The next morning, Peter awoke at five to the sound of his alarm and his wife's side of the bed feeling cold as he reached behind his back to stroke her shoulder the way he always did. Turning on the light, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and saw that she'd picked up their clothes from the previous night and laid out his black suit with a blue tie for him. "Hit it out of the park, Nineteen." He smiled as he read her note. In the kitchen, she'd left another note under his coffee cup telling him she loved him and he smiled again. She was trying to get in his head, which meant that he'd gotten in hers. It was bottom of the ninth, the bases were loaded, and he had one last batter to strike out. The competition was already in his head.
Polly had woken up at three in the morning unable to go back to sleep so she'd gotten up and done everything her husband had awoken to find, but not because she was trying to get in his head but because she was more nervous than she'd ever been. This was the case that could make or break her career. If she lost, not only did a man lose his freedom, but she could lose her job for not being skilled enough. If she won, it meant showing up her husband who already had to deal with the fact that she made twice what he did. To Peter, it had never mattered, but to the outside world, it mattered, and winning a high profile case against him wasn't going to help him not feel emasculated by his wife. The competition they were locked in had high stakes.
"I missed you this morning." Peter said in a soft tone as he took his seat in the courtroom at nine and opened a file.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Worried about today?"
"Among other things."
"Like what?"
"Like you were right. I'm playing in the majors and the stakes are higher than I originally thought."
"Involuntary manslaughter. He does eighteen months."
"Not going to happen. I have half the jury thinking the woman killed herself." She smiled as she tossed her notepad onto the table.
"With a steak knife?"
"The girl wasn't Mother Theresa, Peter."
"And your client isn't the innocent little farm boy lost in the big city either. You know I'm going to go after him today."
"I know and he's prepped."
"That's not what has you losing sleep." He tossed the file back onto the table as he stood up and walked over to her.
"No."
"Talk to me, Pol." He sat down on her table and lowered his voice.
"Wish I could."
"Off the record. As your husband."
She shook her head. "Thanks, but,"
Suddenly, the door opened and he jumped up with a quick squeeze of her shoulder before walking back over to his side of the aisle when he saw Anna enter the courtroom. There was an inner debate raging inside his wife, he could see it in her dark green eyes, but, as usual, she pulled away. Then again, they weren't exactly on speaking terms given the case.
"The defense calls Michael Rossetti to the stand." Polly stood up ten minutes later and buttoned her jacket, the doubts and fears swallowed down.
Peter watched as Polly reduced the room to tears with her direct. Hell, even he was getting choked up. The kid had a background that was similar to hers. He'd lost both parents in a car crash at the age of sixteen and he'd been raised by a grandfather who only saw him as hired help on the farm, never saw the potential he had to play ball. Polly had lost her mother to syphilis, a job hazard, she would always say, at fourteen and had only met her father when Family Services had tracked him down, but he saw her as a nuisance, a burden, and hadn't cared about what she did as long as she didn't interfere with his life.
The kid had met the girl in college and had fallen head over heels. It may not have been love at first sight when he'd met Polly, but it was damn close, at least for him. For her, trust didn't come easy and she'd seen him has some perfect golden boy who was adored by the management and had been brought up with a silver spoon given who his father was, at least until that night in Las Vegas, and then they were both equal, both broken, and she'd finally allowed herself to trust him enough to love him with her whole heart, something she had never done, nor would she do, with anyone else, man or woman.
A high school coach had taken an interest in the kid and talked him into playing baseball as a way of giving him a family. With Polly, it had been a woman who'd been a lawyer in downtown Philly at one of the big firms who had come to speak to the school when she'd been a sophomore. Suddenly, she saw a way out, saw a way of having money, power, respect, and she set her goal and never lost sight of it.
"Your Honor, I respectfully request a recess before I begin my cross-examination of the witness." If he went after him after that, it would backfire.
"I agree, Mr. Stone. We'll take a short fifteen minute recess." Kingsley banged her gavel.
"She's good." Anna said as she dabbed at her eyes.
Peter nodded dismissively and watched Polly help the defendant to table, but he couldn't read her. There was a darkness, a disconnect, and it locked even him out. "Pol," he pushed away from the table and went to her.
"Not now, Mr. Stone." She held up her hand and walked with her client to a conference room.
"What did he want?" Michael asked as he took a deep breath.
"Don't know and don't care." Polly sat on the table and looked at her client. "From now on, I want you to stay focused on that narrative you just laid down. Carly was the love of your life. She wasn't perfect, but neither are you. I don't want you to try and figure out Mr. Stone's strategy. Leave that to me. You answer his questions the way we practiced. Honest, short, and looking from him to the jury. If you feel yourself about to blow up or you are unsure about what to say, you look at me, and I'll object. When I do, I want you to take a deep breath, refocus, and then continue. OK?" The kid nodded. "Be honest, be raw, and this will all be over soon." She forced herself to smile, to put her client at ease, but it was a little hard to do give that her nerves were just as raw as his.
