Vampire, Esquire

VAMPIRE, ESQUIRE

The jurors file into the jury box, heads down and avoiding all eye contact.  Under normal circumstances, I might take it as a good sign that there will be a guilty verdict.

Given who I’m up against, these are not normal circumstances. 

I adjust my skirt as an excuse to fidget while all twelve of the main jurors and the alternate take their seats and pointedly look anywhere but at the lawyers who tried the case. The tension in my body ratchets up when the judge asks if they’ve reached a unanimous verdict. The foreperson, a retired police officer that I was absolutely shocked that I was able to sneak onto the jury, stands and holds the verdict sheet like it’s a precious jewel.

“Please read the verdict aloud,” the judge says.

The foreperson begins by announcing the date and the defendant’s name, and my palms break into a slick cold sweat. There’s no reason for me to lose this case. The defendant was on video robbing a fast-food restaurant at gunpoint. He and three of his buddies had engaged in a high-speed chase with police just a few minutes later, and when they had been pulled over, they had cash and one of the victims’ cellphones. I’d even able to subpoena text messages about the plan ahead of time.

He has to be guilty.

“On Count 1, Armed Robbery,” the foreperson says, and I can barely hear him over the thumping in my ears. “We find the defendant Not Guilty.”

The defendant releases a sound that’s a cross between a cry and a scream and it’s so loud that nobody can hear my whispered “what the hell?” I just stand there, dumbfounded, as the foreperson finishes reading all the counts of the indictment. 

Not Guilty. 

Not Guilty.

Not Guilty.

There is no explanation, other than the woman standing at the defense table.

Vanessa Ford.

When I finally manage to pull my disbelieving eyes away from the jury box, I look at Vanessa. Unlike her client, who is now openly weeping in joy, she stands tall, confident, and as cool as a cucumber. Her dark green tailored pantsuit looks like it’s painted onto her slim body, and it complements her dark brown skin perfectly, making her look like some kind of earth goddess among mere mortals. Although her face remains neutral, her chocolate brown eyes flit over to me and there is a sparkle of mischief and triumph in them.

I told you so, they seem to say.

God, I hate her. 

“Would you like to poll the jury?” the judge asks, pulling me out of my death stare and back into the unfortunate present.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to sound as shattered as I feel.

As the jurors go down the line, one by one, confirming their “not guilty “votes, I try to wrap my mind around how Vanessa has done it yet again. She has managed the impossible and secured another victory for a client that seems completely guilty. 

But that’s just what she does, because Vanessa Ford has never lost a case in her entire 20-year career as a criminal defense attorney. 

It is an unheard-of feat. 

Even the best criminal defense attorneys lose sometimes, especially when the client is on video, caught red-handed, and texts all his friends about the crime!

But, oh no, not Vanessa. 

It seems like every time she sashays into a courtroom, she takes control of it. Every jury loves her. Every judge adores her. And every prosecutor absolutely despises (and if I’m honest, fears) her.  There are rumors in the District Attorney’s office that maybe she’s bribing people: cops, jurors, judges. But even for someone as apparently well-off as she is, she can’t possibly bribe everyone, can she?

I’m still in a fog as the judge thanks for the jury for their service and releases them back to their normal lives. They’re barely out of the courtroom before the judge is unzipping her black robe and instructing the bailiff to take the defendant back to the jail to process his release. 

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you all next week,” the judge says, totally unbothered by this travesty of justice.

Once she’s gone and the court reporter is packed up and the bailiff is in the holding cell to start the release of the defendant, it’s just me and Vanessa. I feel frazzled and I’m sure I look it. Vanessa, on the other hand, looks like she just came from a day at the salon, not a taxing four-day criminal trial. Her shoulder-length silk-pressed hair flows around her like a fan is blowing on her for a music video. She easily gathers her designer purse and the one puny notebook that she used to take notes during the trial, and I can feel her staring at me as I slide all my folders and trial practice books into my arms.

“Good game, Madam Prosecutor,” she says in a voice that clearly bewitched the jury.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a game.”

“You know what I mean. You were a worthy opponent.”

I roll my eyes again and make my way out of the courtroom to avoid any further conversation. Unfortunately, she follows me.

“I was wondering if we could talk about the two cases I have on the arraignment calendar next week,” she says.

“No,” I say, without turning around.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a sore loser.”

