ATTORNEY-CLIENT PRIVILEGE

Suzanne Lilly

The public defender introduced himself across the jail cell table as Jonathan Marks.

“So you don't have anyone to post bail for you?”

“If I did, I wouldn't be here.”

“No family, no friends?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you're lucky she didn't die.”

“I wish she had. It would be easier for me.” She smirked. “You can't tell anyone I said that. Attorney-client privilege, right?”

Jonathan tapped his pen back and forth on the table. “You know she's going to be in a wheelchair the rest of her life?”

“Good for her.”

“And you'll be in debt for this for the rest of your life?”

The woman crossed her arms across her chest.

“Why did you do it?”

“Like I told the police, she was gonna assault me. She was gonna rob me.”

“The evidence doesn't suggest that.”

“You weren't there, so you don't know, Mr. Jonathan Marks, Public Defender!”

“Alright. I don't want to upset you. I just want you to tell me what happened. And be honest with me. I can only do a good job of defending you if you're honest with me.”

“I can probably do that.”

“Good. Now relax, and tell your story to me as if I were your friend.”

“My friend? Now that's a good one.” She uncrossed her arms and began to tell her story.

***

Sarah had friends once. Then she began losing them. A few had died. Several had moved to another state. In those cases, she received the occasional Christmas card for a couple of years and then they stopped coming. Other friends she had just stopped calling because she was busy with work or night school or life in general.

It happened so gradually that she hadn't even realized her friends were slipping away. Then one holiday season she looked at her door where she hung her Christmas cards and there were none. She had no invitations to a single party, other than her office party which was mandatory. Even at the office party, no one saved her a seat at their tables and she ended up sitting with a couple of people that no one else wanted to socialize with.

Occasionally she would hear after the fact about parties that people she knew had gone to or hosted. She was never invited to these, or even had an inkling they were happening until weeks or even months later. Like the trip to the beach that her entire office took. Or the spring party that another colleague had hosted. Everyone had been invited except her.

This bothered her. It bothered her so much that she began brooding about it. She already used all the Dale Carnegie/Anthony Robbins/success guru practical advice. She let other people do all the talking, asked questions about their lives. That did nothing other than make her an expert in small talk. She joined groups. She was in a book group, a hiking club, a karate class. Even though she was a regular attendee, she never made friends in any of the groups she joined. She supposed she was boring. So she did a search on the Internet for “how to make friends”. It turned up a bunch of jabber about schoolchildren making friends by sharing their cookies at recess or offering to play with a new kid. Not much help for a 30 something woman.

The solution came to her in an unexpected way. One night in early June she went to see Waldo the Wondrous Magician at the Belmont Theater. She was excited, because she had never seen a live magic show before. Entering the darkened theater, she found her seat. Once she sat down, she noticed that two rows up all of her co-workers were sitting in a long row. One of them saw her and turned and waved hello. There were no empty seats in their row, but she thought perhaps she could sit in a seat in the row behind them. But when she looked at the row behind them, she saw that row was full of people from another branch of her office. In that row too, all the seats were full. The music for the beginning of the show began to play. Sadly, she sat back in her seat, alone, to watch as the curtains opened and Waldo the Wondrous bowed to the crowd.

As she watched Waldo make bunnies disappear and reappear, make dots fall off of silk scarves and levitate small objects, she remembered a woman she had met at a candle party long ago. Everyone had said she was a witch. The other people at the party claimed that the witch had powers and had even changed the weather once on a camping trip they were all on. The weather had threatened rain, and the witch had cast a spell, leading to sunny weather. Sarah had been skeptical. The witch had claimed that magic was all in the mind. She claimed that anyone could do magic, if they had strong motives and desires. Well, what motive and desire could be stronger than a longing for friendship and acceptance?

Sarah left the show at the intermission. It would have been embarrassing to sit there alone anyway, while her co-workers milled about visiting with their friends and drinking punch in the lobby. So she slipped away quietly, unnoticed by anyone.