"Pol," Peter tried again when he saw her in line at the coffee cart, "I'm worried about you." He kept his voice low and pretended to be looking at his phone as he spoke.
"Nothing to worry about." Again, she forced herself to flash a smile. It would have worked on anyone else, but she knew it wasn't going to work on Peter. Still, she had to try.
"That testimony was eerily familiar. Are you OK?"
"What could be wrong? I had the jury in tears. I can smell an acquittal." She stepped out of line and put on her best bravado, but she could feel the tears just behind her eyes so she made her way to an empty conference room. Three deep breaths. Three deep focused breaths. She had to pull it together. She wasn't weak. She wasn't that stupid woman who, according to her theory of the crime, killed herself instead of doing something productive to change her situation. No, she was stronger. She'd pulled herself up from nothing, from being the daughter of a whore living in squalor, to being the general counsel for one of the most well-known teams in baseball, the wife of a Deputy Chief at the State's Attorney's office of Cook County, and living in a condo in the Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago. She'd made it. She wasn't her mother's daughter anymore. She wasn't Carly Rossetti.
Whatever Polly had said had prepped the kid well. The kid was taking his time answering questions, shifting his gaze from him to the jurors, and when things got rough, the kid looked at Polly who would stand up and object. At least until he cut off the kid's line of sight to the defense table. "Tell us, Mr. Rossetti, what was the real reason you were coming home that weekend?"
"I told you, Mr. Stone. It was because Carly had called me the night before and I didn't like what she sounded like."
"We've heard witnesses state that you were screaming at her, calling her names. Didn't you just have enough, Mr. Rossetti? Enough of her erratic behavior, enough of her endless drama. Isn't that why you came home?"
"Objection! Argumentative." Polly slammed her hands into the table as she stood up. Her client was about to lose it and she had to do something given the fact that Peter had picked up on her visual cues.
"I'll rephrase."
"Not good enough."
"Sit down, Mrs. Stone." Judge Kingsley glared at her. "Watch yourself, Mr. Stone."
"Yes, Your Honor. I apologize." He allowed the kid to calm down, but he wouldn't again. "Mr. Rossetti, why were you screaming at your wife the night before you came home?"
"She was threatening to kill our baby, again. I came home to try to stop her."
"So you knew she was pregnant?"
"That's why she'd called me. She'd just found out and wanted me to know she didn't want this one either."
"That's why you called her a whore?"
"Objection!" Polly stood up again. "Your Honor,"
"Actually, I want to answer that." Mike spoke softly and looked around the prosecutor to his lawyer who shook her head. "It's OK."
"Then the objection is overruled." The judge looked just as surprised as Polly.
"Mr. Stone," the kid spoke with a calm tone that came as a shock even to him, "I'm not a good man. I have trouble controlling my temper. That's why I play ball. It helps me focus. It helps me stay calm because I know I have to be at my best in order to help my team, in order to win. But my wife, sir, she wasn't the angel you're making her out to be either. We fought like cats and dogs because she was sick and all I wanted was for her to be well. Before she the bi-polar, she was happy and full of life. She made me want to be a better man. Then she got sick and she got out of control. I lost my temper with her plenty of times, sure, but I never raised my hand to her, Mr. Stone."
"Then why have we heard testimony that your wife tried to have you brought up on domestic abuse charges?"
"Because she was sick, Mr. Stone. When those officers showed up at my apartment, I wasn't there because I was in the ER being stitched up from where she came at me with a knife."
"Your wife had bruises too. Maybe she was just defending herself."
"No! I grabbed her by the wrists to keep her from stabbing me!"
"Why didn't you have her brought up on charges?"
"You played ball, Mr. Stone. You know what the locker room is like. I didn't want everyone to know that my wife was a psycho!"
"So you would rather be known as a wife beater?" He saw Polly stand up and held up his hand. "Withdrawn."
"It's better than being known as being pussy whipped and unable to control my wife." The kid yelled.
"No further questions."
Polly sighed and dropped her eyes as he walked back to his table. She'd done a good job, but he'd taken back his case. It was in the hands of the jury. At least it was a fight to the finish. At least she hoped that's the way it would be seen.
"Hey." He walked across the aisle after closing arguments. "Join me for dinner."
"Do you really think they are going to come back tonight?"
"I have no idea. I just want to have dinner with the best looking defense attorney in Cook County." He smirked and she finally laughed.
"OK." She pulled her attaché case onto her shoulder and took his offered elbow. "You do know how to read a criminal jury better than I do though. So, what are you thinking?"
