of letting off steam."
"Maybe I don't get steamed as easily as you do."
"Hey, I'm known as a pretty cool customer."
She looks skeptical.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah… why? What have you heard?" he says, suddenly paranoid. He doesn't lose his temper too often but there have been some notable exceptions. He's thinking of one particular incident when he was so frustrated by a ruling that he threw an ugly paperweight – a present he received from a cousin when he made partner – and it smashed against his office wall. He didn't count on how much noise it would make and how much attention it would draw. Could Diane have heard about that?
She starts really laughing now – a pleasant, throaty chuckle. "You look so worried! Don't be, no one's been telling me stories. Not about your temperament anyway."
"Yeah? What are they telling stories about?"
"Your prowess on the basketball court, for one thing."
"Don't believe a word of it."
"Oh, I don't."
It's his turn to laugh.
In spite of his boast about his cool head, a week later Will finds himself struggling to keep his temper in a staff meeting.
"What are you proposing to do? Throw out a strategy we've been working from for months? Stern says.
"Judges don't buy this defense," Will says for what feels like the dozenth time. "They've ruled against it time and time again. Just last month a Second District Court Judge rejected a similar argument. I say we stop beating a dead horse and go out on a limb."
He winces and glances around the room to see if anyone noticed the jarring juxtaposition of metaphors. Diane catches his eye and to his great astonishment, she winks at him.
Heartened, Will explains what he has in mind.
Stern throws up his hands. "By all means, pursue your maverick defense. Never mind that the clients are already skittish and threatening to go to another firm. Never mind that this is one of our biggest accounts. Never mind –"
"—Oh, come on, Jonas," Diane interjects. "It's a risk, certainly, but this is the time to take a risk. The strategy we've got isn't working."
Stern hems and haws some more before relenting.
The meeting ends, and Will waits by the door for Diane.
"Thanks for backing me up," he says, falling in step beside her as she strides toward her office.
She shrugs. "You were right."
"I know." Will has a sudden thought and grins wickedly at her. "It's Wednesday," he says.
She stops walking.
"And?"
"Sure you won't come play basketball with us tonight?"
"Will, honestly. Would you pick me for your team?"
"Sure. I bet you've got game."
"What makes you think that?"
"Just a hunch. Everyone has hidden talent."
"What's yours?"
"I'm a good dancer," he offers.
"Really?" she smiles incredulously. "You'll have to prove it to me sometime."
"I look forward to it."
He spins on his heel and returns to his own office, where he gets to work, fueled by his determination to prove Stern wrong.
As he's leaving that evening, Will sees Diane get in the elevator and he moves quickly to join her before the doors shut.
"You're coming, right?" he says, indicating his gym bag.
She shakes her head and looks one part exasperated and two parts amused.
"I don't know," she says. "This pickup game: is it a formal affair, or a 'Come as you are'?"
"Strictly white tie and tails, I'm afraid," he jokes. "I'm planning on wearing my monocle."
"Well, then, you see my difficulty," she gestures at her dress.
"We'd make an exception for you. It's a special clause we have for rookies. No uniform required."
"That's good of you."
The elevator hovers to a halt on the ground floor and they walk together toward the garage.
He continues, "Your shoes, on the other hand, present a problem."
"Why?"
"Can you jump in them?"
"No, not really," she admits.
"Then they're definitely a handicap."
"Damn, and I left my Nikes in my other purse. I guess I'm headed home, then."
"Next week," he says pointing for emphasis. "Be there."
Her laughter echoes through the hallway.
Will doesn't have occasion to talk to Diane for the next few days, and on Monday she leaves for New York to meet with a potential client. He finds that he misses seeing her around the office. In only two weeks, he's gone from avoiding her frosty presence to looking for her friendly face.
Thursday morning, she stands in his doorway, a sight for sore eyes in her dark green dress and asks, "How was basketball last night?"
"You're back! How was the trip?"
"I asked first!"
"We didn't play. We're playing tonight instead."
"Wednesday night basketball on Thursday night? Is that allowed?"
"There's a special provision in our charter."
"I should have known."
"You're coming tonight, then?" he says.
"I have plans."
