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Also by Lucia Berlin
A Manual for Cleaning Ladies (1977)
Angels Laundromat (1981)
Legacy (1983)
Phantom Pain (1984)
Safe and Sound (1988)
Homesick: New & Selected Stories (1990)
So Long: Stories 1987–1992 (1993, 2016)
A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories (2015)
This is
A Black Sparrow Book
Published in 2017 by
DAVID R. GODINE, PUBLISHER
Post Office Box 450
Jaffrey, New Hampshire 03452
Copyright © 1999 by Lucia Berlin
Copyright © 2017 by the Literary Estate of Lucia Berlin LP
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact Permissions, David R. Godine, Publisher, Fifteen Court Square, Suite 320, Boston, Massachusetts, 02108.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to the editors of the following publications where some of these stories first appeared: Barnabe Mountain Review, Brick, Exquisite Corpse, First Intensity, Fourteen Hills, Gas, helicoptero, New American Writing,
New Censorship and Sniper Logic.
“The Wives” was based upon a play called “The Stronger,” which appeared in Acts II and in Phantom Pain published by Tombouctou Press.
The poems in the story “Here It Is Saturday” were written by Charles Clemons.
Thank you to my good friends and listeners: Jenny Dorn, Ivan Suvanjieff, Beth Geoghagan, Ashley Simpson and Dave Yoo. Thanks to Kenward Elmslie for comfort and delight.
softcover isbn: 978-1-57423-091-8
ebook isbn: 978-1-57423-231-8
For Ed and Jenny, with love always
Contents
Let Me See You Smile
It’s true, the grave is more powerful than a lover’s eyes. An open grave, with all its magnets. And I say this to you, you who when you smile make me think of the beginning of the world.
VICENTE HUIDOBRO, Altazor
Jesse threw me for a loop. And I take pride in my ability to size people up. Before I joined Grillig’s firm, I was a public defender for so long I had learned to assess a client or a juror almost at first glance.
I was unprepared too because my secretary didn’t announce him over the intercom and he had no appointment. Elena just led him into my office.
“Jesse is here to see you, Mr. Cohen.”
Elena introduced him with an air of importance, using only his first name. He was so handsome, entered the room with such authority, I thought he must be some one-name rock star I hadn’t heard of.
He wore cowboy boots and black jeans, a black silk shirt. He had long hair, a strong craggy face. About thirty was my first guess, but when he shook my hand there was an indescribable sweetness in his smile, an openness in his hazel eyes that was innocent and childlike. His raspy low voice confused me even more. He spoke as if he were explaining patiently to a young inexperienced person. Me.
He said he had inherited ten thousand dollars and wanted to use it to hire me. The woman he lived with was in trouble, he said, and she was going to trial in two months. Ten counts against her.
I hated to tell him how far his money would go with me.
“Doesn’t she have a court-appointed attorney?” I asked.
“She did, but the asshole quit. He thought she was guilty and a bad person, a pervert.”
“What makes you think I won’t feel the same way?” I asked.
“You won’t. She says you are the best civil liberties lawyer in town. The deal is she doesn’t know I’m here. I want you to let her think you’re volunteering to do this. For the principle of the thing. This is my only condition.”
I tried to interrupt here, to say, “Forget it, son.” Tell him firmly that I wasn’t going to do it. No way could he afford me. I didn’t want to touch this case. I couldn’t believe this poor kid was willing to give all his money away. I already hated the woman. Damn right she was guilty and a bad person!
He said that the problem was the police report, which the judge and jury would read. They would pre-convict her because it was distorted and full of lies. He thought I could get her off by showing that his arrest was false, that the report of hers was libelous, the cop she hit was brutal, the arresting officer was psychotic, evidence had definitely been planted. He was convinced that I could discover that they had made other false arrests and had histories of brutality.
He had more to say about how I should handle this case. I can’t explain why I didn’t blow up, tell him to get lost. He argued passionately and well. He should have been a lawyer.
I didn’t just like him. I even began to see that spending his entire inheritance was a necessary rite of passage. A heroic, noble