Nightingale

By Ayesha Haqqiqa

"What a disappointment the day was," Jack McCoy said to himself as he got ready for bed. He had been looking forward to this day, the day his daughter Jennifer and the grandchildren were supposed to visit. But they hadn't come; Terry had come down with the sniffles. At least that's what Jennifer had said. He didn't know whether to believe her or not. They had never been close. But she'd tried to visit him weekly ever since he'd retired last year, and had always brought the kids.

Maybe she was tired of it, Jack thought. Tired of taking pity on a lonely old man who had nothing to show for 40 years in the DA's office except a plaque of appreciation and a bunch of dusty old law books. When most people gladly retired at 60, Jack had stayed on an extra 8 years. He told himself it was because of his sense of duty, but deep down inside he knew the truth. He had nothing else. Nothing but the law. His friends were his colleagues from work. His recreation was filing briefs and writing summations. His daughter had been concerned when he finally retired, concerned that, with nothing to do, Jack would dry up and blow away.

He hadn't dried up, Jack thought as he looked at his spare frame in the bathroom mirror. His muscles had lost some of their tone, but all in all he looked the way he had always looked. His hair, still wildly abundant, was now white, but it only made a striking contrast to his still dark eyebrows. His only concession to aging was a pair of glasses that he wore all the time now. Sighing, he brushed his teeth and then put on his pajamas. One of his lovers, years ago, had said that pajamas were for old people. Jack smiled sadly at the thought. Well, he'd grown old, and his lovers were all gone.

Dead, now, or moved on. Shelly Kates was a justice on the state supreme court. Sally Bell married, retired, and moved to Nantucket. Diana Hawthorne was as dead as Claire Kincaid, killed in an automobile accident. Only Diana was the drunk driver, not his victim. The only one of his many women friends who still got in touch with him from time to time was Phyllis Duncan, a retired law professor from Columbia. They'd go out for lunch and pretend they were still young. Jack smiled at the thought, and made a mental note to call her tomorrow morning.

As Jack turned down the covers, he swore he heard a nightingale singing outside his window. A musical sonata created by nature. He went over to the window and listened. There it was, quite close--the clear tones that blessed the night. Jack stood, enraptured, as the bird sang on and on. The tiredness caused by the disappointment of the day was washed away as he stood by the window, listening. Finally, the last pure notes echoed in the darkness, to be replaced by the muted sounds of city traffic.

Sighing, he went back to his bed and lay down. Beauty was all around him, if he'd take the time to stop for it. That was one lesson he'd learned after his retirement. All those years in the high-pressure environment of Hogan Place had taken their toll on his senses--and sensibilities--and they were just now reawakening.

He had just closed his eyes when his doorbell rang. Maybe Jennifer had decided to come after all, he thought as he got out of bed and put on his robe. He padded to the front room and opened the door.

She was dressed all in gray--gray coat, gray suit, and gray hat. Her long dark hair framed a face of startling beauty. Big brown eyes looked into Jack's, and he felt his heart stir in his breast.

"Excuse me," she said, "I didn't mean to awaken you. I'm looking for Jack McCoy."

"You've found him," Jack said, opening the door wide. "And I wasn't asleep. Please come in." He took her coat from around her shoulders as she sat down on the sofa. A burgundy sweater over tight jeans accentuated every curve.

The woman looked at the floor. "Shelly gave me your name and address. She's--a friend of mine. She said if anyone could help me, it would be you."

Jack sat down in a chair opposite the sofa. "Shelly Kates, you mean?" he asked.

She nodded silently. "It's--so hard to begin."

Jack smiled slightly. "I've got all night," he said.

She looked up at him and smiled. "My name's Stella Monroe. I'm a lawyer with the DA's office up in Albany. I mean to make EADA by the time I'm 40."

"And you are--?"

"38. As of today. And as of today I am on leave of absence. My boss says I am too stressed out. Told me to take two weeks. I was steamed. As I was storming out of the office, I ran into Shelly. She convinced me to go have tea with her and talk things out. The upshot of it was that she recommended you. Said if anyone could tell me about getting to be EADA, it would be you." She looked into his eyes. "I'd appreciate your help."

"Sure," Jack said. "But first, I must ask--have you eaten?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then that's the first thing that happens," Jack said, getting up and going out to the kitchen. Stella followed him. "Even if it's just a frozen entrée, it's important that you eat something every day. Found that out the hard way, when I collapsed in a courtroom."

"From not eating?" Stella asked as she sat down at the table.

"Yep," Jack said, going to the freezer. "You like fish or turkey? I've got both."

"Fish will be fine," she said. "What happened? I mean, to the case?"

Jack took the frozen package and put it in the microwave. "Something interesting," he said, setting the timer. He came over to the table and sat down. "For two weeks, I'd worked on the case, living on coffee and hardly sleeping. My arguments were sloppy and I didn't establish the chain of evidence as I should. But I thought I had it all. The caffeine that kept me going kept my illusions alive, too. And then the trial started. It was a joke. I saw it was all falling apart, and couldn't for the life of me figure out what to do to save it. Lucky for me, I collapsed in the middle of examining a witness. My second chair took over. She had been concerned about me, had warned me, but I wouldn't listen. She called for a continuance, which was granted. She used the time to get the case together. By that time, I was back on my feet. She showed me what she'd done. I told her to run with it. We won the case."

"I see why you say eating is so important," Stella said. "What happened to your assistant?"

"Abbie Carmichael was her name then. She married Lyle Pearson, and went back into private practice where she's still quite successful."

"Don't I know," Stella shook her head. "Her firm has a branch office in Albany. I've been up against her in court. She's good."

"Rule Number One for an EADA is to take care of your assistants. You do that, and they take care of you." Jack went over to fetch the entrée as the timer rang.

