Page 4 of From the Courtroom to the Court
Emily steps forward, and her mother closes her eyes for a moment; she already knows what's coming. The young attorney positions herself, centers her legs, and visualizes the ball without looking at anything else; she's so focused that she wouldn't turn her head even if there was an explosion, something very unusual for her. She pulls her foot back slightly and forcefully kicks the ball. The ball shoots off to one side and goes into the road, completely opposite to where it should go. Her heel falls near her mother's legs, and Emily would almost lose her balance if Bilma—accustomed to her daughter's sporting blunders—didn't hold her firmly. She laughs heartily because these little things give Emily life. She hears how the children laugh too, and she continues, infected by their mirth.
"For God's sake, honey," Bilma says as she helps her stabilize and then picks up her shoe.
"I almost got it," Emily replies, breathless but happy.
Her mother says nothing; it's a waste of time. Emily's love for sports is infinite, and she's so bad at them that it generates a kind of tenderness.
"Although soccer is the sport I'm worst at," Emily continues talking as they walk. "You'll see how I'll do better at tennis." She steps forward and makes a gesture as if she had a racket in her hand. She trips again. Her mother holds her steady.
"I hope at least you'll go to a decent club where they teach you properly," her mother huffs at her daughter's energetic face. "Don't even think about going to some dump."
"All clubs are good," Emily corrects her. "It's just that not all teaching methods work for me. I've decided on Walker's; a client who's thrilled with it recommended it to me."
Bilma nods and hopes that this time her daughter will actually learn something. Sometimes her motherly instinct makes her want to shut down all those places that have done nothing but take Emily's money once they realize the poor woman is incapable of coordinating her body with any other instrument. But then she sees her happy, telling her how it went and what she did, and decides not to interfere in her life. Emily is a relentless attorney, a hopeless klutz at sports, and the most cheerful woman she knows.
The doors of Harris & Associates open, and the two women enter with firm steps. The secretaries greet them courteously, and they return the greetings politely. Yes, there are several people working at the entrance of the firm because it's not exactly small. The law firm is the largest in Charleston, located in a building with high ceilings, polished black marble floors, and minimalist details that don't go unnoticed; a statement of power and prestige. George and Bilma Harris occupy the first floor along with other more senior partners.
"See you later?" Bilma asks her daughter when she exits the elevator.
"I'll stop by your office before I leave," the younger of the two says as a farewell.
Emily exits the elevator on the second floor, her floor, where attorneys specializing in criminal, corporate, commercial, civil, and labor law share an open space with spacious cubicles, although she has her own office. Additionally, she has a small legal library that Bilma had installed during the last renovation about four years ago. On the next three floors are meeting rooms, comfortable sofas, an entertainment room, and a dining area. Emily Harris loves her job, but above all, her family's firm.
"Look who's gracing us with her presence," a female voice greets with confidence, following Emily to her office. "Here, you've earned it after giving old Dan Robbinson such a beating."
Emily's eyes light up, and she extends her arm to receive a large transparent plastic cup with writing on it: the best attorney.
"God, this is so good," the attorney blurts out, closing her eyes after sucking a good amount of her drink through the straw.
The other woman wrinkles her nose and drinks from her chai tea.
"I don't know where you put all that sugar you consume. If I drank that, I'd gain several pounds before finishing it."
Emily looks at her cousin and rolls her eyes, always exaggerating everything. Emma Harris is like the sister she never had; they're only five years apart, although often Emma seems older. She's obsessed with beauty, a snob who can sometimes be unbearable because, after mingling with South Carolina's wealthiest people, Emma can be a woman who puts appearances before anything else. This doesn't affect Emily—not much—because she knows her cousin and also colleague has an immense heart that barely fits in her chest. She's smart, kind, and a good attorney; that said, unlike Emily, she studied law to follow the family legacy and not out of passion like she did. She doesn't mind practicing, but she's not passionate about it either. She takes simple cases, helps her cousin with the complicated ones, and lives happily in her glass bubble.
"You know I don't count calories, much less limit myself to what I like to eat," Emily answers and goes back to enjoying her shake of coffee, vanilla milk, and salted caramel with a tower of whipped cream on top. "I prefer to exercise and move as much as I can so I can enjoy these delights."
"And that's considering how bad you are at sports," Emma says in a mocking tone, showing off the dark humor they both always have. "If you were at least good at one, you'd have a magazine-cover body."
Emily finishes the shake in one go and runs her tongue over her upper lip, licking the remaining cream. She looks up and gives a crooked smile.
"What I'm really good at is fucking," she says, and Emma opens her eyes in horror before starting to laugh. "That's how I burn calories and stay this gorgeous."
Chapter 3
"Great backhand, Andrew," Leah compliments one of the three children she's teaching that afternoon. "Okay, we're done for today. You can keep practicing on this court until your father comes to pick you up, Oliver," she adds, checking her watch.
The three kids always come together, dropped off and picked up by one of their parents, always taking turns. When it's Oliver's father's turn, he's always late, so Leah usually keeps that court free for an extra hour to keep them entertained while they wait.
Leah leaves the kids on the court, wipes the sweat with her towel and peels her shirt away from her back, feeling relief when a gentle breeze passes between her skin and clothes. She takes a couple gulps of water to cool down, picks up her bag and heads toward the main building to find out which court her next class is on. Anne and Natalie, her mothers, wait for her there, along with what she appreciates most on these summer afternoons—the air conditioning.
"Put this on before you catch a cold," says Anne, approaching her with a thin sports jacket that Leah eyes with horror.
"Give me a break, mom, I'm roasting," she says, sitting in one of the padded reception chairs lined up next to the glass wall, directly in front of the air conditioner.
Leah stretches out her bare legs and slouches as if she's about to faint. Natalie lets out a laugh, but Anne doesn't yield, always excessively worried.
"Put it on, I said," she insists, holding the garment in the air.
