Judging Beauty

I did not say anything. Yet I did not rise from my seat. Somehow I felt glued to the chair although my instinct told me to get up and get lost from his sight.

Flee, flee now. There was a predator in the room and I was its brainless prey. I was really dumbstruck.

I looked at him in bewilderment. I felt his angst and rising emotion of something greater which I could not decipher.

"Talk to me, Beauty. Where have I gone wrong?" He asked.

He had an aching in his voice.

Then I spoke. Had I known how relentless I sounded, I would have softened my stance. I spoke fervently yet it was devoid of what was rising right at my heart. Heavy and saturated, I could not bring myself to tell him how hurt I felt; because he was, in every other way, using me as a pawn. He would just deny that.

I knew he had made a mistake by confiding in me, and now he was doing damage control primarily to quell the naïve, not so young lawyer whom he had the misfortune to come across.

"Where have you gone wrong? Don't you know that I can report you to the police for obstruction of justice? For bribery as well. I could have you de-robed. I could have you jailed for twenty years! No wonder you had to be my friend. You couldn't have me acting against you, could you?" I said with a certainty in my voice.

Actually I was not sure whether it was twenty years imprisonment. Probably it was only fifteen years imprisonment. I made that up in my defence against him. I hoped that he was not that well read on the Obstruction of Justice Act of 1976.

Suddenly he stood up. He slammed his heavy mahogany chair against the wall. He headed towards me. I was startled. Panicking, I sprung from the chair only to be grasped into his strong arms.

His arms were roughly coiled around my shoulders. I felt his jerkiness and the closeness of his body against mine. Since he had the natural advantage of height, he towered over me. A déjà vu crept over me. I scented coffee in his breath. I stood only on par to his chest despite my efforts in wearing three inch heels. Arching my head upwards in an involuntary spasm, I saw his eyes flickering downwards upon me. His eyes portrayed an explosive readiness to disempower me.

"No, no...what are you doing? Please don't." I said.

My heart was beating wildly. My senses were acute; yet my reactions delayed. I was pumping too much adrenaline into doing something sensible. Yet I could not comprehend what was it I could do when his arms were tightly curled up against my shoulders. I felt some raw emotion simmering in me.

"I'm going to shout for help. I'm warning you. If you hurt me here, they will know it's you. Your DNA will be all over my dead body." I said.

"Oh, God!" He exclaimed.

"You think that I am going to kill you here?" He asked.

He tucked loose tendrils of my hair behind my ears. His fingers gently grazed my ears. His hands were so warm. Yet I shivered. How could he have been so gentle when he was so mad? No one had ever touched me like that before. I could only look into his eyes, bewildered.

"What are you doing then?" I whispered, finding my voice again despite the gentle sensation of his fingers which still lingered on my ears.

It was difficult to concentrate on rationality.

On hearing my question, he muttered an incoherent curse and abruptly let go of me. I stumbled backwards, hitting my knee on the tough wooden chair beside me. I clutched my knee. It was a hammering pain. It did hurt this time, and I held on to my kneecap in spite of the pencil skirt which I was wearing.

It had taken a bruised knee to recover from his touch. I thanked God that I hit my knee on the wooden chair. It woke me up to a degree of soberness which I felt was lacking in the surreal moments with him.

My breathing was quick and heightened, so was his. He bent down, placed his fingers on the purplish bruise which had appeared like a scar on my knee.

"I'm so sorry, Beauty. I don't know what else to say or do. Is it painful?" He asked.

"Not as painful as what you did just now." I said.

From some volcanic emotion, he was now drained of blood in his face.

"Look, Beauty, I'm sorry. If you feel you want to do what's right, then do so. Report me to the police and the Disciplinary Board. I won't hold a grudge against you. I made a mistake and I should pay for it." He said.

I bit my lower lips. If that was not enough, I also bit my nails. How unprofessional I was.

"Are you playing a game with me?" I asked.

"No, I'm not. I apologize for grasping you like that. I don't know what came over me. When I'm with you, I'm never in my right mind. I regret everything I did towards you. Spilled coffee, confession and now this." He said.

"How could you blame me!" I cried.

