Adam and Jennifer met for lunch once a week, and it was torture for both of them, for they had no time to be alone together, no privacy. They talked on the telephone every day, using code names. He was Mr. Adams and she was Mrs. Jay.
“I hate sneaking around like this,” Adam said.
“I do too.” But the thought of losing him terrified her.
The courtroom was where Jennifer escaped from her own private pain. The courtroom was a stage, an area where she matched wits against the best that the opposition could offer. Her school was the courtroom and she learned well. A trial was a game played within certain rigid rules, where the better player won, and Jennifer was determined to be the better player.
Jennifer’s cross-examinations became theatrical events, with a skilled speed and rhythm and timing. She learned to recognize the leader of a jury and to concentrate on him, knowing he could swing the others into line.
A man’s shoes said something about his character. Jennifer looked for jurors who wore comfortable shoes, because they were inclined to be easygoing.
She learned about strategy, the overall plan of a trial, and about tactics, the day-by-day maneuvers. She became an expert at shopping for friendly judges.
Jennifer spent endless hours preparing each case, heeding the adage, Most cases are won or lost before the trial begins. She became adept at mnemonics so that she could remember jurors’ names: Smith—a muscular man who could handle an anvil; Helm—a man steering a boat; Newman—a newborn baby.
The court usually recessed at four o’clock, and when Jennifer was cross-examining a witness in the late afternoon, she would stall until a few minutes before four and then hit the witness with a verbal blow that would leave a strong overnight impression on the jury.
She learned to read body language. When a witness on the stand was lying, there would be telltale gestures: stroking the chin, pressing the lips together, covering the mouth, pulling the earlobes or grooming the hair. Jennifer became an expert at reading those signs, and she would zero in for the kill.
Jennifer discovered that being a woman was a disadvantage when it came to practicing criminal law. She was in macho territory. There were still very few women criminal attorneys and some of the male lawyers resented Jennifer. On her briefcase one day Jennifer found a sticker that read: Women Lawyers Make the Best Motions. In retaliation, Cynthia put a sign on her desk that read: A Woman’s Place is in the House…and in the Senate.
Most juries started out by being prejudiced against Jennifer, for many of the cases she handled were sordid, and there was a tendency to make an association between her and her client. She was expected to dress like Jane Eyre and she refused, but she was careful to dress in such a fashion that she would not arouse the envy of the women jurors, and at the same time appear feminine enough so as not to antagonize the men who might feel she was a lesbian. At one time, Jennifer would have laughed at any of these considerations. But in the courtroom she found them to be stern realities. Because she had entered a man’s world she had to work twice as hard and be twice as good as the competition. Jennifer learned to prepare thoroughly not only her own cases, but the cases of her opposition as well. She would lie in bed at night or sit at the desk in her office and plot her opponent’s strategy. What would she do if she were on the other side? What surprises would she try to pull? She was a general, planning both sides of a lethal battle.
Cynthia buzzed on the intercom. “There’s a man on line three who wants to talk to you, but he won’t give his name or tell me what it’s about.”
Six months earlier, Cynthia would simply have hung up on the man. Jennifer had taught her never to turn anyone away.
“Put him through,” Jennifer said.
A moment later she heard a man’s voice ask cautiously, “Is this Jennifer Parker?”