Twelve
J.D. RACED INTO the office early the next morning, eager to get there before anyone else. A quick look around told him he was the first one on the floor. He headed straight for Payton’s office, and a hurried search revealed what he feared would be the case.
The shoes were gone.
He hadn’t received any death threats that morning, so either the heel he had tampered with had held up on her way home from work last night, or she had simply left her yoga shoes on after class.
Fine. No problem. He would wait for her to come in. Not that he had any f*cking clue what he was going to say when he saw her. “Hi, Payton, thanks for the apology, that was nice. Did you see they’ve got muffins in the break room? Oh, by the way, I sliced off one of your heels and shoddily glued it back together hoping it would break off in court and leave you hobbling about like a drunk one-legged prostitute. Have a nice day.”
Somehow, he had a feeling that might not go over so well.
When nothing else came to mind, J.D. decided he would wing it. He was good at thinking on his feet.
So he waited in his office. He looked up from his desk every time somebody walked in, expecting to see Payton at any moment.
When 8:00 a.m. rolled around, then 8:30, he grew a bit concerned. By 9:00 he was in a full panic, thinking of the worst-case scenario. What if she wore the shoes on her way into work and the heel suddenly snapped and she fell and broke her ankle? Should he retrace her route into the office? Wait—she rode the “L” into work. What if she had tripped while getting on, sprained, maimed, or separated something, and was now trapped inside one of the train cars, calling for help, riding endless circles around the Loop?
J.D. decided to check with Payton’s secretary. Maybe she had heard something.
He walked up to Irma’s desk, where she typed steadily away at her computer. He oh-so-casually leaned against her credenza, being careful to appear as nonchalant as possible.
“Good morning, Irma, my, that’s a lovely brooch—is it a seagull? Nice weather outside, isn’t it? Hey—by any chance have you heard from Payton this morning?”
Irma paused her typing for a brief moment, looked J.D. over, then resumed her work.
“It’s a kangaroo, not a seagull; actually it was quite cloudy when I walked in, and yes, she left me a message, she went straight over to the courthouse this morning.”
Straight to the courthouse? Son of a—
Fighting to maintain his fa?ade of disinterest, J.D. idly fingered the leaves of the plant sitting on top of Irma’s desk.
“So, by any chance did Payton say what she was wearing this morning?” He picked imaginary lint off his suit. “More specifically, did she happen to say anything about her, um, shoes?”
Irma stopped her typing and slowly peered over at him. J.D. knew he needed to say something quick by way of explanation.
“I just want to make sure she’s, you know, accessorizing appropriately.”
Irma folded her hands politely.
“Mr. Jameson. Whatever this is, I don’t have time for it. If you have questions about Payton’s attire this morning, I suggest you take a stroll on over to the courthouse and check it out for yourself. She’s in Judge Gendelman’s courtroom.”
J.D. nodded. Yes, yes, fine, thank you. Nice attitude, by the way. Like boss, like secretary.
But always a gentleman, he smiled and thanked Irma for the information. He stopped by his own secretary’s desk and told her that he had an errand to run.
Then he hurried out of the office and headed straight for the courthouse.
BY THE TIME J.D. walked into Judge Gendelman’s courtroom, court was already in session.
He quietly closed the door behind him and slipped into the back row of the galley, wanting his presence to go unnoticed until he figured out what he was going to say to Payton.
J.D. took a seat. As he tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench, his eye was immediately drawn to the action up front. Payton stood before the witness stand, which meant that she was in the middle of either a direct or cross-examination. He sat back to enjoy the show, figuring this was a great opportunity to observe the enemy in her nor—
Holy f*ck—would somebody please tell him why a massive photo of a penis was sitting front and center in the courtroom?
J.D. glanced around warily. What the hell kind of law did Payton practice around here? Everyone else in the courtroom, however, seemed wholly unfazed by the exhibition.
