© 2010 by Monica Conti

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This material is presented as adult entertainment and is not intended for any person under the age of eighteen years. While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, the author assumes no responsibilities for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein. All characters and descriptions contained herein are purely fictitious.

Chiara stood by the window watching the people moving along W. Peachtree as she sipped her coffee and thought about the day ahead. Her raven hair was swept off her face and fell in waves around high cheekbones. The tips of that luxuriant mane grazed the tops of her shoulders. That morning she had chosen a turquoise turtleneck sweater that fit her slim torso and gently hugged her breasts. Black trousers hung low on her hips and clung to her bottom as though the material had been painted on her. Chiara felt that too many career women imitated men in their choice of dress. She saw no reason to drape herself in curve killing pinstripes.

Chiara Bianchi had arresting, dark brown eyes. When she gazed at anyone she had a way of making them feel as though she were looking deep into them, not just at them, but inside their being. That she stood out wherever she went was due to no special effort on her part. Her beauty and Italian heritage gave her an aura of intrigue. Most of the denizens of Atlanta found her worthy of attention. And, if her accent and beauty weren’t enough to make them notice, then her unconventional sense of style was.

Even though the letterhead of the firm of Smith, Weinstein & Brooks did not yet bear her name, Chiara felt the firm’s offices were her domain. She pretty much lived and breathed her career and years of hard work had advanced her to junior partner status but there was one last rung to climb. Each morning, she would stand in the same spot. Her eyes were on the sun rising over the distant skyline but her mind was busy ordering the day ahead. Whether she had a court appearance or a brief to work on, she was diligent and thorough.

Chiara was a worthy adversary in the courtroom and not one that prosecutors looked forward to seeing across from them at the defense table.

As she turned away from the window that morning she had a lot on her mind. She was undertaking the biggest criminal trial she had ever been given. If she won it, she could expect to make full partner. A pursuit of success and power was the hypnotic underpinning that kept her centered as a woman and as a lawyer.

The case involved Jack Shay, the proprietor of the largest and most popular gentleman’s club in Atlanta—Club Vanity Fair.

The indictment charged Shay with racketeering and the illegal operation of a prostitution ring on the premises of the club. They were alleging serious connections to organized crime. It was a nice juicy, high profile scandal. The prosecutor saw a chance for some sweet political headlines and he had people lined up around the block to testify against Shay. Everyone in Atlanta figured he was guilty.

Most anyone with deep pockets called Peter Smith’s firm when they found themselves in hot water. But the most senior of the partners had not been eager to defend Shay. It seemed like a lost cause and losing a case that was getting so much publicity wouldn’t help their reputation. But there were two good reasons for him to help Shay in spite of his reservations. One, the fee would be large and there was a second incentive. Some years back there had been an unfortunate mishap. He and a few cronies had at times availed themselves of the services of some of Shay’s classier girls. One night things had had not worked out for him with one of those girls. Everything had been taken care of. It was pretty much ancient history but with the prosecutor busy digging a hole to bury Shay in who knew what old skeletons might be unearthed. If the firm took the defense he would be in a better position to do some damage control if by some fluke it became necessary.

None of the partners wanted it. They felt it was an unwinnable bet and who needed an addition to their loss column. Also it had the smell of outside underworld influence written all over it. So Smith passed it off to Chiara Bianchi. She was hungry for a chance to shine and he was sure she was able enough to at least put up a good show. The prosecution would be painting Shay as a victimizer of women so having a woman at the defense table made sense.

As word circulated within the firm it became a sort of whispered joke. Her male colleagues were sure that the high and mighty Miss Bianchi would lose the trial and be one step closer to leaving. Oddly enough it was the very fact of her attractiveness that had brought about such secret animosity.

Chiara had initially been admired by all the firm’s male lawyers, but their admiration was more for her beauty and exoticism than for her skill as a lawyer. But after getting nowhere near her bedroom resentment had replaced admiration. She’d become known as the Ice Queen behind her back. Her defeat would provide some satisfaction for their bruised egos.

It was true that Chiara had steadfastly refused all of their seductive overtures. But she’d rejected them kindly. Chiara was not cruel or rude. In fact, she was femininely polite in the extreme way that Italian women tend to be. She was always respectful to her male counterparts.

In many ways, despite her career accomplishments she was traditionally feminine outwardly. She even volunteered to serve the coffee or tea at meetings. And, she never indicated any displeasure when she saw the men sizing her up physically during intra-office gatherings or at firm outings.

She had been raised by a second generation Italian-American mother and had been brought up to show respect for men. So, it came naturally for her to do so. The problem was that the men misinterpreted this behavior as meaning that she might want something more than office politesse.

In thinking she was interested in men in any way other than professionally they had been way off base. Chiara was a lesbian. Her personal choice was to remain in the closet. To her mind she had no alternative if she wanted to succeed as a lawyer in such a very old school Atlanta firm.

However, being closeted had merely solved one problem and created another. The men took her rejection of them to heart and their resentment toward her grew, as both a woman and an attorney.

Chiara had naturally become aware of this but there was little she could do beyond maintaining her composure. The conflict was unavoidable. She was absolutely gorgeous to look at and though she tried and mostly succeeded at keeping suitors at bay with the kindest refusals, she had an allure that was bound to lead her into difficulty.

At the moment, she didn’t have time to consider any of that or what she was missing in her life. Her thoughts were consumed with a search for some angle that could be brought to Jack Shay’s defense.

She knew that Shay was guilty as sin. From the moment Peter Smith had tossed the case in her lap she had spent night, day and every waking millisecond on it. She didn’t care about his guilt. What she cared about as a seasoned defense attorney was getting him a fair trial. And winning it despite the odds against her!

Chiara had been schooled by some of the best and brightest lawyers at Harvard and she knew what it took to win a tough case. The key would be microscopic focus. There had to be a flaw somewhere she just had to prove she could find it.

On her initial meeting with Jack Shay, they were both sizing each other up. Chiara took one look at him and saw him for a sleazy purveyor of flesh. For his part, he seemed more than a little doubtful of her ability to defend him successfully. Chiara quickly pointed out to him that having a woman in his corner when he was accused of prostituting women was actually a huge advantage. In the end he had to concur. The bottom line for Chiara was that her personal opinion of Jack Shay was immaterial. Giving him anything less than the best defense she could muster would be unethical.

Her head might have been filled with thoughts of nothing but Jack Shay and Club Vanity Fair. But, at night sometimes, when all was quiet in her large home on E. Paces Ferry, private musings intruded. She would stare out across the pine-tree strewn backyard and listen to the night-birds singing. Her success had earned her a lovely home but she felt deeply lonely at these moments and wished she had someone to share it with.

She had been single for a year now. Her longtime lover Helen had gone back to Boston where they had met during Chiara’s stint as a law student.

Helen had left because she had felt too often ignored. She’d been angry because Chiara spent all her time at the firm and she had also resented being forced into the closet with her there in the conservative and deeply-religious south.

Though they had loved each other a great deal, Helen had been unable to reconcile herself to being relegated to the home and never sharing time outside of it with her lover.

Chiara had not known how to change anything, though she had wanted to do so. It was too late now. Helen was already with another woman, a painter named Sharon Blackamoor, living in a quaint house with an ocean view and two dogs.

So on the dark evenings when Chiara was alone in her big empty white house with its grand portico and Doric columns, she felt yearnings for love, yearnings for pleasure, for eroticism.

There was no outlet for her. Torturing herself was pointless so she put even more of her energy into the career that had created those evening voids, always postponing her deeper desires and repressing any overwhelming longings. It was sad and a loss…both for her and for some special woman somewhere with whom she could have shared love had she felt free to live more honestly and more truly.

She justified the situation by telling herself that the time was not right for deeper living yet. At least, that is what she tried to convince herself of.

Out of the blue, Helen called one Sunday morning and asked Chiara if they might meet in New York for a showing of some recently unveiled Mapplethorpe photographs at the Modern. Chiara was surprised but also happy. The approaching trial made her hesitate but then she decided a break could actually help. If she could clear her head a fresh approach might present itself.

She had missed Helen horribly and longed to see her again. They had a rich history together and it was one that they both still valued. Circumstances more than anything else had separated them, not a lack of love or desire for one another.

Chiara agreed to meet her and they decided to share a room at the Omni Berkshire on E. 52nd Street. They had stayed there before and both liked its convenience as well as its simple elegance.

Chiara arrived Friday night and found out at the desk that Helen had already checked into the room.

She quietly opened the room with her key card. Helen was lying on the bed with her honey colored hair down. Her soft brown eyes filled with familiar desire when she saw Chiara.

Helen arose from the bed and took Chiara’s hands, bringing them to her lips and kissing the inner palms softly and erotically. Chiara uttered a moan.

No words were exchanged between the two women. There was no need for words. They fell into each other’s arms and began kissing as though it had been an eternity since either of them had shared kisses with another living being. Such was the case for Chiara, if not for Helen. Still, she had missed Chiara’s soft full lips and the way her warm, knowing tongue always moved inside her mouth, caressing her tongue and driving her toward ecstasy.

Chiara pulled at Helen’s raw silk shirt and accidentally tore it. Helen didn’t care at all and helped her finish ripping it off. The shirt dropped to the floor and Chiara fell upon Helen’s ripe, full breasts. Her nipples, reddened and hardened with desire, were ripe for Chiara’s mouth.

She caressed Helen’s breasts and sighed loudly as she moved her hands down to seek her lost lover’s sex.

She yanked the skirt off her and found, as in the past, that she wore no panties. Chiara’s fingers probed the crease of her sex, smelling it in the room, feeling Helen’s body tense with desire as she parted Helen’s lips. She continued kissing her with deep penetrating tongue strokes.

She entered her sex then, with two fingers inside that gorgeous mound. Helen’s nether lips were wetter than she ever remembered them in the past and she pushed in and out of her cunt harder and faster, the sound of her palm hitting the hot pussy loud in the room.

She pushed her down on the bed and told her: “Spread your legs, Helen.”

Helen obeyed her, and Chiara rose above her, moving her ex-lover’s thighs open roughly and wider. She pushed two fingers in her pussy and one inside her beautiful ass and slapped at her clit with her palm as she fingered her harder.

Chiara mounted her then, riding her with her own mound behind her palm as she fingered Helen’s sweet, hot cunt. The back of her hand was pressing against her own clit, and she was on the verge of orgasm herself when Helen raised her hips up off the bed, rotated them in a semicircle and came so hard that she nearly collapsed. Chiara held tight to her hips and rode the orgasm to its completion. She too came with a deep feeling of bliss radiating out from her clit and filling her entirely with pleasure.

They both felt such intense relief to finally touch again after so long apart. It didn’t matter that they had moved on with their lives. It didn’t matter to Chiara that Helen found another lover. Somehow they still had a bond.

They ordered room service that night and stayed up late watching old movies until they fell asleep in one another’s arms.

Chiara awoke in the morning to find herself alone. Helen’s things were gone. She found a note left on the desk written in a familiar and elegant scrawl,

I’m sorry C, I just couldn’t stay. Last night was beautiful. I’ll never forget it but I have to go back to Sharon. She’ll be devastated otherwise.

I’ll love you always ~ Helen.

This would have been a perfect time to fall apart if Chiara were a lesser woman, but she took it in the same composed way she took most things. She was simply happy they’d been able to find pleasure once more together, even if this truly signified that it was finally over between them.

She went back to Atlanta on a red-eye Delta flight. Her mind had already returned to the case ahead. Though she was forlorn and deeply sad, she was resigned. The scent of Helen’s perfume was still on the jacket she was wearing but once it faded...there would be only the memory of one last night in a hotel room.

The trial was fast approaching, and Chiara was researching and investigating the club and Mr. Shay. As a part of her effort, she made a point of visiting Club Vanity Fair just to get a sense of the place and what was really happening there.

Of course, Shay and his racketeering partners had done some necessary clean up and rule-changing since the indictment. The private VIP rooms had been shut down. But Chiara still felt she needed to have a feel for the club and for Shay’s role there.

She went to Vanity Fair on a Friday night around 11 p.m. and found it was full to capacity. Despite all the bad publicity, or perhaps due to it, the club was still doing well.

Chiara sat quietly in a corner of the nightclub, sipping a glass of chilled white wine watching the action unfold before her. She had never been to an exotic dance club before, so it was novel to see beautiful women dancing and moving around the floor with such naked abandon. She was aware that often women were coerced into working these establishments. Jack Shay might be a user but from what she could see these women were his willing accomplices. There were dollar signs in the eyes behind the smiles. She was the only female customer in the club.

She sensed that there was more than met the eye to this operation. According to her sources, upstairs there were hidden alcoves where women had been taking clients for ‘champagne and strawberries’ at an obscene price of around $1,000 per hour. It was hard to believe but some men paid it. Her problem was that no juror was going to be stupid enough to believe that men were paying that kind of money just for dances, champagne and strawberries.

Chiara was enjoying the music despite her reservations about the place. The music was slow, rhythmic and bass inflected. The wine warmed her and she became more relaxed as she sat back in the chair wearing her casual clothes—faded jeans, a black turtleneck and black boots. Even with semi-nude women wandering about she garnered plenty of attention from the male clients and had to snub several come-ons. The appearance of a woman patron in the club also drew speculation from the dancers and waitresses.

A lovely young dancer approached her and softly asked if she would like some company.

Chiara gazed at her deliberately, her dark eyes honing in on the dancer’s breasts. Her look went back up to the dancer’s face. The girl licked her lips slowly and smiled at Chiara.

“Well,” she asked seductively, “Would you like my company?”

Chiara asked her, “How much does your company cost?”

The dancer replied, “That all depends on what you want of me.”

Chiara touched the woman’s arm and felt the softness of her skin. The young woman smiled at her.

Chiara said quietly, “I think I have to pass this evening, though I am flattered that you asked me.”

The dancer smiled and walked away.

She passed up several more offers for lap dances, though she experienced some arousal as she watched the dancers moving so erotically and with such complete abandon. She felt a kind of strange dark desire rising up but she was there to observe…on professional business. Any such involvement was unthinkable... still, the temptation was real.

Jack Shay appeared and approached her around midnight.

“Kinda surprised to see you here.” he said, “I take it you aren’t looking for entertainment.”

“No. Just research.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

He sent to the kitchen for some crab legs and a platter of shrimp for them to nibble on. The loudness of the music prevented any real conversation but to be polite she joined his meal.

She finished the shrimp and neatly dabbed the corners of her lips with a cloth napkin, then she stood, and after a bare second’s hesitation, offered her slim olive skinned hand to him. He was gentlemanly about it and thanked her for coming. Seeing that she had decided to visit his world in person seemed to impress him.

“I’ve thought about things since our first talk. I was wrong doubting you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re defending me, Ms. Bianchi,” he said, “Thanks for coming down here on a Friday night at this hour.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Shay, we’re going to move forward with this case and we are going to win.” she told him.

She left the club hoping she’d sounded far more confident than she felt.

The day of the trial finally arrived. What with all the press build-up Atlanta was expecting a long drawn out affair packed with a series of tawdry revelations. But the event turned out to be shockingly anti-climatic and brief. The poor prosecutor never got a chance to parade his damning witnesses. During the discovery process Chiara had at first been overwhelmed by the mountain of negative evidence. She had been so discouraged at first that a simple technicality almost escaped her notice. It was the tiny flaw she’d hoped for. Through a clerical error, the original search warrant that had provided the incriminating paper trail had not been dated. It was a miniscule detail, but enough to upset the steamroller that had been bearing down on her.

Jack Shay was acquitted on the grounds of illegal search and seizure. Further, the judge in the case found that several key witnesses for the prosecution might have been coerced into testifying. Club Vanity Fair would remain open and Jack Shay walked away free.

When the news hit the media, there was outrage in Atlanta at first. But then the news began to center around the hot new attorney who had won the case against impossible odds. Chiara Bianchi was that attorney. She wasn’t at all new, but this was the first time she’d received such major media attention, so they had dubbed her ‘new.’

Chiara didn’t mind. She had finally made her name as an attorney. And though many in the firm were profoundly jealous that she’d won the case, they were forced to humble themselves when old man Smith announced he was promoting her, making her a full partner. He had been especially pleased by the unexpected victory and happy to have Shay out of the lime light. He had never confided to Chiara that the case had posed a remote risk to his own reputation. That she had managed an abrupt end to the business had been a relief worth rewarding.

A champagne dinner was held in her honor at the Ritz-Carlton. Chiara Bianchi was a woman to watch. At last, she had what she had been seeking for some fifteen years… full partnership and prestige.

Her new office was large and well-appointed. She had a huge picture window that provided her with a stunning view of the Atlanta skyline. On her impressive new desk she had found a vase of roses. She smiled assuming it was from Peter Smith until she read the card -

Many, many thanks to you,

Sent gratefully from your eternal friend

- Jack Shay

“Friend? I hardly think so, Mr Shay.”

