Chapter 15
It was lightly raining by the time Theresa and Erica were arriving back at the Office of Public Prosecutions. Their pretrial conference did not go well, and the weather only seemed to emphasize the reminder. As they turned the corner from Crombie Lane onto Lonsdale Street, Erica noticed a hooded figure sitting on the steps towards the entrance of the OPP.
“Franky what are you doing sitting out here?” Erica stepped from beneath Theresa’s umbrella into the awning of the of the building. She looked at Franky with a quizzical expression.
“Hey! You weren’t in your office and the secretaries said that you should be back shortly, so I figured I’d just wait for you outside. What happened? No one’s told me anything.” She sounded frustrated.
Erica couldn’t fathom why Franky would decide to wait outside, in the rain, rather than park herself in one of the building’s many lobbies or simply in front of Erica’s office. She gazed at her phone, noting several unread text messages and the time. “Don’t you have class right now?”
“I mean, yeah, but --”
Theresa gave Erica a nod and an “I’ll see you up there”, before looking curiously at Franky and heading inside.
Erica nodded in return, ignoring Franky and rushing to the curb to hail a taxi.
“Get in.”
Franky began to stand up. “What?”
“Get in.” Erica said again, her voice now on edge.
Franky hesitantly made her way over to the curb. Erica stood, holding the passenger door of the taxi open. “Your education is way more important than Joan fucking Ferguson’s bullshit.” Erica said. Franky raised her eyebrows, trying to remember the last time she’d ever heard Erica swear. “I’ll still be in my office by the time your class is done. I promise.”
When the taxi finally stopped and Franky went to pay, the cabbie said to her: “Oh, no. Your pretty friend paid for the ride already. Nice lady you have there.”
* * *
“You should go home,” Theresa said. She was leaning in the threshold of the doorway to Erica’s office. “And, try not to come in tomorrow. We both deserve it.” She gave a half-hearted smile. “Spend the day with that fiance of yours.”
Erica had just gotten off the phone with Mark when Theresa had appeared in her doorway. He had asked if she had remembered that they were supposed to meet some friends for dinner (she hadn’t). She explained to him that she had just gotten back to the office and intended to stay for a bit. He sounded resigned, but not disappointed. Theresa must have heard the tail end of their conversation.
“I really just want to transcribe this meeting,” Erica said. Though, neither she nor Theresa believed it. “I told Franky I’d tell her about the meeting, I might as well do something here until she’s done with class.”
Theresa remembered what Joan Ferguson had said during their meeting earlier that day, about Erica’s relationship with Franky Doyle. She closed her eyes, trying to dismiss the thought. Ferguson had been playing mind games with the two of them all afternoon. She knew it was best not to take anything Ferguson had said seriously.
“You’re doing a good a job, Erica,” Theresa said, offering a rare complement. “You can relax some time.”
* * *
“Did you always expect to wind up in prosecutions?”
“Hm? No, actually. I’ve never believed that prosecutors were on the moral high ground. At the end of the day, we are executors of the state, for better or for worse.” Erica responded. The line of their conversation had thankfully shifted away from the ill-fated pretrial conference of that morning. When Franky had made it back to the Office of Public Prosecutions after class, she had observed Erica for a moment from the window to her office. She indeed looked to be listening to something, her brow knitted in concern. When Franky had finally decided to knock on the door, Erica just about leapt out of her seat and insisted they leave to go elsewhere. As typical, they settled for Seamus’s – happy hour or not.
“You know I have two degrees, right? One in social work. When I’d finished law school, I worked as a public defender for about a year and a half before I went back to working at my dad’s firm.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“I don’t know, maybe it was just compassion fatigue? For every case of someone caught up in the legal system by accident, I had ten more on my desk for repeat violent offenders. I didn’t feel like I was doing ‘good’ work getting a rapist a better deal.” She paused considering her words. “Obviously they have issues, or they wouldn’t be consistently in-and-out of jail...But it felt a lot different from helping battered women or a student being at the wrong place or even a first offense.
“There was a woman I had worked with who had been with the OPP for years and decided to ‘give back’ by working as defense counsel. I admired her; she never let her feelings affect what would be best for a client.” She placed her hand at the side of her neck, slightly self-conscious, “Obviously, I’ve continued to have some issues with that.
