And then Mairin was into her last summer of law school. She’d saved a special class for that summer, too. Advocacy was a four-hour course that incorporated a written brief and an oral argument before a panel of law professors, including the immovable Levin. It was known to be a bastard of a course.

Mairin saved lots of time by utilizing the Hadleigh library for studying since it was almost as complete as the school library. Mairin batched things she couldn’t find at Hadleigh and took an occasional trip to the school.

In the tradition of all of the students before her, she suffered through the oral argument. Levin gave her one question that she couldn’t answer, but aside from that it went well. The study group then had an absolutely riotous party at Mariann’s. It lasted until four in the morning, and Mairin drove home very slowly, blinking at the traffic lights. She got up at noon the next day and wandered into the kitchen.

"Oh god," she said to Bea. "I feel awful."

Bea clucked in a motherly fashion and proceeded to put on the tea kettle. "Good party?"

"Oh, yes, we always have a rare old time. But we really overdid it last night. At one point we all gave our oral arguments simultaneously."

"That oral argument thing is really hard, isn’t it?" Bea was sympathetic.

"You know, I don’t think it would be so bad if it didn’t have all this tradition of being such a killer. The profs go out of their way to harass and intimidate us. She laughed. "They really haven’t had that chance since first year. Maybe this is their parting shot, if you know what I mean. Anyway they’ re supposed to be mean and nasty, and they do their best to keep up with their reputations."

"But now you have three free weeks."

"Mostly. But we’re having a hot time on law review just now, so we’ll probably eat up that time arguing."

"What’s going on?"

"A big struggle in philosophy. For years our law review has been mainly short, practical articles that help in the day-to-day practice of law. There are a few of the longer, scholarly ones, too, but the main feature is the short piece. Some of the editors want to cut out the short pieces and try to become another Harvard Law Review."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I’m against it. Harvard is doing its thing very well, thank you, flanked by dozens of other law reviews. They do their things well, we do our thing well. We’re not them. We’ve got something unique, so let’s be ourselves."

"How does the board divide on it?"

"About half and half. I don’t know what will happen, but it will be a damned shame if we go Harvard. We’ll be the palest of pale imitations, and the profession will suffer. I’ve watched the guys at Hadleigh use the law library. I’ve talked to them. They use Harvard et al when they’re doing appeals work. They use ours day to day. As I say, we’re making our own contribution."

"So you’re going to spend your time politicking?"

"Could be."
 
 
 
 

And she did. Then, for the last time, it was back to class. Mairin was almost a little sad. The routine had become so mach a part of her life that she somehow found it hard to see beyond it. Fourth year would be a snap. She had lots of one-quarter classes to take. She and Bob Jeffries had had a real argument over whether she’d take the trial practice sequence or not.

"Take it," he said. "You’re a natural, you’ll love it. And what do you lose if you take it? A chance to take debtor/creditor law, remedies, whatever?"

"It’s not my field," said Mairin stubbornly.

"Okay, make it hard for me. I’ll train you myself."

He was taking her along with him to court now, occasionally, and she did enjoy watching him. Once in a while she even found herself thinking how she would ask a series of questions in an even better way than Bob. She was actually doing the juveniles; while she wouldn’t admit it to Bob, she enjoyed preparing a case, figuring out what witnesses to bring in, what questions to ask.

Fall quarter passed into winter quarter. On a rare Friday evening without a class, Mairin was sitting in the library working on one of her research projects. She’d chosen to stay late to finish one part of a brief. She heard Bob Jeffries asking Mr. Clarkson about a new publication he wanted to order. Then he saw her and walked over to her table. "How’s it coming?"

"Fine."

"Cutting class?"

"No, no class tonight."

"Come in and talk to me a minute." He led the way to his office.

Mairin went right to the windows. "Oh my god," she said, "it’s really storming. I love snow. I couldn’t see this from the library."

"We did that deliberately," he said. "We don’t want the minds to wander."

