Elaine Overton Deja Vu

Chicago , Illinois

Present Day

That lousy bastard, Vicki thought, watching as he removed his light wool jacket. The coarse fabric fell smoothly off his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, his sinewy forearms and into his large hands. With one fluent motion he flipped it onto the back of his chair.

His ash gray silk shirt clung to his well-developed torso. His perfectly creased charcoal colored slacks fell neatly over his lower portion. He was a vision to behold, everything from the top of his shiny bald head to his wing tip shoes. His full lips and high cheekbones accentuating his African ancestry were in direct contrast to his more European characteristic, his patrician nose and dark brown oval shaped eyes. Such contradictions in appearance were common in African Americans, but in this man the divergence was stunning.

The trial hadn't even begun, and he already had every female eye in the courtroom trained completely on his every move. Vicki cast a glance at the jury, she was regretting her decision to accept the six young women who all now sat slack jaw watching the handsome defense attorney with a body like an ancient Zulu warrior. Even the sixty-nine year old, retired schoolteacher had a look of lust in her eyes. Vicki sighed wearily, already feeling defeated. It was going to be a long trial.

Nick knew she was watching him, he could feel her eyes on him. Good, all those late hours at the gym had served their purpose. Of course, physical attention wasn't the only thing he wanted from her, but he knew he had to start somewhere. He turned abruptly, and caught with her eyes on his derrière, Vicki jumped like a guilty child.

"Good morning, Victoria ," he said evenly, fighting to hide the overwhelming emotions he felt every time he looked at her.

"Morning, Nicholas," she answered, "I see you've been working on your . . ." , she let her eyes roam over his long form, ". . . defense . "

He chuckled. Still a smartass, he thought, albeit a beautiful one. Her coffee brown completion hinted with a touch of crème, and classically delicate features were as refined as the lady herself. Voluptuous in form, she moved in a way that animated her feminine curves. Nick was certain that on more than one occasion when she'd walked away from him, her supple hips had waved bye-bye.

"My defense is ready, although, I won't be needing it considering my client is innocent and you have nothing more than a few minor pieces of circumstantial evidence."

Vicki looked past him at the thug slumped in the next chair. Everything about the young man said it had been a long time since he was innocent. "Innocent, huh?" she huffed loudly, "would that be the Andrew Pallister kind of innocent?"

Arkansas State Representative and pillar of the community, Andy Pallister, was the asteroid that crashed into their perfect world eight years earlier. Vicki was the prosecutor assigned to convict the man of murder, and Nick had defended him and won.

But in the end they both lost when their strong feelings regarding the case came between them, and ended their life long friendship and year long engagement. Andy Pallister was dead now. A drunken driver forced his car off the road and straight into a tree. He was the drunk driver. Most of the country felt they had lost a great man with a bright future. Only Vicki and a hand full of others felt that it was Karma.

Nick felt his jaw tightening. "That was a cheap shot."

"So was strutting in here like a GQ stud!" Vicki exploded.

"Don't get self-righteous with me," he shouted back. "If that skirt was hugging your hips any tighter it would be skin."

"I'm not the one trying to seduce the jury."

"I don't need cheap tricks, lady. I'm a damn good attorney, and like I told you, my client is innocent."

"Who are you kidding, Nicky? You'd represent the devil as long as his checks didn't bounce."

The quibbling pair fell silent, realizing theirs were the only voices being heard. The fifty odd people that filled the courtroom were all listening intently. Both parties stood paralyzed, clueless as to how to regain some semblance of civilized behavior.

The problem corrected itself. The silence was shattered when the deeply baritone voice of the bailiff reverberated across the room.

"All rise." The two simple words turned everyone's attention toward the small man entering the courtroom. "In the case of City of Chicago versus Tommy Morrison. The honorable Judge Thomas Scott presiding."

Everyone stood patiently while the man climbed the stairs leading to the bench. The sign of his advanced age showing clearly in the hunch of his shoulders and his measured pace. At his age Judge Scott felt he deserved certain liberties, one of which was being the right to not be rushed. After several minutes, he finally straightened his long black robe and settled in behind the high ledge.

"Please be seated," the bailiff said.

