Tenure

49. James

49

James

“You’re late,” Gerald says.

“Not my fault.”

“You’ve got it bad for this girl, don’t you?”

I scrub my hand down my face. “As bad as it gets.”

“So, who is she? Another teacher? You said the kid you assaulted put hands on her—”

“Gerald, I’m going to be completely up front here. Since you’re my lawyer and all? She’s a student.”

Gerald whistles and leans back in his chair.

“That’s slightly more complicated.”

“And she’s seventeen.”

He waves his hand. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the student part that’s tricky.”

“It doesn’t matter that she’s underage?”

“Age of consent in this province is sixteen. I mean, I can’t say it won’t raise eyebrows, and I have to admit I’m fighting a bit not to raise mine. But mostly because I know you, and I’m shocked you can tolerate the company of anyone under the age of thirty for more than sixty seconds.”

“She’s brilliant.”

“I’d expect nothing less if she can hold your attention,” he says matter-of-factly. “But what does your contract say about student relationships?”

“Why am I paying you if I have to read my own contract?”

“For a detail-oriented man, your lack of interest in contract negotiation has always baffled me.”

“I like numbers, not words.”

“You love to hear yourself talk, though.”

I clench my fists. Gerald has always been able to push my buttons. Which is why I hired him. He can work opposing counsel up into a silent frenzy but has yet to ever upset a judge, be held in contempt, or so much as receive a fine in the courtroom. They call him Sweets on the circuit for his unflinching ability to talk his obnoxious, offensive, white-collared criminal clients out of any and every mess while single-handedly putting more attorneys for the crown on stress leaves than all of Queens Park.

“Look, here’s the rub. The girl isn’t really an issue unless you make it an issue. Your contract is vague—probably because they’d have to fire half the faculty if it weren’t—and unless a witness steps forward to report the incident or the kid himself speaks up, I really don’t see much of a problem here. Let’s just hope the kid is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. In the meantime, just be discreet about the girl.”

I make a face. “About that . . .”

This time Gerald doesn’t hide his surprise, and his eyebrows pop all the way up. “You’re . . . going public with it? How long have you been seeing each other?”

“A few weeks.”

“A few . . . weeks? Jesus Christ, James.”

I shrug. “When you know, you know.”

“Next you’ll tell me you’re marrying her.”

“I thought I’d have to wait till she was eighteen, to be honest.” Gerald’s mouth drops open. “Or that I should wait until she graduates high school, at least, I guess.”

“SHE’S STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL?”

“She got dispensation from the dean to enroll early. Like I said, brilliant.”

“Are you having a midlife crisis?”

“Probably. But she’s stuck with me for it, so . . .”

Gerald sighs and opens his desk drawer, pulls out a bottle of Woodford Reserve and two glasses, and pours us each a finger.

“To your impending nuptials,” he says, looking genuinely flabbergasted. “For better or for worse.”

“Definitely for better,” I say, and we both knock back our glass.

“Stop punching people then,” he grumbles.