The Last Good Paradise Read Online Free PDF

do unfair battle. The last time Ann felt she had truly ministered justice was as a five-year-old, when she presided as judge over a friend who had stolen her toy: “Guilty,” she had pronounced, “but still innocent.” Ann hadn’t gotten any smarter since. Drifts of briefs like snowfall blanketed her desk, covered and muffled every good intention. She could not bear the thought of growing old inside these walls; she had worked there ten years and did not have a single person whom she could truly call friend, if “friend” meant someone she could tell of her unhappiness in being there. The embarrassing truth was that she wanted to be loved, and people hardly ever loved, or even liked, their attorneys; they were a necessary evil, like dentists or hookers.
    *   *   *
    Mrs. Peters, riding high on her bonsai win, had sent a Swedish, pink-leather, hammered-silver cocktail shaker with a big “ A ” embossed on it as thanks. After Richard’s call, Ann had stared at the extravagant accusation of it on her desk and then broken down in tears.
    And then the revelation. It occurred to her that the court order might not yet have arrived at the bank. In a daze, Ann drove to the local branch and told the teller she needed to get a cashier’s check for the entire total in the account. House down payment. To hide her shaking hands, she clutched her cell phone. The teller had been there only a week and was impatient to close up her window and get to her salsa class, all of which she told Ann as she processed the paperwork.
    “I’ve always wanted to learn to dance,” Ann said, light-headed, black spots floating in front of her eyes. “We’re buying a second house in Mexico, and they demand all cash.”
    “Really?” The girl did it without question, impressed by Ann’s expensive handbag, her expertly highlighted hair, the glasses that clarified nothing.
    For the first time in her good-girl life, Ann got the adrenaline high of being on the wrong side of the law. She simply stole what was about to be stolen from her, but the cashier’s check was a hot potato because any claim on the payee, Ann, would render it void. Her only option was to cash it somewhere fast. The only person she could call was her loyal, unprincipled best friend from law school, who also happened to be a kick-ass class-action attorney, Lorna Reynolds. Lorna would get off on the risk and, if necessary, handle any legal ugliness that arose.
    *   *   *
    In her less kind moments, Ann thought Lorna had lately turned a little neocon in her politics, but she preferred to remember the two of them as they had been a dozen years before, smoking pot and listening to rock music. Lorna’s irreverence had saved her through a dark period.
    According to Ann’s family, becoming an attorney started with having to go to the right school. Her father and sister went to Yale; her brother rebelliously opted for Harvard. Ann had dutifully applied and gotten into both, with UCLA as her backup. Her siblings were back east when her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ann could not, would not, leave her alone with her father, who, although not unkind, was incapable of transcending the cool logic of his profession. Exhibit A: He was incapable of boiling an egg. Exhibit B: He rose from the dinner table in the certain knowledge that the dishes somehow always made their way back to the cupboard clean without him. Ann’s compromise was accepting the backup and living at home.
    All families have their peculiarities, but it was impossible to describe to outsiders how shaming her decision was to them. Her father could barely look her in the eye; her siblings distanced themselves. They all thought her weak—everyone except her mother. Fifteen years later, her mother was fine, and Ann never once regretted her decision. But it was Lorna who got her through.
    They used to joke about dropping out of law school and becoming groupies to some of the bands they were enamored of like