Chiara said it aloud as she dumped the roses into the virgin trash bucket. The fact that she had helped a flesh peddler like Shay escape was distasteful in the extreme. But that was the system a lawyer had to work within. Angels and devils were both equal under the law. She was certain that karma would catch up with Mr Shay. Going forward as a full partner, she would be able to choose more deserving clients.

That evening she stood in complete stillness staring out across the sky as it turned from pink to orange to gray and then to darkness. She poured herself a glass of brandy and willed herself to feel at peace.

Grace Butrell had grown up in the small town of LaGrange, Georgia. Her family was not poor but they were certainly not members of what passed as the country club set. Grace, however, had been a bright star among her high- school peers. Her blonde, blue-eyed beauty had brought her an acceptance and popularity that her family circumstances might have easily denied her. Some of her friends thought her a bit too serious.

She had received a full scholarship to Old Miss and her four years there had been outstanding enough to win her a grant for law school. Her family was deeply proud of her.

But beneath all the drive and hard work lay a streak of rebelliousness. She was deeply curious about sexual things, and she’d satisfied this curiosity with a handsome med student. After her impatience to experience the supposed pleasure of the big sex secret the actual act had fallen far short of the magic she’d imagined.

For a time Grace went sort of steady with him. Mainly she’d gone out with him because he hadn’t been demanding or overly possessive. But when he had suddenly asked her to marry him, she’d balked. She was not prepared to get married and settle down as a doctor’s wife. She wanted something more than a sweet little suburban house. She was not going to settle for that kind of life, at least not too soon.

Her newly independent attitude and this rejection of their expectations for her as a young southern woman were not smiled upon by her family. Her mother actually got angry with her. She’d felt that a doctor would have been a fine catch. But her Momma felt there was yet hope. It was still a custom in LaGrange for promising young girls to be presented at a debutante ball. It was expected that Grace would attend from the time she was a little girl.

Mrs. Butrell was all astir about it, and she was about to begin planning what Grace might wear and where they might go shopping for her necessary accessories.

Grace flatly refused to go to her ‘coming out’ ball. She had no intention of being some pretty little magnolia bloom to be fawned over and pushed into one of life’s corners.

Grace’s refusal to attend this grand affair left her mother completely upset. Grace didn’t care. She was not interested in being a debutante, though her beauty qualified her to be one.

Earlier on, Grace had been too sensible to offend anyone with such an open show of scorn. But after she had escaped to university she wanted nothing to do with LaGrange or its trappings of bourgeois mediocrity. The old town was too restrictive for her. She felt choked to death by their dead ideas about love and about the way women were supposed to live. She was ashamed of where she’d come from and she wanted to break free of the chains of backwater Georgia.

Grace was a student of history as well as the law. She was aware that during the Victorian period women had been told they only had two choices: to be domesticated angels of the household or fallen deviants without a future. To a large degree, she felt this still defined a woman’s role in many areas of the old south. And she was right. This was something Grace was not about to accept for herself. She had told her Momma so during one of their many heated discussions about the subject of her future,

“I did not attend Ole Miss as a finishing school. I plan to do something with my degree and my life besides becoming a breeder!”

Her Momma was more than a little angry about this, as was her father.

Of course, there were other more practical reasons to leave her hometown behind. Not a soul there would be likely to take her seriously as a lawyer and there simply was no other meaningful employment to be had. LaGrange had not been immune to the downward spiral that had started when the bottom fell out of Wall Street.

Grace had worked summers as a receptionist for Marvin Handy, an attorney in town, but he was the kind of man who really only wanted an assistant to provide him with coffee throughout the day and make a nice impression when clients arrived. She was underutilized in terms of her skills and had fended off more than a few unwelcome pats and touches. Lawyer Handy had been literally way too handy in his attempts to feel her up when she came in to deliver his messages in the late afternoons after he’d hit the scotch bottle. No way was she going back to that.

At twenty-six with her education finally behind her Grace was anxious to launch her career. No sooner had she passed the bar exam than Grace made the move to Atlanta that she had been planning. She hadn’t needed to pack much into her old car. Her clothes and the laptop were about all she had that was worth moving.

Grace had been saving for her new life but had found the rents in metropolitan Atlanta rather daunting. Finally she luckily discovered a cozy little apartment in the Decatur area that she could afford. With that solved she set about the task of finding a position that offered a future. Grace had naively assumed that such a bustling city would be full of opportunity. She quickly discovered that Atlanta was also suffering from the downturn in the economy.

There were very few legal firms hiring and when Grace went to interview with those that were, she found herself in waiting rooms crowded with other applicants. Most were as well or more qualified than she was. Back in LaGrange she might have shone like silver but in Atlanta she was just another new penny. After a fruitless month of searching for work, her slender savings had almost evaporated.

As she did every morning over coffee Grace was grimly searching through the classifieds. There were plenty of ads for lesser jobs but she was not that desperate. She hadn’t worked her butt off for a law degree to wait tables or peddle jeans at a mall. Her pretty brow furrowed in frustration as she neared the bottom of the professional section but then a smile smoothed her features.

Legal Assistant

Compensation commensurate with ability. Apply in person.

Law firm of Smith, Weinstein, Brooks & Bianchi

111 West Peachtree Avenue

This was going to be the one. It simply had to be the one. She was almost broke.

“I don’t care how many others want this damn job.” She said aloud, “One way or another I am going to be the one they choose!”

Grace left her coffee unfinished and rushed to get dressed.

From the day of Chiara’s ascendance to full partner she had rated the personal assistance of another attorney. She had considered some within the firm first but couldn’t settle on one that she’d be comfortable with. She had too much history with all of them. She wanted a fresh talent that she could train to her methods.

Next she had browsed discreetly among the competition for someone promising that she might steal away but none had stood out. Placing an ad in the Journal was a long shot. Chiara had not expected it to produce much.

But the firm’s prestige had attracted a flood of applicants. There was no way Chiara had time to deal with each of them. Instead she’d outlined the qualities she wanted and told Sheila, her longtime secretary, to pre-interview them. She would only meet personally with the select few. So far she had met with three of the brightest newcomers in the area. None of them had really excited her but a month had passed and her case load was growing. The three résumés were in front of her and she supposed she’d best choose among them. It was past time to lighten her load. The intercom buzzed.

“What is it, Sheila?”

“There’s an applicant in the outer room you might want to check out.”

“Harvard or Yale?”

“Neither. Her name is Grace Butrell. Old Miss Law School. Just passed the bar.”

This sounded very thin to Chiara and she said as much.

“That was my first thought too…but she was top of her class and she has…” Sheila hesitated.

“Has what?”

“A sort of presence. Don’t laugh…but she reminds me a little bit of you when you first joined the firm.”

Chiara was intrigued.

“Send her in…No, wait…I’ll come out and have a look first. If she won’t do, I don’t want to be trapped for thirty minutes while I pretend to consider her.”

As Grace sat in the reception area, she was impressed by the firm’s large suite of offices. Her settee faced a stunning view of the city skyline. Even though she had arrived with high expectations, this was an atmosphere way more posh than she had ever pictured herself in. None of the other firms she’d applied to had been so intimidating. She had come dressed in her best but had begun to feel somewhat uncomfortable and plain. Grace was sure the woman who had asked her to wait after interviewing her was only a secretary yet she had been wearing Prada shoes and smelt of designer perfume.

She had psyched herself up to come in full of confidence and had apparently cleared the first hurdle. Her interviewer had reappeared saying that one of the partners would see her shortly. Grace knew that the next few minutes would be a gamble but if her education and experience weren’t enough to win her this coveted position, her looks and attitude might be. The wait was working on her nerves. She calmed herself with an inner mantra ‘I am not a nervous country girl only recently relocated to Atlanta …I am a beautiful and intelligent young woman full of bravura.”

Chiara entered the reception room and found an extremely beautiful young woman sitting composedly in the chair. The young woman was wearing her long blonde hair down. It fell in waves around her face and framed deep azure eyes that were almost confrontational. There was a hint of bravado in their intensity.

Chiara approached with an extended hand and a smile.

“I’m Chiara Bianchi. My secretary was impressed with you, Ms. Butrell.”

“Yes…I mean I’m glad you’re willing to consider me further.”

Grace hoped she sounded confident but felt her cheeks growing hot at the compliment. Or perhaps it was the open manner in which this stunning beauty of a woman was appraising her. She felt a magnetic pull from the dark brown eyes and suddenly realized that she had been holding the warm, slender hand longer than necessary.

“Well then, shall we go sit down and talk?”

“Of course.” Grace responded eagerly.

She followed Chiara down a long hallway accented by beautiful glass lamps fashioned after the old-style ones often seen on the streets of Savannah back in the day. Chiara had decided to take her to the huge conference room. It was more intimidating and she wanted to see how the girl reacted to it. Chiara pointed Grace to a chair while she merely rested a shapely haunch on the edge of the massive table. It would make Grace have to look up as they talked. Chiara made the girl endure some silence as she browsed down the resume Sheila had handed her. Finally she spoke.

“Grace, the position would be as my personal assistant and at times you might even be asked to act as co-counsel.”

“That sounds exciting. More than I’d hoped for really.”

“To be fair, I must tell you there are others already under consideration. Others with degrees from Harvard and Yale. Now, Grace, tell me why I should choose you over them?”

The imposing room and her beautiful inquisitor’s manner might have given pause to anyone but to Grace’s credit she didn’t falter.

“I think you should choose me because I’ll give you more.”

“More?” Chiara asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“More of anything required. A dedicated attitude will be more valuable to the position you are offering than a prestigious degree. And at the risk of sounding brash I personally don’t think those Ivy League schools have much on Ole Miss.”

The answer impressed Chiara enough to pull a smile from her.

“Fair enough. Fill me in on your background.”

Chiara was able to surmise in a short space of time that Grace was no Atlanta sophisticate. She was a country girl who had worked hard for a chance at something none of her family had managed to achieve. It sounded like the bright lights of the big city had been calling to her since she was a little girl.

As Grace went on, Chiara tried to listen intently but she was distracted by Grace’s good looks. Even though she tried to appear totally focused on the interview, her eyes kept going to the girl’s breasts and lingering there. She shifted her gaze to Grace’s face and tried to keep it there.

An hour flew by before she was certain she’d gotten a sense of the young woman’s potential ability. Whether it was an unconscious habit or deliberately provocative, Grace kept licking her full pinkish lips as she paused over each of Chiara’s questions. It was seductively distracting. In fact so far the only thing that bothered Chiara about this girl was the fact that she was too damned attractive.

She asked Grace a final question. One that would be the deciding factor for hiring her.

“What,” she asked, “would you do if you had a client who came to you and admitted his guilt? Would you accept the case and try to win…or would your scruples interfere?”

Chiara was thinking of her part in the Shay affair as she asked it.

Grace smiled slowly and answered in a measured southern drawl, “Well, I suppose it would help me decide if there were contributing factors. But the truth is…I would probably take it regardless of the offense and see it as a challenge…I would want to see if I could win the case despite any qualms I might have.”

Chiara looked Grace over at length, noticing her well cared for pearl-like fingernails and her glowing cheeks.

She smiled and said, “I think I have enough information now. Thank you so much for coming in, Miss Butrell. You’ll hear from me.”

With that she personally ushered Grace to the elevator with a slight handshake and a non-committal smile.

Chiara liked Grace’s answers during the interview. Because she was young and naïve in many ways, Chiara felt she would be able to shape and school her. She’d sensed that Grace would accept offered advice. And, though she rationalized her way around the fact, Chiara had found Grace deeply attractive on a personal level. Perhaps because of all this, or in spite of it, Chiara had already decided to hire her before the elevator doors had closed.

Grace found herself on the street still wondering if she had succeeded. She had the feeling that it had gone well but all she had really gotten was “You’ll hear from me.”

Grace had grown accustomed to having her way. Most people gave in to her because they were impressed by her physical beauty and charm…and smarts. But Chiara Bianchi was in a brand new league. The woman had everything Grace had and then some.

She had actually felt herself almost flirting with Chiara for approval and she had mixed feelings about it. She had never deliberately flirted with a woman, let alone a potential boss. She had thought for a second about whether it was appropriate during the interview but she’d just kept doing it because she desperately wanted the job and she wanted a closer association with Chiara Bianchi. She hadn’t really given a damn about what was or wasn’t appropriate.

A profound admiration for Chiara had blossomed almost immediately. There was something about her absolute certainty. The confidence she’d exuded made Grace want to emulate her. But was it more than that?

Out in the light of day, she felt profoundly upset by this new inner feeling. That was the first woman she’d ever met who had brought on this kind of effect. She felt her cheeks burning and was not exactly sure why. At times in that room she had felt something totally new...an almost sexual attraction.

She stopped by the supermarket on her way home. This particular market was one frequented by many young lesbian couples living in the area. Grace hadn’t known it when she had taken her place but soon discovered that Decatur had a growing reputation as a gay community. Though Grace did not really mind this, when she saw two women kissing in the A&P that day, it was a little shocking to her. She stood watching them being so openly affectionate amid the fruits and vegetables and felt both put off and yet oddly aroused by it. She shrugged it off; after all she was in the big city now. But seeing this on the heels of her experience in Chiara’s presence made her feel some further confusion. She could not really understand these odd twinges of arousal.

During the drive back to her little place a few blocks away, her mind was busy with a fresh self-appraisal.

Grace had never for a minute thought of herself as gay. Or really as straight for that matter. She’d had a normal curiosity about sex which she’d just taken for granted as involving men. She’d been impatient enough to almost force her med-student boyfriend to initiate her, only to find the experience very over-rated.

Then at law school she’d thought perhaps it had just been him so she gave it another try. Several tries in fact, but despite being completely uninhibited sexually she never felt satisfied by the act. She only felt empty afterward. Her last disappointment had been with Alex, a young and handsome graduate student from Emory she had been seeing. He had lain back after they made love with a sigh of pleasure, while she on the other hand stood up and quickly clothed herself. To his dismay, she’d started crying and left without explanation. It was just frustration. She could not understand why she never came with Alex or hadn’t with any man in fact.

She might not have been finding the heights of bliss with men, but they certainly had seemed to find it with her. All of her former lovers had wanted another night with her if she had allowed it. Grace felt there was something absent. She had expected more from love, from sex. She was too sensual to think of herself as frigid. Despite the lack of satisfaction she’d experienced she was sure that somewhere within herself lay a deep, untapped well of eroticism.

Only now was it occurring to her that the missing factor might be another woman’s touch. She’d never thought of herself as bi-curious even though at times she’d wondered what it might be like to be with a woman. She not only hadn’t had the experience but had never seriously thought of seeking it out. Chiara Bianchi had her rethinking that.

Chiara called and offered Grace the position two days later. She had considered calling her the very same day of their interview but she felt that would be far too revealing. No sense in having the young woman think that her selection had been a walkover and she didn’t want Grace to think that she had been overly impressed. When she did finally call, Chiara relished the sound of unguarded excitement in Grace’s voice. She liked the fact that Grace was still too young to hide her enthusiasm as a more studied and older woman might have.

The newest addition to Smith, Weinstein, Brooks & Bianchi always came to work early and dressed immaculately. Chiara got along well with Grace from the first day. Naturally as an intern Grace made a few initial missteps but never the same one twice. She showed herself to be a quick study and Chiara was more and more pleased with the choice she had made.

Even though being able to share the simpler aspects of her case load eased things considerably for Chiara, each day stayed full. Almost full enough to distract her from the increasing personal attraction she began to feel for Grace. But there were odd moments when her thoughts strayed from purely professional appraisal.

Grace had noticed that alongside the older woman’s style her own choice of attire appeared almost severe. Since Chiara was not given to ultra conservative dress Grace was soon noticeably emulating that taste. Shortly after receiving her first large advance, Grace appeared wearing a soft white sweater of cashmere. It clung lovingly to her young, taut body. Her vivid blue eyes contrasted beautifully with it and somehow it made the girl seem both innocent and provocative at once. Chiara noticed each time Grace wore this sweater. It made her think of a white peach—young, delicate, tender. These were the odd moments that began to bother Chiara…moments to guard against.

It could have been her imagination but every once in a while Grace seemed overly intent on her as well. There were things…things like a lingering of hands when they passed papers between each other. Looks that lasted a fraction of a second too long or a blush when Chiara gave her a compliment.

There was a growing mutual awareness. A desire to be in each others’ presence. Subtle but tangible. Sheila soon remarked on it.

“I swear! You dote on Grace like an aunt with a favorite niece…or more.” She said it with a knowing smile

They had been together long enough for Chiara to forgive such familiarity.

“Don’t be silly, Sheila. I’m just helping her get her feet under her here.”

“I hope it’s just her feet you want under her,” Sheila muttered to herself, moving away.

As was her custom, Sheila left early that Friday evening, leaving Chiara still working hard on a brief. Grace stayed late as well, working on the court calendar.

Chiara sent Grace an instant message.

The message appeared with a “Buzz” on Chiara’s computer:

“Can you come into my office for a few minutes, Grace? I have something to discuss with you.”