"You think we have no imaginations?" she asked. "I spend a lot of time in the library imagining what the weather is like outside. If you’d put a window there, I could just look out and see."

"I’m Guardian Ad Litem for five children. The mother is dead, and the father is alleged to have emotional problems. Children’s Services is moving for permanent custody. There are four or five stepchildren, and some of them are involved.

"The oldest daughter is staying with a step-sister. It looks good there. Then there’s a grandmother and grandfather who have one of the children. There are friends of the father, two sisters, who have another. The two youngest are with the father. There’s an aunt who has some type of guardianship over two of the children. She’ll be there with her lawyer. There’s a lawyer from the Free Clinic who’ll be there because he represented the two oldest in unruly proceedings filed by the father because the kids ran away. That was continued to this date. There’s a Guardian Ad Litem for the father and a worker from Children’s Services. How’s that?" Her eyes sparkled. She was really involved with the case.

Bob loved seeing that. She’s got the spirit, he was thinking. "About the Evans case."

"Yes," said Mairin. "I talked to Carol this week, She really wants to stay with her mother."

"I know, but we have to try to override that."

"Can I stay out of it?" Mairin said.

"How do you mean?" asked Bob.

"Well, I’m the one she’s confided in. She trusts me. I want to see what’s best for her. I just don’t want to have to be there when that fight goes on."

"That’s a lawyer’s job, Mairin. Explain to her that her father really loves her and that he thinks he’s doing the best for her."

"I feel like I'm betraying her."

"No, you’re not. You never promised her that she could stay with her mother. You’ll make her wishes known to her father. Beyond that, there’s nothing you can do."

Mairin had sat down again. She looked concerned.

"Come on," said Bob. "I’ll buy you a drink."

They settled into a comfortable table at one of the better bars. Mairin ordered a Manhattan. "This is my favorite drink in winter," she said. "Especially when it’s stormy. Somehow a Manhattan takes the edge off it."

"How’s school?" asked Bob.

"Okay."

"No better than that?"

Mairin sighed. "Do you know, I’d fight for the night school at all costs, but I don’t think I’m getting a good education."

"Why?"

"The quality of the teaching isn’t that good. The students are bright enough, but the classes are deadly."

"Do you have much interaction with the other students?"

"Not lots, but we’re really close just the same. There are five women in my section, and we get along well. We try to get together regularly, and we have a study group for exams. I’m close to some of the fellows on the law review board, too."

Bob grimaced. "How, just how, do you have time for law review?"

"Evenings and weekends," Mairin said. "I can write in the evening when I can’t study. I can edit then. On a non-class night, I’ll often go into the law review office and work."

"Bring me a copy of the last review, will you?" Bob fell into a reverie. Law review was the biggest, for the best and the brightest. At every school it was the pinnacle of achievement, of student success. He’d been a law review editor, and he’d worked his tail off. How could Mairin do it? He couldn’t believe the issue would be good.

"Do you take pep pills?" he asked, kidding.

"Sometimes," she answered seriously.

He looked at her hard. "Tell me about it."

"Oh, nothing serious. Nothing more than caffeine pills--no pills for ‘road headaches’ like the truckers use. And I don’t do it very often."

"You’re thin," he said.

"I hear enough about that from Harry. And Bea is always in front of the stove, fixing me something fattening. You know, probably years from now I’ll wonder how I did it, but day to day it’s not bad."

They ordered a second drink.

"You know what I do miss?" she asked. "Getting at the philosophy.

Sometimes I’m so confused about law. I don’t know what it is. I don’t understand it. Oh, there was some fuss-budgety course about legal history and methods, but it was a collection of dates from Greece and Rome. Is that what I miss by going to night school? Did you sit around arguing about what law is with your fellow students when you were in law school?"

"Absolutely," he said. ‘We had lots of fights. Those were good times--now that they’re over. Hell, Mairin, that was twenty-five years ago. I expect the pressures of law school are even worse today."

