Mairin and Sandra Guilford sat in the waiting room at the Morgan office, just as Mairin had sat waiting for her student conference. Mairin was describing the room to Sandra. "It’s not too large. Two sofas and five or six chairs. Heavy blue carpet, plush, really nice. Five or six courtroom scene lithos on the walls. Low-key but excellent taste. Must have cost a bundle.’ They fell into a reverie, listening to the receptionist field messages. Finally, forty-five minutes past the time of their appointment, they were told that Mr. Morgan was ready to see them.

He sat behind a large desk with files sticking out at all angles. "Hi!" he said, jumping up.

"Hello," said Mairin. Sandra was holding Mairin’s right arm just above the elbow. Mairin moved a bit to the left. "This is Miss Guilford."

Sandra extended her right band, saying, "How do you do?"

Michael Morgan looked puzzled but shook her hand. The discussion of the case was long-winded, much more so than Mairin’s first conversation with Sandra. From her years of working with blind people, Mairin had surmised how Sandra did her job, but Michael Morgan did not have that advantage.

"How do you know whether a resident is doing something unsafe? Suppose a burner is left on?"

"I hear very well, and I have a very good sense of smell. And I’ve trained myself to pass a hand over the stove each time I walk through the kitchen."

"Suppose someone tries to come in who doesn’t belong there?"

"I have a guide dog who raises a big fuss."

"How do the residents seem to accept your handicap?"

"Very well, really. You remember, we’re all handicapped. When I’m orienting a new person, I have a little conversation. I say, 'You have trouble learning, and I have trouble seeing. If you want to help me, you have to tell me what I can’t see.’ There’s never been a problem."
 
 
 
 

"What’s the possibility of the agency's helping to finance a case like this?" Michael and Mairin were having a late lunch at a quiet place near the firm’s office.

"I really don’t know. You’d have to talk to the director. We certainly must have some funds for such things. How much do you think this case will cost?"

"It’s hard to say. If it goes to trial, possibly $10,000."

"You’re kidding" Mairin was truly shocked.

"You idealistic student, you. It costs money to run a law office."

"And pay good salaries," mused Mairin, being a little tongue-in-cheek.

"Sure, that, too. But look, Mairin, let’s get down to the merits of this case. The board is saying that she can’t do the job she was hired to do because. of her blindness. Now we know that’s crap. We’ll make them prove it. If they want to fire her because they don’t like the way she handles the residents, then okay, that’s perfectly okay. There’s no law against differences of opinion. However, there are laws about discriminating against someone on the ground of a handicap. That’s their mistake." Michael was getting carried away by his subject matter. He waved a fork as he spoke.

"Don’t spear me" Mairin pleaded, laughing.

"Look," he said, waving the fork in smaller circles, "I think we definitely ought to sue. Our only worry is how to pay for it."

"Don’t you do any pro bono work?"

"Mairin, you don’t understand. This isn’t something you can do in a couple of hours. These discrimination cases are the devil to prove. We’ll have to get the board members in for depositions. We’ll have to get residents and their families. That’ll be very tough, because there’ll be questions of their competency as witnesses. When the hours run up that way, it’s no pro bono case. It’s got to pay its own way. If I only needed to make a few phone calls, writs a few letters. . . but that isn’t this case."

"Probably the agency would help. Is there any way to charge attorneys’ fees to the board in a case like this?"

"That’s a possibility. You can bet that we’ll try. It’s not clear cut, however."

Mairin looked at her watch. ‘I’ve really got to get back to the agency. She sighed. "Even though Sandra’s got problems right now, she can function on her own and then some. She’s not like the forty-three year-old fellow who had brain surgery and doesn’t have any memory left."

"Really?" Michael Morgan looked surprised.

"Of course," said Mairin. "This is a tough job. . . ." And as an afterthought, with a wry grin, she added, "and it doesn’t pay very well, either."

Michael gave her a smile. "Come on, he said, "don’t tease me. Look, I’ll talk to my partners about this. Can you talk to the director of your agency and have him give me a call? Then we can get down to business."

