Page 49 of Giovanni
“Ah, I overheard him bragging about you when I was working out next to him and his buddy, Marco.”
It’s sweet that Giovanni was speaking highly of me to his friend. However, I’m unsure how I feel about her eavesdropping on their conversation, although certain areas in the gym are relatively small.
“Uh, what exactly was he saying?”
I never discuss the cases I’m working on, nor would Giovanni ask, so Bex knowing I’m a lawyer makes me curious.
“All good things, don’t worry.”
She gives me a playful wink, which doesn’t answer the question. My expression must reflect my distrust when she adds, “He was just going on about how you’re dedicated to your job as an ADA, that’s all. Must be tough.”
“What is?”
I lower the incline on my machine, struggling to keep up this conversation and exercise at the same time. Meanwhile, Bex is speed walking at twelve inclines with no problem.
“Working for the city, getting paid shit. My old man is a public defender, so I grew up around that crap. Vowed never to follow in his footsteps.”
She scowls when she says it, which is not an uncommon reaction. However, I’m curious about who her dad is, as if I’ve gone up against almost everyone in this city.
“Who is your father? Perhaps I know him.”
When she rattles off his name, I suck in a breath. He’s not a public defender assigned by the court. She has it all wrong. He’s a highly sought-after and handsomely paid defense attorney with extensive practice. His office is across from the Lyric Center Building, a place commonly known as the hub for lawyers in the area.
He’s more than just a prominent figure in the legal community. Her dad built a lucrative career for himself and his firm. He owns a large, prestigious building in downtown Houston, a testament to his success and reputation. The building is easily recognizable, adorned with a striking mural of Lady Justice on its west side.
His accomplishments in the legal field are impressive, and it’s clear that Bex doesn’t have the complete picture of who he is professionally. But at this moment, I’m not correcting her.
“Anyway, the legal world is dog-eat-dog. But it’s good of you to upset the apple cart, being a woman and a minority. I bet the men really hate that—especially my dad. I hope you stick it to him for getting bad people off. This town’s going to shit for these idiot judges letting murders bond out and the bastards like my dad making it happen.”
Bex’s blunt remarks catch me off guard, but they’re not unfamiliar. Throughout my career, I’ve faced my share of stereotypes and battled against the prejudice that comes with being a woman of color in a predominantly male-dominated field. Her comment about ‘sticking it to’ those who bend the law, including her father, reveals a common misconception about the legal system and the role of attorneys in it. The bonding process could be enhanced, but that requires the legislature to get involved, which takes time and is another common misconception. One I heard more and more with the elections coming up.
“Well, I do my best to try to get justice for the victims and their families,” I respond carefully, thinking about the recent courtroom incident.
The memory of the victim’s father, driven to violence by the harrowing testimony and provocation, flashes in my mind. It’s a stark reminder of the emotional complexities and moral dilemmas we often face in pursuing justice.
“The law can be complex with lots of precedence. Sometimes the lines between right and wrong aren’t as clear-cut as we’d like them to be,” I continue, trying to relay the nuanced reality of my work.
Bex nods, her expression showing a mix of understanding and skepticism.
“I guess. But I’m glad you’re in there fighting the good fight.”
I appreciate her effort to understand, even if her perspective is somewhat simplified. The conversation with Bex, though brief, underscores the varied viewpoints people hold about the legal system and those who work within it. At least she didn’t go on the attack about how it all needs to be overhauled, citing other countries as examples to support their claim. I’ve heard that argument more times than I can count.
A few minutes pass while I drink my water bottle and wipe the sweat from my face before resuming our conversation.
“And what about you, Bex? If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?” I inquire, opting for a classic and safe conversation starter. It’s the question commonplace in various social settings, from charity galas to casual encounters at the local bakery.
“I’m an artist. Anything from oils and water to spray paint and graffiti. That and being a musician.”
Bex shares snippets of her life—her band, her art, and her adventures, painting a vivid picture of a life lived boldly and creatively. Her stories starkly contrast my structured world of law and order, and I find myself captivated by the diversity of her experiences.
It’s a refreshing change of pace when she talks animatedly about painting during her downtime and getting her physical stamina up for her upcoming tour. I find myself smiling more often than not at her wild tales. It’s clear she took the path as opposite of her father as possible.
We talk for quite a long time, exchanging numbers before Giovanni finishes up with his client and makes his way over to us. His approach is marked by his usual confident stride and bright smile. I can’t help but feel proud to be associated with him.
“Hey, Kacie,” Giovanni greets me with a warm smile. “We ran long. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s okay. It gave me time to make a new friend here.”