She catches me up to me as I wait for the elevator that will take me up to my office, where I intend to sulk. I can feel her staring at the side of my face and I whip around to her and frown. 

“He should have been convicted,” I say. “He was on tape, for God’s sake.”

“Somebody was on tape,” she says. “The video is grainy. Somebody of my client’s very general description was on tape, but you didn’t prove it was him.”

“He was found in the car with the co-defendants, all of whom pleaded guilty.”

“And all of whom said the fourth guy was someone else, not my client.”

“There are texts talking about a robbery!” I nearly scream.

“Could have been about a robbery in a video game,” she says with a shrug.

“Oh my God!” I say, incredibly grateful when the elevator doors slide open. “Is this how you do it? You just beat people down until they agree with you? Is that how you never lose a case?”

Vanessa smiles and shrugs and follows me onto the elevator.

“I win because I only take cases to trial when I know my client is innocent.”

“And just how on Earth could you know that?”

Her full lips spread into an even bigger smile. She taps the space between her eyebrows and says, “I have extraordinarily good intuition.”

I scoff. 

She shrugs again and in the limited space of the elevator, she is standing a little more closely than I would say is strictly necessary. The smell of a woodsy perfume wafts off her body, and it only makes the Earth Goddess thing more pronounced.

“You really want to know my secret?” she asks. She smiles at me like she does when she’s trying to get her way, which I’m fairly sure is always.

“Yes,” I say plainly. 

“Come to lunch with me and I’ll tell you.”

Now that catches me off guard. 

“What?”

“Come to lunch with me, right now, and I’ll tell you how I win every single case I take to trial.”

“I have to work,” I lie.

“It’s Thursday and we just had a trial. Surely, you can sneak off early.”

Vanessa is too much in my personal space, with her pretty face and her intoxicating scent, and there is something irritatingly enchanting about her. She must take my silence for agreement because she says, “there are plenty of good restaurants around here. What do you have a taste for?”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t say no, either.”

She stares at me, and I stare right back, and we’re at a standoff. She’s the last person I want to spend any amount of time with right now, and I know I should just walk right out of the opening elevator doors and get out of there.

Then, my body betrays me with the loudest stomach growl I have ever produced in my life, and Vanessa tosses her head back and laughs. Even her neck is perfect. 

“Come on, my treat,” she says. “Before your little tummy shrivels up and dies.”

“You are the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes bright and amused.

My stomach growls again, and I give up. I reason that after the beating I just took in court, I deserve a free lunch. Even if it’s from Vanessa.  She follows me to my office, like some kind of gorgeous and deeply unwanted puppy, and waits for me while I put my things away and exchange my heels for the emergency tennis shoes I keep under my desk. When I walk past her out the door, I may or may not go an extra inch out of my way to knock into her body. This only makes her laugh.

“After you, my lady,” she says.

God, I hate her.

We’re back on the elevator downstairs, which gives me time to look at our distorted reflections in the old, shiny surface of the elevator doors. Vanessa and I are about the same height, on the taller end for women at 5’8”. We have the same slim body type and although the brown of my skin is slightly lighter than hers, a few good days on the beach would make us the same complexion. We look like we’re evenly matched. 

So why do I always feel so small around her?

I bolt off the elevator the minute we’re on the main floor, and I make a point of walking well ahead of her to the courtyard in front of the courthouse. There are tons of restaurants within walking distance and I make the executive decision to head to the burger place with the amazing sweet potato fries, without consulting Vanessa. I’m inside and seated at a table for a few minutes before she casually strolls in and sets her designer handbag in an empty chair next to her.

“You can’t outrun me, you know,” she says, with that sly smile that makes me feel tingly in a way that I would deny out loud.

“I’m sure I could. I was a track star in high school,” I say.

“Oh my, well, excuse me.” She holds up her hands like she’s apologizing. And then she roams her eyes up and down my body and it sends an unexpected and very annoying thrill up my spine. “Were you a sprinter?”

“400 meters,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “We were state champions back to back years.”

“Impressive,” she says. “I figured you did some kind of sports with that athletic build.”

She does the body-scanning thing again, and again, I felt some kind of way. Flustered? Insecure? Definitely not aroused. 

I am saved from having to respond when the waitress appears next to our table and asks if we want drinks and appetizers. I order my favorite burger and fries, but Vanessa only asks for water.

“You’re not eating?”

“Big breakfast,” she says, and taps her flat stomach.

