The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy

Charles Bingley looked under the hood of the Lamborghini Murcielago and crossed his arms.

“How much horsepower?” he asked.

“580,” replied his friend. Bingley stroked his chin and nodded.

“And zero to sixty in
...?”
he asked, not taking his eyes off the engine.

“Zero to 62 in 3.8 seconds, top speed 205.”

“Have you driven one?”

“Yes. I wasn’t impressed. Traction control,” his friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy, said disdainfully in his clipped British accent. Bingley looked up at Darcy.

“Isn’t that a good thing? I don’t want to plunge over the Pacific Highway no matter how good I look in it.”

“For god’s sake, Bingley, it’s an Italian super car! If you’re afraid to drive it, buy a Honda.”

Charles Bingley chewed on his thumbnail absently.
“I bet it costs a fortune to insure,” Bingley mused.

Darcy laughed. “Insurance? Don’t buy it if you can’t afford to wreck it.”

“It looks scrumptious,” said Bingley’s sister, Caroline. “I’d look divine in it.” She bent over to look in the window and surreptitiously looked behind her to ensure Darcy had a good view of her rear.

“What do you think, Darcy?” Bingley asked. He trusted his friend’s opinion and relied on him prodigiously. Luckily for Charles Bingley, Fitzwilliam Darcy was as good a friend as one could hope for; he kept Bingley safe from himself and was rich enough to have no designs on Bingley’s fortune.

“If flash is what you want, this is the car to buy,” Darcy replied noncommittally.

Caroline wiggled out of the window and turned to Darcy.

“Whatever happened to that funny little car you had, the one with the driver’s seat in the middle?” she asked.

“I sold the McLaren to Ralph Lauren a few years back. He refuses to sell it back to me,” he said ruefully.

“You know Ralph Lauren? Ugh, tell him I hate his latest line,” Caroline wrinkled her nose and checked on a fingernail. Darcy allowed one side of his mouth to curl into a smile as he envisioned himself flipping open his cell phone and saying “Ralph. Darcy. Hate the line. Want my car back.”

“I’m getting it,” Bingley declared. “Let’s go,” he said walking resolutely toward the dealership. Darcy looked at his watch.

“Bingley, I have to get back to court. Don’t you want to think about it overnight?” he called after Bingley. Bingley continued toward the dealership door and shook his head.

“I’ll have it in yellow!” he called to Darcy, giving him a backward wave in farewell. Darcy sighed and climbed into his non-flashy Audi.

“Fucking Ralph Lauren,” he muttered to himself.

***

Darcy pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse. He had been following a blue Mini-Cooper and was amused to see the driver was bobbing her head and clearly singing at the top of her lungs as she drove before him. He half expected to see her break out the air guitar. He pulled into the parking slot beside her and watched with fascination as she slammed out a drumbeat on her steering wheel. He laughed silently to himself and climbed out of his car, grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat. The driver of the Mini Cooper was apparently doing an encore as she did not exit.

As he passed her car, he recognized the pounding thumps of “Rocket” by the Smashing Pumpkins. One of my favorites, he thought. He hummed the tune to himself, fingers twitching at his side as if working over the frets of a guitar. He quickly crossed the parking lot on his long legs and jogged up the five flights to his office.

“Good afternoon, Judge Darcy,” he was greeted in the hall by an attorney. He nodded pleasantly and passed through the judges’ entrance. He passed his secretary, who ran after him as he opened his chambers door, reciting his phone messages to him.

“
...
and Judge Clayton went home sick, you’ll have to take her afternoon calendar.”

Darcy turned swiftly back to his secretary, instantly annoyed.

“Sick? What’s wrong with her?” His secretary shrugged noncommittally and handed him several slips of paper. He frowned. He was already overworked, he didn’t need another twenty cases to hear this afternoon. He sincerely hoped this was not one of Judge Clayton’s little hissy fits about not being appointed presiding judge when the vacancy had opened. He personally couldn’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass about the position but then he didn’t need the extra money. When it had gone to Judge Boyd instead of Judge Clayton, Darcy thought he’d never hear the end of it. He suspected that Judge Clayton wanted the position because the presiding judge did not hear trials. Judge Clayton had been overturned on appeal rather frequently of late, mainly because she had no concept of how to interpret the law.

