The Real Liddy James by Anne-Marie Casey Page A

feeling despair that her childhood would never end.
    â€œAnd so,” she concluded earnestly, “my client has not only compromised and delayed her career potential by her marriage, she is now stricken with a debilitating medical condition that prevents her, literally, from exercising that potential. Her future ispainful and lonely, with medical expenses that could last a lifetime. Surely the whole point of the marriage contract is to protect the parties involved from that?”
    Her rhetorical flourish was rather diminished by the gruff, dismissive laugh from Dwight P. that punctuated the end, but Liddy didn’t care one bit. Judge Carson was clearly unamused by the interruption; moreover, Marisa had heard through the grapevine that he had suffered a similar neck injury while changing a lightbulb. Liddy allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Then she began to think through her appointments for the rest of the day. At that moment, the back door of the courtroom opened and a very young nervous-looking woman scurried in carrying a brown envelope.
    â€œExcuse me, Your Honor,” said Stackallan. “There’s some new evidence that has just come to my attention.”
    Liddy jolted out of her reverie on whether to have a Caesar salad or club sandwich for lunch. She leapt to her feet.
    â€œObjection. No prior disclosure,” she said.
    â€œIndeed, Ms. Murphy,” said Judge Carson. “Mr. Stackallan, explain?”
    Stackallan ripped open the envelope, sending fragments of white padding flying, and pulled out a VHS cassette.
    â€œIt appears there has been a substantial positive change to Mrs. P.’s health, which goes to the very heart of the settlement negotiation, Your Honor.”
    Liddy had a bad feeling. Stackallan had a serious voice on, but she could tell from the jaunty flourish of the ripping that he was enjoying this.
    â€œSecret filming is not permissible under the precedent established in
Smyth v. Smyth
,” she said.
    â€œThis recording was not obtained illicitly. It’s from a security camera in the . . .” He paused and peered at the white strip of tape on the side of the VHS, on which a name had been scrawled in black felt tip. “Disco Go-Go, South Beach, Miami.”
    He enjoyed that even more.
    Liddy watched in amazement as Stackallan fixed Judge Carson in a piercing blue-gray gaze, not unlike Obi Wan Kenobi in
Star Wars
, and suddenly, as if overcome by the force, Judge Carson nodded.
    â€œI’ll allow.”
    Stackallan handed the tape to the clerk, who switched on the VHS player and pressed play.
    Liddy turned to Natalia P. Natalia P. did the worst impression of looking innocent Liddy had ever seen; then she gave up, stood, swore extravagantly in the general direction of her soon-to-be ex-husband, and hurried out of the courtroom as it reverberated to a tinny recording of Britney Spears
.
Judge Carson stared with interest at the grainy but unmistakeable figure of Natalia high kicking and shimmying under the flashing lights, accompanied by two Latino dancers in snakeskin trousers.
Case dismissed.
    Liddy packed her briefcase. When she looked up, Stackallan was in front of her, his hand outstretched. She took it and shook it. And now, although she hated losing any case so much it was all something of a blur, she registered that his gaze was oddly mesmerizing in its intensity and his palm was strong and warm. Yes, he was, in fact, quite devilishly handsome.
    â€œMr. Stackallan.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Ms. Murphy,” he said. “I take it you’re Irish. Were you born in the auld Emerald Isle?”
    â€œI was,” said Liddy.
    â€œJinx. We should get to know each other better. Dinner, tonight?”
    â€œPardon?”
    Liddy was genuinely shocked. The
chutzpah.
The
sophistication.
The assumption she would find him
irresistible.
    â€œLe Petit Cochon. Eight o’clock?” (His French pronunciation was