His interest now really piqued by this spectacle of a so-called trial, he turned his attention back to Payton. Remembering why he was there, he sat up to get a better look. He watched as Payton walked around to the other side of the podium, and—wait—
Shit. She was wearing the shoes.
J.D.’s eyes narrowed in on the left shoe—the heel he had made a few, shall we say, “special modifications” to. The heel appeared to be holding together, although it was anyone’s guess how long that would last. With every step Payton took, he held his breath, expecting to see her stumble. He would have to pull her aside at the next break and warn her. He only hoped the glue he had applied would hold together until then.
Having no choice but to sit idly by in the galley and wait, J.D. distracted himself by focusing on Payton’s interrogation of the witness. He could tell within seconds from the way she leadingly questioned the woman on the stand that this was not a friendly party.
“I’m not sure I understand your position, Ms. Kemple,” Payton was saying. “Maybe you can help me understand what it is you believe the company did wrong.”
J.D. watched as Payton positioned herself between the jury and the witness, a trial lawyer’s trick to get the jurors’ attention during cross-examination.
“Earlier we established that you reported the incident involving your former manager on June fourteenth of last year, correct?” Payton asked.
“That’s correct,” Ms. Kemple answered.
“And the director of Human Resources responded to your complaint that very same day, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“As part of that response, the company immediately fired your former manager, also that same day, didn’t they?”
The witness nodded. “That’s correct.”
“And, in fact, yesterday at trial was the first time you had seen him since the incident in his car, correct?”
Again the witness nodded. “Yes.”
“So it’s fair to say then, Ms. Kemple, that you never again had any problems with your former manager after that one incident?” Payton asked.
The witness appeared more reluctant to answer this question. “I guess that’s fair to say,” she finally agreed.
Appearing satisfied with this answer, Payton walked over to the defense attorney’s table. Having been drawn into the testimony, J.D. noticed for the first time that a junior associate from their firm—what the hell was his name, Brandon, Brendan, something like that—sat at the table. Perhaps, J.D. mused, he could slip Brandon/Brendan a note to give to Payton.
J.D.’s eyes were drawn back to Payton as she casually leaned against the table facing the witness.
“Ms. Kemple, am I also correct that, after your manager was fired, the director of Human Resources came out to your office and conducted a full-day sexual harassment refresher seminar that was mandatory for all employees?”
The witness tried to hedge here. “I’m not sure it was a full day . . .”
“Well, how long was the seminar?” Payton asked.
Ms. Kemple thought for a moment. “I guess it was about seven or eight hours.”
“Wouldn’t you describe seven or eight hours as a full day?”
“I suppose so.”
With this admission, Payton held up her hands. “So? Why are we here, Ms. Kemple?”
The witness stared at her, confused. “Excuse me?”
“To be blunt, you’ve sued the company for two million dollars. What exactly is it that you think they did wrong in handling your complaint?”
J.D. watched Payton as she continued her cross-examination. Because they had worked in the same group for the last eight years, he had heard plenty about her numerous trial victories. But this was the first chance he’d gotten to observe her firsthand.
She was good. Right away, J.D. saw how relaxed and comfortable she was in the courtroom. Yet always professional. It was obvious that the jury liked her, and more important, they trusted her—he could tell from the way they listened attentively, how some of them even nodded along with her questions.
“Well, I think there’s a few things the company could’ve done differently . . .” the witness was saying in a defensive tone.
“Like what?” Payton asked. “You don’t disagree that the company handled the matter promptly, do you?”
As Payton asked this question, she folded her arms across her chest and casually leaned back against the table—on one foot, her left foot—for support.
J.D. drew in his breath. Oh, shit.
“I suppose they handled the matter promptly enough,” the witness conceded.
“And you would have to agree that they handled the matter effectively, wouldn’t you, seeing how you never again saw your ex-manager, let alone had a problem with him?”
Still leaning against the table, Payton crossed her right ankle over her left, so that all her weight now bore down on her left heel.