At home, she pulled out her address book from her junk drawer. Flipping through the pages, she read each name, looking for the one she would remember as the witch. Had she even gotten her phone number? She remembered that her name was Amy, but nothing else. Scanning page after page, she finally came to the Z page. There wasn't a single Amy in the book. Grimly, she threw the address book back into the drawer. She plunked herself down on her couch and thought about what to do.

She remembered the advertising rack at her local bookstore. She was a frequent haunt of the bookstore, often spending entire afternoons there. This bookstore had some comfortable chairs, and a good coffee shop, so she went there at least once a week. It was a way to kill time. Alone of course. In the hallway that led to the public restrooms, there was a row of advertising carrels. They were covered in flyers and local rags devoted to organic gardening, singles, aromatherapy, new age and witchcraft. Sarah had a very visual memory and as soon as her mind's eye saw the advertising circular on witchcraft, she shot off the couch, threw on her jacket and hopped in the car to the bookstore. It stayed open late on Fridays and she arrived 15 minutes before closing. Speedwalking to the hallway, she quickly scanned the racks. Yes, there it was. She laid her fingers on it and picked it up, only to have it snatched out of her hand.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I was here first, and I picked up this copy first,” a gray headed woman told her. “Get your own. There's plenty more there.”

Sarah watched her walk away, then picked up another copy. She rolled it up and tucked it under her arm, then scurried out of the bookshop.

Back at home, she turned the pages slowly, reading the ads, looking for one that might spark some recognition of the woman she had met so long ago. She supposed that most of the people that advertised in these circulars were either fooling themselves about their supernatural abilities or they were outright frauds. She hoped she could find Amy. She hoped she wasn't a fraud.

Turning to page 4, she saw a man with a long handlebar mustache over an ad that said, “Find love and money!” Sarah hoped he would find enough money to get a good razor. Page five had a large ad for a dog psychic. Any problems your dog had could be communicated to this woman who would then solve them. Then she saw it. On page 7, was a small ad the size of a business card. The ad read:

Astrology, tarot, and spells.

Whatever you desire,

I can help you achieve.

Call me today at 555-6869.

A picture of Amy stared at her from the ad, daring her to pick up the phone and call.

Sarah took the dare. She picked up her cell phone and dialed. Amy's phone rang, once, twice, five times before her voice mail clicked in. “Hello, this is Amy. Please leave your number and the nature of your request.” Beep.

Sarah hung up. What was she supposed to say? Hello, Amy, I'm a loser and I have no friends? Or how about this? People I know hate me, so do some magic and make them like me? She definitely needed to work on her presentation of the problem so she didn't sound like a complete waste of human flesh.

Finally, after struggling with the wording of her request for an hour, she had it all written down. She would say, “Hello Amy. I'm Sarah, and my number is 555-7324. I would like you to do a spell that will increase my prosperity in my relationships.” That didn't sound too desperate. She could hang up as soon as she left the message.

She dialed Amy's number. Amy's phone rang, once, twice, “Hello?” Amy came on the line.

Sarah gasped in a breath of air. She hadn't realized she wasn't breathing.

“Hello?” Amy repeated. “Who is this?”

“Um, hello,” Sarah said. “Sorry, I didn't expect you to pick up your phone.”

“Well, I did. Can I help you?”

“Um, yes. My name is Sarah, and…” she fumbled with the paper and it dropped to the floor. “Damn!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I'm sorry! I just dropped something. Can you hold on a sec while I pick it up?” The phone beeped as Sarah knocked the dial pad while she bent over to pick up the paper. “OK.” She began to read. “I would like you to do a spell that will increase my prosperity in my relationships.”

Amy was silent for a couple of heartbeats. “You mean you want me to help you get more friends?”

“Um, well, yes.” Sarah hated to hear it put that way. “I seem to have let my friendships go, and I need to make some new ones.”

“Ok, when can you come over?”

