Summary: Remember Judith Sandler, the art restorer from the episode "Survivor?" Well, she's out of prison, and who does she run smack into but the cop who arrested her -- Det. Lennie Briscoe.
A LOT OF TROUBLE
Chapter One
"I'm not sure I should let you stay," teased Judith Sandler as she was sitting on Lennie's lap with her fingers laced at the back of his neck. "You're practically a stranger. Maybe we're going to need to start courting all over again."
"I know, I know – it's been really crazy. I think the city homicide rate has gone up 10% in just the last two weeks. But court you all over again? That I couldn't go through."
Judith flinched inwardly, as not so long ago she had contributed to that rate, but she decided to concentrate on his latter comment instead. "We were one for the books, weren't we?" she chuckled.
"Babe, we still are one for the books – Guinness, Ripley's, and maybe a few more I haven't heard of."
"And still we got through it, didn't we? Well, so maybe I'll let you stay after all. And as it's already after 10:30, you may as well."
And then Lennie's beeper went off. Judith growled slightly and banged her forehead on his shoulder. He'd sworn that it was highly unlikely he'd have to go back out tonight, but she knew better than to complain. A half-year of going out with a cop had taught her that even a simple date was a fifty-fifty proposition at best.
"Sorry, gonna have to get this."
Judith retreated to the end of the couch where she propped her face in her hand. What was it going to be this time, she wondered?
Lennie retrieved his beeper from his belt and checked the read-out. He looked a bit puzzled. "That's strange," he muttered.
"Not the precinct? Ed? Surely he hasn't had time to get to Atlantic City yet."
"No. It's a 518 area code. Glens Falls."
"Your daughter?" asked Judith, surprised. Lennie had gotten calls from his daughter but not at this time of night – at least as far as she knew.
"Yeah, but it's not her home number."
"Lennie, you better call."
He reached for her phone but then said, "Um, will it be okay. . .?"
"For heaven's sake, don't worry about it." They'd been going out for all these months but hadn't really spent enough time together to entirely have settled the who-pays-for-what questions, and that situation had not been made any easier by some of what Judith considered to be Lennie's old-fashioned ideas – ideas that ranged from endearing to irritating. As he punched in the numbers, she asked, "Should I . . . ?" and indicated she could leave the room if he wanted some privacy.
He moved over and rested his hand on her arm. "No, no – it's okay."
Judith could tell as soon as the call went through that it wasn't good news. Lennie tightened his grip on her, and his face went white. But it couldn't be anything wrong with Julia because he was talking to her. But something bad had happened. Lennie was tersely asking his daughter the details of some incident. Julia's husband, or – oh God, please not Lennie's grandson? Then they were arguing – apparently about when Lennie was going to Glens Falls, he wanting to leave right away but Julia trying to talk him out of it. Judith hoped Lennie would lose that one. Whatever was wrong, he'd been up since four a.m. and definitely did not need to be traveling right now. Fortunately, Lennie gave in but promised to see Julia first thing tomorrow.
He hung up and buried his head in his hands. Not knowing how much he might or might not want to be alone, Judith hesitantly put her arm around his shoulders. He didn't push her away, so she hugged him closer to her and asked, "Lennie? Lennie, what's happened?"
He rubbed his eyes and stared straight ahead. "My grandson Jake. A hit-and-run driver."
"Oh, Lennie, no," she breathed. "Is he. . . ?"
"No, no." Lennie turned to look at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you to think the worst. He's stable, but they don't yet know the extent of his injuries. He's – he's not in good shape."
"Oh, honey." She hugged him tighter, and he responded, burying his face in her long brown hair. " I'm so very sorry. What is he – just ten, isn't it?" He nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak. "Oh, the poor little kid. It's so awful. How are Julia and Bill holding up?"
"She sounded like hell. He was in the hospital room with her, but I didn't talk to him."
Judith rocked him for a couple minutes, neither of them saying anything. Then he suddenly pulled away. "You know? Screw what I told Julia! I'm going up there tonight."
"The hell you are!" and she pulled him back on the couch. "You were dead on your feet when you walked in here. If he's stable, there's nothing you can do tonight that you can't do tomorrow."
"Still. . . " And he started to get up again. "I need to see about renting a car."
"Lennie, that is ridiculous. You'll take mine. But not until you've slept for a while – at least until it's light. Then take the car, go to your place for whatever you'll need, and head out then."