J.D. cringed. Crap, crap, this was going to be bad. He couldn’t watch. But yet he had to. Should he do something? Maybe he could—
But right then, Payton eased onto the table—taking the weight off her shoe—as the witness answered.
“Yes, I suppose you could say that the way the company chose to respond to my manager’s harassment was effective enough.”
J.D. exhaled in relief. Close call. But he had better get that note to Brandon/Brendan now, while he still had the chance. He glanced over. A few other latecomers had sat down at the end of his row. He would have to sneak past them to get out.
Meanwhile Payton, sitting on the table, gracefully crossed one leg over the other, continuing her cross-examination.
“And when the director of Human Resources interviewed you a week after the incident, didn’t you, in fact, tell her that you were pleased with the company’s response to your complaint?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think that’s what I said,” Ms. Kemple quickly replied.
Payton seemed surprised by this answer, but remained unflustered. “Really? Do you remember when we spoke earlier at your deposition, Ms. Kemple, where you said . . .”
J.D. watched as Payton searched through the files on her table and quickly found the deposition transcript she was looking for. Payton grabbed the transcript—
“Here, Ms. Kemple, let me read to you a portion of your—”
—and before J.D. realized what was happening, Payton did sort of a half leap off the table to approach the witness stand and when she came down on her feet there was a loud crack! that sounded throughout the courtroom and holy shit suddenly Payton stumbled wildly off balance, her arms flailing, and she—
—dove headfirst straight into the jury box.
The entire courtroom gasped as J.D. flew out of his seat in horror.
Oh, my god!
Everyone was on their feet, stunned, watching as Payton quickly scrambled to pull herself to a stand, grappling, climbing past the jurors who sat in their box, mouths agape, and she managed to get to her feet, a little flustered but covering as she smoothed her skirt and—
“Sorry about that.” Payton smiled calmly at the jurors, regaining her cool. “Now, where was I . . .”
She looked for the deposition transcript she had dropped, she turned around and—
—the entire audience in the galley cried out in shock.
Unbeknownst to Payton, when she had fallen her skirt—those damn slim-fit skirts she liked so much—had torn at the seam and now gaped open, and sweet Jesus, she was wearing a thong and two tiny white butt cheeks peeked out from between the folds of her skirt—
J.D.’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
Oh god, it was horrible, horrible—well, actually it wasn’t all that horrible for him, she had a really great ass—but for Payton, this was a train wreck, a disaster—
Up front, Payton heard the ruckus coming from the audience behind her, so she turned around—
—and the peeky cheeks now faced the judge and jury. The jurors’ mouths dropped open, and a few murmured something incoherent, and they all gaped as Payton hobbled about the courtroom on uneven shoes, confused as to the source of the commotion.
At the defense table, Brandon/Brendan timidly whispered something to Payton; J.D. couldn’t hear it and apparently neither could Payton because she bent over toward Brandon/Brendan to hear better, exposed white buns up in the air for all to see, and the courtroom erupted in complete pandemonium and J.D. started to climb past the people in his row—he somehow had to put a stop to this—
But Payton finally heard Brandon/Brendan.
She stood up, her hand flew to her skirt, and she felt the rip in the seam. She instantly reacted; she unbuttoned her jacket and quickly tied it around her waist—no more peeky-cheeks—and J.D. heard a few groans of disappointment as the judge finally got things under control, banging his gavel and calling for order in the courtroom.
And as quickly as the chaos had erupted, things quieted back down. As people took their seats, the clamor settling, J.D. sat down, too, hiding, thinking now definitely was not the time to be seen by Payton.
As a silence took hold of the courtroom, all eyes were on Payton. Everyone waited to see what she would do, how she would react.
She paused for a moment. Then she turned and faced the jury.
“Raise your hand if you had no idea you’d see so much nudity in one week of jury duty.”
Twelve hands flew straight into the air.
And unbelievably, Payton laughed.
The jurors joined in with her. Then the judge raised his hand, too. With that, the entire courtroom laughed and people began to clap.
