I mouth back the words, “Me, too.”

Judge Solomon’s law clerk announces that Jack is going to be giving the closing statements, and the crowd applauds as Jack takes the mike once again.

“Thank you all for coming today to honor the Honorable Edward Solomon. My father. The man we all love and respect, and by being here today, you’ve truly honored him. Thank you for that.” The crowd all stands to applaud. Then, as everyone begins to take their seats again, Jack turns to his father: “Dad, you’ve made me the lawyer I am today. The man I am today. You’ve taught me how to fight to the death in a courtroom, and I’ve litigated against the toughest adversaries in the jurisdiction without flinching because of it. But the one person I could never go against is you. I always thought that having respect for you meant never standing up to you, but I was wrong. Now, I think that having respect for you would actually be to show you that I’ve become the man you’ve always taught me to be. To be strong, to take responsibility for things. To stand up for what I believe in.” Jack says, to a round of roaring applause. The judges on the dais all begin shaking Judge Solomon’s hand and patting him on the back. The Judge’s law clerk begins to get up from his seat, thinking that Jack is done speaking, but Jack doesn’t move a muscle. He stays firmly planted at the mic. He runs his hand through his shaggy brown hair and takes a deep breath.

“Dad, I love and respect you, but I don’t want lobster at my wedding if Brooke doesn’t want it. And, Dad, if you want lobster, then that’s fine, but then you won’t be at my wedding, and I’ll have to respect that, just as you’ll have to respect my decision here today. Because I love Brooke Miller and I’m going to do anything in the world to get her back. I let my fear get in the way of the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m correcting that mistake here and now. Being afraid cost me the most important thing in my life and I’m going to get it back. I’m going to get it back right now.”

And with that, Jack jumps off of the dais and begins walking straight toward my table. Everyone stops and stares as he makes his way through the massive ballroom, straight through to my table.

I get up from my seat and walk toward him.

Finally! My real, live Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment! You know, without the whole $50-for-the-powder-room and kept-man thing, though.

What? Wouldn’t you want your Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment to be cleaned up a bit, too?

“I want to settle,” I say as we meet in the middle of the ballroom, both gasping for air.

“Being with me is settling?” Jack says. He runs his fingers through his shaggy brown hair and I can tell that he’s not sure whether he should put his arms around me. “I thought that my speech wasn’t half bad.”

“No,” I say, “Not settle on you. Settle with you. Our case. I want to settle our case. And then I want to marry you.”

“Whatever you say, counselor,” Jack says as he leans in to kiss me. And we kiss and we kiss and we kiss. And we don’t care that Jack’s dad is there, watching us with his mouth down on the floor. And we don’t care that we’re standing in a room full of judges and lawyers. We kiss and it’s like the rest of the world has ceased to exist.

I’m vaguely aware that as we stand there kissing, some people in the crowd begin to clap. Soon, it becomes a roaring applause and I detach myself from Jack’s face long enough to look out and see everyone standing up and applauding for us.

I turn around to see Jack’s father standing and applauding for us, too. He then grabs the mike and says: “Jack, I’m very proud of you. I’m proud of the man you have become. So, if you and Brooke don’t want lobster at your wedding, then I don’t want it, either. And Brooke, if I’ve done anything to offend you and your family over the last few months—well, it sounds like I’ve done a lot to offend you and your family over the last few months—I truly am sorry. I hope that you all will see fit to forgive me.

“I really am happy that Jack’s found a woman like you, and my family would be lucky to have you as a daughter-in-law. Beauty and brains, that’s our Brooke!”

“Of course we forgive you, Judge Solomon,” I call out, hoping that it’s loud enough for him to hear.

“Why don’t you try calling me Dad?” Judge Solomon says, and the crowd begins to applaud again.

I am so not calling that man Dad anytime soon.

“Now, I think that I’ve got a conflict of interest here,” Jack’s father says. “So, who’s going to marry these two for me?”

A voice booms from the back of the ballroom. Large and commanding, it’s a voice that doesn’t need the assistance of a microphone. I turn around and see a familiar face: Judge Martin, walking toward us, yelling, “I will!”