"Maybe. Maybe you're right," he said wearily. "Not even sure I could see the road now."
"That's right. It sure wouldn't do Julia any good if you were in an accident, too, would it?"
He shook his head and was quiet for a moment. And then he said, "Come with me."
She was surprised. "Up there?"
"Yeah, I want you to."
"Are you sure that's such a good idea? At a time like this?"
"I need. . . I don't want to be alone in the car all that time – thinking. . . "
The overdeveloped sense of empathy that had gotten Judith in so much trouble in the past let her know exactly what he'd be thinking. Cathy. He'd be thinking about Cathy and how he couldn't stand to lose Jake, too. But this was the last way in the world she wanted to meet Lennie's family. She thought she probably would one day, but she had pictured it as their being on a visit to the city, but apparently that wasn't the way it was going to be.
"Sure, okay – I'll go for the ride with you. But I don't want to be in the way."
"Whatever – however you want it. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
"It's not me I'm worried about. It's just that it's probably not what Julia needs right now."
"Julia's okay. She was never like. . . "
"Shhhh, Lennie. Not now – you have all you can handle now." Cathy again. From the very little Lennie had talked about her, Judith knew that Cathy had been the difficult daughter. And she knew how much he still regretted that his last few times with her had been far from happy occasions.
"So, you'll go? You can get off work?"
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, yeah – I forgot. You're fire-proof."
Well, it was true. Judith was in high demand as an art restorer. She could set her own schedule at the gallery. Whatever Judith wants was her bosses' attitude. Anything – as long as she didn't leave and find work elsewhere. They never even gave the slightest thought to her prison record, and for that she was more than grateful. She wondered if Lennie had told his daughter about how they met. Julia might be as easy-going as he described her, but Judith couldn't imagine that not being a hard fact to swallow for any daughter.
"I'll stay with you as long as you need me. Now why don't we sleep?"
"In a minute. I gotta call Van Buren." He picked up the phone but then suddenly dropped it back in its cradle. "Hang on. What you said before – that's not right."
Judith couldn't think what he meant.
"About my not being in an accident, too. It wasn't an accident."
"What happened to Jake? You said it was a hit-and-run."
"And therefore not an accident," he said grimly. "That son-of-a-bitch better be caught by the time. . . "
"Lennie, they have police in Glens Falls."
"Yeah. I'm going to make a call. . . "
She put her hand over his on the phone. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant it's their concern. You have other things to worry about right now."
"But I want to make sure that their investigation. . . "
"No," she said firmly. "What happened to Jake isn't going to any less have happened if you wait until you get there to see what's going on. I'm sure the police there are doing their jobs just as you would here if it were one of their grandsons. If you want to talk to them when you get there, fine. Right now just call Van Buren – only Van Buren -- and then go to sleep so that you can be rested for the trip."
He gave in. "Okay. I'm too tired to argue."
A little bit later, Judith collected a few things to pack as she watched Lennie sleep. He had complained that he wasn't going to get a wink and said he would just sit up until it was light. She looked around for some Xanax – and really had to look hard because she hadn't had a prescription filled in months. She offered him one, which he predictably refused. She'd been ready for that and countered with reminding him of her pathetic driving skills. That did it, and now he was asleep.
Lennie . . . How did he and I ever happen? For only about the hundredth time she asked herself that. An ex-con and a cop. There certainly was no shortage of people who still said it never should have happened. And frequently Judith agreed with them. Her life was better now than she ever thought it could be – certainly better than she deserved. But for Lennie it was a different story. Oh, he always said the right things to her about how he didn't give a rat's ass what anyone else thought, but she knew it had to be difficult. One would think it would all be old news by now, but she knew there were still jokes about "Briscoe's slammer sweetie."
No, never was it supposed to happen – not in one million years. Hell, what were the odds that they ever would have seen each other again? Yet one Saturday afternoon they had both a little too abruptly from opposite directions rounded a corner in the local grocery, entangling their carts and knocking over a pyramid display of canned peas in the process. During mutual apologies, tugging of carts, and fumbling for the spilled cans, Lennie grumbled, "It makes you wonder what they think shelves are for." Something about his voice made her look more closely at her fellow shopper.
"Detective Briscoe, isn't it?" she asked before thinking whether she should have done so or not.
