Page 76 of A Dead End Wedding

Max leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "There's never a better time to learn. Except not right this minute, because I'm taking you out to dinner at Mama Yang's. Put some shoes on, girlfriend, and let's go. Giant cactus margaritas are on me."

I grabbed my sandals. "Are shorts OK? And, um, cactus margaritas? Sounds . . . prickly. Not to mention odd for a place called Mama Yang's . . ."

She picked up my purse and handed it to me. "This is Florida, darling. Shorts are always OK. Especially for someone who has an ass like that. How does a lawyer who sits all day long have an ass like that? It's so unfair."

I started laughing. "Like your ass isn't one of the Seven World Wonders. And why exactly are we comparing asses?"

As I locked my door, I glanced at Emily's house, where a minivan had pulled up in the driveway, and a couple of cute kids were chattering at full speed and top volume as they swarmed out of the car. I sighed again. For the forty-second time.

Stop that!

"Max, remind me again why I ever thought I'd fit in here in Leave it to Beaver-ville? Not to look a gift house in the mouth, or whatever, but I'm not exactly PTA material, like my sweet neighbor. They're all gonna hate me, aren't they? And how do you know Emily, anyway? Have you been trolling bake sales for chocolate chip cookies?"

"I'm driving, December, because you need to get a good drunk on. I met Emily at an AIDS fundraiser for the northeast Florida Beauty Queens for Literacy Alliance. We had a Vegas theme and raised over fifty thousand dollars. It was a great time, for a noble cause, plus I got to wear sequins."

I looked at her as she slid into the driver's seat. "What more can a girl ask for? Emily's a beauty queen, too?"

Max started the car and laughed. "Not exactly. Emily was our celebrity guest. She's a professional tournament-poker player. One of the top players on the circuit. I guess she came close to winning the World Series of Poker last year."

I twisted around in my seat to stare back at the minivan. "Emily? Apokerplayer?"

"They call her The Psychic on the circuit because she's uncanny about spotting tells. Claims to be able to spot a bluff from a mile away."

"What's atell?" It sounded familiar, but I wasn't much of a card player.

"A tell is a twitch or a quirk that gives you away. Like if somebody always scratches his ear when he's bluffing, or taps his cards twice if he has a great hand."

"Come on, they don't really do that. Do they? The top players?" I was skeptical. I mean, it made for fun plot twists in movies, but would professionals be so unaware of their own tics?

Also,how cool would it be to have Emily along in depositions and at trial?

I didn't realize I was smiling until Max did an exaggerated shudder. "Uh, oh. You're doing the shark thing again. Who's in trouble this time?"

"Addison Langley and Sarah Greenberg, if they try to push me around again. And I'm not making a shark look. That was a smile."

Max shuddered again.

"Fine, so it was a sharky smile. They teach us those in law school. Can we get to the margarita portion of the evening's entertainment already?"

"You're still pissed off about the calls from those attorneys on the Deaver case, aren't you?"

I'd filled her in during the afternoon, while we researched insulin and diabetes. Max had been furious when she heard about the intimidation tactics. I'd found myself back in my familiar role as the voice of reason; much more comfortable for me than the inner gorilla I'd channeled during my two phone calls.

My motto wasput the civil back in civil litigation.Of course, my other motto wastake no shit, make no excuses.

OK, so I see the contradiction.

Max pulled to a stop in the parking lot, and I stared at the flickering neon sign that read MAMA YANG'S Fine Oriental Cuisine.

Then I sighed. Again.

"Argh! Forty-freaking-three! That's it! If you hear me sigh again tonight, hit me! No, make me do a shot of tequila. I'm sick of feeling defeated before I've even begun to fight. A shot of tequila is plenty of incentive to stop this sighing crap."

I blame the tequila for my ending up in jail.

7

Mama Yang turned out to be Maria Garcia, a beauty in her mid-forties who was rounded in a Forties movie star kind of way. I glanced down at my unrounded self and almost sighed again but tried for a teensy bit of self pep talk. I'd been told once that I looked kind of like "Nicole Kidman on a bad day," and she does okay, right? Plus, some time in all this Florida sun, and I'd be tanned and gorgeous in no time.

---