Grace quickly typed back, “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

She got up and hurried to the door but then turned back for a quick check in the small mirror on the adjacent wall. She smoothed her hair, licked her lips, pinched her cheeks and stopped to appraise herself.

‘What am I doing this for?’ she asked herself silently and shook her head. It was silly acting like some schoolgirl with a pash for her older schoolmistress.

“How ridiculous,” she muttered to herself as she approached Chiara’s door. She knocked discreetly, to which Chiara replied distractedly,

“Come.”

Grace entered with a tentative smile and a little concern, hoping she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Please sit, Grace.”

As Grace sat quietly, she was able to smell Chiara’s perfume. It was a lovely scent, a little metallic and yet somehow sweet. It seemed to have grown stronger as the day went on. She had noticed it that morning but it was far subtler then.

It was late and the light through the window was fading. The two women were both a little tired and frazzled after a long week.

For several seconds, Chiara studied Grace’s face before she spoke.

“Get some rest over the weekend because come Monday we will really need to work hard on the upcoming Flynn case, Grace.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I may need you to do some overtime and,” she paused before going on “I may require more of you than you’re accustomed to giving.”

Grace’s face grew hot. She knew that Chiara didn’t mean this in a sexual way yet she felt aroused by the statement for some strange reason. She was afraid that her reddening cheeks would betray the fact. She hated her habit of blushing so readily. Grace wasn’t quite sure of what to say, so she simply nodded her head in agreement, finally saying,

“You can depend on me, Ms. Bianchi.”

Chiara nodded but rather than returning her attention to the file, her gaze held on Grace in a way that was warm, full of feeling. It was a lingering look. Grace was wearing the white sweater that Chiara found so enticing.

From the start Grace had either sensed or imagined feeling tiny waves of electricity from Chiara off and on. At this moment some sort of current was definitely flowing between them, strong and steady. Grace wanted more of whatever it was…to know more, to feel more, to go further. Her confusion was beginning to diminish and her desire becoming more pronounced.

Impulsively, Chiara stood and moved around behind Grace. She put her hands on Grace’s cashmere clad shoulders and said softly, “Thank you for all the extra effort you’ve been putting out, Grace. You are so helpful to me.”

Grace caught a breath and held it as she felt Chiara press in behind her until her breasts touched the back of Grace’s hair.

The dimness had lent the office an air of intimacy. Until this very instant Chiara had successfully repressed her attraction to Grace…but this time her willpower crumbled. As if with a mind of their own Chiara’s fingertips began to explore the soft flesh through the fine wool. Grace sat frozen as her down-turned eyes watched Chiara’s hands drift down to rest on the tops of her breasts.

Grace’s body trembled slightly at Chiara’s touch. Chiara leaned down with her lips and faintly kissed the side of Grace’s forehead. Just as Chiara’s hot palms were enclosing Grace’s firm breasts and her breathing intensified the overhead lights snapped on. Chiara pulled her hands back as though stung.

The maid service had arrived for after-hours clean-up and the moment was lost.

Grace asked somewhat breathlessly, “Is it all right, Ms. Bianchi, if I go for the day?”

Chiara smiled at her softly with a sense of desire delayed and with a low voice replied, “Of course. Have a lovely evening.”

The maid moved around the office tending her chores while Chiara stood with her eyes still fastened to the spot where Grace had been sitting. ‘What on earth possessed me? I know better than this!’ Her cautionary mind screamed at her. Mixing romance with work was like playing with fire. But a tactile memory of the feel of Grace’s breasts under her hands came and hung in her mind as she gathered her things to leave for the day. The utter deliciousness of that memory warmed her heart and stilled the warning voice in her head. It would be a long lonely night.

“Get some rest…” Chiara had advised her. But in her bed that night sleep was eluding her. Grace’s blue eyes roamed the walls in the dark and quiet of her room as she began to think about what had happened.

She still felt a sense of delirium and excitement as she thought of Chiara’s long beautiful fingers stroking the tops of her breasts, and she remembered how her lips had felt on the side of her forehead. As she lay in bed, she realized that she was aroused and her hands slid down her body to find her sex wet and swollen with desire.

Her uncertainties and doubts were not present that morning. Her fingers sensuously explored the folds of her pussy and enjoyed the wet deliciousness of it as she imagined Chiara kissing her deeply on the lips. Grace had never been with a woman before, and she had been with only a few men. This particular experience was totally new and it felt a little taboo to her. She knew that the kind of relationship that was developing between she and Chiara was wrong because of the work ethics involved, but she couldn’t stop herself. There was something about the very danger of it all that intoxicated her.

She continued to probe her sex, pushing her nimble fingers in and out, quickening her movements and flicking her clit rapidly with her other hand as she fingered herself. The smell of her own cum was in the air, and she relished that odor. It smelled of desire, of inner pleasure, of pure sex. The sweet soft sound of her pussy lips and their wetness against her own quickly moving fingers aroused her more and more.

Grace had seldom found this level of arousal with anyone. In fact, she had not even felt it during previous moments of self-pleasuring. Her hips came up off the bed and as she was about to cum, she heard herself crying out “Chiara. Chiara.”

She came so deeply that she felt somewhat drunk afterward. Her body was quiet and still except for the movement of her chest as she breathed hard. Her heart was pounding.

The alarm clock went off at 6 a.m. on the Monday morning. Grace awoke stretching herself on the bed like a beautiful young kitten. After finally stirring from the bed, she groomed carefully for work. She brushed her long blonde hair slowly and took care to make it look as soft and healthy as possible. She applied her mascara and lipstick and then took her time in selecting the right outfit.

She knew that Chiara liked her in white because the woman’s eyes never left her when she wore it, so that day she chose to wear a beautiful cream-colored turtleneck sweater and a lovely pale blue skirt with simple but elegant pumps.

The world looked beautiful that morning. Grace’s delight with life was plain for all to see. When she arrived at work, she sat contentedly at her desk, catching up on various tasks—typing up memorandum, setting up court dates and responding to e-mails. She looked like a young student sitting there, so fresh and clean.

Chiara came in around ten that morning, which was late for her. And, though Grace wanted very much for her to be warm and tactile with her as she often was, Chiara only smiled quietly and went to her office without stopping to speak to her. Grace hoped that it was only that Chiara was simply too busy to talk, but it was unusual even in that instance.

The truth was that Chiara was having serious second-thoughts about this attraction and wanted some time to decide what to do about it. She didn’t want to take advantage of Grace, yet she didn’t want to let an opportunity for such a beautiful and erotic dance to pass her by. She was torn by this, so she’d decided to play her cards very close to the chest for a few days.

Chiara was typically a confident woman, but she was a little unsure about whether Grace would welcome further advances from her. She went back and forth in her mind about whether Grace would have stopped the physical touching had they not been interrupted on Friday night.

She was also worried about what might happen if anyone in the firm discovered her attraction. If she became embroiled in an affair with Grace it could endanger the career she had worked so long and hard to build. She was deeply conflicted by it all. It was exactly the kind of situation she had studiously avoided and never hoped to find herself in.

The problem was that she couldn’t stop desiring Grace and it seemed that, after what happened the preceding Friday evening, Grace might even want her. Chiara was almost certain the attraction was mutual.

Later that day any doubt was banished when Grace came into her office at midday to ask her to sign some papers.

Grace stood quietly beside Chiara and watched her sign the documents. Both women felt the warmth of each others’ bodies because of their nearness. When Chiara handed back the documents, Grace looked at her with an unspoken question. It was obvious that she wanted Chiara to say or do something, anything to make her know she truly wanted her.

Their eyes locked and there was no way that either of them could escape the reality of what they felt for one another. It was more than just attraction. There was deep mutual regard, with gentleness and love underneath it. But that desire was rearing its head in the office at midday with the sun streaming through the windows.

Grace couldn’t remove her gaze. Neither of them spoke at all. The only sound was the escalation of Chiara’s breathing. Grace heard it and knew what she wanted from her. Chiara smelled the desire coming off of Grace.

There were big screaming signs in Chiara’s head saying: ‘Don’t do this. Danger lies here. Don’t do it.’ But, she silenced the voices by taking an action that she scarcely understood herself. She stood and walked quickly to the door, closed and locked it.

To others, this would simply indicate that a private meeting was taking place. No one was going to knock at the door.

She turned around to find that Grace had followed her. They came close to each other then. Chiara smiled at the younger girl and softly began touching Grace’s shoulders and arms. She moved her mouth in very close to Grace’s lips and barely touched them with hers. Their breasts pressed against each other and their bodies began to move in matching undulations of desire.

The smell of sex was present in the air. It smelled of the sea. It smelled of deep yearning. It smelled of womanhood. Grace was shaking all over with lust as Chiara began kissing her deeply, moving her tongue in her mouth slowly and softly, building in intensity but steadily and with patience.

Grace began moaning and it was clear that she wanted more. Wanted the touch to become bolder. Wanted to be fucked. She wanted to fall on her knees and be taken. And when Chiara began kissing her with greater violence she returned the kiss with equal vigor. Their tongues traded mouths as they played an erotic game with no rules. The desire became palpable.

Grace grabbed Chiara’s hand and begged, “Please, Chiara. I want you to touch my sex.”

Chiara said softly, “Say it again…I want you to touch my sex…I want to hear it again.”

Grace said it urgently. “Please. Chiara. Please. I want you to touch my sex. I need it now.”

Chiara broke at that point. She could no longer endure it. She ran her hands down and unzipped Grace’s skirt. It fell to the floor with a whisper. She kissed her wildly and then pushed Grace against the door and stared at her.

“No. This won’t do. I have to have you on the couch.”

Still embracing, they moved to the sofa. Grace was wearing only her sweater with her panties and pumps. She looked wantonly erotic in that moment and it was not lost on Chiara.

Chiara sat down on the sofa and had Grace stand in front of her. She removed the obstructing panties and told Grace to sit on her lap…facing her with legs open. Grace did so, wearing only her pumps while Chiara was still fully dressed. Chiara spread open Grace’s cunt with her long fingers.

“So wet,” Chiara murmured softly as she began to finger her. There was a feeling of sin, delight, passion, heart-pounding need between them as she pushed her strong fingers in and out of the younger woman’s cunt. Grace’s sex gave off a lovely slapping sound. Her wetness overwhelmed Chiara.

Grace moved up and down slowly at first, and then her motion became more heated. Their kisses became more devouring with wet tongues and saliva and passion being passed with their lips. Chiara felt Grace’s sex clenching on her fingers and releasing, clenching and releasing. Grace came so wildly that Chiara had to cover her mouth to keep others from hearing her scream.

When it was over, Grace continued to sit on her lap facing her with her legs spread open, breathing hard. Chiara could feel the fluttering of the other’s young heart against her chest. She held Grace for a long time that way as neither wanted the moment to end.

There are times in this life when passion comes and breaks all the rules usually followed. In those moments a person is allowed to peek into something far beyond what they normally experience. This was such a moment for these two beautiful women—one older, one younger. Different women, but as one they shared the exact same desire.

Almost everyone wants to experience this kind of passion, and because it is such a divine gift, they seldom say no. The consequences simply don’t matter. It is only later that they can even think clearly enough to imagine where to go next or what to do about what has happened.

Finally, they collected themselves somehow. Chiara kissed Grace softly before she helped her put her skirt back on. She zipped it for her and brushed her hair from her eyes. Chiara softly kissed her on both cheeks, saying,

“You look so beautiful, Grace…I have to go to court, but I’ll text you as soon as I can, all right?”

Grace smiled at her and nodded her head in the affirmative. They grasped hands standing face to face and looked deeply into one another’s eyes, feeling the beauty of the moment, holding onto it, not wanting it to end.

Slowly they walked to the door together. Grace accompanied Chiara out of the office, holding some files and making a show of handing them to her at the elevator doors.

“Thanks, Grace,” Chiara said with a sweet smile. Their hands touched briefly as she took the files from Grace’s hand.

Their eyes locked.

Chiara grudgingly pressed the ‘down’ arrow, the doors shut and Grace returned to her desk dreamily.

She sat quietly at her desk feeling somehow that she was truly lost in a warm, erotic in-between place somewhere close to sleep and far away from reality.

The erotic exchanges that Chiara and Grace had shared left a huge impact on both women. In the days that followed, they both had to come to grips with the strong new emotions that had overtaken them.

Ordinarily, Chiara was totally composed and organized. Yet, after what had happened between them, she became almost clumsy. She spilled her coffee in the midst of an important meeting. She was unable to carry any thought to its conclusion and she had stammered frequently in the same meeting. The other attorneys had caught this sudden change in Chiara and smiled at each other thinking perhaps she was losing her edge.

When Grace came into the room unexpectedly to deliver an important message Chiara lost her train of thought and her point in mid-sentence,

“And when the case comes up next week, I will have all of the information needed to….”

She couldn’t finish what she was saying. Her eyes were on Grace’s beautiful blonde hair and all she could think of was how soft it had felt. She realized suddenly that she was standing in front of her colleagues and tried to regain her composure, but she simply stood helplessly.

Everyone waited in puzzlement. Thankfully Grace left the room and she was able to finish the presentation and conclude the meeting hastily. After everyone left the conference room, she sat down in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘What is happening to me?’ she asked herself silently, ‘Why am I unable to control my thoughts and feelings?’ She had no ready answer.

It was as if Chiara was the innocent one without experience in the ways of love and desire. This was certainly not the case. She’d had many lovers during the course of her life, and had on more than one occasion fallen into the lake of desire and been consumed by its waters. But, this was different.

She felt genuine love for Grace, not just desire. She wanted to be with her all the time, to wake up with her, to smell her perfume and watch her brush her teeth. She wanted to sleep with her, hold her, share a life with her.

‘How in the hell is it possible for me to feel this way about a much younger woman so quickly?’ she asked herself in puzzled fashion.

There was no easy answer to this question, but as surely as the sun had risen, she was in love with this young woman.

Grace, too, was having difficulty with the aftermath of the shattering sex they had in Chiara’s office that day. She was unsure of who she was anymore. Was she ready to be gay?

Even though she had balked at the whole idea of marriage and was not about to settle for anything LaGrange had to offer, she had never foreseen anything like this. Such a future would be more than a far cry from the life her parents had hoped she’d lead…a civilized Southern lady with a respectable husband and a house with a garden and a few children. This whole affair with her boss would shock them. Hell, it was something totally foreign to her but its very strangeness made it all the more enticing.

Grace’s style and attitude had already started transforming, and she probably couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to. She started wearing more provocative attire for a start. She began buying sexy lingerie and wearing it regularly under white sweaters or low-cut blouses at work, hoping and praying that Chiara would strip her naked again soon and devour her once more. It was only Chiara’s attention she wanted but the contrast between her innocent, young face and the provocative clothes had a truly devastating impact on everyone who looked at her. She was simply delicious to gaze at.

Grace felt a growing confidence in herself and an impatience. When a couple of days had passed with no further advance from Chiara she gathered her nerve and a stray folder as a pretext. Inside, she stopped in front of her lover’s desk.

Chiara looked up and held her hand out for the file. Grace just dropped onto the chair behind her, stared at her boss blatantly and whispered:

“Touch my sex, Chiara.”

Her blue eyes went animal-like and hungry at that moment, the look of a beautiful sex-starved animal.

Chiara couldn’t speak for a moment, and her breath became quicker. The mere sound of that phrase, “Touch my sex,” was enough to almost make her heart race with excitement. She looked at Grace and smiled apologetically. She said,

“I’m sorry Grace, but I’m not able to go through this with you again. I’m frightened of what it might mean for us both.”

Rather than being intimidated or put off by this statement, Grace was aroused by it. This time it was she who turned and went to the door, closing and locking it deliberately. It was past five and few people were even in the building any longer.

She walked with certainty and desire to stand directly in front of Chiara, who continued sitting in her chair. Grace moved in very close to her then, pushing her lover’s knees apart and moving in between them to stand with her breasts almost touching Chiara’s face.

Neither of the two women spoke. Their desire filled the room and they only understood that their bodies wanted to make love. That is all they knew and all that mattered.

“We can’t…,” Chiara began.

But Grace put her fingertips softly on Chiara’s full lips and whispered,

“Shhhh….It’s okay.”

She left her two fingers there on Chiara’s lips and Chiara no longer held any illusion that she would refuse her. She parted her lips and took Grace’s fingers deep into her mouth, sucking them erotically and slowly. As she did so, Grace’s body curved into her. Chiara sucked and licked her fingers as she ran her hands up to touch Grace’s nubile yet full breasts.

Prodded into action, she stood up then and pushed Grace against the desk, telling her to remove her clothes.

Grace did not hesitate. She quickly unbuttoned her white shirt and exposed her tan torso and beautiful breasts. The shirt fell to the floor. She unbuttoned her skirt and allowed it to fall also. She stood with her ass pressed against the desk in a white lace bra, panties and black pumps. Chiara made her sit on the edge of the desk.

Chiara went down on her knees in front of her and removed Grace’s panties. Her hands moved back up the legs and touched Grace’s inner thighs tenderly. She kissed her knees and spread the young girl’s legs wide open, wide enough to fully reveal her wet, open sex.

