Practice Makes Perfect

J.D. glanced over at Tyler. All joking aside, they had been best friends since grade school and normally he put more weight in Tyler's opinions than pretty much anyone else's. But things had changed in the past couple of hours.

"It's not that simple anymore," he said. "Actually, it wasn't simple before, and now it's even less so."

"Why? Because of Chase?" Tyler asked.

"In part because of Chase. It certainly suggests I misinterpreted things."

"You don't know jack-shit about their relationship. Who knows how long they've been dating? Or whether she's even into him? Chase might be nice, but I don't see Payton with him for the long haul."

"It's also quite possible she still detests me."

Tyler dismissed this with a wave. "You're going to let a thing like that stop you?"

"I was thinking intense despisement might be an obstacle in pursuing her, yes."

"No, see, that's what makes it all the more interesting," Tyler said. He adopted a grandly dramatic tone. " 'Does our fair Ms. Kendall truly loathe the arrogant Mr. Jameson as she so ardently proclaims, or is it all just a charade to cover more amorous feelings for a man she reluctantly admires? ' "

Up front, the cabdriver snorted loudly. He appeared to be enjoying the show.

"Psych 101 again?" J.D. asked.

Tyler shook his head. "Lit 305: Eighteenth-Century Women's Fiction." He caught J.D.'s look and quickly defended himself. "What? I took it because of the girls in the class. Anyway, I see a bit of a P and P dynamic going on between you and Payton."

J.D. didn't think he wanted to know. Really. But he asked anyway. "P and P?"

Tyler shot him a look, appalled. "Uh, hello—Pride and Prejudice?" His tone said only a cretin wouldn't know this.

"Oh right, P and P," J.D. said. "You know, Tyler, you might want to pick up your balls—I think they just fell right off when you said that."

Up front, the cabdriver let out a good snicker.

Tyler shook his head. "Laugh if you want, but let me tell you something: women go crazy for that book. And even crazier for men who have read it. If I plan to bring a girl back to my place, I might just so happen to leave a copy of it sitting out on my coffee table and, let's just say, hijinks frequently ensue. And you know what? It's not a bad bit of storytelling. I like to put on a nice pot of Earl Grey tea, maybe a slice of almond biscotti, and—yeah, that's fine, keep right on laughing, buddy, but I bet I've gotten laid more recently than you."

"I didn't say there was a blanket." Tyler paused. "Fine. Sometimes there may be a blanket."

"—but my question is, were you going anywhere with this, or is it just some sort of weird sharing moment?"

Tyler had to think. "Where was I going with this . . . ?" He snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah—Pride and Prejudice. Women and the whole Darcy complex. For Payton, that's you."

"I thought Darcy was the ass**le."

Tyler smiled fondly. "You know, he really kind of is."

"Great pep talk, Tyler. Thanks."

"But he doesn't stay the ass**le," Tyler said. "See, you just don't understand women the way I do, J.D. They want it all: a career, apple martinis, financial independence, great shoes; but at the same time—and this they'll never admit—they are drawn to patriarchal men who are dominant and controlling. That's the essence of the Darcy complex. He may be an ass**le, but he's an ass**le that gets the girl in the end."

J.D. rolled his eyes. This entire conversation was just so ridiculous.

But still.

"And how does he accomplish that?" he asked.

"Oh, it gets a little complicated," Tyler said. "See, Lizzie has this troublesome younger sister who runs off with the guy she originally thought she liked—wait, back up—to really understand, I should start with the visit to Pemberley, because it actually starts with the aunt and uncle, see—her uncle loves to fish and Darcy asks—"

J.D. held up his hand, very, very sorry he asked. "The short version please. We're already at your stop."

Tyler looked out the window and saw that the cab had indeed pulled up in front of his building. He turned back to J.D. "Okay. The short version, the very short version: he gets the girl by being nice to her."

J.D. waited. "That's it? He's nice to her? That's so . . . lame."

"Look, if you want to win Payton over—"

J.D. stopped him right there. "Hey, we're only speaking in hypotheticals, okay? I haven't decided that I want to win anyone over."

"Oh. Then my advice is that you should start there. Figure out what you want." With that, Tyler got out of the cab and darted through the rain into his building.