"It was very frightening at first. I literally shook the first time I was called upon. I think I shook that whole first year. Each professor has a different style--a different style of intimidation. I still don’t like those games."

"You still think of them as games?"

"They are games. We’ve had this conversation before. Males seem to play those games better than females."

"What a sexist remark!"

"Some sexist remarks are true," said Polly. "I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable playing those games. I guess I have to work out my own style, and that's hard to do. There aren't that many female role models."

"How do you feel about ours? Sylvia and Kate?"

"Well, I really haven’t had all that much chance to talk with Sylvia. She exudes competence. I think of her as a first-class racehorse. She’ll win, place or show every time. Kate is more solid, not so high strung. She seems to be at ease. I like that. I’d like to feel thoroughly comfortable with what I’m doing."

"You don’t?"

"Of course not, not yet!"

"You think Kate is calm, cool and collected?"

"Yes."

"I’d like you to work with her on a research project. She hates the library, but one of her cases can’t be negotiated, and it’s going to trial. She’ll need trial briefs on a few issues. I want you to show her how to do a first rate brief. Clarkson says yours have been fantastic."

Bob seemed to read her thoughts. "Oh, yes, Kate was on law review. But she says she did it only because it was a must for hiring. She feels her forte is negotiating, and it is. I’ve seen her law review writing. It’s very good, but she says it took her forever. We don’t have that kind of time here. Her first drafts are lousy. Take those and see what you can do with them." He looked at his watch. "Come on, I’ll drive you home."

They walked out into the storm. "I love this," said Mairin. "It’s magical."
 

"You’ve had too much to drink," said Bob. "This is mean, cold and nasty."

"Oh, no," she protested. "I have had too much to drink--I feel light-headed--but the snow is lovely. It’s transforming."

He looked at her and saw that she was clearly enjoying the winter scene. She had pushed her hood back, and flakes of snow covered her dark hair.

"I guess you deserve a little time-out," he said. Bob’s car was in the garage under the building the firm was in. It was dry and warm inside, but when they were out on the road, it was clear that the storm was severe.

"Glad that I have a full tank of gas," said Bob.

"Yes," said Mairin. "This could be like the Roman saying 'Veni, vidi velcro.' I came, I saw, I stuck around."

Bob was laughing. "It’s good to see you unwinding. Your life is on too tight a time-table. You said you were close to some fellows you’re on law review with. Do you date anyone special?"

"I try not to," she said. "It’s all I can do to keep my life in line without a romantic interest. If I can get out of law school without an involvement, I’ll count myself lucky."

"That’s the advice my daddy gave me when I want off to Harvard Law," said Bob.

"Did you stick to it?"

"Pretty much, though I had a few notable lapses."

Mairin smiled. Bob Jeffries was a handsome man, now, nearing, fifty. He must have been a heartbreaker in his twenties. She hadn’t heard any gossip about him at the firm. To her that meant if he did any playing around, he was most discreet. She knew that more than a few eyebrows had been raised when he’d hired her--a female from a night law school. She’d gotten a lot of subtle quizzing. And some outright remarks, One day Sylvia had made a reference to one of the partners who made a habit of coming on to the women in the firm. "I must not turn him on," Mairin had said. "He hasn’t even looked at me."

Mairin was genuinely puzzled. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Oh, come on, Mair," Bob was laughing.

"Really," she said. "I don’t know what you mean."

So, Bob thought, she does have a temper. You just have to go some to get to it. That’s okay, so long as the temper is there. "I’m a grown man, Mair, do you really expect me to believe that denial?"

They were in the parking lot by this time. Bob had turned off the car. "I don’t care what you believe," Mairin said. She gathered her books and briefcase and pulled the door handle. "Unlock this damned thing," she said.

Bob released the master lock but got out of the car as she did. "Come on, Mair, I’ll walk in with you."

"That’s not necessary," she said.

He was walking beside her. "Why are you so upset?"

"I don’t want to talk about it. Please go back to the car."

"I’m walking up with you. I want to talk to Harry."

"Not about me, please."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.