Pink, folded and swollen…a sweet vision…a dream flowering before Chiara’s eyes. She spread the young woman’s pussy open so she could taste her fully. Like a talented musician, she began to play the music of desire and lust on her partner’s wet core. She made the sounds with her tongue and the pussy responded by singing its own sounds in response. The desire was building. The climax was near.

Chiara buried her face in Grace’s cunt and sucked and tongue-fucked her so beautifully. Anyone would have been aroused at the sight of her there so elegantly on her knees with this superb, aroused young woman’s legs spread open, her head flung back and her chewed lips reddened by desire. Chiara’s beautiful dark hair was down and covering her face. Her taut body was unmoving but her tongue was relentless.

Grace’s hands locked around Chiara’s head and she rubbed her pussy hard against her tongue and lips. Suddenly, like a beautiful waterfall, she came so hard, so deep, that the orgasm pounded her, ran over her body, radiating from her sex outward. She fell backward on the desk with her thighs still parted, breathing hard.

Chiara moved upward and kissed her tummy, her breasts, and then her lips. She was above her, giving her the chance to taste her own cum on Chiara’s lips. Grace made small moaning sounds and licked her dew from the offered mouth.

They remained close to one another, savoring the satisfaction. At last they moved, realizing that they had to end it though neither of them wanted to do so. They both did their best to feel relaxed so they could leave the office to spend another night apart.

But neither of them wanted to do that. Grace had a sort of ‘date’ with Alex, the handsome and smart graduate student from Emory. She didn’t have any desire to keep it. They had broken things off a while back but he’d wanted to take her out to celebrate the success she’d been having at the new job. She had only reluctantly agreed and now the very thought of it bored her. She didn’t dare imagine what he would think if he could know what that success had become.

Chiara had made plans for dinner with several of her friends at a favorite Mexican restaurant but in the after- glow she was no longer interested.

The erotic entanglement that had consumed the two women was beginning to take over their lives and make the routine and mundane aspects less and less bearable. When the two of them made love it was as though the entire world faded away and all that existed was their bodies, mouths, hands, and hearts. They both resented having to stop and move back into something approaching normality.

Their delight was in some ways becoming their torment.

At the end of another hectic week, Grace and Chiara walked out together to the parking deck. Chiara had begun escorting Grace to her car. She gave her a soft kiss on both cheeks and wished her a good night.

Almost to her own ride, she heard Grace’s little Chevy Cavalier sputtering and refusing to crank. She smiled to herself, remembering how, long ago, she had also struggled with an unreliable set of wheels.

She didn’t want to embarrass Grace, but she had an immediate desire to take care of her at that moment, so she turned back and tapped at her window, smiling understandingly.

Grace paused to roll it down, cursing under her breath.

“Let me give you a lift home, Grace. It’s not a problem at all. Come on. Get your things. We can call the auto shop later and have it towed.”

“No. No. It’s not necessary,” Grace replied sheepishly.

“Come on Grace. Don’t be like that.”

Grace shook her head stubbornly but after a last willful attempt at cranking her sad little car, she gave up and slammed the door as she followed Chiara embarrassedly to a gorgeous 2010 black Saab.

“Wow!” Grace said as they got inside.

“Oh, it’s nothing really, Grace. Just a small perk for enduring so much bloody mendacity for all these years.”

Grace giggled at this.

Apologizing again for being a bother, Grace directed Chiara toward Decatur and her tiny flat.

“No bother at all. It will give me a chance to see your place.”

Hearing this, Grace grew troubled. Her apartment was so small. She feared Chiara might find it plain and unattractive.

Almost intuitively Chiara soothed Grace’s concerns. Her hand drifted across the console between them and touched her hand, caressing her fingertips. There was such tenderness in the touch as she held Grace’s hand that all worries faded. Chiara’s thumb stroked Grace’s inner palm. She was humming along with an Ella Fitzgerald song playing softly on the radio. There was something so lovely about the way that Chiara touched her at that moment. It made her feel accepted, loved. Thoughts about her small flat and her lack of sophistication were forgotten.

She motioned Chiara into the parking lot of her apartment complex and they parked outside the small brick building where number 23E was located. As Chiara cut the motor, she reached across and kissed Grace tenderly on the lips.

“I’m so happy to be visiting your place”

“Oh, Chiara, it’s not much.”

They walked together down the little walkway holding hands like lovers do. As they approached the door, Grace said, “It’s really very small, Chiara.”

Chiara turned Grace toward her and softly kissed her lips to reassure her that it was okay. And with that kiss, Grace felt surer of herself and opened the door.

Chiara looked around with interest. She saw an immaculately kept flat. It was tastefully, if simply, furnished. A small black futon against the wall with dark cherry wood tables on each end. A lovely glass coffee table in front of the sofa.

There were old movie posters on the walls framed beautifully in smooth black lines. Rita Hayworth from “Gilda” smoking a cigarette on one wall. Sue Lyon as “Lolita” sucking a lollipop on the other.

Chiara loved the bohemian feel of the place and appreciated the care if not expense Grace had put into furnishing it.

Grace gave her a guided tour which lasted all of a few minutes. Once in the small bedroom, Chiara pushed Grace toward the bed, holding her tightly and kissing her along the way. The desire welled up inside of them both quickly with the very first kiss. Their hands sought each other’s bodies ardently and passionately as if the drive had been a mere intermission.

They fell back onto the coverlet and undressed each other with care and gentleness. Finally, they were alone together, not in the office, but truly alone.

“It’s about time I got to be naked too.” Chiara said sensually in a whispered tone.

Grace answered with more kisses. Kisses that grew deeper as their tongues went further than ever before, softly probing and looking to discover every moist secret.

Grace rose above Chiara, taking her hand and pulling her chin upward to look at her fully.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Chiara.”

Chiara smiled at her. She felt the same, though she was unable to say it before Grace kissed her again.

Grace was on top of her suddenly then, teasing Chiara with her tongue and moving her beautiful hips as she did so. She became more aggressive as the kisses progressed and she went down to Chiara’s finely sculpted breasts to take one in her hand and the other with her lips. She suckled and pulled at the nipples with her mouth and her fingers.

Chiara was deeply aroused, muttering, “Madre del Dio. Madre... del…Dio….Grace”

Grace slid her hand down to find Chiara’s sex waiting, open and wet. She pushed her upper thigh in between and began pumping Chiara. She scarcely understood what she was doing to Chiara. She was being guided by her desires. She did not know the term for this rubbing and pushing with her thigh against Chiara’s pussy, but she was tribbing her with unpracticed ease and great sensuality.

Chiara began to move in rhythm with Grace’s thigh. She felt the orgasm coming, and Grace felt Chiara pulling and pushing her ass, signaling that she was about to come.

Chiara pulled Grace’s ass cheeks apart and fingered her pussy and perineum and then quickly inserted a finger into her ass, pushing inside as she reached her peak. The mutuality of it was unexpected but Grace came with her.

They both screamed loudly as their orgasms rocked them in unison. Their panting and pounding heartbeats the only sounds in their ears afterward.

Night was falling as they fell apart. Both laughingly agreed that they were starving.

“Sorry, no foie gras, Chiara”

“Oh Grace. Don’t be silly. How about a pizza?”

They called in an order to the Mellow Mushroom and enjoyed a superb meal of pizza and beer in bed as they watched old episodes of ‘Little Britain’ together well into the night, laughing hysterically at the antics of David Walliams and Matt Lucas.

In the morning they awoke holding each other and watched the sun begin to stream in softly through the bedroom window.

Chiara called her mechanic and asked him to go and fetch Grace’s car and repair it for her. Grace accepted this kindness gladly.

“And you just laze around here until he delivers it.” Chiara said.

“But...”

“No buts! Call you a little later.” As Chiara left she gave Grace a long, lingering kiss.

Grace smiled as she closed the door, putting her back against it and smelling her fingers, noticing the sublime perfume of Chiara’s pussy still on them. There was more than sex in the air. There was love.

Around noon Grace’s phone rang, she jumped with excitement seeing Chiara’s number appear on the Caller I.D. As she answered, Chiara murmured,

“Ciao, mi amore.”

“Ciao.” Grace responded enthusiastically.

“How about I come over with my mechanic, Andrew? He’s got your car fixed and needs me to show him the way.”

“Yes. Just give me a bit to tidy up the place.”

“No problem. And Grace…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve missed you and it’s only been a handful of hours since I saw you last.” Chiara admitted and chuckled softly at herself, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.

“Oh Chiara.”

They both hung up with anticipation. It was true. They had been together the day before and last night. But this was the weekend and a beautiful and sunny one at that. Up until now weekends had meant two-day separations. Both women were profoundly happy that this one could be different.

Chiara arrived followed by Andrew in Grace’s Chevy. His partner in the tow truck brought up the rear. She pointed him to a parking slot. He followed her motion, cut the motor and opened the door.

“Purring now, Chiara,” he said with pride.

“You’re the best, Andy.”

She gave him a hug and took the keys, walking quickly up the walkway to Grace’s apartment.

Grace heard Chiara’s light step approaching and opened the door before she even had a chance to knock.

They both giggled as she moved inside, Grace shutting the door behind her.

Kissing each other slowly and embracing as if they’d been apart days rather than mere hours. They felt that happy to touch again.

“Shall we go to Piedmont Park?” Chiara suggested.

“Oh that sounds wonderful. Let’s go pick up some wings and iced tea to go and have a picnic.” Grace suggested enthusiastically.

Grace wanted to drive her little blue car to the park, and since Chiara was happy to have been able to help her get it fixed and it seemed to please the girl so much, she agreed.

They stopped off at Dugan’s on the way for wings and tea and easily found a nice spot to leave the car just across from Piedmont Park.

They walked slowly over the sun drenched lawn to a beautiful patch of shade under a large weeping willow tree. They sat together happily nibbling the hot wings, enjoying a rare moment of bliss and pure simplicity.

This was something Chiara had not experienced since her own college days and she felt freed by it. She felt younger in Grace’s presence and she was able to relax in a way that had long eluded her…even with Helen.

They laughed together quietly and watched all the couples, gay and straight, parading around the park with their dogs.

It was a lazy afternoon and after they finished eating, Chiara lay back and put her head in Grace’s lap. Grace stroked Chiara’s long dark hair and sang to her softly as she did so. The moment was so beautiful for them both.

At last, Grace felt something like peace within herself. It was as though she had found the missing piece to the puzzle of her life. She now understood what she had wanted all those years. That the missing piece had turned out to be another woman amazed her but she was way past questioning it.

If this certainty was a relief to Grace, it was also one to Chiara. She felt that she was able to truly be herself with this young, accepting and gentle woman. And she was nearing the point where she might not care who knew it.

As they made their way back toward Grace’s place, Chiara suggested,

“Let’s go to my house tonight, Grace. You haven’t seen it yet. We can stop off at your place, switch cars, and pick up some of your things and you can spend the night with me tonight.”

“That would be fantastic! I’d love to see your home.” Grace enthused.

Neither of them stopped to consider what might happen if a partner or anyone at the firm saw them arrive together in Chiara’s car for work Monday. The thought flickered in Chiara’s mind for a millisecond as she turned into Grace’s place but she thought to herself, ‘What the hell. If anyone mentions it, I can just say Grace’s car broke down and I gave her a ride to work.’

Chiara enjoyed showing Grace her home. The big place no longer seemed empty. It echoed with laughter instead of silence.

They ordered in some Chinese food and sat at the table enjoying some Kung Pao chicken and shrimp as they watched one another eating each bite with pleasure.

On impulse, Chiara said

“Grace, would you consider moving in with me here? The place is huge. Yours is tiny and far from the office. And…well….if you haven’t guessed it already…” she hesitated for an instant, gauging Grace’s response with her dark sensitive eyes and then went on…

“I’m in love with you too.”

Grace dropped her fork in her little carton of Kung Pao shrimp and stood up with a huge smile on her face.

“Are you kidding me, Chiara? Yes. Yes. Totally yes!!!”

She ran around to the other side of the table for a hug of appreciation. They kissed almost as a game, planting a shower of tiny but intense pecks over each other’s faces. Their hands in each other’s hair. The happiness that had appeared was completely real for all its suddenness. They were in love. They were set free. They were together. Life was good.

Sunday evening they made dinner together and had more lovemaking for dessert. Afterward, they enjoyed a sublime bath in Chiara’s large porcelain tub with candles strewn around the edges of the room. They bathed each other with soft sponges to the sensual sounds of Morcheeba’s version of “Summertime.” It was all liquid, slow, warm and erotic….

Summertime and the livin’ is easy

The fish are jumpin’

And the cotton is high…

They slept peacefully together nestled in one another’s arms. Tired kids after a day of play.

That they began arriving and leaving work together was noticed. That Chiara no longer came in early or very often stayed late was also noticed. The pair of them rapidly became an item of winks and whispered conversations. They did nothing blatant or untoward but given the slightest excuse, nasty minds always invent nasty scenarios.

Sheila advised Chiara that tongues had started to wag. The warning had given her another moment’s pause but she had already made up her mind. The happiness she was finally allowing herself with Grace was too important. Screw them and their petty little minds! She had worked hard and had denied herself a full life long enough. If anything her private doings were above reproach compared to some of the wilder activities what went on behind closed doors elsewhere in Atlanta.

When the ball dropped and Peter Smith called her into his office it was not entirely unexpected. She went up to the inner sanctum expecting the worst. Just outside his door she paused and switched on the small voice activated recorder in the breast pocket of her blazer.

As she entered, old Smith motioned for her to sit. His desk was massive and intentionally intimidating.

“You are probably a bit curious as to why I asked to see you alone, Chiara.”

“More than a bit.”

“We rewarded you handsomely after the stunning manner in which you handled that impossible case. He was guilty as hell but you saved his business and his future.” He smiled as if he had just awarded a star to a bright pupil.

“There must be some point here beyond another pat on the back.” Her piercing brown eyes became challenging.

“The point is that even though the firm values your skills…and we accept that one’s personal life is a private matter…still a certain amount of circumspection …”

Chiara interrupted impatiently, “Please cut to the chase here.”

“We have an image to protect. You are going have to let your new assistant go. And now that your name is on the door with ours, the other partners have asked that I get a guarantee that you will be very discreet in the future conduct of your personal life.”

Every fiber of her being filled with anger and resentment but there was also a sudden feeling of release. Her long seething disgust with the firm and with herself for having played along with their hypocrisy could now be vented. The true lawyer in her rose up. She paused and let her gaze hone in on him with her eyes like a laser beam.

“Are you threatening me?” she demanded.

“Let’s just say you have a lot invested here, Chiara. It would be a shame if we came to a parting of the ways. If that happened…well…you know our firm is very influential. Despite the warmth you’ve been enjoying from your recent success you might find that Atlanta can turn frosty very quickly.”

“You want me to choose the firm over my feelings for Grace or you’ll blackball me?”

Peter Smith merely smiled and shrugged.

“I’ll take that silly shrug as a yes. You don’t need to worry. I resign right now. But you should know that I expect to be compensated for leaving and for the trouble you’re causing me.”

“How much?” The question came so quickly that it was obvious her reaction had been anticipated.

“Oh, let’s see….I had planned on suffering through five more years here…so something in the neighborhood of five million should do.”

“Ridiculous!” He snorted derisively.

“You think so? You are on the verge of a joint suit for discrimination and sexual harassment. Five million will be cheaper and far less embarrassing.”

He cleared his throat and laughed. “You are acting way too big for your tight little britches, missy. You drag us into court for a pissing contest and you’ll find out right off that Atlanta is still an old boy’s club.”

“It will cost you to prove it to me, Pete old boy.”

“See you in court then.” He grunted, “Now, get out.”

“With pleasure.” she responded.

Within five minutes of Chiara’s departure Smith had called in the other senior partners. Saul Weinstein and James Rutherford Brooks II looked at him expectantly.

“I tried to give her an out but she wouldn’t take it. She’s leaving.” he told them.

“Good riddance.” Brooks said quickly, “I was against making that ice queen a partner in the first place, Peter.”

Weinstein laughed. “You just never got over the fact that she wouldn’t let you get in her pants.”

“Never mind all that. The bitch plans to take us to court!” Smith said sourly.

“Is she nuts? She can’t beat us up in our own town. We’ll have her guts for garters.” Brooks declared.

“We’d better not take this too lightly, Jimmy. Hell hath no fury and all that rot. I want you to get with Barnes, Lee and Stuart. We do a lot of horse tradin’ with them. Get us their best litigator and have him start getting ready as of now. And you, Saul…you still play golf at the club with Judge Kirkpatrick?”

“Yes. We have a foursome set for this coming weekend.”

“Be sure and nudge him on this. See if when the suit is filed he can get it passed to someone sympathetic. For my part I’ll get an investigator digging into her past and that of the Butrell girl. We’re gonna need some nice stinky, sticky mud to sling.”

