the LSAT. I mean, when you have absolutely nothing else to worry about in your life, you damn well better get into Harvard.”
I caught myself slipping into a rant, my voice pinched and loud. Liz gave me a serious look, and then she started laughing.
“I can see you feel strongly about that.” She shook her head and squinted at me, exasperated. “Get over it already. Your inferiority complex is boring. You’re at the same firm doing the same work they are. It’s not about who goes to what school or who had a head start in life. No one gives a shit about that, except you, apparently.”
“I know, you’re right.” And she was. I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t understand where your lack of self-confidence comes from. I mean, you’re like third in our class. You might finish first by the time it’s all over. You’re a smart guy.” She sighed. “I swear, sometimes I think you’re just being passive aggressive.”
“I’m probably just jealous. Two days ago three of us spent over a hundred bucks on lunch. Lunch! This associate I’m working with, he’s like a fourth year. He’s twenty-nine years old, single, and drives a 911 convertible. Ninety grand and you know he’s not having trouble making the payments. I guess I’m just amazed that I could be living like that in a few years.”
Liz laughed with a quick snort, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “What about saving the world? I’ve never seen any civil rights workers driving German sports cars.”
“Yeah.” My voice drifted off as I thought about it. “Still,” I mumbled, “it was a really nice car.”
***
Later that night I stood in the parking lot beside my building, staring up at the starless sky. The light pollution from the city kept the stars permanently obscured, but it was really the night air I was after. I’d had too much to drink and a clammy sweat was coming over me.
I began walking toward my building, and then I stopped suddenly. Staring up with my head cocked to the side, I realized I’d forgotten to turn a light off in my apartment. It was unlike me. I stood still for a moment, studying the illuminated window. And then a shadow appeared behind the blinds, and a jolt of panic went through me. Someone was in there, looking out at me.
I looked around the parking lot, as if to make sure I was in the right place. Was this my building? It was. When I looked back, the light was out. Or had I been looking at the light next door? How many drinks had I had?
I went inside and took the elevator up. My stomach full of nerves. But when I got there my apartment was locked and the lights were off. Everything was exactly as I had left it. What the hell was wrong with me? I sat alone on my couch, convinced I’d been staring at the neighbor’s window.
My place was a dive, but it was cheap and near campus. Twelve hundred dollars a month and I could hear the guy above me flush the toilet. There were voices out in the parking lot, but I couldn’t make out the words. Someone dropping someone else off, some see you laters were exchanged, a car door slammed, and a motor sped away. My head felt heavy and I let it roll back on the corner of the couch. I shut off the light. I could feel the room shift when I closed my eyes. Too much wine.
Images of the Steele case seemed to rise up from the darkness. I imagined what that first policeman must have seen when he pulled up the driveway. Steele’s silhouette in the doorway, red and blue light spilling across his wet, bloody clothes. The officer runs toward him, Steele is frantic, he’s stammering. Someone has killed his wife. The officer runs up the stairs, bounding over the bloody footprints on the white carpet. The officer knows which room it is almost by instinct. Standing in the doorway, the rush is over. Her form is limp and white against the tile, already running cool to the touch. The bathroom fan is droning and the fluorescent lights lend a palpable buzz to the air. The officer stands there, unable to move his eyes from the shiny red pool that surrounds her. Steele comes lumbering up from behind, delirious and mumbling. The officer reaches for the radio; no need for