Not five minutes later, Judge Boyd came into Darcy’s office.

“Hi, Will,” he said in his insipid, soft voice. His pale eyes looked at Darcy with blank sympathy while his head nodded. “I assume Deidre has told you that Francis has gone home sick, I’m afraid you’ll have to take the rest of her calendar.” Darcy sat on the edge of his desk, one leg swinging casually.

“What exactly is wrong with Francis?” he asked sardonically.

“I’m afraid she’s just feeling unwell. You know how she gets.” His vacant expression and evident complacency grated on Darcy’s nerves; he didn’t want the PJ position but he’d have done a damn sight better than this man!

“Certainly, Oliver. I will handle it.” With dispatch. And better than either one of them would have done.

“Thank you. I appreciate your understanding and professionalism,” Judge Boyd smiled and nodded his head; he reminded Darcy of a wet noodle. Perhaps Darcy should not have had that martini that Caroline insisted would be soooooo refreshing with their lunch.

Judge Boyd handed Darcy Judge Clayton’s docket and left. Six trials.

“Fucking Judge Clayton,” he muttered under his breath.

***

As a suburb of San Francisco, Meryton had the advantages of being within easy commuting distance of a major metropolitan area. However, as a suburb of San Francisco, Meryton also had its own small district court, as did many other suburbs. In a district as small as theirs, with only two trial judges, he heard both civil and criminal cases. The courthouse also housed several smaller law offices, including Gardiner and Associates, one of the most respected firms in their small district. In such a setup there was little free space and generally attorneys had few options in where they could negotiate their deals. As a result, Darcy allowed them to negotiate quietly in the back of his courtroom while he heard cases. There was always a constant buzz and shuffle as attorneys chatted and struck deals, joked and argued. Today, the courtroom was teeming with people.

The Honorable F. Darcy entered the courtroom with little fanfare and a swirl of black robes. Sometimes he imagined himself as Professor Snape when he wore them. Considering how frequently he wished he could zap some people out of existence, it was fitting. This afternoon would be one of those days; he hated cleaning up other people’s messes and yet it somehow always fell to him. He was “responsible” and “reliable” and “respectable” and “rich,” all qualifications that made everyone think he enjoyed taking care of them. He thought they could all go fuck themselves. Christ, I need a vacation, he thought, surprised at the vehemence of his own resentment.

As soon as his term was up, he would not seek reappointment. If he could just get through the next 18 months, he’d be free to return to England and assume the life of a country gentleman. Or maybe he’d loaf on a beach for a year or travel or visit relatives in France or
...
he pulled himself out of his reverie and turned his attention to a new face in the courtroom.

Well, if it isn’t little drummer girl, he thought amused. Probably here to contest her speeding ticket. She was talking to Charlotte Lucas, a defense attorney from Gardiner and Associates. She was lucky; he was a softie for speeding tickets. If the policeman didn’t show up, he routinely dismissed them. As he didn’t see a CHP anywhere in the courtroom, he figured she’d be free to play air guitar within the hour.

“Anybody ready?” Darcy asked. He did not follow a strict docket order as the attorneys usually weren’t ready at their assigned timeslots; instead, he took his cases on a first-come, first-serve basis.

He was surprised to see Miss Drummer Girl lead a pudgy, slightly sweaty man to the defense table while Mr. Johnson, the prosecutor, took his side.

“Elizabeth
Bennet
for the defense, your honor,” she announced. Darcy looked up at her, gave her a once-over with a critical eye and returned his gaze to the file before him. New attorney, he thought, disappointed. Tedious.

The prosecutor laid out a charge of solicitation of prostitution and Miss
Bennet
defended the charges creditably, given what a poor case she had to work with. Bill Collins was a habitual offender; Darcy had seen him on several occasions. He wondered how long before Mr. Collins contracted a flaming case of herpes.

They dickered back and forth and she tried to prove how clever she was by raising hyper technical arguments. Darcy blew her out of the water
,
but gave her credit for trying
,
but let enough of her points stand to allow the prosecutor to reduce the charges. They ultimately agreed to 30 days probation.