“Maybe we should have just ignored this, Peter.” Weinstein ventured, “I mean after all it wasn’t as though she was out marching with the Rainbow Coalition. Even the military is reconsidering ‘Don’t ask. Don’t tell’ and some states are legalizing same sex marriage.”

“Why didn’t I hear any of this liberal bullshit when the two of you demanded I take her to task? I’ve already burned the bridge.”

“Now I’m having second thoughts is all.”

“Well second think this, Saul…she wants five million!”

“Fuck that noise!” Weinstein retorted adamantly, “I’ll have the Judge over to dinner and twist his arm tonight.”

Chiara had left the confrontation feeling a kind of bliss. She didn’t care anymore. She had finally said what she truly felt about this whole sordid business. She was sick of trying to please Peter Smith and his pals.

She patted her breast pocket and congratulated herself on having walked in prepared. The recording was made surreptitiously so they would seek to have it excluded but there might be a way to get around that. She also anticipated that they would mount an all out assault on both herself and Grace. As far as she knew there was nothing really damaging for them to find but she was sure they would invent something. She was not overly disturbed though.

The old adage was that anyone representing themselves had a fool for a client. It held true even for a capable attorney. She was going to need someone else out front. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid of the good old boys. Tamika Brown came immediately to mind. She was a black civil rights lawyer. Chiara had seen her in action and been impressed.

Chiara smiled again. She would fix their wagon, take their money and leave Atlanta. She had secretly wanted something different and fuller for a long time anyway.

Now, she only needed to talk to Grace. This might be rough because she had no doubt the girl would be upset and possibly frightened. It would be up to her to be the strong shoulder.

Could it be possible that they might come out of this mess whole and together somehow and be happy? This would be the dream she really wanted but had repressed: true love and true living.

Grace was at Sheila’s outer desk poring over a brief with her when Chiara whipped in.

“Grab your stuff so we can get out of here, Grace.”

“But…I mean lunch is still a couple of hours away. Where are we going?” Grace asked in confusion.

Grace had been unaware that anything odd was afoot but Sheila’s questioning expression registered immediately that something drastic had occurred during her boss’s meeting upstairs.

“Just get your purse and whatever, honey. I’ll explain everything on the way home.”

As Grace hurried off to comply, Chiara turned to Sheila.

“I resigned.”

“Damn it all!” Sheila couldn’t avoid the outburst.

“I don’t have time to fill you in right now so just listen. I want you to get some movers in here. All of my personal files and anything else that the firm does not have a legal claim to retain needs to get boxed, put under seal and sent to storage.”

“Gotcha.”

“Until that is done no one comes in here. I know this puts you in a bind as well but when the dust settles I will make sure you aren’t left out in the cold. If anyone gives you any grief you call me.”

“Gotcha. Go on and don’t worry about a thing.”

“You’re the best, Sheila.” Chiara gave her a hug as Grace reappeared. The girl had all she could do to match Chiara’s long strides to the elevator.

As they stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of the parking deck, they hurried toward the car. Grace was looking intently at Chiara, having never seen this level of intensity or anger on her beautiful face.

When they got in, Chiara gunned the engine and tore out of the parking deck like a wild thing. Grace was more than a little worried, though on some odd level, Chiara’s vigorous attitude aroused her. She wasn’t quite sure why.

When they finally arrived at the house and parked the car in the garage, Chiara sighed and let out a deep breath as though relieved. Grace understood somehow that it might be wise to remain quiet and allow Chiara to tell her what the hell was going on in her own good time.

Inside the large living room, Chiara sat down exhaustedly in the big blue leather chair. Grace sat across from her on the sofa.

“Breathe, Chiara.” Grace said softly.

Chiara smiled at her and took a good deep breath before sharing what was going to be some tough news.

“Grace, our affair was noticed and frowned upon. Smith called me into his office to tell me that I should fire you because you’re gay and that I should climb back into the closet again or they would shut me out.” Chiara cleared her throat slightly before going on in an even clearer voice, “I resigned. I also told him I would be suing them for discrimination. They have absolutely nothing on us in terms of impropriety or anything else. So you’ve nothing to worry about in terms of your future or your reputation. But with regard to the firm, you may as well face the fact that you’re finished there…and so am I.”

“Oh my God,” Grace said with a shock. “It’s my fault, Chiara. I shouldn’t have pushed you to be open about us. I should have been more circumspect about the whole thing. I’m so sorry.”

Grace began to cry softly, burying her face in her hands. She trembled slightly.

“No, Grace. No. It’s really not your fault. A lot of them were looking for a reason, any reason they could find, to fault me. I almost think they hated promoting me. They really like having total control of everyone under them. I played along for years but always held something back. They never liked that.” She continued, “I could have laid down for them and played dead again. But today I said no to it all! I’m taking my life back. What you and I have found together could never be replaced by big yearly bonuses and that view of the skyline”

“What do you mean?” Grace asked, wiping away her tears.

“What I mean is that I am going to sue the hell out of them. This is a civil rights violation as plain as day. They were ready to fire you and me for being gay. That, my dear, though still being fought through the courts on a case by case basis, is illegal.”

Grace sat back, feeling proud of Chiara for being so brave in the face of this kind of Philistine behavior on the part of people who had disguised themselves as her friends.

“I have enough money to get us by, more than enough. And I am going to retain another lawyer to fight for us. Tamika Jones is a civil rights expert who is way outside their circle of influence.”

Grace moved over onto her lap, kissing away the lines that were spoiling Chiara’s usually smooth brow.

Chiara loosened up a bit and allowed herself to be comforted by the touch, enjoying the feeling of soft fingers running through her long dark hair.

They snuggled in the big blue leather. It was a bond, an unspoken mutual determination to fight against the injustice that was being hurled at them. They were destined to remain together and nothing was going to come between them.

Later that night, Chiara carefully slipped out of bed. She had too much on her mind to sleep but didn’t want to wake Grace.

Chiara considered making an appointment with Tamika Brown for the following afternoon but was thinking it might be better to just show up. They had never met though Chiara had caught the woman in action one afternoon in Fulton County Superior Court some years back.

Brown had taken a company to task over a discrimination case filed by a young black woman. She had held their feet to the fire. That company no longer existed except as a name on some worthless stock certificates. They would go kicking and screaming but verdicts like Ms. Brown had won were a sure sign that the days of the white guard and their carte blanche were ending. Yes she would go in person.

With that settled she was able to ease back in alongside Grace and drift off.

The down at the heels building off Boulevard in the Old Fourth Ward had once been a hotel. Its upper two stories were only leased out for storage now. What had once been the lobby had become office space shared by the local Legal Aid services and Tamika Brown. The desks, chairs and benches scattered around the unpartitioned space were a motley collection, all second hand. A high molded ceiling and cracked marble floor were the last remnants of the hotel’s once genteel glory.

Attorney Brown had bought the building after receiving one of the few sizable settlements of her career. She allowed Legal Aid to operate there as well. It was a gift from her but also a tax write-off. Tamika enjoyed the semi-privacy of what had been the manager’s office. It was “semi” because with no intercom the door was left open so she and her secretary, Alice, could shout through it over the neighboring din.

All the noise was generated by the Legal Aid activity. Most every day the two pro bono lawyers and their handful of volunteer assistants struggled to sort out the problems of dozens of troubled souls. Before switching to injury litigation Tamika had cut her legal teeth working for civil rights in just such environments. The organized chaos didn’t really bother her but Alice was a different story.

“Y’all win a big settlement, girlfriend, y’all best move us outta here. I needs fo’ walls and some peace and quiet to work in!”

Tamika had promised but no such case was likely anytime soon. Her practice was simply too small to handle class action suits effectively and she still had too much self-respect to snake around outside hospital waiting rooms. Though it might come to that soon. Her bank account badly needed a shot in the arm. She had just finished on the phone with a county filing clerk when Alice poked her head in.

“There’s a white lady out here wants to see y’all an’ she wearin’ monay wid a capital M.”

“What do mean by wearing money?”

“I mean she wearin’ mo’ on her back than y’all paid me this year.” Alice answered archly.

“Well don’t let her get away then.” Tamika laughed.

The woman came through the door and Tamika saw that Alice’s assessment had been right on. This one looked like she would be more at home strolling around Phipps Plaza. Dulce and Gabbana threads were seldom seen around the Old Fourth Ward. She introduced herself and Tamika returned the favor over their handshake.

“Just dust off a chair and sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“Hmmm….Chiara Bianchi? Your name is ringing a bell…” she snapped her fingers, “Got it now! The Shay business.”

Chiara waved it off with a deprecating smile. Realizing who Chiara was caused Tamika’s eyes to narrow in speculation.

“Well you may as well tell me why you’re here. I know it’s not to hire me into your fancy firm.”

“I’m no longer with that fancy firm, Ms. Brown.”

“Look, just call me Tamika. Ok…so why are you here?”

“I do want to hire you. But to represent me and a friend.”

“Uh huh…So you suing or being sued?”

“Suing…my former firm.”

Tamika let out a low whistle and then a short laugh. The phrase ‘former firm’ was very telling. The lady wanted to launch a vendetta.

“You want little ol’ me to go in against one of the best connected firms in the whole state? Did you walk in here with blinders on? Alice out there and yours truly are the only players in my act, baby doll.”

“Oh, I have checked you out completely. I think you are just who we need...for very specific reasons.” Chiara stated calmly.

“Such as?”

“Considering the limited resources at your disposal you have an admirable record. I caught your ‘act’ as you call it once. You were good. You know how to connect with jurors…and you are an African-American woman.”

“And just what plus is my race for you?”

“One of the things I will have going for me against the good ol’ boys and their connections will be that any jury selected is probably going to be an ethnic mix of men and women.”

“Oh yes, I see now. Just why did they dump you? According to the paper you were a star over there.”

“I resigned. They fired my friend…actually my lover. They got their balls in an uproar over the fact that she and I have a lesbian relationship.”

Tamika burst out laughing.

“Is it me being coerced into giving up a fifteen year career or my sexuality that you find so funny?”

“No…none of that. Please excuse me.” Tamika’s face turned sober, “It was just your choice of words. Look…Miss Bianchi… I really don’t think I am your best choice for this.”

Instead of answering Chiara switched on the little pocket recorder. She watched as Tamika listened to the replay of the exchange with Peter Smith. At the end of it she nodded.

“That is incriminating but did he agree to a recorded conversation? If not you know they’ll move to suppress.”

“Probably so but it could be played for the judge in chambers which might help. Look, I want your help and not to be rude but it seems as though you could use some cash flow here.” Chiara gave the office a slow once over to punctuate her point.

A third voice intruded.

“Lady, I ain’t never seen no rude money. Y’all best he’p this nice lady out now, girlfriend.” It was Alice hanging in the doorway. Her curiosity had demanded some eavesdropping.

“Get the hell back on out there and close that door!” Tamika scolded. Alice made a face but obeyed.

“You should listen to her. I don’t expect you to gamble on this. I’m willing to pay a guaranteed retainer.”

“You’re mixed up if you think my work on civil rights also puts me out there for gay rights. I don’t know anything about…I mean I never…” Tamika stammered, “It’s not my zip code…I don’t roll that way.”

It was Chiara’s turn to laugh. “Hey don’t sweat it, baby doll,” she mocked, “it’s not contagious.”

Tamika was so used to the shabby confines of the office that its appearance had lost any importance. But she had to admit that it was probably a turn off for any but the poorest and most desperate client.

“What amount did you have in mind as a retainer?” she asked.

Chiara opened her purse and extracted two neatly banded packets of crisp green hundreds. She laid them on the desk and tapped the cash with a perfectly manicured finger.

“Two grand to seal the deal and eight more before you face the jury.”

Tamika knew Alice would be out there with her ear to the door. If she didn’t pick up the money she’d be dead before she ever heard the end of it. Hell, it was not as if she didn’t want the money. It was that she was not at all sure she could beat the system on such a case. In Georgia they didn’t wave rainbow banners…they waved Confederate flags. And she hated losing.

“It might be hard for you as an attorney to follow my lead…”

“No. You’d be the boss on this.” Chiara promised.

Chiara waited through a long silent pause and was finally able to smile when Tamika reached for the green.

“Ok. Let’s see if we can’t put a squeeze on those roaring balls you mentioned.”

They both laughed together this time.

At 111 West Peachtree Peter Smith had called a war council. This time in the same conference room Chiara and Grace had used. In addition to the partners Adam Clay was present. He was the ace litigator they had chosen to bring in from Barnes, Lee and Stuart.

When Clay had first heard what was up he’d almost pissed himself laughing. So Chiara Bianchi was a rug muncher. He’d suspected as much. Clay had made a play for her way back when. He’d spotted her at a party and asked her to dance. The damn woman had a body on her and he’d gotten a little free with his hands. The prissy wop bitch had given him the “Now, now. Be a good boy” bit. A lot of women said that sort of thing without really meaning it. So he’d grabbed another handful and gotten slapped hard for it with the whole room watching. If it hadn’t been for all the eyes on them he’d have given her one back. Nailing her dyke ass in a courtroom would offer him the perfect chance for a long overdue payback.

“The suit was filed this morning by some downtown injury lawyer.” Smith was saying, “A black woman by the name of Tamika Brown. Civil rights background. Get someone to review her court history.”

“Sounds like a nobody to me…” Brooks started but Smith cut him off.

“Don’t make me tell any of you again…do not take this lightly. Ten years ago we could probably have had it tossed out as frivolous but times have changed. Even if we do get a friendly judge, you can bet that Butrell girl will show up looking all blonde and angelic and Chiara will try and make us look like shitbird angel bashers.”

“Yes times have changed, Peter, but you needn’t worry. I will take this seriously. You just get me any dirt at all and by the time I’m done nobody in that courtroom will be seeing an angel. They’ll be seeing two skanky lesbos. And if that isn’t enough to raise a stink I’ll turn the pair of them into un-American commie skank lesbos!”

The men shared a general laugh at the vision that inspired.

“I was assured that the case will go to Cyrus Milton. It’s not a fix but he is an old school conservative Judge. Best I could do.” Weinstein said.

“Has that investigator come up with anything we can use yet?” Brooks queried.

“He says he has located a couple of love interests from the girl’s college years. He’s looking for more. And there was some woman living with Bianchi for awhile but she is out of the picture now. As soon as he gets all the names and addresses I’ll get subpoenas delivered.”

No one had anything else. On the way to the door Smith had his arm around Clay’s shoulder.

“We need you to bring your A game to court, Adam.”

“Relax hoss. I don’t even have a B game.”

Peter Smith was satisfied. He liked arrogant lawyers. They tried harder than the humble ones because they couldn’t stand having to eat their own words.

The docket was crowded and the discovery process would be lengthy. It would take a few months for pretrial to start. In the meantime, Chiara felt she and Grace should not just wait and worry. They needed to keep busy

They worked very hard to maintain a surface calm but inside they were anything but blasé about what was happening. Then small things began occurring that added tension to the situation. They started receiving ‘hang-up’ phone calls and one afternoon at the Piggly Wiggly, Grace was sure someone was following her. Paranoia began to grow.

Then one night, when they were coming home from a dinner party with friends in Ansley Park, Chiara noticed that a car followed them all the way back to their house on E. Paces Ferry.

She’d watched closely and became certain the same headlights were behind them all the way. Not wanting to upset Grace unnecessarily, she invented a sudden thirst for making an unplanned stop just to see if she was being paranoid or if they were truly being followed. Sure enough as she pulled into the Speedy Shop to buy a Coke the car slid to a stop across the way. When she got out of the car to go inside she gave a look in that general direction. It was a dark blue Mercedes with tinted windows. She couldn’t see who was driving but she knew that this had something to do with the case.

She didn’t mention the matter to Grace. Instead, she just quietly drove them home, popping the Coke can and sipping the sweet carbonated confection as though nothing were wrong.

Grace had been caught up in her own thoughts anyway. She’d had a difficult conversation on the phone with her Momma the night before. It was over her decision to move in with Chiara. Mrs. Butrell couldn’t understand why Grace would have moved in with her boss, an older woman, and she certainly wouldn’t have understood the full truth if Grace tried to explain it.

Though she had never been entirely upfront with her parents about her personal life, Grace had also never been outright deceitful. At this juncture though, she felt it necessary to keep this huge development in her life private. And she was worried about what her family was going to think when they saw this lawsuit business going public and when they realized she didn’t have a job. Questions would come and Grace wasn’t sure how she would answer them. She had been putting on a brave face for Chiara but she was feeling insecure and more than a little afraid of what the future might hold.

At home and undressing for bed, both women were caught up in their own thoughts. Grace decided to have a hot shower and Chiara took the chance to make a quick phone call to Tamika to tell her about them being tailed after the party. As she picked up the phone to call Tamika, she heard an odd clicking noise. She was quite familiar with the sound, having heard it many times on tapes being played during depositions. Tapes surreptitiously gotten from wire-tapping.

She returned the phone to its cradle, grabbed her cell-phone and walked out back to make her call. She knew that the cell wouldn’t be tapped.

“Tamika?”