“Come over?”

“Of course! You didn't think we could do something like that over the phone, did you?”

“Um, no, no. Ok, I can be there tomorrow afternoon. Say one-ish?” Sarah hoped she sounded cosmopolitan when she said one-ish.”

“One o'clock it is. I've got you scheduled. And Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“My business hours end at 8 p.m. So next time, please don't call at 11 o'clock at night.”

“Oh, right! I'm sorry! I guess I was just a little anxious.”

“Understandable. See you tomorrow.” Amy clicked the connection off.

It wasn't until she was drifting off to sleep that Sarah realized that she hadn't told Amy her name.

She arrived at Amy's house at 12:45 the next day. Not wanting to appear overly anxious, she sat in her car, intending to let the minutes tick away until she felt it would be an appropriate time to go up to the door. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest.

“Tap! Tap, tap!” Flipping her eyes open, she looked into the familiar face of the woman she had briefly met so long ago.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“Amy?”

“Yes. You're Sarah, right? I saw you sitting out here for several minutes and I thought I'd come out and make sure you're alright.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Flustered, Sarah gathered her purse from the seat beside her.

“I don't want you to chicken out or anything. If you do, you'll never get your wishes!” Laughing, she pulled Sarah's door open for her. “Come on in. I've got some iced tea made and some of those great shortbread cookies that they only sell around the holidays.”

“But this is June.”

“I know. I stock up and buy about twenty cans every December. I just love those cookies.” She led her up the stairs past some sky blue delphiniums and in through a red front door. A ceiling fan was circulating cool air around a small living room. It felt refreshing after the heat of the car. Looking around the room, Sarah didn't see anything that smacked of occultism. No upside down crosses, no black Goth style decorations. If anything, the living room looked like something out of a home and garden magazine. There were fresh flowering plants all around, and an overstuffed couch sat under a spotlessly clean picture window. In front of the couch was a large, square, low coffee table.

“You can hang your purse on the coat rack by the door. Make yourself comfortable. Do you take sugar in your tea?”

Sarah hung up her purse and eased into the soft couch. “Yes, I'll take sugar.”

“Ah, you must be from the South.”

“No, actually, I'm from Connecticut originally.”

“Well, even psychics can't get things right all the time.” Smiling, she set a sugar bowl and spoon in front of Sarah and sat down in a side chair. “Just relax. I can tell you've never done this before. And I don't have to be psychic to figure that one out.”

“Well, you're not quite what I expected.” Sarah put a spoonful of sugar in her tea and stirred. “I mean, I thought you would have…well…” She continued stirring as she looked around the room and tried to find the words to express what she was thinking without offending Amy.

“Let me help. You expected someone dressed in a batik skirt with lots of beads and bangles hanging from her hair, her ears and her arms.”

Sarah nodded and Amy went on. “And you expected my lamps to have scarves draped over them for special effect lighting. Maybe a big goblet and pentacle on the table, too?”

Embarrassed, Sarah looked down into her tea and concentrated on swirling it with the spoon. “Don't be embarrassed. That's what everyone thinks until they meet me and come into my home. I'm just as regular as the next girl.”

“It does appear that way.” Sarah smiled. She set the spoon down on her napkin and took a sip of tea.

“Ok, let's get started.” Amy opened a drawer in the coffee table and pulled out a tarot deck, some cloth bags with something in them, a white candle, incense, a paper and an old fashioned inkwell and quill pen. “First, I want you to tell me exactly what qualities you're looking for in a friend.”

Sarah thought for a moment. “Someone fun, spontaneous, who has lots of ideas and likes different things than I do.”

“Ok, good. Any preference to sex?”

“What?”

“Sex. Do you want your new friend to be a man or woman?”

“Oh! A woman. This is purely platonic.”

“Platonic it is.” Amy began flipping through her deck of tarot cards, laying some out in a row on the table. “I want you to look at these cards,” she said, “and pick the one that reminds you of yourself.”