"Shelly said you took good care of your assistants," Stella said. Jack turned around and looked at her sharply, but she wore an expression of innocence. He got out a plate and put the fish on it. He got out silverware and took it to the table, along with the fish.

"Eat up," he said. "It's important to treat your assistants with respect," he said as she began eating. "Never look at them as rivals, or servants, or machines to do your bidding. Every assistant I had was someone I grew to respect--and sometimes to love."

Stella looked up, surprised. Jack smiled at her sadly.

"Surely Shelly told you," he said.

"No, she didn't," Stella said. "You skated a thin line, then," she remarked, her voice hard.

"I didn't seduce them," Jack said, thinking back. "And at least once I feel I was the one seduced. Oh, I know it was wrong--led to too many complications. A failed marriage--that was with my first assistant. A suspension--that was with my third. And I know I drove my second assistant from the DA's office to the other side of the aisle. And my own selfishness and stubbornness contributed to the death of the last of my lovers."

Stella put down her fork. "Why did you do it, then?" she asked.

Jack smiled sadly. "Because the office was all I had. My whole world revolved around it. The only people I could admit to my life were people of that world."

"And by doing so, one died?" Stella asked in confusion. Then she saw Jack's face. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "That was way out of line and I should never had said it."

Jack held up a hand. "It's all right," he said softly. "You need to know--so you won't do the same thing. She wanted to quit the office. I talked her into staying. We were still madly in love, and I was afraid I'd lose her if she left. Then we witnessed an execution. I went off to get drunk. She didn't return my calls. All I could think of was my feelings and how I wasn't handling them. I finally left the bar. She came to pick me up moments later. She was struck and killed by a drunk driver."

Stella put her hand over his. "You still think of her, don't you?" she asked softly.

Jack looked at the table. "Yes," he said. "And always with regret. I was in mourning for so long. I nearly went crazy once, prosecuting a drunk driver. Got sent before the disciplinary committee because of it. I finally quit drinking, just to see if the pain would go away."

"And did it?" Stella asked.

Jack looked at her. "It became a manageable ache," he said. "After that, I dated around, but never with another assistant. Never someone from work."

"So you didn't date much, I surmise," Stella said.

Jack smiled sadly. "That's right," he said. "My work just--consumed me. And soon there was nothing left. I wouldn't recommend it. The rewards aren't worth it." He got up and went to the living room, returning with the plaque. "For 40 years of faithful service," he read. "Sounds like something you'd present to your dog, doesn't it?" He laid the plaque on the table.

Stella didn't know what to say. She just stared at the plaque. He studied her face for a moment, then picked up the memento and put it away. When he came back to the kitchen, she was still looking at the table.

"You can change, though," he said, sitting down across from her. "You can temper your ambition before it consumes you and leaves you nothing but ashes."

She looked at him. "How?" she said. "How can you balance your career with your life?"

"By realizing your life is more than your career," Jack said. "Eat up your fish, I'll be back."

Stella finished the fish, even though it was now cold. She did feel a little better, although the words from this retired prosecutor had been anything but comforting. Jack came into the kitchen, clad in jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked at his lean form, startled. Unless she took in that shock of white hair, he looked like a much younger man. She hadn't seen that, hidden behind the bathrobe and pajamas.

"What you need, Stella, is a road trip," Jack said. He held out a motorcycle helmet. "Unless you're afraid to go out on a Yamaha with a senior citizen?"

"Not at all," Stella said. "When I'm home I ride. A Harley."

"You'll find this isn't bad--for a rice burner," Jack said, escorting her to the door.

She was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him--he was lean, but still had muscle. She was more surprised at the speed and grace with which he drove the bike. Soon they were on the Parkway, heading north.

"I know it's heading into your own turf," Jack yelled at a stoplight," but it's someplace you can go when you want to cool off."

They rode on, into the night, one hour, two. Until Jack took the turnoff that led down the road to a spectacular view of the Catskills. He parked the bike and they got out.

A full moon was lighting up the night sky, still a bit too cold for crickets. But the owls were there, hooting and screeching their nightly song. Jack breathed deeply and smiled. Turning to Stella, he said, "When things got too much for me, I'd come up here and just--be. Listen to the birds instead of the words inside my head. Feel the wind, and still my feelings. This is the only way I got through the last two years of my job." He turned and looked at her. "This is life. This is what puts it in perspective. Life is not sitting at your desk in Albany, or meeting with your coworkers after hours in some smoky bar. It's realizing you're a part of it all--this great pageant of nature, created by God. And looking for the gifts He bestows daily." He picked up a stone. "Look at this rock," he said. "It took thousands of years to create. Think of the forces that brought it here, so that it was resting at my feet. Look at its beauty, innate and lovely, even in its imperfections." He handed it to Stella. "Keep it to remember what's really important."

Stella took the stone and held it in her hand. "So nature--and its beauties--is more important than people?"

"I didn't say that, Counselor," Jack said, crossing his arms and standing in front of her. "You can never have enough friends. But expand your horizons, so you aren't just looking in your office for companionship! Or, when you retire, you become--totally lost." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I was lost --for a while. But I had made a friend--a law professor--who helped with tea and sympathy. And my daughter took pity on me too--though I fear I'm becoming too dependent on her visits." He shook his head.

Stella took his hand. "Well, Jack, what do you think of having a working DA as your friend?"

He smiled. "I'd like that," he said, "as long as she could make room for me in her life."

She looked in his eyes. "I'd like to try," she said. "I've taken your advice to heart, you see. I'd like to learn more of your wisdom--learn more about you."

His heart beat faster. "I'd like that too," he said. He smiled, and his eyes shone brighter than the light of the moon.

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