“Chiara…what’s going on? It’s late, girl.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought you might want to know that we’re being tailed and I also just discovered our phone has been tapped.”

“Hmm. Why doesn’t that surprise me, Miss C? Those old boys are scared. We both knew they’d be trying to find dirt on you. They have been at the county clerk’s office going over my past cases as well.”

“Yes, you and I knew it would happen but I’m worried for Grace.”

Tamika chuckled, “It’s a good sign, Chiara. It means we’ve got ‘em on the defensive. At least we know what’s what. Why not take Grace away for a week or two to relax? This is going to be a long, drawn-out thing, honey, so you might as well get some R&R now.”

“Yes. Tamika. I think that’s a good idea. Sorry for the late call. You’re a gem.”

“No problem, sweetie. I’m right here in your corner. Don’t you worry now. Good night.”

Chiara clicked off and went inside to find Grace had already fallen asleep in their big four poster bed. She quietly slipped under the covers and spooned in behind her to hold the girl closer. Grace let out a small sigh in response.

Chiara made plans for a surprise trip to Tybee Island, where she owned a beautiful little house on the beach. The island was only a few minutes drive from Savannah, and she adored the place. She felt that, as Tamika suggested, it would be the perfect place for a get away while they waited for the trial date.

The long wait had already begun to take its toll on both women. Chiara tried to fill the days with diversions but the delay had them tied up in knots. They both wanted the whole thing settled for better or worse so that they could get on with living.

Lately, at night usually, they fought over silly domestic things. They had screamed at one another over things as stupid as whether the laundry had been picked up or whose turn it was to go and get something for dinner.

That very night, as they were both standing in the kitchen trying to figure out dinner, Chiara suddenly exploded in anger. Her buried tension bubbled up in domestic disgust,

“God, you’re so thoughtless, Grace. You could have done some shopping. All you ever think about is yourself. Why can you not just take care of something as simple as dinner, huh? There’s nothing here in the fridge except some three-day old pizza and there’s nothing to drink, God damnit.”

Chiara was not on edge alone. Her outburst made Grace explode back. In answer she picked up a miniature butter-churn that was on the counter top and threw it at Chiara’s head, barely missing her.

“What the hell?”

Chiara was furious and as she turned to throw a plate in response, Grace dodged away and ran down the hall screaming. The plate shattered against the wall as Grace yelled, “God damn you, Chiara. Don’t take this out on me!”

Chiara followed her into the bedroom. Her outstretched hands moved toward the girl’s slender throat as if she might choke her. Her flashing dark eyes penetrated Grace and the girl quaked slightly in fear. Chiara stopped in mid-stride, suddenly realizing that she was aroused by their argument or perhaps aroused by Grace’s fear.

“Get on the bed, Grace and don’t mess about.”

Grace was too scared to respond with anything other than acquiescence. She too was becoming aroused by the violence that had erupted between them. Beneath the violence, a strong chord of desire was playing in her mind. As she sat on the edge of the bed Chiara pushed Grace backward, hard, with no concern over whether the girl liked it or wanted it.

She yanked Grace’s shorts off and spread her legs and with no preliminaries she sucked two fingers wet and pushed them into Grace’s cunt.

Grace grunted uncomfortably but her eyes shifted to the familiar look of lust that Chiara knew so well by then. Chiara pushed her fingers in and out of her pussy until it began to make the popping sound she wanted to hear. The slapping, popping, hitting sound of wetness on skin and fingers moving in and out.

Chiara became deeply aroused and Grace’s head was flung back.

“OH MY GOD. Chiara. Fuck me. Fuck me.” she yelled.

Chiara rose above her then, relentlessly continuing her long slapping strokes in and out of Grace’s pussy. She rode Grace hard with her own body and hips following each stroke, Grace came wildly, screaming

“Chiara. Chiara. Chiara. I can never get enough of you.”

Once sated and spent they both fell on the bed exhausted, lying nakedly spread across the bed. Sleep came quickly.

The next morning they laughed as they swept up the shattered ornamental butter-churn and the broken plate.

“I’m sorry I lost it last night.” Chiara apologized, “I acted like an ass.”

“So did I.” Grace admitted, “I’ve never thrown anything at someone before. Thank God I missed.”

They sat down then to enjoy a quiet breakfast together. As Chiara spread a bit of cream cheese on a bagel, she looked at Grace for a moment and paused before asking her,

“What do you think about us getting away for a bit? I have a small house down off the coast near Savannah. It’s quiet this time of year, and I think it would do us good.”

Grace brightened at this as she finished up her pineapple juice.

“Definitely, Chiara. Let’s go! I’m so tired of worrying all the time. Maybe I’ll still worry but at least I can get a tan while I do it,” she said laughingly.

“Oh Grace. You do make me smile. Yes. That’s the plan then. Go and pack a bag. I’ll get my stuff together and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”

Chiara felt that this was a perfect time to show Grace her little place down there. She had often fantasized about moving to Tybee Island and never coming back to Atlanta. And she was beginning to include Grace in the fantasy. The stormy days ahead in court would eventually be behind them. Win or lose they could go live down there together and find some peace in their lives. It was a beautiful thought and one that began to take root in Chiara’s mind.

They began the journey southeastward to Savannah, driving along 75 south until the exits became farther apart and the signs for roadside eateries began to fade. As they picked up highway 16 they enjoyed long stretches of highway with nothing but the sun, sky and millions of pine-trees to keep them company.

It was a lovely escape for them after spending so much time pent up in the house worrying about the case facing them.

They listened to music and rolled the windows down to enjoy the soft breeze that afternoon in late summer. It was a dreamy way to spend their time, feeling freer and lighter because of the absence of the constant din of Atlanta in the background of their lives.

Life was good that day. Chiara held Grace’s paler hand in hers and their sweat mingled together in the warmth of their palms clasped together. They spoke very little on the drive. This was a time for wordless pleasure, a time for forgetting.

The change in scenery inspired an appetite so when they chanced upon a barbeque joint called Big O’s they pulled off. The tables were oil-cloth covered and only decorated with hot sauce and tiny pepper and salt shakers. The waitress had her hair up in one of those antiquated styles almost like a beehive straight out of Mayberry days. She was smacking her gum as she asked,

“What’ll you ladies be havin’ this afternoon? Want some iced tea to start off? How about a plate of cornbread muffins for an appetizer?”

“Sure, that sounds great,” Grace said.

As they waited for their starters they both gazed at one another with love. Their hunger for food was matched by a hunger for lovemaking in such an untroubled setting. Not touching intimately, even for a few hours, was difficult for them. The passion between them had reared up in these unexpected bursts from the start. Each knowing what the other was wishing they shared a helpless glance around the little café and broke up laughing.

The iced tea was strong and sweet to sip between bites of hot cornbread. They followed it with lovely barbeque sandwiches and Brunswick stew.

The smell of the savory meat and the rich, succulent stew tantalized them as it was laid out before them on the table.

“Mmmmm,” Chiara muttered audibly as she tucked into the stew.

“This is so damned good, Grace.”

The mouthwatering combination of sweet and vinegary barbeque and the rich heady tomato based stew made them both take on that glazed-over look that one often sees on the faces of people who dine on the truest versions of southern comfort food.

After they finished, they headed back down the road to Savannah with increased anticipation.

As they approached the city the trees became covered with the thick Spanish moss common to the coastal regions of the Deep South. There are few things as captivating as the look of that moss on the trees. The brilliant webs of vine woven through wooden arms outstretched to the sky make you understand that the sea is very close by.

Grace had never been there before. She was amazed a little at its beauty. It had an old world charm akin to that of its sister city, the southern siren New Orleans. But Savannah is finer than her wilder sister in some ways. Her beauty is calmer, imbued with a kind of melancholy that reaches out on a barely discernable level toward something departed. The city attracts people who also want to capture that lost, infinitesimal, something.

“It’s so….”Grace whispered to Chiara, clasping her hand, “sooo…..beautiful.”

Chiara smiled and held her hand tighter, enjoying the girl’s appreciation of the city.

They made their way toward the island, driving slowly and soaking in the open splendor of the scenery. When they turned into number 10, Lovell Drive, Grace fell in love with the small but fine house facing the Atlantic Ocean.

The view of the sea was panoramic in scope. The gulls were calling. And all one could hear was the sound of the waves splashing against the sandy shore. They both stood quite still for a moment and then Chiara took Grace’s hand walking her out to the beach.

“We can unpack later, Grace. Let’s walk and enjoy the sea air for a bit.”

They walked arm in arm down the empty beach. The smell of the sea, the feel of the trade winds blowing, made them both feel a soft wordless pleasure.

Thus began a long and beautiful vacation in a magical place on the coast of Georgia. Feeling safe from prying eyes they relaxed into a genuine intimacy, becoming increasingly aware that they could truly be happy there, that they could be happy together away from the bustle, the competition, the outright aggression of Atlanta, the south’s harlot of a city. It was unspoken but deeply felt.

No worry was allowed to intrude. They ate fresh shrimp off the grill. They built sandcastles. They flew kites. They made love at night with the windows open as the waves crashed on the shore.

Grace made Chiara feel young, and Chiara made Grace feel safe. The combination spelled true love and true happiness.

After not ‘spending’ their vacation but rather ‘saving’ it by indulging themselves in sweet bliss each instant there, they were both recharged emotionally and physically and ready for the battle ahead. Neither of them knew how it would turn out, but the joy that they would have together once they put this mess behind them bolstered their courage.

It was as though they’d caught a glimpse of paradise and knew that if they had to go through hell to get back to it, the battle would be worth it.

Tamika Brown had been working night and day to gather witnesses within and outside of the firm. She wanted to prove a long existing pattern of exclusionary practices and preferential treatment by the good old boys at Smith, Weinstein & Brooks. She had found at least two women who’d once worked for the firm. They had been suggestively stepped on. After complaining they were sidestepped for promotions and finally just blackballed and plain pushed out onto the street. That one was black and the other Hispanic suggested discrimination beyond gender.

This was going to be a very big case and Tamika knew that the media would lap up the facts surrounding the dismantling of a big firm like this. Atlanta, like every other city in the southeast was changing. Atlanta had grown and become a true melting pot. Now few who lived in the metropolitan area were true natives of the city.

With the bright minds and broader perspectives being imported into the city, this case really had a shot at changing minds within the south and beyond it.

On the other side of town, in their plush offices, Tamika knew they were busy rallying to defend their collective cause: maintaining the power of carte blanche. They weren’t going to let this one go down without the most serious of fights. The very idea that a lesbian, a dyke with an attitude, would sue them for wrongful termination and discrimination was anathema to them.

Lead attorney Adam Clay was no doubt gloating over a long list of witnesses willing to destroy Chiara Bianchi’s reputation. He was the type to relish ruining her. As far as he was concerned she was a lesbian bitch who had tried to run with the bulls when she didn’t have the balls to do so. He was aiming to get her to run out of town instead.

Clay and his cronies were indeed already celebrating their win before the case even went to the courtroom. They felt somehow that they were still the true representatives of the south and particularly of the Atlanta ideal of family values. Church on Sundays, barbeques in the backyard and good women in the kitchen or bedroom where they belonged. They were guarding traditions that could not die.

But Tamika was planning on painting a very different portrait of them. Anyone raised in the south was familiar enough with the Bible to know the passage from Matthew 23:27,

“Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness.”

The old club was going to be shown for what it was: a sad old tombstone whose ideas were ready to be properly buried. Tamika held a shovel and if she could make it the trump spade she was ready to lay open a hole and mount a case that would, she prayed with her very soul, push them into it for good.

The camera crews from the local stations were all crowded around the front of the Fulton County Superior Court Building that Thursday morning as the principals mounted the steps. Camera shutters were clicking and the newscasters’ mouths were moving.

“A case against Smith, Weinstein & Brooks, one of Atlanta’s oldest and most prestigious law firms, goes to court today. The plaintiff is Chiara Bianchi. The prominent lawyer who defended and received an acquittal for the notorious Jack Shay. According to Tamika Brown, her attorney, Miss Bianchi, after being recently promoted to senior partner by that firm, was suddenly and wrongfully forced to leave on the basis of her sexual orientation.”

Tamika ignored the questions thrown at them as she ushered Chiara and Grace past the crush. She was not yet ready to use the press. She didn’t want a trial by media if it could be avoided.

Clay however stopped at the top of the steps to the reporter’s answer questions. He loved seeing his face on the news. It was good for business.

“Mr. Clay, do you think Atlanta is ready to give equal rights under the law to gays? Will this case usher in insurance benefits and enforceable domestic partnership agreements?”

“I really don’t think so. It’s a whole new world we’re living in now with gay people getting married and even being allowed to raise children if you can imagine such a thing. The law tolerates their difference. It even protects them but they want more. They want us to celebrate them. Isn’t that what they really want?”

Even the news reporters were a bit shocked at that last. There were some things you didn’t say. Finding the right way to spin that kind of bigoted statement was going to be tough.

But not for one instant did Adam Clay care who might think the comment went too far. He knew that any and everyone who mattered in his world agreed with him.

Inside, the partners settled at the defense table alongside their champion. They were smiling and seemingly unconcerned. Clay’s blue steel eyes narrowed in on Tamika as she took her place across from them. She smiled and nodded in his general direction. If the cold look had been meant to intimidate there was no sign that it had succeeded. The qualms Tamika had felt when Chiara had first approached her had long since vanished.

Leading up to this opening day the voir dire process during the jury selection had been drawn out, with each side using all of their exclusions. Clay had sought as conservative a panel as he could get while Tamika had looked for even the barest hint of liberality. The result had been just the kind of jury Chiara had foreseen...a very mixed panel with regard to ethnicity and gender.

Tamika hoped this case would help end the days of gay people being sectioned off into pink ghettos. Though she had initially been hesitant about representing a lesbian, she had come to see it as the same struggle all minorities faced and had allied herself with Chiara on a very personal level.

Discrimination was discrimination. And in the south, the word was loaded with connotations and images of wrongs committed over many past years. This was another discriminatory barrier that needed to be taken down and she was the woman to do it.

Tamika stood and waited for the murmur behind her to die away. She made sure she had every juror’s eye before she began to deliver her opening remarks. The room slowly grew hushed…a pause before a storm.

“Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I come before you today because an injustice has been done. My clients, Chiara Bianchi and Grace Butrell are good people. Miss Butrell put herself through seven years of study and hard work to achieve the dream of a career in law. Only to have the defendants seek to deny her that dream for no reason other than their disapproval of her life style.”

Tamika paused to direct a disapproving look at the partners before resuming.

“Miss Bianchi toiled for this firm and its clients for fifteen years. During which time they not only found no fault with her performance…they made her a senior partner. Then they discovered she was gay. For this and this alone…these men…who by their very profession should have felt bound by due process and fair play, instead decided to act as judge, jury and executioner. They sought to negate her entire career.

We all know that there are some prejudiced souls in our society who still hold unfortunate ideas about what it means to be gay.”

She smiled at the jurors as if to assure them that she knew none of them could possibly be prejudiced.

“For those people such a personal choice still seems taboo. But these two women worked hard to obtain and deserve the same rewards that all of the rest of us expect from our own efforts to excel.

I ask you today to weigh all that will be presented and then ask yourselves if it is not time to send a message. In the immortal words of Frederick Douglass…It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.

We need to stand on the side of justice and uphold the law of this great nation, the promise that no one regardless of their color, creed, nationality, disability…or sexual orientation, should be discriminated against. Thank you.”

The jurors had listened and could be seen appraising Chiara and Grace. Both sat poised quietly at their table. Chiara in a lovely black Armani dress with a single strand of perfect white pearls around her neck. Her long mane of dark hair was pulled back from a face radiating a natural dignity and elegance. Grace sat beside her, lovely to look at, wearing a pale blue blouse that matched her eyes. She was a vision of innocence and her intelligent face suggested the great promise that Tamika charged had been thwarted.

They made an impressive pair. It was difficult to look at them and classify them as stereotypical flaming lesbians. There were no tattoos, no piercings, no rainbow flag T-shirts. Just two beautiful, accomplished women who felt they had been wronged. The image was not lost on the jury. You could see it in their eyes as they appraised them. Tamika was satisfied that they had made a good impression.

Adam Clay rose up with a practiced air of certainty. For him it was another moment in the sun. He was accustomed to center stage and his ego was so big that he didn’t notice that a few of the jurors were already looking at him with barely veiled skepticism.

He wore his favorite ‘lucky’ tan suit with a dark navy blue shirt and striped tie. The tie was another one of his good luck charms. An amusing little private vanity. The apparent stripes were comprised of tiny repetitive text. The phrase ‘Damn I’m good’ in barely legible white chasing itself across the blue silk. He moved to the jury with a smile and, he thought, just the right amount of swagger.

If he’d had a more finely tuned inner thermometer he might have better gauged the general public’s temperature as quite chilly. Like everyone else in the nation even these southern jurors had in their minds the recent shenanigans on Wall Street. A street ruled by men in elegant suits like the one he was wearing. They were not prone to accept at face value a seemingly genteel and intelligent big shot with a fake smile. Bernie Madoff had smiled a lot of people to ruin. This was lost on him though.

