Devil's Lawyer

Death and seduction go hand in hand.

Five years ago, my nemesis and I started a law firm and today we are commemorating its opening. We came from a hurricane of hate, which started when we met at law school and we slowly fed it with hateful glances, spreading lies about each other and with many other forms of sabotage. I remember right now an occasion when I got into his car to steal a paper he wrote for our torts class. Finally, we both realized that after this hurricane ended it was not going to leave anything standing, so we made a truce. After finishing our career, it became evident that only a few lawyers had the tenacity that we both naturally possessed and so we decided to join forces. 

The hatred contained in that hurricane slowly turned into passion; now we are imprisoned by a burning passion. I suppose it is inevitable that powerful forces rise between us, wild waters will always carry us away, and this force that grows within us, pushed our law firm to the top until it became one the best rated in the region. In the beginning, it was just him and me.  We rented a small room in an old building, with broken tiles and a musty smell, where no more than two clients could enter at a time; now we both own a floor and we have a team of various professionals working for us. Every morning when I get to work and the elevator opens, I experience a feeling of satisfaction when observing the perfection of the place: each object seems placed in the right spot, creating a beautiful aesthetic balance and the sine that reflects from the glass cubicles baths with a layer of soft shine the whole place.  

There is something creepy about his face because I still haven't been able to find an asymmetry in it and, as we all know, all human beings are asymmetric, for example, my smile stretches more to the left side. I have looked at him while working, when he is angry, while he sleeps, when he laughs, I have observed him obsessively and still, I do not find its imbalance. If I spend too much time watching him, a feeling of anxiety and discomfort begins to take hold of me because I wonder in silence if so much perfection is natural or is in fact an assault against the laws of God and nature.

As weird as it might sound, I have the feeling that he matches the decoration tonight. In one part of the salon, glass spheres descended from the ceiling with a turquoise candle inside; the tables were adorned with a glass candlestick, that holds tree pale blue candles at different heights and it was bordered by a crown of only white and with delicate notes of artificial blue roses; there is also a wall completely filled with pale pink roses; the environment is saturated with artificial fog; my favorite piece of decoration is in one corner: an ice statue representing the goddess of justice, with a scale in one hand and a sword in the other. His eyes combine well with the candles and other golden details that are part of the decoration.

I walk among the guests. They are beautiful men and women but each one of them looks like a carbon copy of the previous one. They have adopted beauty patterns with such rigour that it has blurred their essences, for instance, the shape of the women's eyebrows are all the same (at least with makeup on). Besides, the profession has made them adopt a similar character, a unique way of seeing the world, and particular ethics. I know I am also like them, because more and more often I find myself making jokes about lawyers, analyzing everything with a legal optic, and frequenting places mostly plagued by lawyers and such… a lawyer’s lifestyle. While I swing across the place, I manage to discreetly look at myself reflected in a mirror in my silver shiny dress and knowing I am wrapped in a beautiful piece of clothing gives me narcissistic pleasure. People greet me, take my hand, put their fingers on my waist, give me loud kisses on the cheek and those who do not work in my company and have not had the opportunity to congratulate me, raise their glasses to toast as I walk by. 

 – Don't think that this party is going to distract me from what's important –  he whispered near my neck – . 

Today I can’t handle him, neither to his warm, breath near my neck, it causes me a revulsion that I don't bother to hide and just walk away. There is an animal part of me that is physically attracted to him, in an electrifying way; but my rational self, despite him being my partner and somewhat like my lover, I  never stop looking at him with some distance, a mixed feeling of hate, revulsion, and jealousy. Today will be a culmination day, that is how I like to call although some people might talk about “starting from scratch”; Today is my day to clear the path so I can start from scratch. I  hate his pristine smile, his teeth flashing in the sun as he smiles at the white-collar criminals who are his clients. In our firm he has always been dedicated to economic crimes and beyond that, he knows nothing, he doesn’t know about the unfortunate, the madness, the outcast people, the dead or from the thickness of the blood; he doesn't know about any of this because it's always me who has to deal with the rugged. He believes that the only thing that exists in the world is his family reunited on Sundays, having lunch at some expensive and marvelous place;  he thinks that the law has been created to help people who have made a mistake but can change and has blind faith that the criminal system "redeems the criminal"– Who redeems himself by living between the fear and monstrosity of prisons?  – , ignores that the human being is actually a dreadful monster. His exacerbated innocence is what disgusts me.

On the contrary, he was very comfortable with my presence. He follows me with his gaze as I step in and out of the glass cubicles in our work, escorts me when I go out for coffee, overwhelms me with flowers and buys shiny jewelry that puts on every part of my body, He even invites me to Christmas dinners with his family, even though I have been having a perfect excuse for five years to avoid attending. Recently his role as "committed boyfriend" fell apart and now he's like a damn public prosecutor breathing behind my neck, I feel like my social networks have been hacked and outside my house, a car is kept with two policemen who try to discover what I do with my life: he watches all my movements, no longer with sensual delight, but with suspicion. Maybe he thinks I'm going to run away, like in the middle of a war, terrified in search of peaceful lands, but I will not give up the life I slowly lift just to escape from him. This will have to be arranged in a way, perhaps unorthodox, but more beneficial to me.

The trip had been made to escape reality, I thought it was going to be a means of escape to release all the tension that had accumulated but it was only the beginning of what might seem to be part of an Italian mafia novel. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up trapped in this madness, but I know very well that it is not due to a greater tragedy than me, the punishment of the gods, nor the karma: it is my own actions that have condemned me. However, I have done what I had to. While I get mentally ready to start my game, I cross the room for the last time with my gaze and a thought settles in me: what if someone gets caught when the fire starts? But I don’t really care about that issue, so I reach for Ita and tell her that in exactly half an hour when I return from the basement, she must put the plan into action.