He looked at her in some surprise, apparently not expecting to be addressed by his job title in a neighborhood grocery on a Saturday afternoon. "Yes, um . . . Have we . . . " He was looking intently at her now, and she could tell he was rifling through a mental file drawer. After a long moment during which she wasn't sure if she should identify herself or keep quiet, he said, "Sandler. Judith Sandler. You were . . . "
"Yes, I was," she acknowledged before he could speak aloud of her crime.
"And now you're . . . "
"Yes, I'm out. Released – not escaped."
His eyes narrowed, and it was evident he was calculating the years. She wondered if he knew that a sympathetic judge had knocked down her sentence even further from the already lenient deal Danielle Melnick had negotiated with the DA.
A store clerk arrived to relieve them of pushing the cans out of the aisle.
"It doesn't seem like that long," said Lennie.
"It wasn't. I was fortunate, very fortunate." And she could hear him thinking, Yeah, a whole lot more fortunate than your victim. But he was apparently too polite to say so.
"It sure would seem that way," he said, not at all approvingly.
She looked down, trying to think of some graceful way to end the conversation. Nice seein' ya again wasn't going to do it. It was a very awkward moment for both of them.
"You know," he said finally, "I must have skipped this chapter in the etiquette book."
"I doubt it's been written."
"Well, um, good luck, I guess."
"Thanks," she mumbled, wheeling her shopping cart around so fast she almost hit someone else. She fled and prayed she could get out of the store without seeing the tall detective again.
Now, almost a year later, Judith still was not quite able to laugh about that encounter. She set the alarm for 5am, and as she got into bed, being very careful not to wake Lennie, her mind wandered back over the next few months following the grocery incident. As it turned out, the apartment she had taken after leaving the halfway house was in his neighborhood, so they continued to see each other here and there from time to time, occasionally again in the grocery store. Lennie would wave briefly or sometimes even smile. It was damned eerie. Here was a man who she once had been asked if she thought he was the Gestapo, and he was pleasantly waving at her.
She thought that she was imagining that he seemed a bit more friendly than he had the first time in the grocery store, but later he told her that he had almost immediately looked up her case and decided that his initial reaction to her might have been more harsh than warranted. "You see," he explained later, "what I remember most are the bod -- , er, crime scenes and the arrests." And neither the crime scene Judith was responsible for or her arrest had been particularly pretty pictures. He said he did make an effort to keep up with convictions and sentences of cases that he had worked on, but unless he was required to testify at trial, he generally knew fairly little about what happened following arrests. He had heard at the time but forgotten until he looked up her case what part that rich bastard Richard Peterson and his phantom coin collection had played in the homicide and how even the victim Stephen Campbell had contributed to the events leading to his own death. Considering those facts and how – well, frankly, "unhinged" she had been at the time, Lennie said that he had to concede that perhaps her three years sentence at Beacon was not out of line.
Still, he never spoke until a couple months later. And that was the occasion of another collision – this time Judith and a boy on a bicycle. She never really figured out exactly how that happened except that the idiot kid was riding on the sidewalk. She was just walking home one afternoon, and, whoosh, out of nowhere he barreled into her. She went sprawling, stunned but not hurt badly. The kid, however, veered right into a brick wall and was lying on the sidewalk unconscious with blood beginning to pool around his head. Judith regained her feet and went to him. She had a really bad few seconds when all she could think of was Stephen Campbell in that same condition, but she pulled herself together because the boy – he looked to be about twelve or thirteen – needed help. What to do, what to do? She was trying to remember some basic first aid. A few people who had seen what happened gathered around, but they seemed more bewildered than Judith. "Someone have a cell phone?" she screamed. "Call an ambulance – quick!" She took off her coat, knelt beside the boy, and covered him with it. Don't move him – that's right – she was sure she remembered hearing that. The pool of blood was getting larger. She heard confused voices around her.
"Police. Step back here. What happened?"
"Crazy kid hit that woman with his bike!"
"Then he cracked into that wall!"
"Did someone call an ambulance?"
That last question was answered by an approaching siren. She felt hands on her shoulders pulling her up.
"Look, miss, the paramedics will be here in a second. You've covered him – that's all you can do right now."
She turned to the person who was pulling her to her feet. "Detective Briscoe?" she mumbled confusedly.
"Miss Sandler. We meet again. Are you okay?"
She nodded. Actually, she wasn't. Something hurt somewhere, but she hadn't quite figured out what yet. "He's . . . Is he . . . ?"