They all looked very strange to Sarah, but she eventually settled on the Queen of Cups.

“I see. So you're a woman who feels things deeply and is very sensitive to other's feelings as well.”

Sarah agreed that this was an accurate assessment of her personality.

“Next, I want you to pick out the card that most reminds you of the qualities you would like to have in a friend.” She laid out a row of knights and kings. Sarah pointed to the Knight of Swords.

“Wonderful!” Amy laid the rest of the cards to the side. “Now we're going to cast a spell. In order for the spell to work, you have to have complete trust in me, complete trust in the forces of the universe, and complete trust in yourself.” She lit a stick of sage incense and put it in a holder. Then she carved the word friends on a white candle, and rubbed it with some oil. Next, she lit the candle, and laid out a black cloth. On the cloth she laid the Queen of Cups, then laid the Knight of Swords over it. She placed the Two of Cups next to it, and then laid the Three of Cups next to that. “Now, I want you to rub your hands together until you feel the heat from the friction,” Amy instructed her. While Sarah rubbed her hands, Amy began opening the little cloth bags. She took a pinch of each herb, and placed it in her mortar. Grinding it with her pestle, she chanted,

In heart and mind Sarah speaks

Bring to her the one she seeks

Let this spell and paper guide

Her new friend right to her side.

This will come true, so shall you see,

As I will, so mote it be!

By this time, Sarah's hands were extremely hot. Amy told her, “I want you to hold your hands over the cards, and chant with me now.” Taking her hands, Amy guided them over the cards, as they continued to chant the spell three times. Once they were done, Amy sprinkled some of the herbal mixture across the cards.

“So now I'll have friends?” Sarah asked.

“We're not quite done,” Amy told her. She passed the paper and an old fashioned inkwell to Sarah. “Dip the quill pen in the ink, and write the word friends across the paper.” Sarah did as she was directed. Writing with a quill pen was harder than she had expected it to be, and she had to dip the pen in the ink several times. As soon as she was done, Amy sprinkled the herbal mixture across the paper. She then folded it so that none of the herbs would fall out, and poured wax from the candle across the edge to seal the paper shut.

“Now I want you to put this paper under your pillow. Think about it each night as you're falling asleep, and then forget about it. Don't open the seal, because if you do, the spell will be broken. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Now, I'm going to give you the rest of these herbs in a little cloth bag. I want you to carry them in your purse. Whenever you're going out, sprinkle a little bit of the herbs over your shoulder. It will bring friends to you.”

“How soon?”

“It could be right away, or it might take a few days.”

“You're sure?” Sarah asked.

“Of course I'm sure! You need to be sure too! The power of the magic comes from your heart. If you believe it will happen, then your intentions will cause it to happen.”

“I believe it is going to happen. This was pretty amazing, what you did here.” Sarah got up from the couch, and picked up her bag of herbs. “How much do I owe you?”

“Whatever you feel is fair, and whatever you can afford,” Amy vaguely told her.

Sarah paid her $100 cash from her wallet. She thanked her, and in much better spirits than when she arrived, she left the house.

Sarah was famished. It was 1:45 p.m. and she hadn't eaten. She stopped at Ah Win's Chinese restaurant on the way home to order take out.

“ Szechuan eggplant with chow mein and two pot stickers, yes?” the woman at the front counter asked.

“You got it,” Sarah answered. She was here so often they knew her favorite dishes.

“Szechuan eggplant. Huh. I've never tried that. Is it good?”

She turned around to see a woman dressed in jeans, a tie dye shirt and white tennis shoes, with a large crocheted bag slung over her shoulder.

“Um, yes, it is.” Sarah told her.

“Hi! The name's Miranda.” The woman held out her hand for Sarah to shake.

Sarah took her hand, remembering to clasp it tightly as she shook. “I'm Sarah. Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, I noticed you're doing take out. I am too. Do you want to just stay here and eat together?”

