Hate at First Sight

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Let me get that out for you, 'Baby'." When I did, I twisted it up like a dishrag and dug my nails in. He tried to jump up, but the table was in the way.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" he yelled.

"Touch my tits again and I'll rip it off," I told him. I stood up and walked out. I got a cab and went home. I got some funny looks at work that Monday, but no one said anything about it.

I went on five more dates that month and they were all disasters. On the last one, we went to a jazz concert and I was trying to listen to the music while the idiot I was with was speaking into my ear, telling me all about how great he was. I looked across the room and I saw a huge guy with a big mop of dark curly hair sitting over there. There was some blonde bimbo with fake tits and a nose job hanging all over him. I was a little taken aback. It was Talbot McCoy. My heart started to beat faster and I started getting angry. I had no idea why, but this didn't feel right. He could do better than that. She was superficially pretty, yes, but anyone vain enough to do what she'd obviously done to herself, had to be some kind of narcissist.

I pulled my idiot up. "Let's dance," I said. He was happy to get a chance and I realized that I could do better, too. Suddenly it hit me. I was jealous! Here I was, dancing with an asshole and sitting across the room was a great guy that had been crazy about me for years. I had been a bitch to him for years and now he was moving on with that blonde skank. I started feeling kind of panicky. I had to go over there. I left my date standing there on the dance floor and walked over to where Talbot was sitting.

"Hi, Talbot." I tapped him on the shoulder.

He started and looked up. When he saw me his face lit up with that big smile, but then it sort of faded. "Hi, Livingston," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a date," I said. I introduced him to the non-entity who had followed me over. "Talbot and I have been friends since high school," I told our dates.

Talbot looked a little confused. "We have?" he asked. "Oh, well, yeah, Liv... Livingston's Dad was my high school football coach."

'Nice save,' I thought. "Mind if we join you?" I asked.

The bimbo, obviously, wanted no part of me, but she didn't have a choice. Talbot looked a little reluctant, but he displayed his usual gracious gentility. He stood up while I slid in, followed by my vacuous date. I compared the two men in my head and I began to get a little clarity. Here was Talbot. He was hotter than hell, smart as a whip and probably the most athletic big man I'd ever seen. Then, there was my date. Successful, yes he was. Driven, and so in love with himself he made Narcissus look emo. He was an empty shell of a man and I was his counterpart. No, I didn't have his devotion to self-worship, but I was just as driven and missing something vital in my soul.

Talbot and I monopolized the conversation, reminiscing about old times, high school triumphs and defeats and our dates grew increasingly bored. I finally took pity on them. I made my excuses and kissing Talbot on the cheek, we left. I told Talbot to call me and he promised he would.

He lied. The bastard lied! I waited two weeks and never heard a peep. Now I remembered all the reasons I hated him and I was moving on. I didn't. I dated and I partied and I worked my little ass off, but I thought about Talbot about once a week for nine months. I never saw him and no one even mentioned his name once. I thought I would probably see him in court, but since the schoolteacher case, I was getting some cases that were pretty plum. I was assisting on some very high profile cases and you don't see public defenders much on those types of cases. The dirt bags I was defending had money.

Public defenders are usually either fresh out of law school, washouts from firms, or just people who don't know what they're doing. When you cannot afford an attorney and one is provided for you, you don't get the cream of the crop. Even a very good public defender loses about 80% of the cases she tries. In that environment, I was sure Talbot would shine like a star and rise like a rocket. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he was getting cases that made the news, and winning more than his fair share of them. Of course, his perfect looks and charisma didn't hurt, I thought. Well, I had all that, too, and we would just see.

Several of the partners had made it a point to come by my office now and again and talk to me after I won the schoolteacher case. One morning, one of them pointed out an article in the newspaper to me.

"That young man is in a spot of trouble," he told me, pointing to a picture on an inside page. The man in the picture was indicted for several counts of drug trafficking, various kinds of assault and some money laundering as well. Our firm had gotten him off from similar charges about a year before. Rumor had it that the money we were paid with was somewhat tainted, but there was never any real evidence.