"No, he's breathing. It's gonna be okay."
Then the paramedics were there. The detective walked her to where she could lean against the wall out of the way. Something definitely was hurting. Some people were looking at her curiously. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the boy was on a stretcher and being put in the ambulance. The detective was talking to the paramedics. Then the ambulance pulled away, and he walked over to her and handed her her coat.
"Thanks," she said. "How is he?"
"Won't know for sure until they get him to the hospital, but they're pretty experienced with these things, and they think he just knocked himself out of the box. His name is Phillip Minelli. You can call later to see how he's doing if you want."
She nodded. "And all the blood?"
"Not unusual for a head wound. Superficial, they say. Looked worse than it is."
Then she felt something on her leg and bent to brush it away. She felt mangled pantihose, and much to her surprise, her hand was covered in blood. So, that's what had been hurting.
"Hey! That's not his blood – it's yours. Why didn't you say something while the paramedics were here?"
"I didn't know until just now," she said dazedly. "I knew something hurt, but I didn't know what. Must have been the bike's fender."
He bent to look at her leg. "I don't think that it's all that deep, but you need to have it looked at."
"I'll just clean it up at home. It'll be okay."
"You don't want it to get infected or worse. You had a tetanus shot lately?"
She shook her head. "No, but right now I just want to go home and wash it . . . "
"Come on," he interrupted. "There's a walk-in clinic about a block and a half from here. I'll walk you there."
"No, really," she protested. " That will just take hours, and I . . . "
"It'll take only a few minutes. You see, I have a special pass called a badge. Amazing what it can do."
"But I really don't want to . . . " she protested again to no avail as she was being propelled down the street.
And she didn't like his touching her. His hands were on her arm and shoulder, and she was having a panicky flashback to that day when he and his partner and that woman ADA showed up at her apartment. Her breath began to come in huge gasps.
"Whoa, whoa," he said and stopped to look at her. "Am I walking too fast for you? Does your leg hurt? It's not that much farther, but we could get a cab."
"No, no," she managed to get out while trying to get her breath. "That's not it. It's just that . . . "
"What?"
"You . . . You took me some place once before."
He closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement. "Oh, God," he said. "I am sorry. I didn't think – well, I just didn't think. Look, just take some deep breaths, and try to get a grip on the situation, okay? I know you've got some unpleasant memories, Miss Sandler, but this isn't the same thing at all. You're the good guy this time – you were trying to help that kid, and now I'm trying to help you. Come on – deep breaths."
Judith knew well the relaxation drill, and it was working. Present-time reality was returning. Still, she sure as hell didn't want to go to the clinic. Probably just more panic waiting for her there.
"You're right, of course. Look, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I just want to go home."
"And you will – as soon as we take care of this bit of business. Hey, I don't mean to strongarm you here, but I'm really not going to let you fool around with that gash on your leg."
No choice. She was going to have to tough it out at the clinic and just try not to look like too much of an idiot.
"Here we are."
They entered the clinic where indeed the flash of a NYPD badge was an "open sesame." In no time at all, a nurse was beckoning her to a treatment room.
"Go ahead," he told her. "I'll wait."
She got up but instead of following the nurse, she bolted in the opposite direction. She was almost to the clinic door when he caught up with her and grabbed her elbow.
"Hey," he said, clearly annoyed, "what the hell is it with you?"
"You don't understand," she said with her voice shaking. "I thought I could do this – I really did, but I can't. I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"Doctors, needles, anything medical. A lot of the other phobias I had are gone now. I can go out in the rain. I ride elevators. But this one – this I haven't quite conquered yet."
He stared at her, and she thought that he'd probably throw her out onto the sidewalk for the nut-case that she was, but instead he broke into a big grin. "You, too? And I thought I was the only one. Look, these places give me the creeps, too -- send my blood pressure up and get my heart racing. I hate 'em, but sometimes, you know, you just gotta. It's just a cut – not major surgery. You'll be out of here before you know it. I promise."
"I don't know . . . "
"Look, you want me to stay with you? Will that make you feel better?"
She nodded. "Yes, maybe."
"Okay – let's do this."
The cleaning and bandaging didn't hurt her leg much more than it already did, but the tetanus shot did hurt. He held her hand all the while and provided a distraction by keeping up a steady patter of jokes with her and the nurse. In twenty minutes they were back out on the street.
"You okay now?"
"Yes, but I think my arm hurts worse than my leg."