Sarah gave her a blank look.

“Well, I mean, since we both don't have anyone to eat with…”

“Oh. Um, yeah. Sounds good.”

The waitress came back with her order in a paper bag that had a grease stain already spreading on the side.

“I changed my mind today,” Sarah began.

“You don't want Szechuan eggplant?”

“No, I'd like a table for two. My friend here and I would like to eat lunch together.”

Sarah couldn't believe how fast the magic worked. She had barely left Amy's place and she was already meeting people. Miranda seemed delighted to have someone to eat with. She was lonely as well. Over lunch she told Sarah about her divorce that she was going through, and how horrible her ex was. She showed her pictures of her children.

“This here's Jimmy. He's six, and this is Georgia . She's three.”

“They're adorable. Where are they now?”

“They live with their daddy, the scumbag.”

“How did he get them?”

“Well, his momma told the court that I had too many problems to deal with. That I shouldn't be raising kids. She said I can't keep a regular job. Said I do drugs. Can you believe that? Huh. Me doin' drugs.”

“Why didn't you tell the judge it wasn't true?”

“Cuz I couldn't prove it wasn't. Hey, do you mind if I smoke?”

“Um, I don't think you can smoke in this restaurant.”

“Yeah, whatever. They won't know. We're in a booth back here.” She pulled out a hand rolled cigarette and lit up. Sarah's back tensed up.

“You know,” Miranda mused, “sometimes I wish I could just start all over again. Take on a new identity, you know? Someone respectable. Then I could leave my problems behind and have a good life.”

Sarah had no response for that. “I'm going to run to the bathroom for a minute.”

“OK. I'll just sit here with my cig.” As Sarah scooted out of the booth, Miranda grabbed her wrist. “Don't go sneakin' out without sayin' goodbye, now. You wouldn't do that to a friend, would you?”

“No, no! Of course I wouldn't do that.” That was exactly what Sarah had intended to do.

She made it look as if she was walking to the bathroom, then she took a detour to the front counter. She told the waitress she was paying the full bill.

“That's your friend?” the waitress asked.

“Well, actually, I just met her.”

“She comes in here sometimes. You be careful.”

Sarah was about to ask what the waitress meant, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Hey, that was nice of you to pay the bill and all. I'll tell you what. I'll buy the next lunch.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the offer.” Sarah jingled her keys. “Well, I'm really late for an appointment. Gotta go!”

Miranda followed her out the door. “Say, could you give me a ride?”

“A ride?”

“Yeah. A ride. As in, we both get in your car and you drive me somewhere?”

“I know what you mean. You don't have a car?”

“Nah. My ex took everything, including my car.”

“So how do you get to work? The bus?”

“Yeah, that's it.” She squinted in the sunlight. “The bus. I take the bus.”

Sarah tried to think of some excuse why she couldn't drive her home. “I'm really late Miranda, and I don't think I have time to drive you anywhere.”

“Where's your appointment?”

Sarah thought fast. “The chiropractor.” The chiropractor? Where did that come from? She had never been to a chiropractor in her life.

“Hey, that sounds good. I could use a little back cracking myself, if you know what I mean,” and she laughed a husky laugh.

“I've really got to be on my way,” Sarah told her, more firmly this time.

“Just drop me off at the corner before the chiropractor's office, then.”

“How do you know which one I'm going to?”

“This town ain't that big, honey. There's only one chiropractor in town.”

She was right. How stupid of Sarah to use that as an excuse. Before she could say anything else, Miranda had her hand on the door handle and was slipping into the passenger seat of Sarah's old Toyota .

Sarah took a deep breath. She got into the car, placing her purse snugly between the car door and her hip.

“Nice car you got here.”

“It gets me around.”

“It gets you around. Ha ha. It's more'n what I got.” Miranda lit another cigarette and pulled out the ashtray.

“You're ashtray is clean. It ain't never been used.”

“I don't smoke.”