"Everything you did was on your own accord. No one asked you to confess to me. No one asked you to pick me up from the crowd to spill coffee on. No one..." I was talking so fast I could barely catch myself.

"Stop, please, Beauty! I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming myself. I regret confiding in you. I regret everything I did. Do go to the police and Disciplinary Board if that is what you want. In spite of it all, I know you do it not to spite me but because you have a pure conscience. You are a good person. I won't go after you. You have my word." He said.

We were still standing close to each other. I felt his breath on my cheeks. His warm palms were still on my knees. With my palms I swiped it away with the same indifference in a go as I did with a fly.

I fled his chambers, practically running out. I had forgotten about the cause papers which lay still on his table.

...

As I was driving back to office, I tasted the aftermath of that bitter encounter sprinkled with feathers which floated in my heart, as if a sign for help. Who was crying for help was suspect. It was either me or him.

I wondered what the ideal person would do as opposed to what I would have done. I had no intention of giving him away to the authorities. Yet when I recalled that sunny, windy afternoon, I realized that I did not give him my word - my promise that I would not tell on him. Perhaps that was what he so wanted to hear before he threatened me with his brute strength.

I reasoned it was because I was naïve. I did not think about it. I was the listener; the follower; not the leader. I needed prompts to be able to do something. Clear prompts not vague ones. I was not susceptible to the art of insinuation.

Perhaps he had read my demeanour like a book. After all, he was a judge. He read the people in the law. It did not help that he was fifteen odd years older than I was. Experience made him sceptical and cunning.

Sleep eluded me that night. Every time I tossed to either side of my pillow, I felt my ears brush the fabrics of the feather pillow which I once liked so much; that is until this incident. My shoulders tensed; pulling me back to the vortex of his blue eyes, looking into mine when we were so close together.

I did away with the pillow. I slept with my head on the same level as the mattress, at the same time making sure not to turn so as to arouse my sensations. Sighing and then with more sighs, I had the most uncomfortable night of my life ever.

My only consolation was that it was Saturday tomorrow and I looked forward to curling up on my sofa reading a good book on philosophy. Instead I did the opposite and read a soapy, romance novel. If only life were that simple, I thought. I knew, being a couch philosopher, that this was a form of escapism from the dreariness of life. Yet I did not care. The main concern was that I had acknowledged that I was escaping from reality.

I prided myself a realist, and had to smile when I coined myself an escapist realist. Well, at least I was still grounded amidst the romance blossoming between the hero and heroine in the novel. In real life, that does not happen. Yet I could make a go for Stoner. I could at least try.

On Monday, I headed straightaway to the Rubik Bar Society. Old man Phillip was there, not surprised at all by my presence.

"I always knew you wanted to make a difference." He said.

I did not mention this before, but I was his favourite among all the lawyers. I do not know why. Perhaps he saw me as someone nice. Years after he retired, he would write me the occasional e-mail, which is after he had learnt to master the internet. He confided that he was glad to have found a true friend among all the lawyers he knew.

I smiled, took my seat and waited for clients which I did not expect. Phillip was busy typing on the old-fashioned typewriter which made loud ticking sounds with interspaced rings. He was an old fashioned man and preferred it to the computer.

"The sounds are soothing." He once told me.

In the beginning, I went cuckoo with the ticking sounds. Yet after a month, I agreed with him. I found it soothing too. Every time I did my legal aid, he was always typing. I could not imagine legal aid without him being there typing.

Stoner rushed in, pushing the grilled railing to the side of the door. I immediately perked up. I had been reading a horribly boring judgment by the Lord Justice Russell Bodem. Do you not, dear reader, see the irony in his name?

I tucked in my tummy, touched my hair and moistened my lips. I was all for impressing somebody. Stoner was worth every effort in my thirty eight years of existence. Never had I seen a man more toned and sculptured as he was.

He was like a fine marble statue in the parks and gardens of the Chateau in the Palace of the Versailles. I had wanted to go there one day, and I had dreamt I did. One statue came to life. It transformed into Stoner. Then I woke up.

"How's my girl today?" He asked.

"I'm good." I said, grinning from ear to ear.