"That'll go away in a day or so."
"Thank you for not making fun of me."
"I wouldn't do that – not to a fellow medicalphobe, or whatever it's called."
"Iatrophobia. It's called iatrophobia."
"So, it really has a name?"
"They all do."
"Hmmm . . . Think I could take disability for it?"
"Doubt it."
They both smiled, and some of the tension between them evaporated.
"Come on," he said. "I'll walk you to your apartment."
He did and left her at the door. She thanked him for the trouble he had taken with her, and he said, "See ya around."
And they did see each other around, just as before the bike incident, but now Lennie did speak to her – usually just a quick "Hi – how are ya?" -- and she was no longer as unnerved at encountering him as she had been.
Then there was the day she was looking at the wine display in the grocery store, and holding a bottle of Bolla Soave in her hands. He came up beside her and said, "This isn't a threat – just a friendly observation – but I don't think your parole officer would much like hearing about you buying that."
"Well, you know something, Detective? That gentleman and I have seen the last of each other as of today. I'm no longer on parole, and I was thinking of celebrating."
"So, that's it? It's all over for you?"
"It'll never be all over for me. Look, I know what I did, and it will be with me for the rest of my life."
He didn't say anything.
"But at least I have a life? Right?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you were thinking it." And she could tell she was correct.
"I'm sorry – it's not my place to judge. People can change."
"Maybe not change," she reflected softly, "but we can grow."
"Have you grown?" he asked.
"I hope to God I have. I've sure as hell worked hard enough on it."
"I have to admit that you don't seem very much like the woman we . . . Um . . ."
"Arrested? Go ahead – you can say it. It's a matter of public record."
"Look, I don't mean to bring you down with bad memories. This is a good day for you. Enjoy it." And he wheeled his cart around and started away from her.
On an impulse, she called out to him, "Um, Detective Briscoe . . . "
He turned. "Yes?"
"I, uh, I mean . . . I don't suppose you'd like to share this bottle of wine with me?"
"Me?" He raised his eyebrow. "That's one very strange invitation under the circumstances."
"Yeah, yeah it is." She took a deep breath. "It's just that . . . Well, you were there at the beginning, so it seems appropriate somehow – like closure, or something."
"You're
serious?
"Sure. What the hell?"
"Okay, sure – I'll celebrate with you, but I'll be drinking ginger ale or something. I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Oh, God," she said, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. We don't have to . . . "
She started to put the bottle back on the display, but he reached out and stopped her hand.
"No, no. There's no way you could have known. And it's my problem, not yours. Look, even when I was drinking I never had much of a taste for white wine, so it's not going to bother me. You go ahead and drink it, and I'll keep you company."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. But there is just one thing I want to ask you first – something that's been bothering me."
"Okay."
"Back then, when we first talked to you at the museum . . . "
"You mean when I gave you an art history lesson? I was sorry about that afterwards. It was really snotty."
He smiled briefly. "Compared to what people say to us on a daily basis, that didn't even rate a three on the one-to-ten snotty scale. And at least I learned something. No, what I am wondering is why you lied to us that day."
"That's all a little hazy, but I don't recall that I lied exactly. You never asked me if I had . . . Well, done it."
"That's getting a little technical, isn't it? You knew why we were there. You could have saved everyone, including you, a whole lot of trouble. You had to know you were going to be caught eventually."
"That's a fair question, I guess. I don't know quite how to explain it. I think that I hadn't completely processed yet what I had done. I just wasn't to the point yet that I could admit even to myself that I was responsible for something so horrible. I don't know. I was a mess then. I know it's no excuse, but that's all I can tell you about that."
"Okay."
She couldn't tell if he completely believed her or not, but after a moment he said, "So, where do you want to drink that bottle of wine?"
They agreed to meet a little while later at her apartment. When she let him in, some of the old panic returned. She tried to cover it but without much success.
"You're shaking," he observed.
"N-n-no, I'm really not. It's just . . . "
"Yes, you really are. You better sit down."
She thought so, too, and sank into an armchair. Fortunately, good manners came automatically to her. "Won't -- you – please – pleasesitdown?" came out in gasps.
He did and looked at her with some concern.
Deep breaths, Judith, she told herself – deep breaths. She could make that work.
"Look, Miss Sandler, if you want to change your mind about this, there's no harm done. I won't be offended."
"No. No, I don't want to change my mind. Just – just give me a couple seconds."