"It's a coin-toss. You put on a hell of a case."
"That you undid with one inflammatory question."
"I've been doing this for a little longer than you, Birdie." She gave him a sideways look and he smiled. "In all seriousness, it can go either way. If they come back tonight, it's probably an acquittal. There's no real discussion needed if they find a defendant not guilty. If it takes another day, there was discussion, and it might just go in my favor. There's no clear answer. We both left it all on the field." She nodded and they stepped into the elevator. "You want to tell me what's behind that wall you're putting up?"
"It's nothing. I'm just lost in my head and it's a rather scary place to be."
"Try me. I'm pretty good at scaring away monsters from closets." She shook her head with the same forced smile she'd been giving him all day. "OK. When you're ready," he kissed her temple, "I'm here."
"Is Anna going to be upset that you're eating with me and not her?" Polly joked once they were seated at the steakhouse around the corner from his office.
"Don't care." He didn't return her sentiment. "I'm having dinner with my wife." Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, laid a soft kiss against her fingers, and watched her flash him that same forced smile, take a deliberate deep breath, and then pull away. "Pol, why don't you cry in front of me?"
"What?"
"You heard me. I want to know. Why don't you call me when you're upset or talk to me when I can see that you're struggling with something?"
"Tears are a weapon of weakness. It's a form of manipulation and I see no use for it. If I can't win the argument, I'm going to find some other alternative of proving my point or else just learning from my mistakes. What is the point of going to pieces in public and making a spectacle of oneself?"
"I'm not talking about in public. I'm talking about with me. In ten years, I have never seen you shed a tear not even at a movie."
"And you never will. I haven't seen you cry either."
"Wrong, Counselor." She looked at him with confusion and shock. "That night in Las Vegas."
"You were drunk."
"I wasn't that drunk. Did you see me as weak or manipulative?"
"No, Peter, I didn't, but that was different. There was a lot going on that night."
"Polly, you didn't even cry at our wedding."
"We were married by a judge at the Cook County courthouse." She rolled her eyes. "Why are you picking this fight?"
"Because you're walling me out, Polly, and picking a fight seems to be the only way to pull you out of it."
She nodded and sighed. "What happens if I win, Peter? I get my acquittal, my client goes back to playing ball, and being the same arrogant cuss you all are at that age when you play ball." He smirked and she returned it briefly.
"This is a first. You're worried about winning?"
"I'm worried about how it's going to look."
"I don't follow."
She scoffed. "Of course you don't. You are the only man I have ever met who is so focused, so secure, that the fact that I make more money that you do doesn't even enter into your stream of consciousness."
"Polly, I write the checks every month. I read the bank statements. I know exactly how much each of us brings in."
"And you don't care, do you?"
"Why should I? We're not going to go broke tomorrow even if you were to come to me and tell me you wanted to quit and become a society wife." He smirked and watched her laugh because there was nothing she would hate more. "Why this sudden concern about the difference in our earnings?"
"Think about it. What happens if I win? You will have lost to your wife."
"Oh," he smirked again, "you're worried that I'm going to appear pussy whipped and unable to control my wife." She laughed again and he smiled. "Don't worry about me, Birdie. I can handle losing a case every once and a while especially to you."
"OK." She smiled and enjoyed when he took her hand again. He'd always been able to do that. He knew when to push, when to let her come to him, and exactly how to eradicate all her fears. She hoped she did the same for him, but he was right. There were times she walled herself up, unable to trust even him, when she knew, beyond a doubt, that she was safe with him. It was made her a great lawyer, but a lousy wife.
They were just finishing dessert when their phones sounded. "The jury's back." He said as he finished a bite of tiramisu. The hand he'd been holding for the better part of dinner suddenly got cold. "It's OK, Birdie. I still love you." He kissed her hand and watched her come back to life.
"Madam Forewoman, will you please read the verdict?" Judge Kingsley instructed twenty minutes later.
"On the sole charge of murder in the second degree, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty."
Polly was in shock. Not guilty. She won. She beat Peter. Why didn't it feel good? She pulled herself together. It wasn't personal. It was a job and she'd just done hers. She shook her client's hand, her boss' hand, and the hand of the chairman of the board. She'd done a great thing. Yet, for some reason, it just didn't feel like it.
"Congratulations." Peter smiled when Polly walked into the condo an hour later.
"Thanks. I'm sorry it didn't go your way."
"Pol, you won. It's OK to be excited. It's even OK if you want to rub it in my face." He stood up and went to her. "It hasn't sunk in yet, has it?"
"I don't think so."
"Yeah, it's your first big win. It might take a day or so." Taking her into his arm, he kissed her. "I'm proud of you."
"Thank you." She smiled a genuine smile and lost herself in his eyes. "That means more to me than anything."