I approach him, who is alone, leaning on the minibar counter having a drink. I tell him that "we must speak now, because “the guilt is suffocating me," I implore him to grant my request, and then, in a trembling voice, I say that “I need him to forgive me”. As I expected, he replies that we have to find a quiet place to discuss the matter, at least superficially and quickly; he adds that later "we will decide better how to act on it". For my good luck, the stairs to the basement are right next to the bathroom so if someone sees us they will think that we are about to have a quickie in the bathroom, although at this point of the night, almost all the guests are too drunk to notice irrelevant details.

I lead him to the basement. It is not the typical musty and cold room, it is as pretty as the rest of the building where the party takes place and it's used to store things. I walk around the place, making it look casual, but actually checking no one else is down there and going over the plan in my head. Contrary to what anyone would think, I am not nervous or scared, I am sure that everything will go as planned and the police will think that it is a simple accidental fire; after all, there is no one better in the matter of killing than a criminal law attorney who has seen every possible way of killing and has had time to learn how to commit a crime without leaving evidence. 

 – I have caused a lot of pain, bribing judges and lawyers, leaving guilty people free … and the worst thing is that I have hurt you, I know – I tell him while faking a lonely tear –. 

He leans closer and takes me in his arms, so I wrap my hands around him and stay frozen for some instants. We start kissing and I push him against a rustic chair, he sits down and I sit on his legs so I can kiss his neck better. “Do you want to do it right here?”, I ask him, to turn him on and get his mind focused only on us. I stand up and start touching his shoulders, kissing his neck from the back, letting him feel my breath on his skin and while I bite the lobe of his ear, with one hand I take off the necklace that I bring: a shiny stone on a thick chain, a gift from him. With a quick movement, I put the necklace around his neck, pulled it back with all the strength in my body focused on squeezing. Fortunately, at first, he thought it was all an erotic game until the pressure was too much and then he arches his head back, flapping his arms and kicking with his legs, so I pull harder knowing that I could not release him because if he managed to escape from my clutches, I was going to be the dead body; after less than a minute, he stopped fighting and went flaccid. Still, I kept pressing the chain against his neck, to make sure it was all over.

I spread Stoddard solvent all over the place – it is flammable and will ensure that everything is turned to ashes but it is not a direct hint of the place being burned on purpose –, run desperately towards the stairs and close the door behind me. I look at the clock and see that I still have then minutes to spare before Ita starts everything, so I go to the bathroom to check that there is nothing suspicious about my appearances, such as red cheeks or messy hair. I take a tour and start chatting with someone to make sure nobody points me out as responsible for the fire. 

I think about Ita in the kitchen. She also has to spread solvent all over the room, then through a duct designed to send things from the kitchen to the basement, she will introduce a homemade bomb because I aim to burn the body so everyone thinks he died a victim of the fire and not strangled. After that, my little assistant has two split seconds, before the place becomes dangerous, to light on fire a towel and shove it into a cabinet full of easy-to-burn things and escape through the back door. After that, it is going to take a couple of minutes for the guest to notice the smoke, especially because they are drunk; more time is going to go by as everyone evacuates and the idea of calling the firefighters pops into someone’s head and, of course, it will take them some time to get here. Hopefully, this chain of events gives me enough time for the fire to burn the basement and extend beyond so the conflagration is so massive that it gets harder to determine what happened. 

Twenty minutes go by until I hear some voice mixed in the crowd, asking “is that smoke?”. At first, I wonder if the flames in the basement have already spread as much as I need, but then I consider the possibility of an explosion. One of the guests try to open the kitchen’s door but as soon as he places his hand over the door cries out in pain, I make my way through the crowd and see the doorknob has turn red, which makes me realize that the flames must have taken over the whole place and are now out of control: it's time to stop pretending I don't know what is happening. I turn around and raise my voice over the guests, shouting "everyone get out, the place is on fire" but as we all know, when the body is intoxicated with alcohol, not only the perception of the world is blurred, the idea or sense of fear also vanishes, maybe that is why nobody starts running or perhaps they were not able to hear my warning because of the music; anyway, I undertake my escape. 

Outside, people began to join me and I text Ita to check if she was alright but when I look to my side, there she is and I also notice that all the guests have already evacuated. A barefoot woman announces that she is going to call the fire brigade, but no one replies positively or negatively, neither do I because I am focused looking at her feet as I think that it is better to run for your life without heels. My assistant grabs me by the arm, pulling me to the side so I can take a look of the place burning down; like an artist astonished by its masterpiece, we watch the place consume itself. The effervescence that caused the evacuation is gone, it makes me realize that anytime now someone is going to notice he is missing and that is why I decide to introduce a new distraction. 

 – I feel dizzy. I can't breathe – I murmur while closing my eyes tightly and pretending I want to hold to the women next to me, but actually I intend to fall on the floor to catch some attention.  

Everyone gathers around me, some people blow air towards me with the invitation to the event and I listen to women asking if I have a "medical condition". I plan to continue with this farce as long as possible because it is actually working, with some luck no one will try to give me mouth-to-mouth. As I'm lying on the floor, the grass tickles my skin and I notice that I lost one of my shoes, I think of him, about his body wrapped in flames, lying on the floor, his skin-colored brown, his hair turning to dust; I will never see him again, that's how rare life is: an hour ago we were drinking cocktails and now he has vanished forever. It's been a while and the sirens are finally heard near us, that's my signal to end my fake fainting because if a paramedic checks my vital signs, he will know the truth. 