Column Five

You didn’t hear it from us…

WHAT former model turned fashion designer was seen canoodling with an unidentified brunette at a midtown hotel for an afternoon rendezvous? Onlookers say they stopped in for a drink and tearfully declared their love for each other before embracing out in the open, just before sneaking off to a room.


Could this be why her husband moved out of their Upper East Side brownstone a few months ago?

31

We’re all squashed into Judge Martin’s chambers for an impromptu wedding ceremony the following week. After having swept me off my feet the week before, Jack informed me that he refused to take another chance that I might get away from him, and insisted on marrying me as soon as humanly possible.

Which turned out to be the following Tuesday—the day we were supposed to go to trial.

We’ve turned the three rooms that make up Judge Martin’s chambers into an ad hoc wedding hall, with his personal chamber being used for the ceremony, his law clerk’s office being used as the bride’s room, and his assistant’s office in the middle, which connects the two, as a long, makeshift wedding aisle. Our immediate families and best friends are crushed into Judge Martin’s chamber, standing room only, while they wait for me to make my entrance.

I’m out in the law clerk’s office, just waiting to be called into the ceremony—not quite walking down the aisle, but more of walking down the hallway, if anything—and do one final check for my something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

My something old is Jack’s grandmother’s engagement ring, which I took immediate repossession of from his coat pocket the second we left the Waldorf-Astoria.

Oh, please. As if the diamond ring wouldn’t be the first thing on your mind the second you got the guy back.

My something new is a custom-made wedding gown made lovingly stitch by stitch by Monique. Apparently, when I took on her case and then told her that I couldn’t buy her dress since it would be a conflict of interest, she decided right then and there that she would make it anyway and give it to me as a wedding gift. She kept throwing me off the scent by fitting me for fake muslins whenever I came to meet with her at her brownstone, but she ended up making me the exact dress that she sketched for me that first day in her studio. Good thing Jack and I ended up back together since I seriously doubt that you can resell one-of-a-kind couture. Especially one-of-a-kind couture that’s a size ten.

My something borrowed is the pair of ruby earrings that Vanessa decided to buy from Moishe that day we went wedding ring shopping. They look absolutely perfect, especially since I’ve got my hair tied up loosely and they peek out from the waves falling down from the top of my head. These earrings also satisfy my grandmother and Aunt Devorah to no end, both of whom insisted that I wear at least something red, so as to ward off the evil eye which would undoubtedly be following me on my wedding day.

My something blue is the baby-blue garter that my mother wore at her own wedding. And as a special wedding gift to me, she didn’t even say a word about the fact that the fit was a bit snug, to say the least.

Vanessa has been taking her maid of honor duties very seriously, and in addition to having the Vera Wang whip up gorgeous navy bridesmaids’ dresses for her and Jack’s sisters at the last minute (another favor courtesy of her mother), she also insisted that, as maid of honor, she be allowed to plan the reception. So, we’ll be heading over to her mother’s downtown art gallery after the ceremony for the reception. (“She lives for this stuff and would actually be offended if you didn’t have it there.”)

She also (as part of her duties, of course) did me the favor of posting bail for my wedding videographer, yet again (yes, that’s two federal arraignments in the course of one engagement, for those of you who are keeping count), since I felt that it wouldn’t help relax me to have to go down to the Manhattan Detention Center yet again just days before my wedding. Unfortunately for Vanessa, these charges were much more serious than the last—something about filming someone’s honeymoon down in Mexico and sticking some contraband into his camera case—so, Vanessa actually ended up referring the case to one of our friends from law school who practices criminal law. But on a lighter note, now my mobster wedding videographer owes Vanessa “a solid,” should she ever choose to cash it in. She was none too pleased about the whole situation, solid or no solid, to be sure, but she did it with a smile since she’s such a good maid of honor.

(Note to self: Must look into whether or not the solid I owe Jay can be traded for the solid that Jay now owes Vanessa. There really should be somewhere to look this sort of stuff up on the Internet.)