I narrow my eyes because somehow, I know she’s lying. Vanessa doesn’t strike me as the type to eat a big breakfast. Or a big lunch. Or a big dinner. She’s one of those people that I can’t imagine doing something as mundane as eating.

“So, my cases next week,” she says, and she launches into her thoughts about the two defendants she has on the following week’s arraignment calendar. I only halfway listen. Partly because I’m too hungry to devote any mental energy to hearing or processing anything related to work. And partly because I’m too busy watching her lips move. They’re nice lips. Full and pink and eternally glossed. I have a brief, totally involuntary and very ridiculous desire to feel those lips on me. And the minute that mental image comes to mind, I shake my head and re-engage my brain in the conversation about her clients.

The conversation remains strictly professional until the food comes, when I zone out again and attack my burger and fries like I’ve been living in a desert with no food. Trials always make me hungry, especially when I lose. The food is so good that I temporarily forget that Vanessa is even there. It’s only when I come up for air that I realize she has stopped talking and is staring at me. I wipe my face to make sure I’m not covered in barbeque sauce.

“What?” I ask.

She leans over the table and asks, “do you eat everything that passionately?”

Heat courses through me and from the look on her face, I entertain the thought that she might leap over the table and into my lap. The thought doesn’t disgust me nearly as much as it should.

I clear my throat and wipe my hands and face.

“Anyway,” I say, “you said you’d tell me how you win all these cases. So, spill it because I’m ready to go home and take a nap.”

Vanessa’s eyes slide up from my (hopefully barbeque sauce-free) mouth and her gaze locks on mine.  It must be a trick of the light, maybe the sun reflecting off the windshield of a passing car, but it looks like her dark brown eyes flash green for just a second.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks in a low voice that has no business being that sexy.

“You said if I went to lunch with you, you would tell me. I’m at lunch with you, so tell me.”

Her intense eyes probe mine for a few more seconds, and she smiles, revealing her perfect teeth.

“The truth is that I’m a vampire, and I can control people’s minds and get the outcomes I want in every trial.”

Her tone is completely serious, and her usual teasing, smirking smile is nowhere to be found. Seconds pass and she doesn’t say “just kidding!” or “you should have seen your face!” or anything. We just sit there, with the weight of her words sitting between us like a brick on the table.

And I burst into laughter.

It’s real, stomach-bursting laughter. I can’t stop myself. The combination of that ridiculous verdict and this ridiculous woman and her ridiculous explanation is just more than I can take. I laugh so hard that I have to hold my stomach and I nearly fall off my chair. I try to stop, but then I look at Vanessa, sitting stone-faced, and the laughter starts all over again. By the time I’m able to truly pull myself together, I have tears in my eyes.

“Oh my God,” I say. “Oh my God, wow. You are a piece of work, you know that?”

“I’m being serious,” she says, and if I didn’t know better, I might believe her.

“Right, sure.”

She quirks her head to the side and takes me in.

“It’s nice to see you laugh,” she says. “You’re always so serious and uptight. You have a beautiful laugh. You should do it more often.”

“My line of work isn’t exactly funny,” I remind her. 

She nods her head from side to side, like maybe that is somehow debatable. 

“Anyway,” I say, as I toss my napkin onto my plate. “Thanks for the laughs. And for lunch. I’m going home to take a nap now. You can email me with whatever requests you have for next week.”

I stand to leave just as the waitress comes back. She starts to put the check on the table, and then Vanessa snaps her fingers and the waitress stops. Her entire body simply freezes in place, her mouth open about to say something and her hands in the middle of putting the check down.

It’s strange, of course, but what’s even stranger is that all the background noise has also stopped. The random sounds of people talking. The sports commentators yelling on the TV screens. The usual cacophony of life and movement outside.

It’s all frozen.

I look at Vanessa, and the brief flash of green I saw in her eyes earlier has now overtaken her irises. Her eyes glow in an otherworldly emerald which is even more pronounced against her dark brown skin. She looks like quite pleased with herself, and when she smiles again, she widens her mouth just a little so I can see fangs elongate from her gums.

What the…

“I told you,” she says, calm as ever. “I’m a vampire.”

My brain is going a million miles a minute, and my heart pounds with the knowledge that Vanessa could hurt me. Or kill me. If she wanted.

Still, I somehow manage a quip.

“Well,” I say, “I didn’t see that one coming.”