Dear Rita. Simona Taylor
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spicy foods make you sick. You can’t even take Tabasco in your Bloody Mary.”
He looked abashed. “I don’t know what got into me. One minute I was asking her out, the next minute I was suggesting a Thai restaurant. I guess I wanted to sound more adventurous. I’m a boring man, Dorian. My idea of a culinary adventure is dinner at TGI Friday’s.”
Dorian was quick to leap to his friend’s defense, even from a self-inflicted attack. “You’re not boring. You are one of the most intelligent and educated human beings on the face of the Earth.”
“If that isn’t boring, I don’t know what is.” Clark smiled wryly. “But at least she sounded keen. Said she’d been dying to try it, too.”
“That’s all that matters. Chug a bottle of antacid before you get there, and you’ll be all right.”
“Want us to leave together, from here?”
“I doubt I’ll make it back into the office today. You go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”
“Seven-thirty, right?” Clark still looked anxious, despite Dorian’s promise.
He must really like this girl. Dorian did his best to reassure him. “My word is my bond.” He glanced at the heavy platinum watch on his left wrist, rose, took up his jacket from over the back of his chair and shrugged it on. “Got to go now.”
“Elcroft Green?” Clark guessed.
“Yep. Gonna be a long one.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He’d need it. Although the name Elcroft Green sounded like a day spa, it was, in fact, a large medium-security men’s prison in the worst part of town. There was nothing green in it or around it, just a forbidding expanse of concrete walls, watchtowers, twisted barbed wire, gun turrets and metal bars, all designed to keep the dregs of society inside while they paid their debts. Dorian did eight hours there every two weeks, taking on some of the toughest cases pro bono.
The law he practiced was not criminal law, though, but family law. In the case of these men, he mostly handled custody battles, visitation rights and other unjust situations regarding their children. It was a sad fact that many of these men, the vast majority of whom were black, lost not only their freedom but access to their children as a result of their sentencing. Disgruntled and often vengeful mothers sought to deprive them of their parental rights not just for the duration of their sentence, but even after their release.
This was wrong. Just because a man made some mistakes, it did not mean that he should lose the right to be a dad. There were too many children in the world growing up fatherless. That, in itself, was a tragedy. As long as a prisoner had never been convicted of a violent crime or a crime against children, he was willing to take on any custody or visitation rights case for free.
In fact, he had single-handedly lobbied the warden, and later the governor, to ensure facilities for non-violent prisoners to meet and play with their children in a simulated home environment, just as women prisoners were allowed to do. The visiting house on prison grounds, with a playground that featured swings, slides, jungle gyms, and even a basketball hoop, was the result of his badgering. Dorian considered it the finest victory of his career. His work at Elcroft Green was not a job, it was a calling.
As he put his hand on the doorknob, he sought to reassure Clark one final time. “I’ll see you there tonight.” He couldn’t resist adding, “I can’t wait to meet this Cassie you’re so entranced with. And I certainly can’t wait to meet Dear Rita!”
Rita woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The apartment was in darkness, which was a good thing, because even a sliver of light right now would be a dagger between her eyes. The nagging headache that had begun that morning had exploded into a full-on migraine sometime during the day, with all the pain, nausea and light sensitivity the devil could visit upon her. After popping more than the recommended dose of pain pills, she’d given up the battle and taken to bed around three in the afternoon, and lay there moaning, with a cold compress on her forehead and her face pressed against the wall.
Now something had woken her up, an inner alarm clock that would not be silenced. Still under the bewildering effects of sleep, she searched her mind for that thing, that very important thing she needed to do right this minute, but came up empty.
Why was she up? Was it a sudden noise, a vicious jolt of pain or the subconscious knowledge that she was supposed to be doing something? She put her hand to her head, and the touch sent waves of pain through her.
Then she remembered.
Cassie.
Oh, God.
She threw herself to the other side of the bed and her fingers frantically sought the clock. Turning it around, she could see the green glow of large digits. It was ten to seven. Cassie was coming to get her in about ten minutes, and Cassie was never late.
She toyed with the idea of calling to say she was sick, but the thought itself was a betrayal. Cassie meant everything to her. If Rita had been lying in the woods with her leg caught in a bear trap, she’d have gnawed it off in order to make it tonight.
She clicked on the bedside lamp and winced. She stripped, dashed into the shower and was out again after barely getting her skin wet. Her legs needed shaving and her hair could have done with a quick shampoo, but neither project was plausible. She toweled herself down, dragged on mismatched underwear, and threw open her closet door, cursing herself for not having decided in advance what she would be wearing. She chose a faithful old standby: a slim-fitting, warm burgundy skirt that reached mid-calf (thus solving the problem of the unshaven legs) and a sheer champagne top with a neckline that showed cleavage without plunging all the way to her belly button.
She didn’t have time to pile her twists up onto her head as she liked to do when dining out, so she satisfied herself by smoothing them so that, at the very least, they didn’t look like a fright wig. Now, for makeup—
Her phone rang. Rita snatched up the receiver. “Cass?”
“I’m outside, babe,” Cassie chirped.
Rita glanced at her dresser, strewn with pots of color, lipsticks and brushes, and hesitated. “Uh….”
“Ready, right?” Cassie asked, but her question was not a question. It was a statement that demanded an affirmative response.
Rita hesitated. Her reflection in the dresser mirror wore no makeup. Her brows needed neatening and her forehead was just a tad too shiny. She was going out on a blind date looking, if not like something the cat dragged in, at least like something the cat would have given serious consideration to.
But Cassie was a bundle of nerves and a tangle of excitement, and Rita didn’t have the heart to keep her waiting a moment longer. After all, it wasn’t as if this was a real date, with prospects for dates in the future. This was a favor for a friend, an evening to be endured, to be ended with relief. Her “date,” this Dorian Black, was probably as reluctant as she was to be dragged along as third and fourth wheels. If he wasn’t, if he thought this was anything more than it seemed, he was a bigger nerd than she expected him to be.
“Rita?” Cassie’s anxious voice was tinny in her ear. “You there?”
“Uh, yeah.” She regained control of her scrambled thoughts. “I’m here. I’m on my way down.”
“Good.” Cassie sounded relieved. “I was afraid….” She didn’t finish.
“On my way,” Rita repeated, and hung up. Pausing only to slip on a pair of pumps that were almost the same shade as her skirt, and to snatch up her purse and a light coat for the cool evening, she darted through the front door and raced downstairs. Her head pounded with every footfall.
Someone had tried very hard to create an ambience of soothing, almost trance-like calm at Vimanmek Palace. As soon as Rita and Cassie walked in, they were greeted by the tinkling of brass and the trickling of water through bamboo pipes. The interior was decorated