"Is there anything I should get you?"
She shook her head. Several more breaths ought to do it. "Whew," she said finally and began to babble. "My, that was silly of me. I'm sorry. It's just that – that I haven't really done any entertaining for a while. Not much opportunity in my room at Beacon. My mother's been the only person here since I moved in. I'm just not used to having people . . . "
"Knock it off," he said not unkindly. "We both know why this is happening to you and that I'm not just 'people.' You're remembering the other time I came to your apartment, aren't you?"
She looked at the ceiling and then back at him. "You're very perceptive."
"That's what I get paid for, remember?"
"It's just that things come back to me and take me by surprise. I mean, it never occurred to me that suddenly I would be thinking about that other apartment and that other time. And then, all of a sudden . . . I don't know – maybe it was seeing you in the doorway."
"I'm no shrink, but it sounds kinda like that post-traumatic stress thing you always hear about on TV."
"I'm sure you're right."
"You don't have to answer – this is none of my business, but are you seeing a shrink?"
"For three years at Beacon – voluntarily. And then it was a condition of parole as well."
"You gonna keep on now?"
"I wasn't, but after what just happened, perhaps I should reconsider."
"Maybe so. It's tough to make transitions, you know. It might take you some time."
"You sound like you know something about that."
"Yeah. Drunk to sober – that's a hell of a transition."
"Well, if you can do that, I can do this," she said firmly. "I can."
"I'm sure you will," he agreed. "You're a very sharp lady – talented, as I recall. You have a lot going for you. And you know what helps in transitions? Celebrating milestones. That's what we do in AA. So, you had the right idea."
"You still want to celebrate with a mess like me?"
"Absolutely. Need any help opening that wine?"
Judith didn't make it through even a half of the Bolla. Not that it didn't taste good, but several years with no alcohol had shrunk her tolerance to near zero. She didn't notice the effect at first because they'd been talking and laughing. It felt good. She hadn't laughed since . . . Well, she couldn't remember since when. There wasn't much to laugh about at Beacon, and before that – before that she could recall spending more time crying rather than laughing. But this detective was a funny, funny guy! She got up to freshen his ginger ale, but the room started spinning enough that she had to sit back down again pretty quickly.
"Oooops!" she said. "Sorry about that."
"Oooops is right. Speaking of transitions, if you're gonna start drinking again, you're going to have to work up to it. You got something you can eat?"
"I don't know," she giggled. "I guess I should have since I just came from the grocery store. Know what's funny?"
"What?" he asked smiling.
"I go to the grocery store for food. But what do I come home with? Wine and a NYPD detective! Now, isn't that something? I wonder how often that happens to people?"
"It's a new one on me."
"And you know what else, Detective?"
"Lennie. I think you can call me Lennie by now."
"Oooo-kay, Lennie. And I'm, um . . . " But she started giggling again.
"Judith. You're Judith."
"Yeah, that's me – you're right!"
"Not Judy?"
"Never been Judy."
"Somehow I didn't think so."
"Should I be Judy?"
"Nahhh. Don't make any more changes than you absolutely have to – especially during a transition."
"Is that a rule?"
"It's a rule."
"Well, you ought to know, I guess."
"Look, Judith, you really ought to eat, and I'm hungry. You want to go grab something?"
"You mean like go out?" she asked surprised.
"Yeah, like go out. Is that a novel concept?"
She came back down a little off her giddiness and considered that. "Yes, actually it is."
"I know you were out of town for a while, but I still find that hard to believe."
"I haven't been out to eat with anyone except my mother since I was divorced."
"And when was that?"
"About five years before I went 'out of town,' as you so politely put it."
"What? Were you like some kind of nun or something?"
"Yes," she said softly, "like some sort of nun."
"I never knew there were Jewish nuns."
"At least one, but it didn't have anything to do with being Jewish. Or, on the other hand, maybe it did."
"Am I supposed to know what that means?"
She shook her head. "Believe me, you don't want to know."
"Are you still a nun?"
Judith considered that. "You know, I have no idea."
"Want to find out?"
"How?"
"Well, see – if you didn't go out to eat with anyone when you were a nun, but you go out to eat with me now, then you'll know you're not a nun."
She tried to follow that. "That's the craziest thing I ever heard," she giggled.
"It's logic."
"It's Lennie-logic!"
"Lennie-logic! I like it! But you're stalling."