“I decided I couldn’t be that person. I couldn’t help the ones who really needed it, when I was inundated with the unrepentant who didn’t want it. I didn’t last too long at my dad’s either before taking the advocate position at Wentworth. It’s a private firm that does primarily corporate law. Aside from being boring, I traded one moral qualm for another.” She took a sip of her drink, “Naturally, I knew how to do well with sleazy businessmen.”
“No wonder you were so into me,” Franky chided.
Are.
Erica rolled her eyes, trying her best not to smile. “You wanted the whole story. There you have it. While I don’t always agree with the state, I’m generally proud of the work that we do, especially when it’s a case like this one. Ferguson deserves everything that she’ll get.” She grimaced, remembering this afternoon. She didn’t want to think about it.
Franky flagged down the waiter, ordering another round of drinks for the two of them. She just couldn’t stomach another neat scotch, and changed to an “easier” gin and tonic for herself (resulting in an actual chuckle from Erica).
“Okay, fine, fine.” Franky held her hands up in the defense. “Anyway...What would you have done if not law?” She watched Erica’s finger trace a lap around the edge of the empty tumbler.
“I think law or public service was always bound to happen. But...” Erica hesitated, recalling a youthful memory. She realized that this was something she probably hadn’t thought about in at least fifteen years. “I played cello in high school, and I was pretty good at it. I decided that I wanted to audition for a conservatory.” She laughed at herself. She took s drink as the waiter brought their orders over. “I completely biffed it when I auditioned at Sydney and then chickened out of my other auditions.”
Franky laughed along with her. “I can’t imagine you in an orchestra. Classical music never seems to offer much creative freedom.”
“It does and it doesn’t,” Erica shrugged. “But you’re right. I always got in trouble in my lessons for not playing what the composer wrote.” Franky smiled again. She thought that spoke to something of Erica’s character. “If you weren’t studying law, what would you be doing?”
At this second? “I’d obviously still be in jail.” Erica didn’t laugh. “Really. You were the first person who really made me feel like I could be someone and tried to cultivate my interests. I didn’t give a shit back when I was in school before. I had tried that cooking show, you saw how that turned out.”
Erica evaded Franky’s statement. “But, you’re an excellent cook.”
“You wouldn’t know that,” Franky gave a smug look. “I’ve never cooked for you. But, honestly, I guess the idea of owning a restaurant and curating a menu would be cool, but cooking just to pay the bills doesn’t seem great. Especially if I can be capable of more.”
“You are very capable,” Erica agreed. She waved down the waiter again, preemptively ordering one more drink for herself. “Then let me rephrase: what else are you capable of?” She also added in an off-hand manner: “You’ll have to cook for me. All of this time I’ve taken your word for it.”
“I’ve offered before. Or don’t you remember?” Franky leaned across the table, not quite into Erica’s space. “All sorts of things.” She stole the last bit from Erica’s glass just as the waiter placed another drink on the table.
“Can I get you anything?” He asked.
Franky liked the idea of drinking with Erica, but there had already been five drinks between them. She shook her head.
“So I take it you’re not going in tomorrow?”
Erica looked at Franky from behind her glass. “We’ll see. It’s been a rough day. Worst case I work from home.”
Franky had to laugh at Erica’s endurance (or was it dedication?). “Worst case for you is working from home? Christ.”
* * *
“You have to let me walk with you home,” Franky said as they left the bar. They didn’t close Seamus’s, but it was still close to midnight. As they continued to walk, the streets crisscrossing through the CBD certainly didn’t have the same energy that they would on a Friday or a weekend.
“Franky, that’s sweet, but I don’t live even remotely within walking distance of here.” Erica hoped she didn’t look too obvious as she tried to steady herself. “I didn’t drive today, so I’m going to catch the train home.”
“Well, at least let me get you on the train.”
Erica chuckled lightly. “And they say chivalry is dead. Haven’t I dropped you off in Prahran?” Erica asked, unknowingly referring to Bridget’s residence. “We’re on the same line. At least you’re not going out of your way.”
“It wouldn’t have been a huge deal.”
“And then you’re stuck trying to figure out how to get home in the dark? That’s ridiculous. I’ve taken the metro at all hours. I’m not precious, Franky.”