Adam Clay, Esq. had won more cases of this nature than any other attorney in Atlanta and he saw this as just one more opportunity to add a feather to his well-plumed cap.

His opening was intended to sound contemptuous, almost dismissive. He was confident that it was going to be impressive. Just the look in his eyes said it.

“Good morning to your Honor, to you good folks on the jury, and to my esteemed colleague, Ms. Brown. I’ll be brief as there is nothing worth arguing here. We come together here today to decide only a matter of law. It pleased the attorney for the plaintiff to try and confuse you...to try and equate the question at hand with civil rights. She will seek to excite emotions into a matter of pure common sense. Two individuals let their personal lives interfere with their professional responsibilities and regrettably they had to be let go. Simple as that.

This action is frivolous. They are wasting your time here, ladies and gentlemen.”

He glared at Chiara and Grace as if to encourage the jury to resent having been yanked from their daily lives.

“Miss Bianchi had a career with the best firm in Atlanta and arguably one of the best in the country. Then she had a melt down, plain and simple. She is not a martyr to the cause of gay rights and civil liberties. Quite bluntly…she failed in her job. That is why she is no longer with her firm. And she comes to you as a liar in her attempt to blame them for her failure.”

He looked steadily into the eyes of the jurors before continuing,

“She was not discriminated against because she is gay. She was never given any ultimatums. She willingly tendered her resignation because she didn’t want to face the reality that she wasn’t living up to the expectations required of a senior partner.

“And as to the co-plaintiff… Miss Bianchi’s paramour… Grace Butrell, she was discovered to be under-qualified. She was employed by Miss Bianchi though other applicants had more impressive résumés. I think we can more or less picture why that happened.”

He paused here to give the jurors a knowing wink.

“Now both of them are angry and bear a grudge against a group of people who did nothing other than offer them bright futures. They have only themselves to blame for their present situation. You will hear from witnesses who will attest to the growing incompetence of both women.”

Clay held up his wristwatch apologetically.

“Y’all have to excuse me. I promised to be brief…but so many facts go to the absurdity of this suit that I got carried away…so I’ll just sum up now. These are two devious, deviant women who are trying to trick y’all into awarding them a multi-million dollar travesty of justice. Once you’ve heard all the evidence I’m sure you’ll award them nothing but the contempt they deserve. Thank you.”

With an arrogant banty rooster air, Clay almost strutted back to his chair. Peter Smith patted him on the back as he sat down while the other two nodded and smiled. There were also smiles on the faces of a couple of the male jurors, as well as on the faces of several people sitting in the gallery.

Chiara, Grace and particularly Tamika showed no visible sign of emotion. They sat elegantly still, with the certainty and confidence one often sees on the faces of the marble lions outside courtrooms.

The judge called an adjournment for lunch and the gavel fell.

After the noon recess, Tamika led off with a series of character witnesses who testified on Chiara and Grace’s behalves respectively. Sheila Haskell was the last of these sworn in.

“Mrs. Haskell, you have worked as a personal secretary to Ms. Bianchi for how long?”

“Since she was made an associate. But I’ve known her since the first day she came on. Over fifteen years now.”

“In all that time were you ever aware of any dissatisfaction being expressed by the partners over her performance?”

“Never”

Tamika carried on in this vein until she was satisfied that Chiara’s competence over many years had been established.

Her witnesses had painted a lovely picture of each woman. The older came off as profoundly accomplished with a nearly flawless case record and the younger as filled with all the eager potential imaginable.

Clay wanted the little praise party Tamika was throwing to end quickly and be forgotten so he declined any cross examination of these friendlies. First impressions were usually important but in court it was what went last that echoed in the jury room. He would have that last word.

Tamika brought on some heavy artillery. The disgruntled former employees she had dug out from years past to paint a picture of the firm that was anything but pleasant. One was a black para-legal named Edna Rice. The second was Juanita Rodriguez, a Hispanic secretary. From each, Tamika elicited that they felt their dismissal had been discriminatory.

Clay had followed with the same single question for each.

“Mrs. Rodriguez can you swear to this court that your work attendance was perfect?”

“What do you mean perfect?” she asked.

“Is there something wrong with your English? I mean did you ever not show up for work?”

“A few days but that was because...”

“That will be all, thanks.” Clay cut her off, “Let the record show that her attendance at work left something to be desired.”

Tamika let it pass. She doubted a ploy like that would be enough to discredit the two women’s testimony.

“I think we have heard enough for one day.” The judge declared, “Adjourned until tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.”

The night stretched out for Tamika as she lay quietly in her apartment. The full moon shone through her bedroom window and a breeze was moving the curtains. She couldn’t sleep because her mind was racing. Tomorrow she would call Chiara and Grace to the stand. She wanted her questions and their answers to come off just right. How this was going to turn out would depend in large part on the impression they made.

She wanted to make a difference in this world. She thought this case might just be one that would bring a change in the social system, change that was long overdue.

Her mentor, Amanda Devereux at Brown University, had told her before she’d left school back in the day,

“You have got the worst case of galloping T.B. I’ve ever known, girl child.”

Tamika was baffled at the time.

“What in the world does that mean, Miss Lady?” she asked laughing slightly.

“It means you’ve got the worst case of ‘true-believerism’ I’ve ever come across in my whole life, Tamika. I hope it doesn’t get you in too deep one of these days.”

Tamika smiled to herself as she remembered those words. She was both comforted and worried by them now with her arguments moving into the final phase. She always wanted to be the winner but this was more important than some personal injury case. This one could become cited precedent. In a court case just as in a boxing match, there was no such thing as second-place. It stakes were always winner take all. Tamika pounded her pillow, took a long, deep breath and tried to sleep.

Across town, Chiara and Grace were also restlessly trying to find sleep that night. Both of them pretended for a time that they were sleeping, but eventually they realized they were both wide awake so they sat up in bed to talk a bit. But their discussion ended with Grace asking the only question that mattered.

“Do you think we’re going to win,” she asked Chiara quietly and with a look of worry on her lovely face.

“Yes, I do, Grace,” Chiara told her, trying hard not to betray the doubts she was having.

Chiara reached across and softly took Grace in her arms, holding her tight and caressing her long blonde hair until she fell asleep.

She was anything but convinced that they would win the case. The Clay’s cocksure manner made her think he had some surprises in store. When his turn came he would be parading witnesses to contradict the positive testimony that Tamika had elicited from Sheila and the others. There would be no shortage of brown nosers from to firm willing to run Grace and her down in court. And of course there were the men within the firm she had refused to sleep with. They too would be eager a chance to bash her.

And there might be some outsiders. She knew she had made some enemies in her career, mostly because she’d beaten some of Atlanta’s best in the courtroom a time or two. They didn’t like to be beaten by anyone, but especially not by a woman. She knew they would be more than willing to jump on the bandwagon to take her down.

They would keep them coming and it would be hard to listen to. And who knew what they might try to claim about Grace. What if this didn’t go as planned? What if Grace lost faith in her or if the relationship fell apart?

She asked herself these questions but had no answers that night. She prayed for a speedy conclusion so that the two of them could put this chapter of their lives behind them.

Near dawn, mostly from sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep. Court would reconvene in a few hours.

As Chiara was being sworn in Adam Clay nudged Peter Smith happily. They had not been sure Tamika would give them a crack at her client.

The initial questions were predictable with Chiara’s accomplishments being enumerated and her unblemished record explored. Then Tamika attacked the circumstances that had led to her resignation and the details of her last confrontation with Smith. She was leading up to a planned disclosure.

“Remembering that you are under oath…do you swear that Peter Smith made those threats?”

“I do swear that he did.”

“Is there anyway you can verify this for the jury?”

“Yes. I recorded our meeting.”

Clay sprung to his feet. “Objection! No recording was mentioned during disclosure. I demand it be suppressed.”

Tamika was before the Judge by then.

“Your Honor, shouldn’t you listen to it before you rule on this?”

“The court will remain seated while the issue is decided in chamber.” Judge Milton grated.

They were barely behind closed doors when the Judge wheeled on Tamika.

“Just what are you trying to pull, Miss Brown?”

Tamika shrugged and pressed play. Clay complained hotly but Cyrus Milton waved him still. He was already sitting to listen. The tape played out. He shook his head and let loose a grudging chuckle.

“That sure sounds like Pete…or rather it sounds like your client on there, councilor.” Judge Milton couldn’t resist a jab at Clay.

“That’s immaterial, Your Honor. It is inadmissible!” Clay was strident.

“Relax. Luckily for you that is correct. Sorry, Miss Brown, they won’t be allowed to hear this.”

Tamika knew it would be useless to argue. But she had managed to plant a seed. The jury out there knew that they were missing something that Adam Clay had not wanted them to hear. It might help.

On their way back to the courtroom Judge Milton stopped Tamika briefly.

“This will be your only warning. No more tricks.”

Tamika cut Chiara a quick look when she returned indicating that the tape was out. Chiara would have been surprised if it had been otherwise but she realized what had been gained by their ploy.

Just to drive home the facts Tamika lead her back over her version of what had happened and then rested.

“That’s all I have to ask of the witness at this time.”

Clay was up before Tamika could even regain her seat.

“So all we really have is the plaintiff’s word on what she claims was said.” He was addressing the jury as he neared the stand and was shaking his head doubtfully when he shifted to Chiara,

“Miss Bianchi…hmmm…that’s some kind of a foreign name isn’t it? Is it Eye-talian?”

“It is also an American name. Just perhaps not as common as Clay.” Chiara answered.

There was a short burst of laughter at the pun. Even Clay had to smile at the deft riposte.

“Much has been made of the length of time you were with the good firm you are now seeking to discredit. Why is it that you chose to deceive your friends and associates for fif-teen-long-years?” it was drawn out in an exaggerated drawl for effect.

“I deceived no one.” She knew Clay was trying to rile her but denial was calm.

“You want us to believe you weren’t hiding your deviant desires toward members of your own sex?”

“I was never asked about my sexual preference.”

“Were you open about it?” he persisted.

“I was foolish enough fear the prejudice I might encounter.”

“Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer yes or no only.”

“The answer is no then.” Chiara volunteered it before the Judge could admonish her.

“Isn’t it true that you hid the fact of your perversion because you knew it was un-natural…because you were ashamed of your secret aberration?”

Tamika objected that Clay’s language was presumptive and inflammatory. She was sustained but the Judge’s reproof was mild,

“Limit your self, Mr Clay.”

Chiara decided to ignore the earlier warning to limit her answers and directed herself to the jury.

“Like most of you might be…I was afraid of losing something I had worked hard for. I was wrong to be afraid.” Clay and the Judge tried to cut her off but she continued over them, “I finally decided that the pursuit of personal happiness was just as important as a career. We all have a right to a full life.” She finished.

Clay saw that she had established a bit of common ground with the jurors. Instead complaining that her little speech had been out of order, he shifted the focus.

“No good American will disagree on that. But maybe you can enlighten us here. Us Christian folk don’t know much about the sort of happiness your kind pursue. We understand what goes on between a man and a woman…the joys of sharing a bed in wedlock.” He turned to leer suggestively at the jury, “Maybe you can describe for us just exactly what goes on between gays?”

Tamika was on her feet to object but Clay had already raised a hand.

“I retract the question. These good people don’t deserve to have their minds stained by any such sordid images. That’s all I want with this…this witness, your Honor.” His voice dripped with disdain indicating that he would have preferred to have called her something other than “this witness’.

Cyrus Milton banged his gavel.

“Court will recess for lunch and resume at 1 P.M.”

In the restaurant Chiara banished any discussion of the trial.

“I don’t want to hear a single word about it.” She declared.

Instead she and Grace regaled Tamika with the details of their stay in Savannah. They extracted a promise that she would accompany them on their next trip there.

“I’ll have to bring a male chaperone to protect me from you conniving dykes!” Tamika joked.

“You may invite anyone you like.” Chiara assured her.

Chiara was relieved when Grace excused herself to visit the powder room.

“I know I said you would call the shots but when we go back in there no way Grace goes on the stand.”

“She could lend a very innocent note.” Tamika argued.

“I managed to keep my cool but he could explode her. She looks sweet but she has a temper. Hell, she even threw something at me the other night. No. Besides I’m not going to let that slimeball drag her through the mud with his filthy innuendos.”

“Ok,” Tamika acquiesced, “but without the tape it will be chancy. He is going to trot out a slew of derogatory witnesses. I will challenge and try to discredit them but in the end we will be holding our breath.”

“I knew I was rolling the dice when I started this.”

“You sure they have nothing concrete in the way of dirt?”

“Have they dug up one of Grace’s old boyfriends to bash her…or one of my past lovers? Maybe…but so what. You saw how the creep works. Real or no, he will invent a gutter to drag us through with his dirty little insinuations.”

Grace interrupted them with her return.

“What’s for desert?” she asked and the two conspirators broke up laughing at her care free pose.

Tamika stood to announce that she would call no further witnesses. She sat back down across from the opposition primed for the next round of battle but what happened surprised her.

“The defense will call numerous witnesses with extensive evidence to present. In order not to tire the jury,” Clay smiled over at the panel benevolently, “I request an adjournment until Monday morning.”

“So ordered.” The Judge declared with no hesitation.

Grace had not been called up and Clay was disappointed that he would not get to trash the little blonde angel. Her very appearance had been working against them but he was not worried. He had decided to let time work on the jurors. A whole weekend away from the testimony they’d heard would help haze out the positives Tamika had presented. On Monday he would march one accusatory voice after another past them.

Tamika saw through the move right away and had to appreciate the cleverness of it.

“You see what he’s up to? He may be a rat bastard but he’s a smart rat bastard!” She grumbled to Chiara.

“Never mind. Que sera sera.” Chiara answered fatalistically.

Enduring two full days with their fate flapping in the wind was maddening but there was nothing to be done about it. Clay would sling his mud and Tamika would do her best to erase it. Then twelve relative strangers would decide who they believed. It was that simple.

Oddly it was Grace who came up with one diversion after another that Saturday morning. Chiara had assumed it would be up to her to maintain the calm but the girl was surprising her. At around mid-afternoon Grace was actually even napping. For her part Chiara was forced to seek relaxation in the hot tub with a good stiff Bourbon Old Fashion. She was just toweling off when her cell played its tune.

“Hello.”

“Jack Shay here. I think I can help you.”

Chiara hesitated before replying. She had placed the Shay affair in the round file of her memory. She had hoped to never hear from the man again but his cryptic offer couldn’t be ignored. She was brusque,

“Help me how, Mr. Shay?”

“I read about his feud you’re having with your old firm. I think I know where you might find some dirt on Peter Smith.”

Chiara’s dismissive attitude vanished. “Such as? What exactly would you be willing to testify to?”

“Whoa, lady! I got no plans to go within spitting distance of a courtroom again. You got me loose but they are still looking to bust my ass. In fact I am getting out. Flipping over a new leaf or however that saying goes. I have a buyer and I’m retiring down to Costa Rica.”

“So how does this help me?”

“There was this girl worked for me…Elizabeth Hill…There was a private party with Smith and some of his big shot pals. They wanted a girl to dance for them. Just to dance they said. Instead some nasty shit must’ve gone down. I never wanted to know exactly what but she was a no show at the club after that. Then a few months later she called me all upset and demanded Smith’s name and number. My guess is she confronted him over something and was paid to shut up and disappear.”

“Where can I find her?”

“Hey, it’s been a couple of years. She was in Buckhead back then but who knows now. Look, if you can find her you may have something but leave me out of it.” He rang off.

Chiara sat down to consider Shay’s revelation. Apparently he really had been grateful to her for managing his narrow escape. But his information had been sketchy at best. Obviously Smith had been involved in something bad enough to warrant a cover up but unless she could talk to this Hill woman in person this new knowledge would be of little use. Besides, whatever it was had happened two years ago. She would have a hard time making such past history relevant to her case. But if she could learn exactly what had taken place there might be another solution.

Chiara rang Tamika immediately. She listened as the conversation with Shay was repeated. Her reservations were the same as those which had occurred to Chiara.

“Just in case it can help I think we need to locate Elizabeth Hill right now. If we can discover exactly what Peter Smith was so anxious to hide two years ago there might be a way to derail Clay’s train of witnesses before he can roll them through court on Monday.”

“I have a friend at the DMV. He won’t be too keen on missing Saturday football to go in and look up a driver’s license for me but he owes me some sugar.”

The friend had succumbed to Tamika’s arm twisting. He had turned up licenses for three women by that name. Two were eliminated as being too old to have been the one they wanted to talk to. The other was twenty-three which made her a good possibility.

The address was way out the NE Expressway in Briarcliff. Even though evening had arrived Chiara insisted they drive out and try to talk with her.

The house was located in a quiet suburban cul-de-sac. Not exactly where Chiara would have ever looked for an ex-stripper. They rang and the door was opened a mere crack by a blousy woman who was in her fifties at least.

