“God, this is boring,” Leslie mutters as she sits in the back of Judge Anthony’s courtroom. She is not paying any attention to the trial. She knows it’s some kind of manslaughter charge, but that’s it. She watches Judge Anthony, trying to discern what type of judge he might be. Folly, really, as if she could tell by sitting in his courtroom during a trial. She nods off several times as the attorneys drone on and on and on. Finally, the judge calls for a recess. Leslie wonders if she can catch the judge in his chambers. Doubtful. She’s pretty sure that she can’t. She thinks for a minute before she walks outside the courtroom, cell phone in hand. She pulls out her list and calls the judge.
“Hello. Judge Anthony. Who are you, and why are you calling me?” The judge has a supercilious edge to his words, as if he were born with the right to rule.
“My name is Sandra Scoppettone. I am with the Sun-Times. I have information on the murder—“
“No you’re not,” Judge Anthony says briskly, barely letting Leslie speak. “Try again, or I’m hanging up.”
“OK, look. I want to write for the Sun-Times. I just need a break. I heard that there is new information as to the whereabouts of Freddy Amato and—“
“I’ll be right—where are you?”
“Outside your courtroom.”
“Meet me outside the building in two.” Judge Anthony hangs up the phone abruptly, leaving Leslie to stare at hers incredulously. What a rude man. She makes it outside before Judge Anthony does. She watches as he emerges from the building. He is not a bad-looking man with his dark, slicked-back hair, intense blue eyes, and slim build. He is wearing a black suit with a magenta tie. Leslie remembers that he is noted for his flashy ties. He looks around, but of course he has no idea what Leslie looks like. Leslie stands up and walks over to the judge. His eyes are glued on her chest as she approaches. She has her coat unzipped and those three buttons unbuttoned—the judge is definitely a chest man. Leslie keeps that in mind as she holds out her hand.
Leslie presses her forehead to the window of the cab, feeling the tears gather in her eyes. Even when John was tough on her, he was still so full of love. He did it because he believed in her. He believed with all his might that Leslie would get better, that she would heal from her past. Every time she said she was ruined and broken, he would say she was damaged, but not broken. It was as if thought he could heal her by the sheer force of his beliefs. Leslie roots through her oversized purse for a tissue (John liked to joke that she could carry a small child in it) and blows her nose. She wonders how long it’ll take before she doesn’t cry every time she thinks of John. She has a hunch it’ll be a long time.