Franky followed Erica down the stairs into the metro station. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She tapped her feet anxiously on the station platform. They sat and waited for the next train to arrive. It should be at any time now.
“Stop.” Erica said softly and placed her hand gently on Franky’s knee, willing the shaking to an end. “I appreciate the gesture.”
Franky hadn’t been planning on going to Bridget’s tonight, but after an odd delay due to track maintenance, the stop for Prahran would be coming up next. Erica had quickly fallen asleep as soon as they had boarded the train. Much to Franky’s pleasant surprise, Erica’s blonde head wound up resting on her shoulder. She didn’t have the heart to wake her (or maybe the will to break contact), but she also had no idea where Erica even lived, nevertheless what stop was hers.
“Hey,” She cooed, giving Erica a squeeze. “Where do you live?” The older woman sitting across from them looked up with an expression that lived somewhere between disdain and protective curiosity.
Franky heard a muttered “Brighton” from Erica as the train whizzed away from the Prahran station. Franky sighed and rubbed her own eyes. She didn’t even get a chance to ask which stop it was before feeling her own phone vibrating.
“Franky, hon, hey, where are you?” Bridget asked. It was late and she had hoped to be in touch sooner. Of course she too had been trapped into staying late at Wentworth.
“I think I’m going somewhere in Brighton,” Franky yawned into the phone. She tried to squeeze another response out of Erica to no avail.
Bridget cackled into the phone, nearly spitting out her drink. “Who do you even know in Brighton?” It wasn’t meant to sound condescending, and fortunately she heard Franky laugh too.
Though it came out as more of a tired snort. “I just missed our stop.” She found herself unsure as if to lie. The truth with an omission, instead: “I wanted to make sure Erica got home alright.” She’s fallen asleep on me and I can’t really move. “Ferguson today didn’t go well. Apparently there was a thinly veiled threat made to the crown prosecutor, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
Bridget decided to ignore the mention of Erica because, yes, she was very aware that Ferguson hadn’t gone well today. And yes, that was why she herself was calling so late. No matter her own feelings of personal unease, she recognized that Franky and Erica are working together. “What stop are you coming up to? I can pick you up.”
“Uh...I think Balaclava? Or whatever’s after that one,” Franky said. “Gidge, don’t worry about it. I’m just going to get an uber back to mine. You’ve had a long day too.”
“Are you sure?” Truth be told, she didn’t really want to leave the house. Bridget had finally gotten into her pajamas and was quite content with her glass of wine to snuggle up on the couch for a bit before bed. Franky looked down at Erica. She might as well get her home at this point and then take the uber a few more kilometers. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow or the day after. You don’t need to wait up.”
“Just text me when you’re home. Please.”
Ripponlea. Elsternwick. Gardenvale.
“Erica,” Franky moved slightly, hoping the jostling would be enough to wake her up. “Erica, you didn’t tell me which stop was yours.”
“Gardenvale,” Erica murmured, clearly without a care in the world. She didn’t even open her eyes.
Goddamn it.
“North Brighton is fine too,” Erica stirred, her words still mumbled. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the marquee stating the next stop. “I live between the two.”
“Well alright you wino, let’s get you home.” Franky helped, rather, dragged Erica up and off the train. “I don’t believe for a second that you take the train home this late without getting to the end of the line.”
“I’m not a wino.” It was almost a whimper from Erica. She was too tired to scoff. As they walked off the platform out of the station, she seemed to have a second wind. “What are you still doing here? Your stop is Prahran.”
“You fell asleep on me.” With what she could see by the dim street lights, Franky was sure Erica was blushing. “I felt bad about waking you. I figured I’d at least get you to your stop and then get an uber.”
Erica smiled inwardly, touched by Franky’s effort. She reached into her bag to look at her phone. 1:05 AM. “Franky it’s late. You can’t be waiting alone here.”
“It’s the station, it’s bright.” She paused and then feigned a posh accent. “We’re also in Brighton.”
To which Erica rolled her eyes. The irony hadn’t escaped her that she frequently did and had planned on doing this trek alone just hours earlier. “Things can happen anywhere.” She started to walk into the darkness, her heels clicking on the pavement. “We’re less than a kilometer from my place. You can at least wait there.”