“Whoo-hoo! A virgin ashtray. I love virgins.”

“You're freaking weird.”

Faster than a snake's bite, Miranda grabbed Sarah's hair on the back of her head and yanked. “What did you say?” she asked, the cigarette flopping between her lips.

Sarah smelled stale perspiration and cigarette smoke on Miranda's skin. “Nothing. I didn't say anything.”

Miranda didn't loosen her grip while she took a long drag on the cigarette. “Good,” she said, blowing out a stream of smoke with the word. “Cuz I thought we was friends.” She released her hair and stroked her on the back of the head.

“Your hair is awful soft. You must use some fancy expensive conditioner.”

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes. Sarah stiffly focused on the road, keeping her peripheral vision on Miranda, who casually blew smoke out the window. Just before the railroad tracks Sarah noticed a scraggly looking man walking down the road. His hair was long and greasy, and his flannel shirt that he wore over his jeans was gray with dirt or age or both.

“Hey! That's my friend Bobby!” Miranda said. She rolled down the window, and leaning out to her waist, waved. “Bobby! Hey Bobby! How's it hangin'?”

Bobby waved back as they passed.

“Let's give him a ride,” Miranda told Sarah.

“Let's not. I'm late, remember.”

“I said, let's give him a ride.”

“I said no.”

Miranda grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the right, pulling the car off the road. Sarah panicked and overcorrected, turning the car into the lane of oncoming traffic. A truck blared its horn, and she yanked the car back into the right lane.

“You freak!” she yelled at Miranda.

Miranda laughed. She laughed so hard she started a nicotine coughing spasm. When it subsided she laughed some more.

“You crazy freak!” Sarah yelled again.

“You gotta admit that was a rush. Didn't that get the old adrenaline pumping?”

“Get the hell out of my car!” Sarah turned into a grocery store parking lot and slammed on the brakes. Miranda didn't move.

“I said get out of my car!”

Miranda smiled at her. “Make me.” She took out a small knife and began cleaning under her fingernails. She started with her left index finger. She peeled the dirt from under her nail, wiped it off the knife, then rolled the dirt around on her finger. She dropped the ball of scum on the floorboard. She started the process over again on her left middle finger. Sarah was disgusted.

“Miranda?” she asked, taking a different approach. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, holding them pointing out from her fingers.

“Yeah, honey,” Miranda answered.

“Look at me.”

Miranda stopped cleaning her nail and looked up at Sarah. Sarah stabbed her in the eye with her keys. While Miranda screamed and grabbed her bloody eye, she gave her a right handed chop to her neck, on the Adam's apple. Miranda doubled over in pain, wheezing, trying to catch her breath through her injured windpipe. Sarah jumped out of the car and ran to the passenger side. She swung the door open, and pulled Miranda out. Miranda staggered, still holding her eye and throat, and tried to kick Sarah. With the full force of her arm, Sarah jammed the base of her palm into the bridge of Miranda 's nose. She heard a satisfying crunch as the cartilage crumpled into her sinus cavity. Miranda fell to the ground, moaning. Sprinting back around the car, Sarah jumped back in, whipped the gear shift into reverse, and backed up, tires squealing. She felt a thump-thump as she backed over Miranda's legs. Slamming the gear shift into drive, she drove over her legs again as she sped out of the parking lot. In her rear view mirror, she could see a crowd forming around Miranda. One quick witted man pulled out a pen and wrote her license plate number on his hand. Sarah knew that it was over for her. In a panic she kept driving, but the police caught up with her and brought her into custody.

***

When she finished her story, she waited for Jonathan's reaction. He looked away from her gaze and began tapping his pen on the table again.

“So? Do you believe me?” she asked.

“I'll have to get back to you on that.”

“Huh. Say, you got a cigarette?”

“You're not supposed to smoke in here.”

“Yeah, whatever. Besides, who's gonna know? Just you and me. Attorney-client privilege, right? Like I said before, it would've been better if she'd died.”