The prosecutor then brought the prostitute before Judge Darcy for trial; she was represented by a barracuda defense attorney from deBourgh and Associates, slumming on a pro-bono case. He hated that firm; they never compromised anything. He would have to try the case.

“What am I in trouble for?” the prostitute asked, outraged.

Fucking Bill Collins,
Darcy thought irately.

“Fucking Judge Darcy,” Elizabeth
Bennet
swore as she punched the elevator button to the ninth floor where Gardiner and Associates was located. She had felt somewhat humiliated by his out of hand dismissal of her defenses even though she herself knew they were weak. Until now, she had been appearing only before Judge Clayton, who was a very motherly judge who never raised her voice or chided the attorneys. She also never decided a case right but that was beside the point; she was nice.

“I think you have just been Darcied,” Charlotte teased. “Once you get used to him, he’s actually a pretty good judge. He’s never been overturned on appeal, unlike some others we know,” Charlotte said, winking at Elizabeth.

“Mmmm. Needs a little work on the interpersonal skills, though, doesn’t he?” Elizabeth replied. They dumped their briefcases in their offices and met again at the door as they left for the evening.

“Want to go for a drink?” Charlotte proposed.

“I’m meeting a friend; mind if he comes along?” Elizabeth said. Charlotte shrugged, and soon they were walking toward the local legal after-work hangout, the Assembly Room. Elizabeth looked around and found her friend sitting at a table by himself.

“Charlotte, I’d like you to meet my friend Louis Hurst. Lou, this is my friend Charlotte Lucas.”

Louis Hurst was a slender man with deep blue eyes and dark hair. It was commonly said that he looked a lot like Rupert Everett; he used it to his advantage whenever he could. As Elizabeth’s best friend since junior high, he had an uncommon bond with her. He had little direction in life and drifted from job to job, somehow always managing to land on his feet. Right now he was a massage therapist at a day spa. He had never been driven like Elizabeth; their opposite attitudes were largely what glued their friendship together. That and their fashion sense.

“Who is that?” he said, eyebrow raised in interest, looking toward the door. Both Elizabeth and Charlotte turned. Elizabeth’s face assumed a look of horror.

“Ugh, it’s Judge Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here!” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Too late!” Charlotte laughed. Darcy was standing a few feet behind Elizabeth talking to another attorney.

“Come on, Darcy, join us. It will be fun,” the attorney was saying. Darcy was shaking his head.

“No, I’m busy tonight.”

“But she’s crazy about you, you could get laid tonight!” the attorney said. He had apparently had a few too many.

“Thanks, Jim, but no,” Darcy declined politely.

“Hey, did you see Gardiner’s new attorney? Eleanor, Elaine, something like that? Elizabeth, that’s it. She’s hot, you should ask her out!”

Elizabeth felt her face flush and saw Lou and Charlotte put their hands over their mouths in horrified mirth and look at Elizabeth. Thank god her back was to them!

“She’s alright, I suppose,” Darcy said nonchalantly. Both Lou and Charlotte’s eyes widened in disbelief. Elizabeth’s jaw dropped in indignation.

“Seriously, she looks like she’s got a great body,” Jim cajoled, oblivious that she was just behind him. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. When she thought it could not get any worse, she heard Darcy say firmly,

“Look, she’s not handsome enough to tempt me. Do you have any idea what kind of headache even the appearance of impropriety would cause? I could get kicked off the bench for shagging an attorney who appears before me.”

Elizabeth burst out laughing at the absurdity of their conversation. Both Charlotte and Lou burst out laughing as well. Annoyed by the explosion of laughter behind them, Darcy and Jim moved away from their table. Elizabeth gathered her things. They all burst into another fit of giggles as they brushed past Darcy on their way out.

“She’s alright, I suppose,” Charlotte mimicked, then laughed again.

“But not handsome enough to tempt me,” Lou finished with a spot-on impression. “Maybe I’m handsome enough to tempt him,” he suggested with wide eyes.

“Oh, Lou, the only shag about you is your hairdo,” Elizabeth quipped.

Despite the humor she found in the situation, Elizabeth could not ignore that she was incensed that Judge Darcy had so soundly dismissed her charms. She continued to laugh and joke with Lou and Charlotte as they went to dinner, but something akin to resentment was beginning a slow burn inside of her.