"Stalling? Who? Me?"
"Yes, you. And you know you are."
It was true. But it was such a preposterous idea. Judith Sandler go eat out with a man? None of this could be happening.
"Hey, if you don't want to . . . "
"I didn't say that."
"You haven't said anything."
"But you said it's a rule not to make too many changes during a transition."
"I made it up, okay?"
"You're really confusing me."
"And you're still really stalling me."
"You said you were hungry?"
"Yeah, it seems like about three days ago I said that. How long are we going to have this conversation?"
She was about to accept his invitation when something suddenly occurred to her. "But, Lennie – what if someone should recognize me?"
"So what?"
"Should you even be seen anywhere near me? There must be some sort of regulation."
"You're no longer in the system. No regulation applies."
"Still, it couldn't do you any good."
"You let me worry about that. So, you want to go or not?"
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I think I do."
"You don't have to sound so surprised about it. Doesn't do wonders for my ego."
"Your ego? What does this have to do with your ego?"
He sighed. "You're going to be a lot of trouble, aren't you? Come on – let's go before every decent place in the neighborhood closes down."
They walked to a small Italian place that Lennie said he really liked a lot. Judith was fine until she got to the door of the restaurant, where she just stopped dead in her tracks.
"Judith?" He turned to her. "What is it? Please tell me you don't have a pasta phobia."
"No. I'm just thinking. Are you really sure you want to do this?"
"Eat? Yes, I'm really sure I want to eat."
"With me?"
"Hey, once a year or so I have to eat with my ex-wife. You're gonna be a day at the beach compared to that."
Judith had to smile at that. "Let's see – ex-wife or ex-con? You really that hard up for dinner companions, Lennie?"
He groaned. "I knew it – a lot of trouble."
No longer resisting, she allowed him to push her through the door.
At their small table, she asked him, "Why do you have to eat with your ex-wife?"
"Family stuff."
"You have children?"
It took him a moment to say, "Yeah," and Judith could tell it was something he didn't want to talk about. While she was searching for another topic of conversation, he asked, "What about your ex?"
"What about him?"
"You ever see him?"
"He moved to the West Coast. I hear from him once in a while. He's a nice guy."
"Then why'd you split?"
"I . . . I couldn't be married – that's all. It just wasn't a good idea."
"The nun thing?"
"Kind of – yes."
"But now you're not a nun." It was a statement, not a question.
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"Remember? Because you're here eating with me, so that makes you definitely not a nun."
"Lennie-logic again, huh?"
"Works for me."
During their meal she commented at one point that the food was better than at Beacon although that hadn't been bad.
"So, the State of New York puts on a pretty good spread?"
"Nothing fancy, but it generally was wholesome and fairly tasty."
"You mind talking about Beacon?"
She considered that. "I haven't had anyone to talk to about it, but, no, I don't think I mind."
"How'd you do in there?"
"Remarkably well. Better than before I went."
He looked surprised. "Seriously? I don't think I've ever heard from such a satisfied guest of the state."
"Are you kidding, Lennie? Don't you think I know where I was headed if it hadn't been for that judge? I don't have anything to complain about."
"You were lucky to get one who actually bothered to read the facts of a case."
"Don't I know it! But that didn't seem to be all that was going on. I really was mostly just an observer at the whole thing, but she seemed really offended by the sentence Richard Peterson got, and it was sort of like she wanted to one-up someone by being sure I was out before he was."
"I'll bet that thrilled McCoy to no end."
"The DA? He made a sort of token protest but didn't really argue about it."
"Hang on a minute -- token protest? Jack McCoy? That guy gets paid for making people's lives as miserable as possible. What was going on with him?"
Judith shrugged. "My lawyer Danielle looked like she was going to fall out of her chair."
"McCoy missing a chance to stick it to her? I'll bet she was speechless -- which would be a first."
"You know Danielle?"
"I've had the, uh, pleasure on several occasions. We don't exactly meet under the best of circumstances."
"I will just bet," Judith said ruefully, remembering her own arrest.
"Ah, lawyers," Lennie said. "Seems like I spend half my life with them, and still I don't know what makes them tick."
"I've certainly had enough of them for one lifetime."
"So, anyway -- Beacon. You really didn't mind being there? Is that what you were saying?"
"No, of course I minded. It's not fun to be in a place you don't want to be and know you can't leave. But it taught me some things and gave me a chance to do some good."