"The fact that he has a PD this time instead of our jolly group of knights errant makes me think that his, ah, employers seem to be throwing him under the bus. Making him take one for the team, as it were. I'm afraid he's in for it. There is just no honor among thieves." He shook his head and made a tsk, tsk sound.

"Who's defending him?" I liked to keep current with the criminal law practice in town.

"Let me see," he consulted the paper. "Ah, McCoy. It seems someone over there doesn't like how fast he's rising. This will slow him down for a while." He smiled, I smiled, and he left.

The same partner stopped by a few weeks later. He'd made a habit of stopping in from time to time. He wanted to check out my tits and look at my legs; I wanted his vote when I was up for junior partner. It was all good.

After some chatting, he produced another newspaper. It seemed that Talbot McCoy was doing such a brilliant job of making the case, that the people behind his client were the real wrongdoers, both in court and in the public eye. The partner looked troubled.

"This young man," he pointed at Talbot's picture, "may wish to tone things down just a bit. He's defending his client, yes, and that's as it should be. He might wish to restrict his activity to the courtroom, however. The people he's calling out are not to be trifled with, and there's only so much of this sort of thing they'll put up with. Sometimes it's better just to go ahead and lose the case. We all know he's going to anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Livingston. We all know the defendant is guilty as sin. He probably was last time, too, but there was enough sloppy police work we were able to get him acquitted. That's not the case this time, probably because the people he was working for did most of the cops' work for them. His only hope is to find someone guiltier than he is and focus attention on them. These people don't like being focused on, and when things happen that they don't like, they aren't very civilized. This young McCoy will tone it down, if he knows what's good for him."

All right, I admit it. I was jealous. I had gotten some great publicity out of the schoolteacher case, and had gotten it by beating Talbot. For once in my life, I was ahead of him. Now he was going to fight the mob, or the drug cartels, or whoever it was our partner was hinting at, to get off, not a pillar of society, but a mobster. He was going to one up me, and I was jealous. I never for a moment dreamed that anything really bad would happen to him.

Barely a week later, our whole firm was abuzz. An attorney had been attacked and beaten within an inch of his life, carried to the steps of the courthouse and left there for dead. Obviously, the beating was related to a case and meant to send a message. I wondered who the attorney might be. No, that could be the case.

My friendly partner stopped in with his newspaper. He looked subdued this morning, but not so subdued he forgot to ogle me. Discreetly, of course, but it was plain he approved of what he saw.

"I knew this young man should have just taken his losses," he said, pointing to the story about the beating. "His client will be convicted in spite of his efforts, and it may be quite a while before he can practice law again."

"Talbot!" It was a strangled whisper, dragged from me as my heart sank to my toes.

"Yes, Talbot McCoy, that's who it was. Hard luck on him, of course, but really..."

"I'm sorry, sir, I have to go." I was out of my chair in an instant and on the way to the door. I was halfway down the hall before I realized I didn't know where I was going. I didn't even have my purse. I dashed back into my office, where the partner was just heaving himself out of my guest chair. I snatched his newspaper, scanned the article for the name of the hospital, and handed it back to him. I snatched up my purse.

"Thanks," I said, smiling brightly at him so he would think I still had some manners, and dashed off again.

Why was I doing this? I had no idea. It was pure instinct, just like everything else I'd done with Talbot as long as I'd known him, and made just as little sense. Did I still hate him? Of course I did. What would I do when I got there? What would I say? I had no more idea than a rabbit. I only knew I had to get there. Now.

My emotions were in such turmoil I knew I'd never figure anything out, so I just concentrated on getting to the hospital and getting to wherever Talbot was. My headlong rush came to a screeching halt at the hospital's information desk. Mr. McCoy was in surgery, he would then go to the ICU, and would not be able to have visitors until at least the next afternoon.

Now what? I didn't know what else to do, so I drove back to work. Fortunately, I had court appearances that afternoon, so I could put off dealing with my emotions. I worked late, forcing myself to think of other things, but I had to go home eventually.

What the hell was I thinking? I hated Talbot McCoy. I'd hated him from the first day we met. I fully expected to go on hating him until one or the other of us died. "Till death do us part," as it were. So, did I want to gloat over him? No, I wasn't that kind of person, even with him. Why did I want to see him, then, and so urgently? I heard myself saying to him, from long ago, "We don't reason where we feel, we just feel." I shrugged my shoulders and went to bed.