Mairin got back to the agency in time to return a few phone calls. Then she went to class. Her class was interesting, and she forgot how tired and hungry she was. At break she grabbed Karen to tell her of the day’s events. "I’m in on a case that Michael Morgan is really interested in. He wants to sue the board of trustees of one of our charitable institutions. There’s a blind woman involved, that’s how I got in on it."

"Is he as humorous in person as he was in the classroom?"

‘Yes, it’s there, under the surface. But he was trying to be serious, and he was really interested in the case."

"Would you be working with him on this case?"

"You know, I really think I would. God, it’s exciting. He’s going to talk with his partners, and then we’ll decide how to proceed."

"Lucky stiff."

"You bet." Yes, thought Mairin. I would have given my eye teeth for this. And yet I knew it would happen. Patterns. But I’m too old to believe in things like this. . . fate. . . patterns... foreshadowing...
 
 
 
 
 
 

Mairin came in excited but apprehensive as well. Harry undoubtedly would not favor Michael’s approach. She went in, letting her books fall on the hallway table. She said a general, nonconmittal "hi" and went into the kitchen.

"There's cold beef in the refrigerator, Bea called from the bedroom. Harry got up from his sofa and came into the kitchen.

"How did the day at the Morgan office go?" he asked.

"You do have a penchant for being direct, don’t you?" asked Mairin, wrestling with carving knife, fork and beef.

"Here, let me do that. Women can’t carve."

"You’re right," said Mairin, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I asked you a question," reminded Harry.

"Yes, I know," said Mairin. "Well, he was interested. I think he’ll take it if it can be financed. He wants to file."

"How about negotiation?"

"Didn’t mention it."

"Christ" said Harry, as he dropped a piece of beef on the floor, "that’s taking a big chance."

"Men are no damned good at carving," said Mairin retrieving the meat. "Bea's floor is always clean enough to eat from" she added, placing the slice of beef on her plate.

"Mairin," said Harry, absolutely refusing to be sidetracked, "let me talk to the board first. If they refuse to work out a settlement, Michael can file then. Isn’t that sane?"

"It sounds good. But if it is, why didn’t he mention it?"

"Because he gets no publicity from a settlement. If he files, reporters will see it and pick up on it. A blind professional person suing the establishment is good copy."

"Well, wouldn’t that help to settle? You know if they get some publicity against them, won’t they be more eager to settle?"

"Don’t count on it. They may be a feisty lot. Bad-tempered. Better to sound them out at the negotiating table."

Harry stopped, looking at Mairin. She was sitting, biting her lip, not really paying attention to her food, looking troubled. "Mairin, how do you see Michael Morgan?"

Mairin kept biting her lip. "How do I see Michael Morgan? Oh, he wears a white hat, rides a white horse, rescues damsels in distress. . . "

"Mairin. . . come now." Harry got up from his chair and came around to the back of Mairin’s chair. He took her by the shoulders. Harry hardly ever touched Mairin. He recalled in a split-second an early scene in their relationship. Mairin had just finished moving all of her things into the apartment. She was dressed in jeans and a faded blue jersey top. She was standing at the kitchen sink, washing grime off her hands and splashing water onto her face. He’d gone over to her, given her a hug saying, "It’s good to have you with us, honey."

He had felt her tense immediately. She said nothing, kept splashing the water, but she was absolutely frozen. As Harry had said later to Bea,"God, I had the feeling that she thought I was a dirty old man. I said to her right away, ‘Pol, I’ve got two daughters, and both of them are very affectionate. I don’t think twice about reaching out to hug them. I can see that’s not your style, so I won’t do it.’ And she said ‘I’m sorry, Harry. My family wasn’t very affectionate. I don’t know how to react to kindness.'"

She had really tried to make a joke out of it, but he had understood the truth beneath the joke. But tonight she didn’t flinch. So now, with his hands on her shoulders, Harry said "Tell me about it."

"Harry. . . I don’t know what you mean."

"You’ve got quite a case on him, have had, ever since you took his course."

"Oh, Harry, don’t be silly. He’s a crusader, and in my idealistic way, I go for that. Yes, I guess I do have a case on him. He’s really my hero. In my mind he does wear a white hat. I was kidding, but, yes, he does." Lord, she thought, I hope I’m talking fast enought

"White hats blow off, too, Pol,’ said Harry. He squeezed her shoulders. "Go to bed, it’s late."