"Like what?"
"I taught art classes. The others seemed to really appreciate it, and that made me feel good."
"And what did it teach you?"
"Um, this is shrink talk, but I learned to curb my tendency to 'displace my empathy.'"
"'Displaced empathy' – I think I saw that phrase somewhere in your file."
"You remember a phrase from my file? After four years?"
"No, I've got a good memory, but not that good. After we bumped into each other in the grocery store, I, uh, looked it up."
"You did? Why?"
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, partly just simple curiosity."
"And partly what else?"
He looked down at his plate.
"You were wondering how in the hell I was back on the streets so soon, weren't you? And that's why you weren't very friendly that day."
"Well, I was wrong – I found that out from the file. I'm sorry."
She waved her hand. "Oh, don't apologize, for heaven's sake. Who could blame you? I think that same thing sometimes myself."
"So, it was the displaced empathy thing that caused you to – um, . . . "
"Cause Stephen Campbell's death? Yes. That's sort of a simple explanation, but I believe that's basically it."
"How did you fix it?"
"I'm not sure it's completely fixed, but I did it by finally convincing myself, with help from the prison shrink, that it didn't help anyone. I could sit half a day and cry buckets about Rwanda, but it wasn't going to affect the situation there at all. Meanwhile, I could be empathizing with people I could help, and in Beacon I didn't have to go far to find them."
"The art classes?"
"Yes, that and sometimes just talking. There were women there much worse off than I was, some with dreadful pasts. I know this all must sound horribly trite."
"No, it doesn't. It's an example of the system actually working. God knows, you don't hear about that happening every day."
"Thank you for that. So, you're . . . You're okay with me now?"
"Not okay with what you did, but I'm definitely okay with who you are now. And, Judith?"
"Yes?"
"I have to confess something."
She blinked in amusement. "Well, that's a bit of a switch, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," he laughed.
"So, what is this deep, dark secret?"
"It's not very deep, it's definitely not dark, and I don't want it to be a secret."
"Well, then you better tell me."
"There was another reason why I looked at your file – actually two reasons."
"Really? What were they?"
"Your big green eyes."
Judith put her water glass down with a clatter. She couldn't believe what she just had heard. She felt herself flush, and although the effects of the wine had worn off, she began to feel as giddy as she had in her apartment.
Lennie was regarding her with some amusement. "Seems there's some red to go with that green now," he teased. "A little Christmasy, perhaps, but a nice combo."
"What's going on here?" she asked in a daze.
"Well, let's see . . . I think I just made a pass at you."
"Oh, no, Lennie. You don't want to do that. You really don't want to do that."
"Well, I can't take it back. There's a no-returns policy."
"Don't joke."
"I'm not joking."
Think, Judith, think, she told herself. There has to be some way out of this. You know you have to put a stop to it. It simply is not something that can happen. She briefly considered just leaving and hoping he'd get the message, but Lennie was nice, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. How to get out of this?
"What are you thinking?" he asked after a few moments.
"Honestly? I'm thinking there has to be some way out of this."
"Just tell me you're not interested. I'm a big boy."
Do it, Judith, do it, part of her screamed at herself. You know what's ahead if you don't. But she couldn't make herself speak.
"I'm not hearing you're not interested, Judith."
She gulped down some water before she could speak. "Look, I'm really out of practice. What are we talking about here?"
"Whatever you want to talk about. I know you've had a rough time, and I'm not gonna be pushy."
Still, she thought, this is not a good idea, but when she looked at Lennie, she couldn't make herself say so.
"Lennie, I don't know what to say – how to react. I don't know anything."
"I'll make it easy for you. Just say that you'd like to have dinner with me again this week sometime."
She knew she should turn him down, but instead she spoke the truth. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
After dinner Lennie left her at her apartment, saying he would call once he had checked the rotation schedule at work. "Is it okay to call you at the gallery?"
"Sure, that's no problem. Let me give you the num-. . . " She began to reach into her bag for a card. "Wait a minute -- how do you know where I work now? I don't think I've mentioned that."
"It's in your file, of course. And I have the number."
Judith was a little surprised at that, but it wasn't until after Lennie had said goodnight and left that she realized that if information about her current employment was in whatever file he had read, he must also have known exactly when she would be off parole. God, what was going on here? she wondered and didn't know whether to be flattered or. . . Or what?
End Chapter One. Go to Chapter Two --------