I liked being called his girl. Although Joseph had said that I was his girl, it was in the working sense and did not imply anything more. It was common usage for senior lawyers to call their legal assistants "my boy" or "my girl." I was not however working for Stoner, but I was his contemporary. Yes, I like to think of it as such. We were about the same age.

And yes, I wanted to be his girl in every sense of the word.

Through his ambitiousness, he had opened up his own law firm and took up controversial cases of constitutional importance.

After the trite greetings to Phillip, he sat down with me to discuss his new project. He told me that he was campaigning for the abolition of the Terrorism Act of 2000. The whole Act was arbitrary, he said.

He showed me sections of the Act which stipulated that a police officer could arrest a person suspected to be a terrorist without a warrant based on reasonable suspicion alone. The degree of the suspicion being reasonable was subjective, and lately people being arrested under this Act were not produced before a judge within twenty four hours as was the normal procedure under the Criminal Procedure Code (Act 475). Terrorist acts were also broadly defined, covering a range of conduct which included blogging on controversial news, handling out pamphlets on opposition parties to the public and organizing rallies in public places.

It was a known fact that politics in our country was a dirty business to be involved in. Our ruling party held on to a slim majority and tried to quash all opposition. The problem with Rubik was not the terrorists themselves. They would have been a laughing stock to those who masterminded various bombings around the world in the name of religion. Our terrorists here were the common people who opposed governmental autocracies. They sought to make news travel to the United Nations; they sought to change the way things were for more transparency, equality and freedom of speech.

Stoner told me that I could write an article on this; similar to that which I had written on reforming prostitution law in the country. It would help his case; and in the broader sense, enlighten those still in the dark ages, he said.

"You are brilliant in this. That's why I want you to do it. You are the most effective one to get the message across. Hillary could not do that." He said.

"You have been comparing me with Hillary?" I asked.

I thought just maybe, he liked me a little. Not for my writing but for myself.

"Of course. I need the best people on my team. Otherwise it's not getting anywhere." He said.

"Okay. But I only want this published in the Bar Journal to create awareness for lawyers first. Not the public nor the government." I said.

The Bar Journal had an exclusive readership. Only lawyers who subscribed to the Journal could have access to it. The Bar Association is the patron organization under which the Rubik Bar Society was subjected to. The Association only printed this monthly Journal on demand based on the subscription it received.

I knew how strict the government was in regards to reform. They had sent many a journalist to the infamous detention centre in the outskirts between Rubik and Rhine. All this under the Terrorism Act of 2000. Some of these journalists are detained there indefinitely. They do not await trial for reasons known only to the government.

Stoner agreed. He was happy with me. He asked me to go out for lunch with him; which I did. Given our proximity there, we dined at the Rubik Cube.

I should not have been surprised when I chanced upon the judge. Yet I was. Somehow I did not expect to see him again for the third time. They say that three times is lucky, but for me, it was the opposite. He was with the boring judge - Lord Justice Bodem. They were having some roasted chicken wings together.

"Ah, look at who we have the pleasure to come across. Your judge and the boring one." Stoner said, whispering into my ear.

"He is not my judge." I said sharply.

"Hush, let's pretend not to see them." I said, desperately wanting to avoid another encounter with the one judge whose intimate secrets I knew.

"No. We need to paint the town red. Come along now." Stoner said.

I did not see the rationale in painting the town red. Yet he held my hand and walked me towards their table.

"Greetings to the arbiters of justice." Stoner said.

There was a mocking melody in his rich voice. I felt it was not necessary for such blatant displays which had no after-value, however much Stoner did not like the judge.

Both men looked up. The judge tensed when he saw me. I felt like a naughty baboon looking for trouble when there was not. There again, I go on calling myself after animals. The boring judge nodded at us, clearly not interested in a bunch of junior lawyers.

"Good afternoon Your Honours." I said, glancing from one judge to the other.

He did speak after all.

"Good afternoon to the both of you. The chicken wings here are good. You should both give it a try." He said, pointing at his piece of wing.

"Nah, dating couples shouldn't go for chicken wings, Greg. You should know that better. It's messy!" Russell finally spoke, but he looked at the judge and not as us.

"Dating?" The judge looked at me, then at Stoner.

