“Really?” Conrad asked. “What do you think your husband’s trying to do as we speak?”

Two hours later, Jared opened the door to his apartment. After Kozlow’s attack last night, he didn’t want to stay at Pop’s, and he was longing to see his wife. For the past ten years, no matter what problems he’d encountered, no matter what pressures he’d faced, no matter what battles he’d fought, Sara had always been there for him. She was the first person he saw when he came out of his knee surgery, and she was the only person who said he did a good job when he lost his first case. For the past three weeks, Jared had found it easier to avoid her, but as he walked into the silent apartment, he knew that at this moment there was no one he’d rather see. He missed her laugh, and the way she made fun of his fashion sense, and the way she picked a fight when she disagreed with someone. “Sara?” he asked as he walked into the living room. “Are you here?” He went into the bedroom. “Sara? Honey, are you here?” Again, there was no answer. His wife was gone. “Please be okay,” he whispered. For the past three weeks, Jared had been lonely; tonight, he was alone. Standing in the quiet of their empty bedroom, he felt every bit of the difference.

“One more time,” Conrad demanded. “Start at the beginning.”

“What’re you, a robot?” Sara asked, collapsing next to him on the sofa. “It’s almost midnight.”

“If you want it to be perfect, you have to put in the hours.”

“Screw perfection. For mortal beings, there’s no such thing.”

“I bet Jared’s shooting for perfection.”

“I’m sure he is. That’s the difference between us – he wants perfection, while I’m satisfied with doing it to the best of my ability.” Pointing a finger at Conrad, she added, “And stop trying to use him against me. I don’t like it, and it won’t work.”

“It’s worked up until now,” Conrad said.

“Well, stop it. It’s annoying.”

As he leaned back on the sofa, Conrad stared silently at Sara. Finally, he asked, “Have you always been so competitive with him?”

“With Jared? Of course. Since the moment we met.”

“And how’d you guys meet again? As summer associates in a firm?”

“No way, we have a much better story than that. I met Jared during our first year of law school.”

“Oh, God. Law school sweethearts. Is it possible to be more nauseating?”

“I doubt it. In this case, we’ve achieved perfection.” As Conrad shook his head, Sara added, “The first time I saw him, he raised his hand to answer a question in our contracts class. When he was done, the professor called his response ‘imaginative, but sophomorically implausible.’ He was so obviously devastated, I knew he had to be mine.”

“But that’s not how you met, is it?”

“Actually, we met during the first few weeks of school, but I didn’t get to know him until we were randomly matched as partners for moot court.”

“I assume you hated each other.”

“Of course,” Sara said. “He thought I was too pushy, I thought he was a wound-too-tight know-it-all.”

“So what finally brought you together?”

“I’m not sure. I think it was that I liked the word penis, and he had one.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. You always are. But I’m not sure how to answer that. When I think about Jared, though, I know one thing: He’s the person I aspire to be. Really. That’s how I see him. And when we’re together, he helps me be that person. Love has to be a complement.”

“It certainly does,” Conrad said.

“What about you? You ever been in love?”

“Of course I’ve been in love. I was even married for three years way back when.”

“Huh,” Sara said, looking at Conrad in a new light. “I don’t see you as the married type.”

“Me neither. That’s why I left.”

“What was her name?”

“Marta Pacheco. We met right after I got out of the marines and were married a year later. When I wanted to come to New York, she wanted to stay near her family in California. Really, it was just the straw that killed an already-overworked camel, but it was as good an excuse as any other to leave. We were way too young to hold it together.”

“And now your love is the criminal-justice system. How romantic.”

“This city is a vicious lover, but there’s no one finer,” Conrad said with a laugh. “Enough about my mistakes, though – I want to hear more about yours. Tell me why you got fired from your law firm.”

“Still curious about that, aren’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t be? You’ve been hiding it since the day we met.”

“And I’m hiding it today as well.”

“Oh, grow up already. How embarrassing can it be?”

“Quite embarrassing. Very, very embarrassing.”

“Just tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”

Sara was silent for a moment, then said, “Here’s the deal. I’ll tell you why I got fired if you tell me some equally embarrassing fact about yourself.”

“What is this, fourth grade? Now we’re trading secrets?”

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Conrad said. “Now let’s hear your story.”

“Age before beauty, daddy-o. You want to hear it, you go first.”

“Your husband was right. You are pushy.”

“Just tell the story.”

“Fine, fine,” Conrad said. “My story’s easy. Have you ever heard of Plato’s philosophy of the soul?”

“Is this some sort of literary tale?”

“Just listen,” Conrad continued. “Plato believed that at birth, every soul received a unique demon or angel which defined that person’s genius and destiny. In his view, on some level, we were all oaks in tiny acorns. When I was little, my mother was a firm believer in this. And without a doubt, she was convinced that I had the soul of an entertainer.”

“You?”

“Believe me, I reacted the same way. Naturally, though, my mother wasn’t really interested in my own pubescent opinion. So when I was fifteen years old, I was told that I had to get a part-time job to help supplement the family income. To maximize that venture, and to complete my destiny, my mom got me a job as a magician’s assistant. At little kids’ birthday parties, he did the tricks and I did all the assisting.”

“That’s not embarrassing. It sounds like a dream job.”

“That’s what I thought – until I saw my costume. For four years, I was forced to wear gobs of face paint, a rainbow wig, and giant shoes that-”

“You were a clown?” Sara laughed.

“That’s me – the clown sidekick to Max Marcus, Cleveland’s Most Overrated Magician.”

“I can’t believe you were a clown,” Sara laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but I was really good at it. I even had my own clown identity.”

“Really? What’d you do? Scare the little kids until they confessed? The two of you had sort of a good clown-bad clown thing going?”

“I have to admit I was a little weak on the personality side. But I did pick out a name. From the day I started, I was known as Slappy Kincaid.”

Sara laughed out loud. “Slappy Kincaid? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a good name. In fact, for a clown, it’s a great name.” As Sara continued to laugh, Conrad said, “So now you have my embarrassing fact. Time for yours. Why’d you get fired?”

Sara finally caught her breath. “I’m warning you, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, especially when you compare it to something like clown assistant…”

“Just get on with it.”

“Okay, here’s how it goes: Last year, when I went for my annual review, William Quinn, the head of the executive committee, told me that I wasn’t going to make partner. Of course, the only reason I worked like a dog for the two years before was because of Quinn’s reassurance that I was on the partner track. But things were obviously not working out as planned, and I was being asked to leave. However, since I’d put in a good six years of my life there, he said he’d let me stay on board for a whole four extra months if I needed to.”