Smotherhood (2 of 2 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Smotherhood by Amanda Lamb. Copyright 2007 by Amanda Lamb
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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PLAYDATES AND EXECUTIONS

"Take your work seriously, but never yourself."

--Dame Margot Fonteyn


"Do you sell the size 4 leotards in white or just pink?" I whisper into my cell as I hunch over in my seat in the back of the courtroom. "Well, I mean, don't you think a 6 would be too big? Or do they shrink?"

"Jury is coming back. Court is back in session. Order in the courtroom," the deputy's voice booms as everyone quickly shuffles back to their seats.

"Got to go," I say to the bewildered salesperson and shut the phone, trying not to make a loud click.

For Christ's sake, not again. Every time I get in the middle of something, it happens: The jury comes back with a verdict. I've got two days, two days, to find a white leotard for Mallory's ballet class. For some reason they have to wear frigging white this year, not pink, and wear their hair buns like girls out of a nineteenth-century painting. I don't know how to do a frigging bun (I can barely manage a ponytail), and I certainly don't have time to run all over town looking for a white leotard.

"Madame, do you have a unanimous verdict?" the judge asks the foreperson of the jury from his perch on the bench. His eyes peer over the wire-framed glasses teetering on the bridge of his nose. Nothing, I mean nothing, pisses off judges more than the sound of a cell phone ringing. I quickly double-check and make absolutely sure mine is on vibrate.

Sure enough, as the judge waits for the answer from the jury, my phone starts vibrating wildly in my hand like a live fish on the deck of a boat. I grab it just in time to keep it from slipping out of my hand onto the floor. A name comes up on the caller ID. It's the mother of one of Mallory's friends. We've been trying to connect for a week to set up a playdate, but I keep missing her calls because of more pressing issues, like a murder trial.

"Yes, your honor, we have a unanimous verdict," the foreperson says to the judge, her fingers shaking visibly as she hands the paper to the clerk. The clerk, in turn, hands the paper to the judge. After reading it, the judge hands it back to the clerk.

I've seen this a thousand times, but every time I'm still fascinated by the fact that a person's life is literally in the hands of twelve people, twelve regular people like you and me. I never tire of the human drama in the courtroom; the problem is that at the same time I often have my own human drama going on at home.

It takes every shred of resolve that I have not to answer the phone. Clearly, I can't do it now that court is back in session and a man's life is on the line. But my sanity is on this line. It's just one more call that I have to return. One more call that I have no time to return. One more call I will forget to return.

"The jury finds the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree," the clerk reads from her spot next to the judge's bench.

The courtroom erupts. There are tears of sadness from the defendant's family on one side of the room, and hugs and tears of joy from the victim's family on the other side of the room. Tripods click as photographers take their cameras down, and papers shuffle as reporters close their laptops and stuff everything into their briefcases for the mad dash into the hall.

It's what we in the business call a gang-bang. We chase everyone into the hallway and ambush them into doing interviews with us. For some reason the crowd mentality seems to actually encourage people to talk to us. It's like they feel like they don't have a choice.

My phone vibrates again. I wish I could be one of those people who just ignored it, just stuffed it into my bag and forgot about it, but I can't. It's a sickness. I have to know who is calling. This time I can see it's my daughters' doctor's office. The nurse is calling me to let me know if Mallory's strep culture is positive. Damn, I hope she leaves the message on my voice mail and doesn't make me call her back for the information. I'll never get through to her if I have to call her back. I'll be in Voice Mail Hell where no matter how hard you try you can never talk to a real human being. It's maddening.

But I can't worry about the strep test right now. After all, if she has it, she's already probably infected half her class. What good is it going to do to yank her out of class at this late hour?

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