The knife and fork he used fell on his plate with a clang. It startled me.

"Are you out of touch with gossip, already, old man? They are an item. Matthew said he saw them kissing at the car park." Russell said.

He turned out to be interested in things which I felt a judge should not bother with. Sensationalism is only for entertainment in my opinion.

Stoner immediately hooked his arms around my waist. I looked up towards him, wondering what he was up to.

The one judge I knew shook his head and picked up his knife and fork again.

"I must be out of touch then. You're right, I'm an old man, Russell. I didn't realize how old I was before. Time flies. One day I wake up and I've nearly lived half my life." The judge said, turning towards his associate.

Then he gazed at me. It was a quick peep as if he did not want to see me but was checking on something.

Yet it was Lord Justice Bodem who spoke to me.

"Bea, isn't it? You're now in the headlines of Rubik's legal community. How does it feel like to be dating the most eligible bachelor in the legal profession?" He asked.

I felt that a reply was unnecessary. I tried to smile eventhough I did not feel like it. I felt that I had to show some sort of reply.

"Oh, yes. I did hear about it then. You're Bea. I tend to forget your name. I thought Bea was someone else and you were..." The judge said.

I cut him off immediately. I hoped that it was not too obvious.

"It's ok. Not important." I said, looking at him.

"Beauty." He said.

He just had to say it out to spite me. He looked at me intensely.

"Beauty?" Stoner asked.

"That's my real name." I said quickly.

"I thought it was Beatrice." Stoner said.

"Well, now you know more about your girlfriend, Stoner. Her real name is Beauty." The judge said.

I felt a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I did not like the way he sounded. This was the first time I heard him speak like that. I hated him that instant.

I looked at the judge. I did not glare or stare inappropriately. I was hurt that he brought up my real name and revealed it to Stoner. I could have told this to Stoner myself when I wanted to. Definitely not when the judge decides.

Stoner was caught off guard for a second. His gift of the gab was clogged up by virtue of my unusual name.

"It's okay Stoner. Not many people know my real name. Everyone calls me Bea, you know that. I don't use it because it's weird. It's like I'm from a fairy-tale." I said.

"Yeah. Like Beauty and the Beast." Stoner said, smiling me a fake toothpaste commercial smile.

The smile was overdone but I was glad he did not seem offended by the fact that he did not know me more than that horrible judge knew.

"We'll leave you both for lunch. Have a good day." I said to the judges, glancing quickly at the judges' chicken wings.

Bones were more pleasant to look at than at the judges.

Stoner and I had some sandwiches instead. I was thinking that I should not eat too much in front of him. I had the tendency to eat more than men. I had observed this over time. Yet I thank my metabolism rate which kept me the petite size I am. I wanted to show Stoner that I was gentle and delicate, although the barbequed chicken wings smelt good.

"When can you get it done, Bea?" Stoner asked while we were waiting for our food.

"What done?" I asked.

I was preoccupied with punching the judge right at his broad chest. I observed him from the corner of my eyes.

"The article on reforming terrorism law." Stoner said.

"Ah...well, depending on how much work Joseph gives me. Maybe two months." I said.

"Two months! Bea, that is too long! You should do it in one month the most." Stoner said, raising his voice.

"I need to do thorough research before I write it, Stoner. It doesn't happen overnight. If it is to be of any good, it cannot be rushed." I said.

"Do you know how many journalists are in detention without trial now, Bea? How could you let them languish like that? After your article is published, I am going to hold campaigns based on the reforms you will write. I am going to march for justice with my supporters. This thing I'm planning is greater than the both of us. It's not only about you, Bea. You can't be selfish." Stoner said.

His voice was hard.

I had not seen him this way before. I was curious; and then I understood. He wanted to make a difference in this world. Was it not the cliché I had so believed in? I wanted to help people and be an asset to society. I wanted to do something for the people of Rubik and our country.

Stoner was being himself; he was fighting for the rights of the people. How could I deny him that? I could not be selfish.

"I'll finish it in a month." I said, nodding my head.

"You're such a darling." He replied.

He raised my hands to his and from across the table, kissed my limp hands. Another showcase of affection in front of the judge and his nosy friend. They had seen us from their discreet corner.