Free The King of Torts by John Grisham

dressed. Many of them on the prowl. Clay caught a few looks.
    Rebecca was subdued, determined, and cold. They sneaked into a booth and both ordered strong drinks for the ride ahead. He asked some pointless questions about the subcommittee hearings that had begun, amid no fanfare, at least according to the Post . The drinks arrived and they dived in.
    “I talked to my father,” she began.
    “So did I.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were not taking the job in Richmond?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me your father was pulling strings to get me a job in Richmond?”
    “You should’ve told me.”
    “I made it clear.”
    “Nothing is clear with you.”
    Both took a drink.
    “Your father called me a loser. Is that the prevailing mood in your family?”
    “At the moment, yes.”
    “Shared by you?”
    “I have my doubts. Someone has to be realistic here.”
    There had been one serious intermission in the romance, a miserable failure at best. About a year earlier they had decided to let things cool off, to remain close friends, but to have a look around, perhaps play the field, make sure there was no one else out there. Barb had engineered the separation because, as Clay found out later, a very rich young man at the Potomac Country Club had just lost his wife to ovarian cancer. Bennett was a close personal friend of the family, etcetera, etcetera. He and Barb laid the trap, but the widower smelled the bait. One month on the fringes of the Van Horn family and the guy bought a place in Wyoming.
    This, however, was a much more severe breakup. This was almost certainly the end. Clay took another drink and promised himself that whatever else was said, he would not, under any circumstances, say something that would hurt her. She could hit below the belt if she wanted. He would not.
    “What do you want, Rebecca?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Yes you do. Do you want out?”
    “I think so,” she said, and her eyes were instantly wet.
    “Is there someone else?”
    “No.”
    Not yet anyway. Just give Barb and Bennett a few days.
    “It’s just that you’re going nowhere, Clay,” she said. “You’re smart and talented, but you have no ambition.”
    “Gee, it’s nice to know I’m smart and talented again. A few hours ago I was a loser.”
    “Are you trying to be funny?”
    “Why not, Rebecca? Why not have a laugh? It’s over, let’s face it. We love each other, but I’m a loser who’s going nowhere. That’s your problem. My problem is your parents. They’ll chew up the poor guy you marry.”
    “The poor guy?”
    “That’s right. I pity the poor guy you marry because your parents are insufferable. And you know it.”
    “The poor guy I marry?” Her eyes were no longer wet. They were flashing now.
    “Take it easy.”
    “The poor guy I marry?”
    “Look, I’ll make you an offer. Let’s get married right now. We quit our jobs, do a quickie wedding with no one present, sell everything we own, and fly to, say, Seattle or Portland, somewhere far away from here, and live on love for a while.”
    “You won’t go to Richmond but you’ll go to Seattle?”
    “Richmond is too damned close to your parents, okay?”
    “Then what?”
    “Then we’ll find jobs.”
    “What kinds of jobs? Is there a shortage of lawyers out West?”
    “You’re forgetting something. Remember, from last night, that I’m smart, talented, well educated, sharp as a tack, and even handsome. Big law firms will chase me all over the place. I’ll make partner in eighteen months. We’ll have babies.”
    “Then my parents will come.”
    “No, because we won’t tell them where we are. And if they find us, we’ll change our names and move to Canada.”
    Two more drinks arrived and they wasted no time shoving the old ones aside.
    The light moment passed, and quickly. But it reminded both of why they loved each other and of how much they enjoyed their time together. There had been much more laughter than sadness, though things were