Twenty Five Reasons Not to Go to Law School

Reason Seventeen

Reason Number Seventeen not to go to law school: Fighting with your clients is almost as inappropriate as kissing them.

"Samantha," I said when Julio and I had finished our last notes, the ones on the new corridors opened by the party that we now knew to have taken place on Thursday night. "There's one more thing we need to talk about today."

She nodded. "Okay. What?"

"At your preliminary, the ADA--"

"The what?"

"The assistant district attorney," I clarified. "The prosecution's lawyer."

"Oh," she said. "Alright."

"Anyway," I resumed, "ADA Stafford and her witness, Catherine McElroy, were detailing a fight that she claimed to have witnessed between you and Timothy recently. Is that something you remember?"

Samantha looked blankly, then nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said. "I remember."

"What was it about?"

She looked from me to Julio, then back to me.  "I...I can't."

"Samantha," I tried to prod gently. "This is your case."

"I know, but Cassandra...it's just..." her voice trailed away until she was looking at the floor, hopelessly.

"Julio," I said decisively. "Can you give us a minute?"

Without questions, Julio stood up. "Take as long as you want, ladies," he said. "I'm gonna step out. Cass, call me if you need me."

"Don't go too far," I advised him. I figured could guarantee this wouldn't be long. He nodded, assuming like I was that what I needed was a good, short, girl talk with Samantha, whose very trust I had gained under his advice. I was determined to get an answer from her in moments, and if I didn't, I wouldn't know where else to turn.

"So," I said after Julio had shut the door behind him. "What's the matter?"

"Cassandra, I want to tell you, I do. It's just...it's hard."

"Listen," I said. "I'm not a detective. Detectives know how to talk to clients, witnesses, suspects, or any variety of people, to make them give information up. There are certain tactics they can use to build trust, and coerce people into divulging all sorts of things they have bottled up. But I'm a lawyer. So I don't really know how to help you trust me. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Really?" she said, sounding both angry and hurt. "You really think I don't trust you?"

"I don't know," I said, my voice several shades more calm than her own. "I'm just trying to get answers from you to save you, Samantha."

"God," she said under her breath, then looked back up me with a confused, yet wroth expression. "For someone who has a doctorate, you're acting really ignorant."

I could barely utter a, "What?"

"How can you think I don't trust you?"

"Well, if you're keeping something from me, Samantha, what else am I supposed to think?"

"There are a million and one reasons why I might not want to tell you something. Why are you taking it so personally?"

"You want to know why?" I questioned, outraged that she could ask me that. "Okay, I'll tell you the truth, because that's all I want from you. I'm taking it so personally, because since this case began, I have been working night and day to make you trust me, and it kills me, it absolutely kills me, that after all this time, you still don't."