The first thing I see is red lights flashing in everyone’s faces, I ask for something to drink, as the air is clogged with smoke, and surprisingly my assistant pulls out of her bag a bottle of Gatorade. I stand up and I dart my eyes straight to the building in flames only to see the whole structure collapse like it is not made of concrete but fudge. A firefighter approaches us while screaming to “back off” because there is a “high risk of explosion”, how does he know the whole place could explode if he just got here? Ironically, as if a more powerful force than me wanted to warn me to stop playing games, the place explodes and it is as if an invisible mouth had spit towards us a pile of glass pieces, broken objects, and concrete. The plan has worked well, I hope that the fire has devoured the body, that the rubble has deformed it or that it is never recovered from the ashes; that way I make sure that no forensic doctor can notice that he did not die because of the fire. 

Now that everything has fallen into place, I start to ask "where's my boyfriend?" and when nobody says anything to me, I start crying and screaming that "my boyfriend is not here." It feels weird to call him “my boyfriend” in front of so many people, but it would be weirder to ask for my “lover”. I can already picture myself playing the role of a mourning girlfriend. A firefighter approaches me and asks if I am sure he was inside or if he might have left the place, so acting like I am having a mental breakdown  I reply that I don’t know. Another person comes up to me and says he will do a basic medical check-up. 

Suddenly I see red lights again and then I notice a police car. I anticipated that this might happen, so I told Ita to make a call as soon as she left the kitchen, to prove to the officers that at the time of the fire she was outside on the phone. The officers are being rude with everyone, because the rumor is that my law office is a nest of corruption, I even hear them saying “Sharon Kinne is here, we'd be idiots to think this was an accident”. I just close my eyes and thank the plan succeeded, but when I open them I see a man that looks like “the rock” walking towards me until he gets extremely near and starts shouting at my face question after question – that's what they always do to make you feel nervous and confused –. A friend of mine detects the scene and sees me, acting like a scared little girl, so she stands next to me and starts making threats that make the man walk away. She hugs me and, maybe I've gotten too much into my role or the accumulated stress exploited, I don't know what the reason was but I started crying. My friend drives me home, puts me to bed, and brings me something to eat, treating me already like a widow.

In a couple of days, it will be known what happened to the body, if there is a forensic report and if the officers suspect something. For now, I can’t do anything but wait. So I take off my clothes, my bare feet walk over the white marble with gray betas, I stand in front of a silver-framed mirror and look closely at my dark circles: I must change my life. Finally, I step into a hot tub and ache my head back, sink into my toughs, and explore every corner of my head. I really need to change my life, I need more time for myself, for my hobbies, for my happiness. I still feel my body tired, the tension causing my back muscles to contract, so I try to make an effort to let go of everything. My attention settles on my tired body, I sit and touch my back, put my hands on my hips, then run them over my abs and then hold my breasts: I may be defeated right now, but I still feel the strength and vitality within me and I will roar again.

Two days have gone by since the fire. Although there is no official report, everyone has assumed that he died and, well, either he is dead or decided to escape the party and go to Las Vegas without luggage. Many people have sent me notes of condolences by email or w******p, and some others sent flowers to my house that makes my living room look like a garden or a greenhouse, it is surreal. I couldn’t go to the office today, that would be frowned upon by society because I just lost my romantic partner; a friend of mine is taking care of everything temporarily and my assistant helps her. When the sun begins to hide, she will come to my house and will inform me about any news. 

I decide to make good use of this gift that is for me the free time, being totally unaware of the world. I play on my plasma television a movie called “The Shawshank Redemption”. A film that leads you to reflect on the effectiveness of the justice system, but also portraits the human being as vulnerable, dominated by pain, yearning for a home or a purpose; It is also a story that leads you to wonder why the criminal acts outside the law and what happens to him after he knows he is guilty. A film that leads you to reflect on the effectiveness of the justice system, but also shows the vulnerable human being, dominated by pain, yearning for a home or a purpose; It is also a story that leads you to reflection about the criminal justice system, the crime, and the criminals and highlights the vulnerability of the human being. 

The sky begins to tint with orange and yellow colors. Ita arrives, with a pile of papers that she spreads across my desk, and explains something about each one although there is no significant novelty, basically none. However, no one can tell her that she is overdoing or working too hard, it would be a waste of time because she is a workaholic. She is usually an introverted, quiet person, who does not know how to cross the lines, but today her usual shyness is accompanied by something else: I can tell it's been a while since she last washed her hair, her nail polish starts to flake off, her lips are pale and she is wearing an outfit. All these are signs that she has not been paying attention to herself lately because she might not be the most delicate or girly woman but she always has a formal and decent appearance, maybe she is not in the mood to take care of her look because likely something troubles her. She catches me with my eyes fixed hard on her, so I decide to take the chance to inquire: “what is going on?”, I muter. 

 – Do you seriously have to ask that? – she screams at me and it looks like her eyes are going to jump out of his place –. He is dead, like, gone for good, and, you want me to order in tonight pizza, wear soft pajamas and watch silly shows while he is now a filthy piece of waste buried under the rubble of a building that fell apart because I burned it? I bet that is what you expect because that is exactly what you're doing. 

I was so absorbed in my reflection monologue and self-exploration while eating tons of macadamia nut ice cream, that I completely forgot that my assistant is a religious girl, who wants to change the world and is "decent" to the core. I'm the only cold-hearted witch here. But, nothing I can’t fix: I know exactly what she needs, love, serenity, and a gift! I place the palm of my hand in her cheek as I tell her that “I am the one to be blamed, although I was forced to elaborate all this fateful plan because he wanted to steal my firm”. Doubt flashes through her face, so I grab her hand and take her to the kitchen, pour vodka in a glass, she drinks it faster than expected and then I put in front of her a glass filled with my favorite ice cream and a touch of chantilly cream on top. 