* * *
Erica’s home was a comparably modest mid-century modern located towards the end of a tree lined side street, just to the west of the train line. It was two stories, the bottom floor being a two-car garage and the top a two bedroom loft. There was a small fenced yard with a patio accessible from both floors.
As they ascended stairs, Erica mentioned that it had been important to her to own her own home, even if it wasn’t to be where she was forever. “I wanted something that was exclusively in my name.”
Franky wondered if Erica had made this purchase before or after she had started dating Mark. She held her tongue.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Erica said. She poured a glass of water, only to disappear from view into a room adjacent to the kitchen.
Franky sat on the couch. She made sure to keep her shoes on, as to not get too comfortable (although Erica had immediately taken hers off upon stepping into the landing). She looked around the living room. Everything was clean and meticulous. A few modular bookshelves surrounded the area. Some shelves had plants, others a mix of various books and DVDs. She didn’t notice any pictures of Erica and her fiance, though perhaps those were relegated to a magnet on the fridge.
“Shit.” Franky swiped the screen of her phone. How was a rideshare so expensive at this hour? The closest available car was still 20 minutes away She might as well wait it out.
By the time Erica had reemerged wearing a ratty law school sweater, looking far from the young, urban professional she usually presented as, Franky was fast asleep. Her head rested awkwardly on the arm of the couch. Erica fetched a pillow and blanket from a nearby closet, then carefully tried to move Franky to a more supine position. She knew it was successful when all she heard was a mumbled, “Leave it Gidge” and saw the blanket pull over Franky’s head.
The screen of Franky’s phone indicated that an uber should be arriving within 10 minutes. Erica took the liberty of canceling the ride. Franky could always get another one when she was done napping.
* * *
The sunlight began it’s early morning stream through the half opened blinds. Franky found herself opening her eyes to a somewhat blurry and unfamiliar living room. She peaked over the side of the couch she had been sleeping on to see Erica standing at the kitchen counter? Erica Davidson, in glasses and a well-worn navy Melbourne Law School hoodie, drinking coffee and reading.
What a dumb dream.
When Franky opened her eyes again, Erica was gone, but she had still woken up in the same unfamiliar living space from her dream. She walked over to that same kitchen counter, quickly finding a small espresso machine. She laughed when she saw a yellow sticky note that read, “Help yourself – there’s milk in the fridge”.
Franky’s attention was then drawn to the white board on the refrigerator that had “Going to Anna and Joe’s. Leftover Spagbol - Mark” scrawled on it. She then noticed the various sticky notes pasted on the counters and cabinets, some in Erica’s neat handwriting.
“Oh, this is totally normal,” Franky said aloud to herself as she opened the refrigerator, thankful to not see the Tupperware also covered in sticky notes. She sat back down with her make shift latte, wrapping herself in the blanket.
“We can get you some better coffee if you’d like,” Erica’s voice carried towards her. Franky looked around and over to see Erica across the hall seated at a desk in a neighboring room.
“What time is it?”
“About 11,” Erica said, appearing at the head of the couch. She ran her hand through her fringe self-consciously when Franky didn’t respond, who had instead continued to look at her with an open smile. “What?”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Franky beamed. She couldn’t help it. “And I think I saw you in your grunge kid pajamas earlier.”
Erica looked down, her face flushing. “Just when I’m at home. Occasionally if I’m running late, you’ll see me in them. Glasses, I mean.”
“No, it’s a good look for you. You could really pull off the librarian thing,” Franky insisted. She reached out to take Erica’s hand, their fingers quickly lacing together.
Erica looked at their hands for a moment, perplexed by this sudden intimacy. Was this such an unfamiliar gesture in her home? She lingered before pulling her hand away. “Let’s grab lunch before you get on your way.”
Franky didn’t think that her own frown at their loss of contact was apparent. “Sure. Aren’t you going in too?”
“Nope.” Erica said with an almost uncharacteristic nonchalance. “I’ve been working from home today. That’s the best bit about having a bad yesterday and being in charge.”
“Have you ever taken a day off?” Franky laughed in disbelief.
Erica thought for a moment, going so far as to count on her fingers. “I mean, my job requires my brain to be on all the time, so I guess I don’t really ‘take days off’.”
Franky continued to chuckle, some how not surprised. “Well, maybe you should? I’ll even throw in cooking for you.”
_ _ _