“Sorry to disturb you. Does an Elizabeth Hill live here?”

“That’s my daughter. Who’s asking?”

Her look was suspicious of them and her voice had a slight slur. She sounded as if she might have had a few. Tamika decided a little deception was in order. She held out her card.

“We are attorneys. Your daughter may be due to receive a significant amount of money by way of a settlement.”

The woman’s expression became more welcoming. The door opened for them and she headed into the living room waving behind for them to follow.

There was a half full tumbler and a bottle of vodka on the coffee table.

“Just havin’ a nightcap. I’ll get glasses if y’all want to join me?”

“No thank you.” Chiara answered for them.

The woman flopped down on the couch and reached for her drink. Chiara signaled for Tamika to take the lead.

“Mrs. Hill…was your daughter involved in some unpleasantness a couple of year back?”

“Hah!” She snorted, “Unpleasantness? A mess is more like it. I warned her what would come of shakin’ her butt in some titty bar but she wouldn’t listen. Called it a gentlemen’s club! A pig in a tuxedo is just a gussied up pig.”

“Maybe it would be better if we could talk with your daughter.” Tamika suggested.

“She’s moved out west. Arizona. Look, how does she get any money from what happened…unless the guy that gave her a bastard son is ready to pony up?”

Chiara and Tamika had all they could do to hide their surprise and excitement at the unexpected revelation. Chiara was the first to take advantage of it.

“We think the man responsible should be paying child support. Don’t you agree?”

“Damn right he should. After I finally got her to tell me what happened I told her to go after him but she wouldn’t listen. Said it was impossible.”

“She may have thought so at the time,” Tamika said, “but that may not be the case now. We need to know exactly what she told you.”

Between sips at the vodka Mrs hill confided the details of her daughter’s ordeal that long ago night.

Elizabeth had gone to a fancy apartment, supposedly to entertain at a party. There had been signs of some earlier partying but only one man was there when she arrived.

He’d handed her five one hundred dollar bills and told her not to worry. They’d have a private party and she could just dance for him alone. Elizabeth had told him that all she did was dance and if he had something more in mind she’d call a girl she knew from the club who would be up for anything. No, he’d said, all he wanted was some company. Someone to have a few drinks with. So she’d shared some wine and danced with him before she passed out.

She came around to find that she was naked and tied down on the bed. He’d had a crop and some sex toys. He called her a whore and a slut and told her she needed to be punished. He’d hurt her and when her screams got too loud her panties had been shoved in her mouth.

It was almost a relief when he finally climbed on top to use her. Elizabeth had been afraid for her life but when he was done he’d simply untied her. He’d poured himself a drink and, without even looking at her, told her to get dressed and get out.

Realizing he had no intention of killing her Elizabeth’s anger displaced her fear. The idea that this animal thought a few hundred dollars gave him the right to do whatever he liked made her want to hurt him back. As she’d hurried into her clothes she threatened to charge him with rape. He’d laughed at her and pointed at the phone.

“Call them. I’m on a first name basis with almost every cop in town. I’m a lawyer and you’re a whore. They’ll show up and after I talk to them they’ll haul you off to a cell and probably screw your bitch ass again on the way there.”

Mrs Hill stopped talking long enough to refill the tumbler.

“She showed up on my doorstep and locked herself away in her old room until I finally got her to tell me all that” the woman finished.

“So the man never learned that Elizabeth had become pregnant?”

“Oh yes he found out but only because of me. She was afraid of that crap he’d given her about the cops. But when she came up prego I made her get his name and number from the creep at the club who sent her out that night. Smith his name was. It was me that called him. Turned out he really was a big deal lawyer after all but he didn’t scare me.”

“So what happened?” Chiara asked.

“Ten grand crash in a FedEx envelope happened. It was for an abortion and for her keeping shut about it. But she wouldn’t listen to me again. Silly girl took the money to move out west and then had the kid.”

“Did Smith find out that she had the child?”

“Not that I know of. Liz insisted she just wanted to get away somewhere and forget him.”

“We’ll be leaving now. If we can help we’ll be in touch.” Tamika said rising.

“I hope so. I told her to have the abortion. Ten grand don’t raise no kid.”

Chiara turned at the door, “What is the boy’s name?”

Mrs Hill waved the tumbler, “David, I think.”

They had returned to Chiara’s and found Grace somewhat upset over having been left out.

“I know you two have been playing big sister to me and I’ve gone along with it because you are both more experienced. I trust you Chiara and we both trust Tamika but it’s about time the two of you placed a little more faith in my ability in return.”

They knew she had a valid point. Her future was also tied up in the battle they were waging. So they shared what they had learned with her.

“What a gem that Mrs hill is. Not even sure of her grandson’s name. No wonder Elizabeth was so mixed up.” Tamika said.

“And now we know that Peter Smith, in addition to being a selfish, evil son of a bitch, is also a secret sadist with an illegitimate son.” But none of it bears on the trial. Milton disallowed the tape I made and he definitely won’t let us bring this to bear. It is dirt but totally disassociated dirt.” Chiara complained.

“And even if we could get Elizabeth to come forward it would never happen by Monday. I had best go home and rest up. I’ll have to be sharp to challenge Clay’s barrage.”

Tamika was making to rise when Grace forestalled her. She had been listening without saying much but her mind had been racing.

“I have the answer!” she declared and began outlining her plan.

Peter Smith had escorted his wife to Sunday services as usual. His reward for that weekly chore was always a round of afternoon golf and some cards at the club.

He had just folded a low pair when his cell chimed. He glanced at the readout and smiled. It the Brown woman, Chiara’s minority attack bitch. He stood up from the green felt.

“Deal me out next hand, boys. I think the box fairy who thought she could bother us in court is ready to wave a white flag.” He moved off to a corner before answering.

“Well, well, Ms. Brown, what can I do for you this fine afternoon?”

“I think you might want to come down to my office this evening.”

Smith laughed, “And just why on earth would I want to do that? I’ll see you soon enough in court tomorrow.”

“That’s exactly why you should see me before then. I have a show and tell that will probably change whatever plans you and Clay had for tomorrow.”

“You could save both of your clients a lot of pain and embarrassment by getting them to just withdraw.” He said.

“Nice phrase that.” Tamika countered, “Pain and embarrassment is just what I want to save you from. Let me give you a hint…Elizabeth Hill.”

“What the hell are you suggesting here, Brown…are you trying to blackmail me? Who’s gonna give a shit what a little stripper has to say? Besides, Cyrus Milton will block any sideshow like that. You saw what happened to the recording she tried to hang on me.”

“Well, maybe so but it’s not our court case you need to be worried about. I’m thinking about a divorce court. It would be a shame to see your pretty little redheaded wife leave you and walk away with half of every thing you own.”

Smith was no longer laughing. He was thinking fast. The little stripper bitch’s mother must have read about the trial and contacted this damn Brown woman to put the squeeze on him again. Tamika spoke to his silence.

“This is no bluff, asshole. We have more than Elizabeth’s word to offer your wife. We have hard evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“You coming over or not?”

“Where the hell is it and what time do you want me there?” he asked.

Tamika was gloating…she could almost smell the arrogant prick sweating. She gave him the address and advised him to be there within the hour. She snapped her phone shut and smiled across at Chiara and Grace, “He’s coming.”

On his way there Smith had regained some of his composure. If all they had was the stripper’s word he could fight it. Hell, it had been two years ago. He had bluffed her out of going to the cops so there had been no rape kit taken. It would be a he said against she said case. But if they really did have something then he was going to have to bargain with them.

He found the place and walked in with as much confidence as he could muster. All three women were waiting for him at scarred old oak table. He was glowering as he sat down. Chiara, Grace and Tamika smiled at the stone faced man across from them. There was absolutely no sound in that room except the swish of an overhead fan.

“I’m only here to be polite. I figure the girl’s drunken hag of a mother put y’all up to this. She already put the bite on me once. It’ll be their word against mine. Worst case scenario is that years ago…in a foolish moment…I got drunk and had consensual sex. If I have to I’ll apologize to my wife and she’ll forgive me. End of story. But I’d rather not hurt my wife so if we can work something out I’ll listen.”

Chiara had seen enough of the man’s wife over the years to know better. No way would that woman forgive such a scandal. His face reddened in anger when Chiara burst out laughing.

Tamika bore in on him, “We didn’t ask you here to dicker. We just want to tell you what you will do and why you will do it.”

“Yes, so shut up and listen.” Grace piped in.

Tamika brought three manila envelopes up from her lap and fanned them out.

“One of these is Elizabeth’s sworn deposition with all the nasty details of how you like to play with whips and ropes. The whole horrible ordeal that left her pregnant by you. Another is Mrs. Hill’s statement relating the money you paid for an abortion. This last one is the most important.”

Tamika opened it and extracted a clear plastic baggie. Inside it was a cotton swab. She waved it tauntingly at Smith.

“Elizabeth did not go through with the abortion. She had the child. This is a swab from young David Hill’s mouth. When your wife sends this DNA for a paternity test it will be game over.”

The fight went out of Smith and he sagged in his seat.

“Ok. What do you want?”

It was Chiara’s’ turn and she made the most of it.

“What your net worth Peter?”

“Hell, I don’t know exactly.” He hedged.

“Lucky that I have a pretty good notion of it then, huh? You’ve piled up about sixty million in various assets, Peter. So a divorce would cost you thirty minimum. And airing all your smut would hurt the firm’s earnings. Soo…I had said five million. Now it is another five for Grace. Three more for our legal expenses with attorney Brown and last but not least two for Elizabeth and her son, David. You’ll be cutting your loss by more than half.”

Silence for a moment. Then, Smith said,

“Is that all?” and as he asked his ears got even redder.

“No, you muzzle your dog Clay and have him move to stipulate to the suit as charged in return for an agreed settlement.” Grace chimed in, “And tomorrow as you leave the reporters will be waiting again. You will stand on those steps and announce that though the firm will settle for damages out of court it admits to having knowingly and willfully discriminated against us for being gay.”

“What the Christ you two! Isn’t blackmailing me for $15 million enough for you?”

“Not blackmail at all.” Chiara said, “More like delayed justice. Think of it as a plea bargain.”

Tamika stepped in again, waving the baggie, “If you don’t think you can manage that last bit I’ll messenger these envelopes over to your wife on the way to court tomorrow.

“Oh fuck it all. Fine. Agreed.”

Tamika pushed an office phone across to him.

“Smart man. Call your boy now and break the news.”

She switched it to speaker and they could hear it ringing.

“Clay here.”

“Adam, it’s Peter.”

“Hey, Hoss. Now don’t be losin’ any sleep over tomorrow. I got it all set.”

“I’ve decided the publicity sucks, Adam. We’re going to settle with them.”

“Tell me I’m not hearin’ that right! That’s crazy. I can win this for y’all!” Clay was adamant.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I’ve already been in conference with them and made up my mind.”

“What! You did a deal without even waiting for me to beat up on ‘em in court. Hell, I had some med student the girl dated back in college. He was ready to say she all but dragged him into the sack with no intention of marriage. Picture of a pure slut if painted right. And I had that Alex Callaway from Emory. She fucked him and ditched him. He was gonna call her a tramp and a liar. You should have at least waited until I pulled the angel mask off of her before you offered them a cent.”

“Look… just tie it up fast with no more fuss in the morning.”

“How much you giving ‘em?”

“You won’t be involved so it’s confidential.” Smith answered.

“This flat out pisses me off, Pete. It makes me come off as a loser.” Clay fumed.

“Oh grow the fuck up!” Smith growled and hung up on him.

No sooner was Smith safely out the door than they were up and hugging in celebration. Tamika was laughing as she tossed their supposed evidence into a trash bin.

“Grace baby doll, your idea for a phony DNA swab was inspired!”

“Totally inspired. That was the clincher and he bought it hook line and sinker. You are definitely the heroine of the hour.” Chiara agreed.

Grace beamed as she basked in their praise.

As Chiara and Grace entered the courtroom the next morning, the sun was shining and the world seemed to have become a fairer, nobler place.

From their seats they could see that Clay was still arguing in harsh whispers with Peter Smith, but the older man remained unmoved. Brooks and Weinstein were sour faced. Smith had coerced their agreement as well. The Judge’s entrance ended Clay’s entreaties.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Cyrus Milton. Court is now in session.”

Adam Clay was glaring venomously over at the Plaintiff’s table. All he received in return were three sweet half smiles. Trapped, he stood and choked out a capitulation.

“If it please the court…the defense stipulates to the plaintiff’s complaint. The parties have agreed to reach a private settlement. The defendants will accept the levy of court costs.”

The sudden turn around sent a buzz through the court. Judge Milton was left looking perplexed as he was forced to dismiss the jurors. Adam Clay was too irked to remain a moment longer and stalked out with his briefcase.

How the worm had turned. The three victorious women had no comments for the reporters. Tamika pointed them toward the spot where Peter Smith stood. They would let his public admission of wrongdoing speak for them. The case would be cited as precedent setting when in future gays had to fight for their right to fair employment practices despite their sexual preference.

Things had turned out better than Chiara ever imagined it could. She had the money she wanted. She had her freedom. No more kowtowing to that pathetic excuse for a firm. Now, she had to find out if what she wanted with Grace was possible.

What had happened between them, so unexpected and beautiful was more than either woman had dared hope for. For Grace and Chiara, life was never going to be the same.

When one encounters their ‘other’…the one intended for them, there is no good reason to walk away the chance being offered. You must embrace your other or possibly lose forever any hope of finding true completeness.

Each of these women now had such a chance, but they had to agree to change their lives to insure that what they’d discovered would last.

Chiara had been a successful lawyer for many years prior to her involvement with Grace. She had made it all the way to the top of her profession. Grace had spent many years studying in hopes of achieving the same level. Her passion for Chiara had sidetracked her ambition but now she was rediscovering a desire to accomplish things in life. Even with the wealth and freedom to just enjoy life she was not necessarily ready to turn her back on the law. Would Chiara stay with her if in addition to their love…she still insisted on pursuing a career?

It was afternoon and Chiara sat down close to Grace in the living room. They held each other for what seemed way longer than the few minutes it actually was. They kissed each other gently and acceptingly. As they disengaged, Chiara said,

“We need to talk…I’m in love with you, Grace. I want us to be together and be happy. But away from Atlanta and its memories. Let’s move down to Tybee Island. I had been planning to move there for the longest time. Now that this whole sordid business is over, we can do it together. We have a ton of money. I want you to move down to Savannah with me.”

Grace swallowed hard. She stammered, “But, this is not what I had planned.” Her face reddened.

“I understand how you feel,” Chiara continued, “but I believe what you and I share is truer than anything either of us has ever had or might find in the future.”

Grace wanted to say yes but she was not sure she could just laze through life with no purpose beyond love.

“Let’s move to Tybee,” Chiara urged.

“But, what will we do with ourselves? I mean…We have to work at something for satisfaction if not for our bread and butter.” Grace asked.

“There is a small law office with beautiful high ceilings and a picture window. It is for sale there just off of Forsyth Square. Let’s buy it and we can build up our own small practice. Just the two of us...except I’d have to ask Sheila if she’d be interested. I owe her. We can make our dreams come true there.”

Chiara allowed the information to sink in. Grace’s face brightened as she slowly began to realize that she wanted exactly what Chiara proposed.

“We can run it together and be together. We can live on the beach in the house there and be free from all the nonsense of this city and escape these bad memories.” she enthused.

“Make our dreams come true” Chiara had just said. It was the sort of sweet silly phase that that children were more apt to believe in than adults. But during their getaway to Tybee Grace had awoken from a dream in which the two of them had been living exactly the life Chiara was now proposing.

A long look was shared and a beautiful certainty grew in Grace’s eyes that sealed the deal. Chiara embraced her, kissing her deeply and with love. They lay down on the sofa and removed each others’ clothes and just held each other naked, kissing tenderly and touching one another. As they lay together there, holding and stroking, the lovemaking began slowly and softly. The eroticism was beautiful and gradual. Chiara’s fingers went inside of Grace’s open sex. She fingered her with such gentle love, and Grace responded with sighs and soft whispers. Their beautiful bodies the very image of sensuality in the hazy light of afternoon.

Grace climbed on top of Chiara, sitting on top of her sex with her legs spread. Chiara continued to finger her madly, slowly and erotically, until finally, Grace came. At the exact same moment, Chiara climaxed with the orgasm spreading throughout her body, beginning between her legs and shattering her to the core.

“I love you, Grace,” Chiara muttered softly.

“Oh Chiara, I love you with all my heart.” She went on… “I have never known love like this before.”

They left Atlanta, with no further second thoughts, to start life anew on Tybee Island. Tamika had been there to see them off with a promise to come down for a visit after they were settled.

By accepting destiny, they found bliss in their love nest of a home on the beach. Their days and nights spent laughing, cooking, working, making love, sleeping. Simple time filled with beauty and animal happiness.

There was no regret for either of them. They had found what they had sought their whole lives.

~ ~ ~

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