 – You are my sweet baby, a beautiful and innocent soul, don’t you doubt that for a minute – I say looking at her with a smile–. 

She just sits on my couch, not saying a word, eating, and exploring the place with her eyes. When she finishes I take her to my room and then we walk into a smaller bedroom inside: a crystal chandelier on the roof, white closets, and full-length mirrors shaped in silver, also a red puff in the middle. An important piece of my happiness is contained in my closet because fashion is not only what we wear: our clothes tell the history of who we are, so this place is a monument to my identity. I put in her hands a handbag with the letters L and V drew all over using delicate grey dots; I bought this Louis Vuitton because its design was different to the classic brown design and I like being authentic but, once it was placed in my closet, it started to look weird, it didn't match my clothes or me. So, I tell her that “I want to give her the bag as a gift because it will look better on her”. She gaps and, at first, rejects the gift arguing it is too expensive, but then she looks as excited as a little girl discovering a talking rabbit.

I invite her to explore my closet until I come back. I search for my silver iPhone and play “bewitched, bothered and bewilder”, just because my little assistant likes that old music, those melodies that echoed on the streets years ago. I really need her to be calm and happy, because an anxious and sad person is the kind of person who does desperate and unwise things, like go to the police to tell them the truth about the fire. I text my friend provisionally in charge of my firm that “Ita's nerves are shattered” and ask her if she can “handle the office without an assistant?”. “No problem, send that girl to the spa”, she replies instantly. 

“God bless vodka”, I say to myself while pouring it in a glass, “I love expensive bottles of vodka, I also love scotch, and enjoy a lot the wine”, I sing. Alcohol is such a great thing, as a position prepared by a wizard: it numbs your body, makes your feet rise above the ground, and one even believes that is wonder woman. That is why I was preparing vodka with soda for Ita, so she can relax and float with me between music and happiness. I would take her out, to all the places I frequent, bars, discos, private clubs; places where it is all about body pleasures and only the present matters: the day after, everything will be forgotten. But we cannot get out of the house, because we should be grieving with pain, drowning with tears in a dark room, that is what everyone expects from us because he died. Although my little one is having a hard time in facing death because lately he had grown attached to her, ever since he discovered that she was like a helpless little fawn that needs protection, she is something very different from the other lawyers he had dated, so I guess that caught his eye. In the end, it was nothing but a game of us, devouring a young woman, getting her to know our world for a while and after that, she is discarded, but Ita doesn’t know that. 

When I return, she asks me if she can try on one of my jackets. Of course, she can. Watching her amazed with each of my clothing pieces, makes me think we should go shopping together. I have been wanting to stop by Tiffany & Co to check that there is new it there is any novelty and she will be able to discover many stores she has never been to, I will be her “sugar mommy” for a day, after all, she deserves it, to make up for her good behavior: she is like a pet that never says “no”. Plus, it is an old social rule, that whenever you give something, the person who receives feels the obligation of giving back something else and, if we end up involved in a murder investigation, I will need to start collecting favors from everyone. 

– I’d love to have so many beautiful things in my closet – she says, as she looks at a wooden drawer, with a glass top on top, where my jewelry is–. 

–  Oh… you could have some shiny things of your own, let’s go shopping tomorrow and don’t worry about the money – I reply. 

We quickly go to bed, I convince her to stay with me to leave early. I wake up with my mouth dry and the sun shining on my face, I try to escape the sunlight by rolling to the opposite side of the bed, where I find a cold surface, and I stay immobile feeling pleasantly how the low temperature merges with the warmth of my body. When I am falling back into sleep unconsciousness, I suddenly remember that my assistant is at my house waiting for me to get up to go shopping. It must be really late because the sun shines very strongly. I look for my silk robe, but I don't see it and I don't remember where I left it. I suffer at the thought of having to get up without my robe, the morning is too cold and I sleep naked, like Marilyn Monroe, the only thing I put on to go to bed are a few hints of Chanel No. 5.

I get to the first floor and find Ita in the kitchen. It is so late that she is cooking lunch and it surprises me a little that she is now playing the “housekeeper” role. She tells me that “I have been so generous, that she just had to pay me back somehow”. So, this proves my plan is already working: she is indebted to me. She is preparing “my favorite meal” and I don’t have any idea how she discovered that it is lasagna. “Everything will be ready in about 20 minutes”, she says to me. I will use that time to get a shower. 

As I apply the soap all over my body, I realize that I woke up painlessly, without stiffness in my back muscles and my legs feel strong and skillful. I use soap with jojoba oil extract to preserve fresh skin. With all the vitality and electricity that today runs through my body, the simple act of putting soap on my breasts is too much: it is as if a drug had sharpened my senses. All covered in this oily substance, I begin to obsessively caress my breasts and I imagine that a man has poured oil all over my body, looking at me lasciviously and enjoying the curves of my body. I run my hands over my hips, grab my butt, imagining strong male hands doing it, while some man draws me to his body so I can feel him desiring and ready for me. A simple caress feels so good, but I need more. I put my hand between my legs and think about how badly I want a man, kissing my neck, biting my earlobe and breast, pushing me against the shower wall.  Unexpectedly, Ita appears in my thoughts and I remember her as she was when I was with him and I remember myself just observing, swallowing my curiosity.