For a few moments, the only sound heard was the noisy shuffle of people sitting. Judge Scott's shrewd brown eye took inventory of his courtroom. He methodically surveyed everyone from the Deputy Sheriff guarding the doors to the transcriptions at his elbow.

"Aww geeze," he whispered to himself as his eyes flicked over the legal representation for both parties. Not these two again, he thought.

Last time they spared off in his courtroom for the arraignment they almost came to blows. He silently berated himself for not recognizing the names on the docket. If he had, he would've seriously considered calling off himself.

He thought for a moment, considering whether to go forward with the fire and ice combination. But, what cause did he have not to? They hadn't actually done anything- yet. He sat thinking for several moments, but his mind could come up with nothing. He had no choice but to move forward. He nodded to the bailiff to recite the case and file.

"Victoria Proctor for the prosecution, your honor."

"Nicholas Wilcox for the defense, your honor."

So far, so good. After all the preliminaries, inclu di ng instructions for the jury, Judge Scott was ready to begin. "Ms. Proctor, your opening statements, please." Judge Scott nodded and slipped his bifocals over the edge of his nose.

"Yes, your honor," Vicki adjusted her skirt, now self-conscious of the tight fit. Okay, so it was snug, she thought, but that wasn't why she wore it.

She crossed in front of the defense table moving toward the jury. Ignore him, she silently scolded herself. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we will present evidence today to clearly prove, Mr. Morrison, on the day in question-"

"I object!" Nick was out of his chair.

Judge Scott frowned in disapproval, the battle had begun. "Mr. Wilcox, this is opening statements. What is there to object to?"

"I would like Ms. Proctor to be specific about the dates and times. She tends to forget details."

"No problem, your honor," Vicki smiled. "If Mr. Wilcox is having trouble following along, I'll try to simplify it for him."

"Considering I scored fifty percent higher on the bar exam than Ms. Proctor, I don't believe I'm the one with the trouble keeping up. But she has been known to ignore details .

"Your honor, would you please advise Mr. Wilcox that this is a trial and not his personal infomercial. I mean, really, who cares what he scored on an exam over ten years ago?"

"I was just stating that- "

"Approach the bench!" Judge Scott roared.

They came toward the high counter with heads bowed. Both realizing how badly they were behaving, and neither seemed capable of not behaving in such a way with each other.

Judge Scott let them stand there for a moment, studying them with the eyes of a parent trying to determine punishment for his disobedient children.

They both stood silent knowing better than to speak out of turn. Vicki was thinking how much Judge Scott looked like a black George Burns.

Nick was taking advantage of the opportunity to look down Vicki's cream colored blouse which stood slightly parted. Standing almost a foot taller than her, he had a clear view of her tawny cleavage. It had been a long time since he'd seen her beloved breast. The Twins , as he affectionately referred to them.

Seeing what he was doing, Judge Scott cleared his throat, loudly. Nick jerked upright. Never had he be been so grateful for the rich mahogany brown skin which concealed his embarrassment.

Judge Scott covered the microphone with his hand and leaned forward. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing, your honor," Vicki shrugged.

Nick decided to follow her lead and play dumb. "I don't have a problem, your honor."

"If this turns into another War of the Roses, you will." Judge Scott fought to control the level of his voice, but his anger was making it difficult. "This is a court of law, not a battlefield for your personal, petty conflicts. Do we understand each other?"

They both nodded, refusing to make eye contact.

"Now, can we proceed with this case like the professionals we are, or should I rule a mistrial and have other counsel appointed?"

"No, your honor," they said in unison, both voices together registering just above a whisper.

"Good, let's get on with this." He sat back and released the microphone. Judge Scott watched Mr. Wilcox return to his seat, and Ms. Proctor continued her opening remarks without interruption. He watched as they exchanged a quick glance, and places as Mr. Wilcox gave his opening. He noted how intently Ms. Proctor studied her opponent, the way her eyes lit up when he smiled. He wondered if she was even conscious of it. He watched Mr. Wilcox spill a stack of files all over the floor when his opponent bending to pick up a pencil distracted him, greatly. The Honorable Judge Thomas Scott silently wondered, why the pair didn't just get a hotel room and get it over with.