Worst Fears Realized

was low and musical, and Stone enjoyed listening.
    “I recall that you are a lawyer, but I forget with whom,” she said.
    “I’m in private practice.”
    She laughed. “At Yale law we were taught to believe that ‘private practice’ meant you couldn’t get a job with a good firm.”
    “That’s probably a fair characterization, but my excuse is that I was a cop for fourteen years and came to the practice of law, as opposed to the upholding of it, late in life. I’m of counsel to Woodman and Weld, but I work out of a home office.”
    She wrinkled her brow. “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is, I guess.”
    “Oh, I get it; you do the dirty work, the stuff they don’t want to be seen to handle.”

    “You’re very quick.”
    “That’s what they say about me down at the DA’s Office,” she said. “‘Susan Bean is very quick.’ Of course, that’s notall they say about me.”
    They stopped for a traffic light. “What else do they say?”
    “Some call me the conscience of the office; others call me a pain in the ass. I guess it’s pretty much the same thing.”
    “What are you working on now?”
    “I was second chair to Martin Brougham on the Dante case,” she said.
    “Congratulations,” Stone replied. “That was a big win.”
    “I guess so.”
    “You don’t sound very happy about it.”
    “Oh, I’m glad we won,” she said. “I’m just not very happy abouthow we won.”
    He was about to ask her what she meant when they arrived at her apartment building. She dug for a key and let them in; they took the elevator to the top floor, which was markedPH on the button.
    “The penthouse?” Stone said. “Pretty fancy for an ADA.”
    “It’s the top floor, the twelfth. That’s its only qualification as a penthouse.”
    They rode up, and she opened the door to the apartment. It was small—living room, a dining alcove, bedroom, and kitchen. There was a small terrace overlooking the street. Any skyline view was blocked by a taller building across the street.
    She went into the kitchen, dug a menu out of adrawer, and picked up the phone. “Trust me on the selections?” she asked.
    “Sure, but nothing too spicy for me.”
    She dialed the number and read off a list of dishes. “How long?” she asked. She listened, then covered the phone. “The delivery boy is out sick; would you mind picking it up? It’s not far.”
    “Glad to,” Stone said.
    “How long?” she asked again. “Okay, twenty minutes.” She hung up. “Can I get you a drink? Twenty minutes really means thirty.”
    “Maybe some wine?”
    She dug a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and handed it to Stone with a corkscrew. “You open it; I’m clumsy.”
    Stone opened the bottle and poured them a glass. He threw his coat on a chair, and they sat on the sofa.
    “That was quite a list of dishes you ordered,” he said.
    “I exist on leftovers from takeout,” she replied. “So what fascinating dirty work are you doing for Woodman and Weld at the moment?” she asked.
    “A personal injury suit,” he replied. “Dirty work isn’t always fascinating.”
    “Is it a fascinating injury?”
    “Not in the least. A Woodman and Weld client’s daughter was hurt in an automobile accident, and the other driver’s insurance company has been recalcitrant about paying her for her pain and suffering.”
    “They usually are.”
    “What’s next for you at the DA’s Office, now that you’ve put Dante away?”

    She sighed. “I don’t know; I’m thinking about giving it up. It wears on me, you know?”
    “I think I do, but it sounds like Brougham is on his way up. Won’t he take you with him?”
    “Yes, but I’m not sure I want to go. When I joined the DA’s Office I was pretty idealistic, I guess. I saw it as the good guys against the bad guys, but now I’m not sure thereare any good guys.”
    “Life is a gray area,” Stone said.
    “It’scharcoal gray and getting darker,” she said. “Did I ask you if you’re married?”
    “No; I’m not.”
    “Divorced?”
    “Nope.”
    “A lifelong bachelor? My God! Are you gay?”
    “Nope.”
    “Why did you never marry?”
    “Just lucky, I guess.” He had been using that answer for a long time. “What about you?”
    “A spinster at thirty-two,” she replied.
    “Not for want of offers, I suspect.”
    “I’ve had my moments.” She looked at him oddly. “May I kiss you?”
    Stone laughed. “I’ve been kissed, but I’ve never been