When I get out of the shower, I feel that the whole world has blurred further, that nothing exists, that nothing can bother me because I float in a cloud of happiness. I decided to wear a tight, black and pleated (really small pleats) Marc Jacobs dress; combine it with any flats for comfort because there will be a lot of walking today. In the accessories department, I choose to wear a pair of giant sunglasses, hoping that nobody will recognize me, because I am supposed to be a widow in pain; and, also, I pick the bag I have loved since the beginning of time, the Himalaya Birkin. 

We have lunch in silence, and I pray that doesn’t mean she is already hating me again,  tormented by the fire incident or thinking she is a sinner because all the things I have put her through. Outside is parked a car: deep red color with chrome touch, full of trapezoidal and triangular shapes, and convertible because it is sexy to feel the air on your face and your hair fluttering. It is a Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder, but I call it Lala for shorter. Anyone would think that this exclusive piece of design gets wasted in my hands, that I do not use it properly, but once in a while I drive to southern California, where there is a whole clandestine racing industry, it's like stepping into a movie of fast and furious. A warm and humid atmosphere, curvy women decorating the streets, handsome guys with loose clothing, and me pretending not to be a lawyer, making everyone believe that I am one of them. 

I turn the engine, when we reach the highway my ears are reached by the sound of a freshly tarred pavement. Today we cannot take risks, nobody who might recognize us can see us drinking milkshakes and fueling our loyalty to fashion, because that is way too festive; so since we have free ourselves from the office duties, we are driving all the way to San Diego to the Fashion Valley. An outlet is not as fancy as that fashion street in downtown city, but it is a place away from judging eyes. I turn on the radio and link my cell phone to it. Alejandro by Lady Gaga starts to play and the initial spoken words escape through the speaker: “I  know that we are young and I know that you may love me, but I just can't be with you like this anymore”. 

– The meaning of this song has always intrigued me, especially since its video is very particular – I say out loud, although I know she probably doesn’t care about Gaga –. I think in the song a woman begs a man to free her and to forget about having an affair because she cannot bear her desire and is afraid of a too intense passion.

– Oh, I don’t know… – That is all she replies –. 

We finally arrived at our destination. I hope that her mood lightens as soon as she sees all the beautiful objects posing on the shelves of the stores. I used to come to the Fashion Valley with my sister. The girl wanted to be like me: she dressed like me, spoken like me, and even applied for law school… Her obsession was too much when she started wanting the same guys I dated and “stole” the only man I ever cared for before we could become a couple. Now we don’t talk anymore. She is the biggest snake in human history, since the one that tempted Adam, she is even worse than me, and to be honest, that is difficult to achieve. The confrontation was so wild that it's been years since I don't know anything about her, she could have died without me knowing because the rest of the family doesn't care about talking to me either. But, after all, flattery is the highest form of adulation. 

As we have something to drink, I plan our route: I decide which stores we are going to visit and how much time we can spend in each. b***h, shopping is an issue that needs to be taken seriously if you don’t want to waste 4 hours in a single shop and then end up with clothes you are never going to use because you can’t match them with anything else in your closet. While highlighting things with red on a map, I ask Ita questions that will allow me to define which stores to visit: is she prefers using pants or skirt if she wants to change her style if she wants everyday clothing, office wear, or perhaps some cocktail outfits. 

The first place we step in is Tiffany & Co, because our minds must be relaxed and our bodies fresh and rested when dealing with diamonds. Holly Golightly said that "diamonds are a girl's best friends," how is it possible that I let my assistant go around the world feeling lonely without a faithful friend? The good thing about this jewellery store is that the catalogue is so varied, you can find pieces with minimalist design, more "modern", but also some jewellery with superlative craftsmanship. She starts looking around and soon something catches her attention, it is a piece called "Victoria": Diamond Vine Bypass Ring in Platinum. It costs fifteen thousand dollars and as soon as she knows the price, she prepares to leave, but I tell her not to worry because "I'll pay for it". Of course, she argues that it would be a too expensive gift but I just replay that, indeed, it is “an expensive gift, for an expensive girl”. I tell her to wear it right away and so she does. Whatever you want, you must do it immediately; any dream you have, you must start chasing it today; don't keep beautiful things for a special occasion that may not come; because what my career has taught me is that tomorrow I could be dead. Remember: Yolo (you only live once). 

Because my little friend got her own Louis Vuitton last night, we are not paying a visit to that store. Instead, we are heading to Gucci and there I find a “double G mid-heel slide sandal in a shimmering metallic leather”. Gorgeous. But, is it appropriate for a lawyer to wear? I remember this woman sometimes I met in court, she is the most glamorous specimen and she is an attorney, so I decide that the old-fashioned world of law, tailored for men, has to begin to recognize feminine aesthetics and buy the sandal. 

The next place on our list is Burberry, so she can look for classy and elegant clothes. There she tries on an Americana of blue pale color and double-breasted design; usually, she uses dark colors and that's why I support that choice, it will be like an air of freshness. I find plaid fabric pants that could contrast in a beautiful way with a black jacket that I have at home, I buy it! 

Contrary to what some people think, shopping is exhaustive. There is nothing like a milkshake to recharge energy, it is also a calorie bomb. My little assistant is more into healthy things because her soul is not the only thing she takes care of, so she is having a fruit salad. Sometimes I am impressed at the fact that a person can be so correct, so healthy, so innocent; It is almost as if she were not made of flesh and blood, she seems aseptic, floating in immaculate space. Fortunately, now I am here to introduce you to the real world.

