Page 7 of The Presidents Shadow

MADDY’S FIRST DAY in the public defender’s office is not going well. She dreads the moment when she gets home and Margo and Lamont ask her the inevitable questions, “So, how’d it go? How was your first day?”

Her half-a-lie response will be, “It was interesting.”

She knows Lamont thinks her summer would be better spent working in Tibet developing her mental and physical powers. So she will adjust her answer quite a bit. The truthful response would be, “It sucked big-time.”

Her day consists of taking orders from anyone in the office.

She makes the coffee in the big coffee machine and then makes more when people complain that the pot’s empty.

She fetches sandwiches for lunch and takes the blame when the deli screws up one of the orders.

She formats hundreds of PowerPoint presentations.

When one particularly snotty young paralegal asks her to pick up his copies, Maddy says, “You must be kidding. The printer is ten feet from your desk.” He doesn’t even look at her when he replies, “Yeah, but you’re the one standing up already. ”

Finally she’s had enough and decides to speak up.

A risky move. Her immediate supervisor, R.J.

Werner, is a whip-smart Yale Law School graduate only a few years older than she is.

During her interview—serious, quick, and very annoying—he told her, “My work philosophy is very simple. Do it by the book or don’t bother doing it. ”

She doesn’t know if “by the book” means getting walked all over, but if that’s the case, she’d like to throw that particular book at his head. Summoning up all her nerve, she knocks on his door.

“Something wrong?” he asks. Then adds, “Already?”

“I thought this job would be a chance to learn social work and criminal law,” she says, holding her hands behind her back so R.J. can’t see how much they are shaking.

“So far, all I’ve been doing is household chores and delivering packages,” she says. “I’m not learning anything, except everyone’s coffee order.”

“I getcha,” R.J. says. And Maddy thinks for a moment that he does indeed “get her.”

Maybe R.J. is a reasonable, decent person under that ridiculously businesslike exterior.

“That’s good to hear,” says Maddy.

Then R.J. says, “Don’t get too excited. I’m going to give you an actual assignment. But it entails taking the subway, going to a really miserable place, and, most likely, dealing with a rude, unpleasant person.”

“Lay it on me,” Maddy tells him, thinking it didn’t sound terribly different from what she was already doing.

“Here’s what you need to do,” he says. “Download the Justice Systems General Form app on your cell phone and get yourself over to the 19th Precinct. There’s a young woman over there who’s coming up for a pre-bail evaluation.

Try to get some info out of her. And don’t let her bullshit you.

Happy now?” he asks, no smile, no charm.

“I’m all over it,” Maddy says, and she can’t believe she’s given such a corny response.

“Yeah, sure,” R.J. says. “And, oh, by the way, on your way back could you pick up my clean shirts at Valley Cleaners downstairs?”

Maddy is about to say something, but R.J. speaks, still serious. “Just kidding,” he says.

But Maddy’s not sure that he is.