The next afternoon's hearing dragged on and on, with little nitpicky objections clogging up the works. I was only assisting, but it was one of the partners' cases, so I had to pay attention, but oh my, was it hard. The second the judge's gavel came down, I was out of there like a shot. (So was the judge; it was after 4:00 and he was more than ready for the adult beverage waiting for him in his chambers.)

This time, I got a room number and a pleasant smile from the Information Desk. He must not be dying, then, I thought to myself. On my way to his room, I tried to think of what I would say. It was hopeless. I decided to do what I usually do, and just wing it. I was a lawyer, after all.

I found his room, walked in the door, and halted as if I'd walked into a wall. It wasn't Talbot's poor mangled face, piteous as that was. It was the blonde sitting in the chair by the bed, holding his hand and leaning over him. She turned to face me; they both looked at me.

I've never had a particularly high opinion of blondes; they so often turn out to be bimbos. Of course, I'm nice to them because I'm nice to everyone. This was no bimbo. Slim and elegant, with a classically beautiful face, she would be tall when she stood up, maybe even taller than I was. She was dressed plainly, but you could tell she was all woman under there. The blue eyes were intelligent.

Genius that I am, it occurred to me that someone should say something. "H-hi," I stammered. Silence descended again. I could see Talbot trying to make his mouth work in order to speak.

"Monica, Livingston," he croaked out. At least, that's what he was trying to say, being his usual gallant self. Hearing that once vibrant masculine voice reduced to such a pitiful whimper would have made a stone weep.

"Monica" stood, smiled at him (proprietorially?) and turned to me with her hand extended.

"I'm Monica, Talbot and I have been seeing each other for a while." We shook hands. "You're Livingston? What a great name! I've heard so much about you from Talbot." She had? Then why was she still smiling?

She pulled up a chair for me from the other side of the room, and we sat and talked. Talbot's condition was still guarded, she said, but the medical staff was more hopeful than they had been yesterday. Still, no one was talking about when he might be released.

I watched Talbot as I listened. His eyes were on Monica almost the entire time. She looked at me as she talked, but every now and then, she would meet Talbot's eyes and smile that secret smile that lovers know.

I didn't stay long. I couldn't. I took Talbot's hand, the hand that had so savagely beaten the asshole who attacked me, all those years ago, now so terribly weak, and told him goodbye and good luck. I told Monica I was glad to meet her, even though I had no idea whether or not I really was, and I fled into the hallway. Tears stung my eyes. I had to stop and wipe them to see where I was going, and cursed as I did so.

What the hell was wrong with me? I hated Talbot McCoy! Here I was, stumbling down a hospital hallway, blubbering like a baby. I had to pull myself together. I noticed an open door ahead. It read, "Chapel" on the square sign on the door. I peeked in, and luckily, it was empty. I closed the door behind me and sank down on a pew in the cool darkness. I looked up at the statue of Jesus and breathed a quick prayer, both for Talbot and myself. For some reason, I felt better. I leaned back in the pew and closed my eyes. What was wrong with me? I examined my emotions and they were rolling like a troubled sea under purple clouds. Suddenly the clouds parted and a blinding ray of light shone through, illuminating my soul.

I didn't hate Talbot McCoy. I was in love with him! I had been in love with him since the first day of Art class our junior year of high school! My own insecurities had blinded me. I knew Mom and Dad loved me, but I had never really understood why my birth parents hadn't. I had always felt that there must be something in me, some flaw, some hidden defect, that had made my birth mother so disgusted with me that she gave me up. All that hurt had drawn me up inside a hard shell that had allowed only Mom and Dad inside. I was afraid to let anyone close enough to see the real me. I knew they would see what my birth parents had seen, that I was deeply flawed and they would be disgusted with me.