We start chatting while having a snack. As I predicted, she is now in a very good mood. The year is getting to an end, so I ask her what she will be doing for Christmas Eve but the question makes me feel as ridiculous as someone who wears a scarf in the middle of summer when she tells me that "she never does anything special in holidays because she has no family or a special person". I never thought of her as an orphan, always pictured her like “daddy's girl” or something like that, is hard to imagine otherwise since she is so sweet and fragile; besides, she attended prestigious schools, how did she manage to pay for that? As if my gestures told her everything I'm thinking, she begins to answer those questions that I never asked but that maybe are floating in the air and that are the same questions everyone does about this issue. She clarifies that she doesn’t know for sure if their parents died or they just gave her away, but she grew up living in a convent with nuns (that explains her fashion choices) and she was always a good student because she knew that if she wanted to have a future she had to get it herself and so she obtained a scholarship to enter law school. After some instants when nobody speaks, she adds to her speech that “I don’t need to feel sorry for her, because growing up in loneliness teaches you not to be afraid of it”. 

I just stay there, scrolling through a repertoire of phrases in my head, searching for something suitable to say. I would like to say something like "you can join my family on Christmas", but I am distant from them; or "don't worry, you have a friend in me", but I don't want to fool anyone, deep down I know that I'm broken: a source of darkness and pain. Finally, I only get to say that “I am sorry”.  In an attempt to change the subject, she tells me this shopping trip was fun and although she loves all her new things, she cannot accept such expensive gifts, it would be inappropriate, so she asks me to let her pay me back. That is not going to happen because it would ruin my plan so I just tell her “I hearn four times that money with just one client”. 

The last and maybe the least, we stop by lower rank stores: Guess, Tommy and Banana Republic...  just to grant her wishes of visiting more “regular-normal” shops, because there she feels more accountable. Who would have thought that I could spend so much time with someone who avoids luxury? I keep finding an excuse to pay for everything until the day is over. The truth be told: a part of me is happy to see her happy. Perhaps this was what happened to him with her, we had never met such an authentic person so closely. 

We walk holding our shopping bags, brush strokes of various colors appear in the sky, and finally a dark blue swallows the various strokes of color: the night is already here. The air of warm places has something strange at night, it is like the smell of youth and adventure, a discreet invitation to dive into the night to discover it. Am I the only one who has that feeling? I close my eyes and let myself be delighted by that soft feeling, the thirst for life invades me and I long for the old days, simpler but also full of musicality and cadence. Today I am sure that the rest of the day will not bring surprises, it will bring only the silence and the mist of sleep. A discrete giggle pulls me back to reality and I open my eyes.

 – I am glad you are enjoying the day, but I'm afraid you might run into a wall if you walk with your eyes shut – she tells me while trying to suppress her mocking laugh –. What were you thinking? I'm so curious because I have never seen that blissed-out expression on you. 

 – I am thinking about someone cooking for us, an open bar, and freshly laundered sheets smelling of fabric softener. Let’s spend the night at a hotel, I am too tired to drive and, however, it is a little late to drive all the way back, there are killers on the streets, haven’t you heard? – I smile maliciously as I say that –. 

She agrees. Like I said before, she doesn't know the word “no”. I remember that when we were teenagers, my sister and I used to observe from afar a resort with an opulent facade and we dreamed of staying there to spend the night, just to enjoy all kinds of luxuries, but we couldn't pay for it, I guess now I can. I think the place is called "Paradise Point" and I still remember how to get there. 

It is dinner time, by the time we get there. I suggest my little friend to grab a quick bite so we can get to know the amazing pool. A deep blue light covers all the places, artificial lights, but it seems like a very intense moonbeam. There is an artificial waterfall made of around fifteen flattened rocks, placed at different heights and slightly separated from each other, through which the water flows beautifully. I ask her to take a picture of me in front of the waterfall. I never talk about this out loud but, water for me is like an aphrodisiac, especially large amounts of accumulated water, as happens with swimming pools or the sea. That transparent liquid relaxes my mind and soon a chain of thoughts pierces my head, most of the time sensual thoughts; and that almost imperceptible caress of the liquid on my body sharpens my senses.

– Have you ever tried Skinny dipping in the dark? what if you die tomorrow, without having felt the freedom of your breasts rocking in the water?  – I tell her, as I grab her arm and lean closer to her face –.

I have noticed that she is terribly afraid of dying, so the mention of it makes her go crazy. I take off my swimming suit, to encourage her and I guarantee her it is too late for anyone to want to come to the pool. So, we are safe. My body feels like I have a fever, it is so strong that for a moment I ask myself if the water has a heater or if I become ill. But it is just my inner flame. A fire capable of devouring anything when it comes to living.  

I place my eyes over her body. So tiny and fragile, her skin so pale, almost fading into the water, and her breasts look like they belong to a teenager because they still seem incipient and small. She looks pure as snow; although I know he had her. I encourage her to swim a little, so I can enjoy her body, see how the movement shakes her flesh and focus on her pleasant face. The more frigid, unexplored and fragile she seemed, the more I wanted to make her the object of my violence: slap her, press her hard against a wall, provoke muffled screams of pain and joy. I feel the need for someone to see me, want me, touch me; I want my body to find another body, but I am paralyzed by panic. Scared of myself because I've never looked at a woman with desire and afraid of what she can do if I get close, will she like to be touched? will she turn to me to slap me or kiss me? What if she runs away? I tell her to put on her bikini again and get out of the pool to find the nearest restroom where I can release all this contained energy.