Great. Thanks for the help. J.D. gave the cabdriver his address. He stared out the window as the taxi made its way the six blocks to his building. When they arrived, J.D. reached through the divider and handed the cabdriver a twenty and told him to keep the change. The driver turned around. "Hey—your friend back there was giving you some pretty strange advice." Around fortyish and wearing a ragged flannel shirt and a Sox cap that had seen far better days, the guy had one of the thickest Chicago accents J.D. had ever heard. "He seemed a little off the wall, if you know what I mean. I don't think I'd listen to him if I were you."

J.D. grinned. "I'll take that under advisement." He opened the door to the cab and stepped out.

"Because everybody knows that Darcy doesn't win Lizzie over just by being nice."

J.D. stopped. He looked back over his shoulder.

The driver rested his arm on the divider. His rolled-up sleeve revealed a tattoo of a black scorpion that covered his entire forearm. "See, it's all about the Grand Gesture. That's how you get the girl."

"Thank you," J.D. managed to say.

The driver shrugged. "No prob-lem. Frankly, it sounded like you could use all the help you can get."

He put the cab into gear.

"And listen—tell your friend to try English Breakfast next time. It's a little more robust. Earl Grey is really more of a Sense and Sensibility kind of tea."

AT HOME LATER that night, after J.D. had done the final checks for the evening of his email and work voice mail and cell phone voice mail and home voice mail and was satisfied that there were no work matters that required his immediate attention, he thought about Tyler's advice. Figure out what you want. And it was then that J.D. realized.

He didn't know.

As he had told Tyler, things weren't that simple. Chase did complicate things. Of course he did. Maybe Payton really liked him. J.D. could see the two of them together—with all they had in common, they just seemed to make sense.

Tyler had been dismissive of this, and maybe to him Chase and every other obstacle just made the whole Payton issue a better intrigue, but then again, Tyler wasn't up for partner that year. Tyler also wasn't competing with Payton for only one partnership spot. And Tyler certainly didn't have the history he had with Payton. Eight years of history.

It was a long time. It struck J.D. then, that he had become so swept up in beating Payton that he hadn't directed his anger where he should have: at the firm. They were the ones who had put him and Payton in this position. Making partner was never a guarantee, but after all his hard work he deserved better. She deserved better.

But what bothered J.D. most was not the unfairness of the firm's decision. Rather, it was the fact that when he looked back on the past eight years, he wasn't necessarily proud of his own behavior. He had regrets, and there were things he wished he could go back and do differently. There was that one thing in particular that even Tyler didn't know about . . .

Figure out what you want.

J.D. knew that he wanted to scrap the past. To start over. For the next fourteen days at least, he wanted to do things right. If he couldn't change the fact that things had to come to an end with Payton, he could at least change the way they ended.

It wasn't much, J.D. realized, and it certainly didn't answer all the lingering questions.

But it was a start.

EARLY THE NEXT morning, Payton rushed around her office, packing up her trial briefcase. Yes, now she wished she had packed it the night before, but her mother had taken a late flight out and Payton hadn't seen the need to make a special trip into the office at midnight. A good trial attorney should be prepared for anything, she knew, and that's why she always built in extra time, particularly since she took the "L" to work. Ah, those little tricksters at the Chicago Transit Authority, she could always count on them to keep things spicy. Because, really, who didn't want to spend an extra fifty-five minutes in the packed, hot, smelly car of a train that inexplicably moved only three miles an hour the entire trip downtown? That was fun stuff.

Payton grabbed the case files she had reviewed over the weekend and stuffed them into the large, boxy trial briefcase that weighed nearly a ton. She hoped Brandon would show up soon so she could pawn the thing off onto him—after all, wasn't that what junior associates, and men, were for?

Payton heard a knock on her door and looked up. Instead of Brandon, she saw J.D. standing in the doorway. He was armed with a Starbucks cup.

Blimey.

"I noticed that you seem to be running late," he said. "I didn't think you'd have time to grab this on your way to court. Grande sugar-free vanilla latte, right?" he asked, gesturing to the coffee. "I've heard you say it to Irma a few times," he added quickly.

He held the cup out to her.

Payton looked at it, then back at J.D. It was a trap, it had to be. She remained where she stood.

The corners of J.D.'s mouth curled up. "No, I don't plan to throw it at you."

Payton smiled. Ha-ha. Throw it at her? As if that had ever crossed her mind.

"That's not what I was thinking," she assured him as she walked over and took the cup. He certainly was taking their truce seriously, she thought. How sweet.

She subtly sniffed the coffee for poison.

J.D. smiled again. "And no, I didn't put anything in it."

Payton took a sip of the latte.

J.D. winked. "Nothing that can be detected by its smell, anyway."