"What plans?" he says, instantly curious. Is Diane dating someone? What kind of a guy would she date? He has no idea.
"I'm going to see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Art Institute."
Will gets a pained look.
"You're not a fan of the Dutch masters?" Diane says.
"It's not that. There's something about museums. My feet always hurt."
"Maybe you wear the wrong shoes."
Will smacks his forehead. "Of course! I should wear heels!"
"They would make you taller," she points out.
"Hard to see how that would be an advantage. Unless there are paintings on the ceiling. Are there paintings on the ceiling?"
"I'm not telling you. You'll have to go see for yourself."
"Doesn't sound like something I would do," he says.
"Wear heels or go to a museum?"
"Go to a museum."
She rolls her eyes. "Come on. It's culture. It's good for you. You should come with me tonight."
"And miss basketball?"
"Come some other time, then. How about this weekend? I'll make you a deal. If you'll go see the exhibit with me, I'll stop by your basketball game next week."
"Really?" He looks at her face. She's smiling, but she isn't kidding. "Okay then. Deal."
He meets her in the museum lobby on Saturday afternoon.
"I see you've opted for flat shoes," she comments.
"Yes, but I'm wearing fishnet stockings under my clothes."
"I can tell."
He looks confused and she laughs at him.
He almost has to pinch himself. He still can't believe they're joking like this. But it's so easy. Somehow as conversationalists, they're perfectly in tune with each other. They were also in tune in court the other week. They won their verdict handily.
To the extent that he has an opinion on the subject, Will prefers modern art, and the Rembrandts don't exactly thrill him. He tries to remember something he learned in the art history course he took as an undergrad that he can say if Diane tries to strike up an intellectual conversation. But she just gazes serenely at the paintings, so Will does likewise.
He perks up when they move on to looking at the regular collection.
Admiring the massive canvass of Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte, he tells Diane, "I've got this on a coffee mug. I didn't even know the real thing was here."
"You've never seen it before? You live here. How can you fail to take advantage of what the city has to offer?"
"And how many Cubs games have you been to?" he says.
"One or two," she says.
"Really? Who did they play?" Will says, pressing the point.
"I don't remember," she concedes.
"Try to pay more attention when you come to basketball."
"I'll bring a scorecard."
Will catches the pass from his teammate and makes the lay-up easily. The game is three-quarters over and his team is pulling ahead. As he jogs across the court, he catches sight of Diane, who has just arrived and is arranging her coat and bag on the bleachers.
Will grins and picks up his pace. This is no time to appear sluggish. He plays like it's the high school state championships.
The game ends and he exchanges fist bumps and pats on the back with a few teammates, all the while watching Diane out of the corner of his eye.
She's still wearing work clothes and yet, possibly because she looks happy and relaxed, or else maybe because she has the definite advantage of being the only person in the room who isn't sweating, she doesn't seem out of her element.
She's exchanging pleasantries with a couple of prosecutors as Will approaches. He had sort of envisioned introducing her around, but of course she knows almost everyone here. It shouldn't come as a surprise. After all, she's been practicing law in this town far longer than he has.
"Wow. Nice game," Diane says as Will joins her.
Her enthusiasm is genuine. He's tickled.
"I'm better when I have someone to impress."
"I'll remember that."
He walks with her to the parking lot, and when they reach her car, he looks her in the eyes and says, "Thank you for coming. Really."
He decides it would be overdoing it to add, It meant a lot, so he does his best to convey this last thought with his serious expression.
"You're welcome. I enjoyed it. But," she holds up a cautioning finger, "this was a one-time thing."
"Understood." It would be easy to make a joke, but Will isn't in the mood. "I like working with you."
"I like it too," she says.
"I think we might be a good team."
"Are you surprised?"
"Yes," he admits.
She looks thoughtful. "Me, too."
"You heading home?" he asks.
"Yes," she says, turning toward her car.
"See you tomorrow."
"Have a nice evening."
He turns to go, but she catches hold of his sleeve.
"Will," she says, "I couldn't have asked for a nicer surprise."
Will smiles. He smiles all through the drive back to his apartment. Hours later, he falls asleep with the smile still on his lips.