I feel numb, scared of myself and perhaps a little bit guilty. I remember that “club” where he used to take me to celebrate swinger parties. The place where the parties used to take place, on the outside, it looked like a house, but inside it was full of luxury and lust. Its decoration is inspired by a Venetian palace, with checkered floors, beautiful paintings on the walls, stucco arches and velvet furniture with an elaborate design. There was a Madam, hosting the event and she looked like some kind of witch and was always fully clothed, observing the show objectively and distantly, in that place a pin wouldn't drop without her approval. She was in charge of rebuking males out of control and controlling attacks of jealousy of women; her duties also involved ensuring that everyone had something to drink and that each person paid what it cost to spend the night there. Anyway, she would do anything that needed to be done. That place did not promote p**********n, there were no s*x workers, it was a “club” to go and have s*x with your partner or with someone else’s partner, but there you could also find people willing to have a threesome. 

People would go to that place with very varied wishes. The couples there are classified, according to what they wish and desire. There are “soft couples”, not willing to have s*x, only kisses and caresses; there are the “full couples”, who come wanting to f**k; there are the “undefined”, who do not know what they want and will decide according to the mood of the night; and there are also the so-called "third parties", who come alone looking for a couple who want a threesome. There I experimented with everything I never tried before and did things I never imagined before, they turn you into a s*x guru there. On many occasions, I ended up kissing, touching, and naked next to a girl and the idea did not disgust me but when the night was over, I immediately forgot about that woman. Now I wanted Ita in my bed, not just for some minutes but all night and until the sunrise. The grisly thing was not just suddenly feeling attracted to a woman, the really scary thing was that for her I was willing to give up my loneliness. But I can't allow this, I'm like a train of death and I spread poisonous gas wherever I go.

As perturbed as I am, I need the loneliness of the suit to calm down. I lay down in bed and don’t think about anything at all. There I remained with my eyes wide open, looking at the faraway lights, decorating the dark sky with different colors. A thought is burning my mind, even though I try to ignore it: what if a part of me wanted him dead so I could have Ita all for myself? I can answer that question because my head is right now an empty place, where echoes do not resonate and thoughts do not link together. I fall asleep. 

The noise of a crunchy paper bag wrap wakes me up. I open my eyes and see her unpacking everything we bought, to take a better look. I realize that now I can look at her without lust and the madness has been replaced by unprecedented tenderness towards her. I stand up from the bed and tell her to try her Americana so I can take a picture of her in it. Then she tries on some heels, then a skirt, then a blouse and I put on my new glasses to take a picture together. Without realizing it, we look like models in the middle of a photoshoot or teenagers playing, we look like anything but criminal law attorneys and I couldn’t care less because I have not had fun with something innocent since I was a teenager. I missed this feeling. All of this reminds me of a movie called “13 Going on 30”, which is hilarious. 

Soon after that, we go to bed, each one of us has different beds. Before falling asleep, the tenderness I feel is manifested through all kinds of thoughts focused on her. She is like a blank canvas, even though he and I tried to stain and break that white surface, it has been kept perfect.  A white light springs from it, bathing everything around her with calm and benevolence, and the more darkness there is around her, the more powerful that light is within her. It is lighting my darkness. Even though I know that she never needed protection, I would like to wrap my arms around her and tell her that she has finally reached a safe harbor, I would like to change my nature for her. I cannot deny my monstrous nature: I play with the decency, freedom, and life of others. I am selfish. But I am simply a human being who has locked himself up in a narcissistic monologue because the dialogue with the world was denied him. I think about my welfare because nobody ever appreciated my concern for them. My family rejected me, those who approach me do so with the intention of obtaining money or fame, and for men, I am nothing but lust. It has always been like this. They used me as an object, they ripped my heart from the chest and after that, they pretended to be amazed at the fact that I cannot love. 

I was plunged into the darkness of sleep until I hear her struggling in the next bed: kicks the covers and gasps. For a second I believed that it was happening again, the violence, the fear, the pain taking over my body; I thought they were coming to kidnap or kill us. But then my eyes finally adapt to the darkroom and I see there is no one over her, by her side nor in the room, she is having a nightmare. I decide not to wake her up because I want to know what is disturbing her. Dreams are very enlightening because there our unconscious side has no limits and can express itself freely. She begins to murmur things in a trembling voice and breathes in several times, like if she was not able to catch enough air. She repeats over and over "I'm sorry", after that she starts crying, contracting all her facial muscles in a horrible grimace and sobbing silently, and finally says "I will get away from them". All of the sudden, she calms down and turns to the other side of the bed, as if nothing had happened. I am tired, so I go back to bed, later I can try to find out what happened.

In the morning, the first thing I think of is the nightmare but I decide not to mention it because I just don’t know-how. We order room service: frittata, croissants, and mimosas. As we are having breakfast, the screen of my cell phone blinked with a message from the woman who is temporarily in charge of my firm: “please be careful, the police think he was killed by your assistant”. I am stunned for a few seconds and when I can finally move I feel nauseous, I lack air,  have sweaty hands and I get scared when I feel my heart is excessively accelerated.

This is my fault, I told Ita to tell the police that by the time the fire started she was outside talking on the phone. My intention was to distract the police investigation, so they would not suspect anything from me but her. Now I regret it because I care about her and I have realized she deserves to be happy. I stand up, get into the bathroom, and stay there for some minutes until I calm down. I am not going to tell her yet because she would be restless all along the road and trapped in a car, unable to walk around to calm down and without the possibility of being alone to process the news, if that is what she wants.

We step in the car. I take an intersection and merge into the highway, it is spare, I guess is too early for a Sunday. Neither of us says a word. I turn to look at her and it seems like she is about to fall asleep against the window: the nightmares did not let her rest properly. I am so curious and worried about her nightmare and if there is something painful or problematic in her life, that is keeping her awake at night, I want to help her deal with it. It would be best to talk about that topic now because later we will not have the opportunity to speak calmly and perhaps I forget the matter. 