Payton held her hand up, acknowledging. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week.”
And it was in that moment, as J.D. sat in the galley with people laughing and applauding all around him, as he watched Payton smiling, embarrassed but undefeated, that it happened.
Something changed.
He didn’t know anyone who would’ve handled such a ridiculous situation nearly so well. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it before, but she was actually kind of . . . funny. Or maybe he had already known that, he suddenly wasn’t sure. But what he did know was that he had flipped out over a friggin’ coffee stain on his suit, and yet here Payton had done a full face-plant right into the laps of twelve jurors and then treated them to a free peep show, but nevertheless managed to remain calm and collected.
And suddenly J.D. found himself looking at Payton with quite a bit of admiration.
He grinned and joined in with the others who cheered her on, and he momentarily forgot the role he had played in the whole debacle until, right then, she glanced down at her shoe.
Uh-oh.
J.D. watched as Payton picked up the shoe and presumably noticed the clean, precise way the heel had broken, the remnants of the glue he had applied. She ran her finger over the broken heel, examining it, and in that moment J.D. knew that she knew.
A random thought occurred to him right then, about how they say that criminals always return to the scene of the crime—wasn’t that how Bundy or Berkowitz or one of those guys got caught—and actually, it was kind of funny that he was thinking about murder right then because when Payton looked up from the broken shoe and glanced across the courtroom and saw J.D. sitting there, murder is exactly what was in her eyes.
When Payton met his gaze, J.D. thought he had never seen her dark blue eyes look so cold. And he knew one thing for certain.
He was toast.
PAYTON STORMED OUT the courthouse doors—suit jacket still tied around her waist—with J.D. following closely on her heels.
“Come on, Payton—it’s not like I meant for that to happen!” he called after her. “Honestly, who could’ve planned that?”
A part of her wished she never had to come back to court. Better yet, a part of her wished the earth would just open up and swallow her, she was that mortified.
The judge had called a one-hour recess so that—as he had delicately put it—“anyone who wished to adjust his or her attire could do so.” Payton now was in a race to get back to the office, change into her spare suit, then get to the nearest department store to buy a new pair of shoes. On top of everything else, the bastard—no other name was necessary, from now on the man formerly known as J.D. would simply be called The Bastard, The Prick, or The Shithead—had ruined her best pair of shoes. But that was hardly her biggest concern.
Her ass had been hanging out in open court.
Her ass had been hanging out in open court.
Clomping along the sidewalk unevenly in her broken heel, stomping past innocent pedestrians who were having a lovely, normal day, people who presumably had not had their asses hanging out in open court, Payton grumbled out loud to herself about the worst part of it all.
“I just had to wear a thong today, didn’t I?” she hissed angrily. She could’ve smacked herself in the head for that decision.
The Shithead was suddenly at her side. He grinned. “Well, point of fact, I think that women should wear thongs every d . . .” he trailed off, seeing her look. “But I can see you’re not in a place to discuss that right now.”
Payton couldn’t take it a moment longer. She advanced on J.D. “Oh, you think this is funny? Please—allow me to disabuse you of that notion.”
“Payton—”
“Don’t. Don’t ‘Payton’ me, don’t waste your breath with excuses or explanations—I don’t care.”
She stared J.D. right in the eyes. “If this is how you want to play the game, Jameson, that’s fine with me. The gloves are now off. I am about to become the bitch you’ve always thought I was.”
Payton saw that her comment took J.D. aback, that it wiped his grin—which she interpreted as a smirk—right off his face. And she saw something momentarily flash in his eyes, maybe it was anger, maybe it was something else—right now she didn’t care either way. Right now, as she stood on that sidewalk, facing J.D. in her torn skirt and broken heel and her naked butt barely covered by the jacket tied around her waist, all she cared about was at least having the dignity of getting in the last word.
So, seeing that she had momentarily silenced him, Payton took advantage of the opportunity and turned and walked away.