The insight staggered me to my core. Illusions I had sheltered myself with for years were sloughing off like dead skin, peeling after a sunburn (yes, black people do sunburn!). I was raw and hurting inside, the fresh skin sensitive to the wind of truth blowing over me. I sobbed. I was in love with Talbot McCoy; he was upstairs in a hospital room fighting for his life and there was a beautiful, sensitive, caring woman sitting beside him, obviously in love with him. She was healthy and whole and he had looked at her with love in his eyes. I felt as if I were suffocating. I was in love with Talbot McCoy! I had been trying with all my might for 12 years to push him away so he wouldn't see that terrified little three-year-old girl, walking reluctantly into that room at the orphanage to meet the man and woman who would become her parents; knowing that as soon as they saw her, they would realize that she was broken and unworthy of their love.

My heart broke for that little girl, and Livingston Brookes, the rising star of Goldblum, Perry and Tate, the valedictorian of her class, the confident courtroom shark, was that little girl and she was lost. I needed my mother.

I found a restroom, washed my face and put on my sunglasses. I drove my car straight to my parents' house and when I went in, there was my little mother, just getting a chocolate pie out of the refrigerator. She took one look at me and I thought she was going to break her pie dish getting it set down on the counter. She rushed to take me in her arms and I sobbed out the anguish of my heart. All I was able to get out for some time is, "I love him, Mom; I love him!"

She just held me and whispered her words of love in my ear. "I know, baby; I've always known. I hoped someday you'd figure it out, too. It's okay, baby."

"No, you don't understand," I sobbed. "He's met someone. She's beautiful and kind and smart and I hate her."

"No, you don't hate her, Livingston. You aren't able to hate anyone. I know you. You're as hard as nails on the outside, and I understand why. Inside, you're gooey and sweet and soft. Dad and I are the only ones that get to see that, but you can let Talbot in, baby. He'd never hurt you."

"I know," I sobbed, "I've fucked everything up, Mom. I killed his love for me by being a bitch to him. What am I going to do?"

She clucked at my language, but she knew. "Win him back," she said. "He's loved you for years. That didn't go away. The spark is still there. Fan it and make it come to life."

"How?" I wondered. "I don't know how to make someone love me. I've never tried. I have no clue about love."

"Just be yourself," she said. "Do what you do, Livingston. Everyone who knows you, loves you."

She fed me pie and we snuggled until Dad came home. I was so ashamed of myself I couldn't look at him. God, what a bitch I'd been for all these years! He knew right away that something was wrong and the whole story came tumbling out. He was dumbfounded. He sat there with his mouth open like a... man, until Mom prodded him. "Thomas Brookes, close your mouth and say something! Livingston is dying over here and all you can do is gape at her like a fool?"

He sprang to his feet, pulled me up and crushed me. "I had no idea, Liv. I thought you hated Talbot."

"So did I." My voice was breaking again. I was not going to cry again! "I was wrong and now he's in the hospital and I don't know how to get him to love me again."

"In the hospital!" They were both shocked. I explained what had happened and I saw the wheels start turning in Mom's head. "Livingston, have you done any pro bono work lately?" she asked.

"No, why?" I wondered.

"You're going to your boss tomorrow and telling him you want to be assigned to this case," she said. "You're going to do some pro bono work so the firm looks good. You're going to work with Talbot and you're going to get his client acquitted. That will put the two of you together and then you just wait and see what happens. You can't treat him as if he has leprosy anymore, though. I want him to see my sweet little angel. Do you understand, Livingston?"

"Well, yes," I said. "The problem is I don't really want the guy acquitted. He's a scum-bag."

"Half the people you represent are scum-bags," Dad said. "Do you believe that scum-bags have the right to be represented by counsel at a fair trial?"

"Well, yes," I said. "He's human. He has rights."

"See to it that he gets them," he said. "Now, take us down to the hospital so we can see Talbot. We're going to stop on the way and you're going to get him some nice flowers."

That's exactly what we did. My friend at the Information Desk informed us politely, but firmly, that visiting hours would be over in five minutes, so we might as well wait until tomorrow. That wasn't happening. I already knew Talbot's room number; so while Dad engaged the Desk in conversation, Mom and I headed purposefully for the elevator. When the doors opened, Dad gave the Desk his patented male "Oh, well, what can you do?" shrug and ran after us.