 – I noticed you had a nightmare last night, you were mumbling things. Was it about your family, maybe? – I say, keeping it casual –.

– Oh, dear… what did you hear? I hope you don't get mad by anything I said in my dream, I don't get to control what happens when I fall asleep – she says with burning cheeks –. 

– You don't have to apologize, I totally understand. I just want you to talk about your feelings – I say, pretending I know what is going on –. 

– Well… you know that God and my religion are very important things for me, but ever since I became a lawyer I have committed acts that are contrary to my creed. But I don’t feel like talking about it – she says, killing the conversation –. 

She may not want to talk about it, but she has given me some hints. She says the law has made her betray her beliefs and last night she apologized and promised to stay away from someone. I also remember that on one occasion she wanted to resign and mentioned that being in my law firm interfered a lot with her lifestyle. All this leads me to conclude that she is having problems accepting the ethics of the lawyers and that she wants to get away from me because I am the devil’s lawyer: a personification of every bad aspect lawyers have. Like many of my powerful colleagues, I am scum. But I am not sure this conclusion is veridic, so I will wait and try to discover more information about Ita’s nightmares, before questioning her. 

I can tell my question about her nightmare made her nervous because there is only dead silence in the car, so I turn on the radio to make the situation a little bit less awkward. We stopped at an I Hop because it was along the way even though I hate the smell of that place and its half-dirty tables. Once there I order a hot chocolate to have energy, in case the policies wait for an interrogation. There is no right way to bring up this, but I will try my best. 

– I need you to stay calm. Promise me? - she nods with her head -. The police are going to do routine investigations around the fire incident. A contact informed me that they will focus their attention on you because you were the only one who was not in the party room when it all started, but this does not mean that they suspect something. I will find out what information they have in their possession about that incident, but I am sure there is nothing to worry about. They may be waiting right now in front of your house to subject you to interrogation and you know that investigators observe too much behavior, so being relaxed is key.

She replies that she had imagined that this would happen. She is calm and tells me that she believes she can handle the situation properly because her work as a lawyer has allowed her to learn how the police operate. Even though this makes me feel less tense, I still worry as I don't know if she really is capable of dealing with police brutality or she will just collapse. Before we leave, I remind her that I will be supporting her as necessary in this confrontation with the police because after all, I caused all this trouble. 

The guilt is burning in me because I caused her all this trouble and yet she is not mad at me. It would never occur to her to do something wrong or cause pain to another person. I was the one who had the idea to kill him and then set the building on fire to remove any evidence that could incriminate me. To be honest, it takes a bit of madness and a lot of recklessness to do something like that where we all could have died. I came out with the plan and then manipulated her so she would help me execute it. I convinced her that I had discovered the center of operations of a child p*********y network and that the police did not want to do anything about it, so we had to do justice with our own hands and burn the place to weaken those criminals. I know that history is so lame, but she is so innocent and believes it. Despite the fact she thinks she acted on the welfare of a good initiative, she feels guilty because she thinks he accidentally died in the fire. 

Before getting back to the car, I give a call to my contact at the District Attorney’s office and ask him why the police are interrogating my employees. It tells me that I get too stressed out, that it is just a routine process. He tells me that he learned that someone died in the fire, but adds that the body could not be recovered. So we have good news.

When we finally get to Ita’s place, the police are there. I kindly greet them and they ask who "Ita Ford" is, she identifies herself and without giving details, they ask her to accompany them to the police station. I tell her I will meet her there. Of course, they won’t let me in, so I wait for anything to happen, either she appears through the door or an officer informs me that she will be held for a few more hours. I was sitting while reviewing in my head the arguments I was going to use as a defense in case they wanted to retain her, but luckily they let her go after twenty minutes.

She asks me to drop her home, thanks to me for a “wonderful time” and promises she will be fine. Despite her calm appearance, I know that she loved him, so if she thinks that she indirectly caused his death, I am concerned about her emotional health. What if it hurts herself? What if in a panic attack she confesses to the police that she started the fire? I could recommend her some sessions with a psychoanalyst, but I am afraid our secret might get exposed. Actually, I am afraid of many things right now, something very unusual for me. The excitement and happiness of our adventure to Fashion Valley have disappeared. Right now there is a sandstorm in my head, my brain feels sore and tired, there are incessant noise and movement inside of it: all the negative things flutter in my mind.  I want silence, calm, pause my thoughts, but I can't and worries continue to plague me. The fear grows enormously inside my chest. 

I look for the nearest bar, I want to drink cocktails like there is no tomorrow. I will be drinking until they kick me out of this place and then I will go to a department store to buy vodka. I want to be comfortably numb, I need the liquor to take over my mind. As I am there getting wasted, someone calls my name. I turn around and there is a blonde who starts talking to me, tells me that "she is very sorry about what happened to my boyfriend". It takes me a few seconds to remember that she works in my office and we are kind of friends. But that doesn't matter to me now, I don’t care how real our friendship is, she is there and I can’t think clearly, I am drunk and in pain, so I put my head on her shoulder and cry. A salty liquid emerges uncontrollably through my eyes, like that time when no one came to pick me up from school, like that time when my cousin hit my head and nobody believed me, like that time my mother got tired of me and left me locked in the bathroom for an afternoon. I'm not sure why I'm crying. I suppose no one never cries for a single reason, but for countless accumulated reasons. I guess I cry because I know my actions are leading me to destruction, there is no such thing as destiny: we pave our way through life.