The only good Lawyer

those people would have been if they’d come to show-and-tell at my grammar school.”
    “Drink your ale.”
    As Nancy smiled at me over the top of her glass, I looked around the room, then noticed Nancy ’s expression change.
    She said, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Your face just went sad.”
    “The reason I brought you here.”
    “Which is?”
    “The owners of the hotel aren’t renewing the bar’s lease. They want to aim at a more upscale crowd.”
    “So, this is kind of last call at the Eliot Lounge?”
    “Kind of.”
    Nancy reached her right hand across the table, closing on my left one. “Then I’m glad you cared enough to have me come with you.”
    “You and no other, kid.”

    * * *

    “What a lovely evening,” said Nancy .
    We were walking east on Newbury Street , Boston ’s answer to Rodeo Drive . A little funkier on the Mass Ave end where we were, a little ritzier—appropriately—as you got closer to the Ritz Carlton Hotel overlooking the Public Garden. There were a few outdoor cafes, tables set but no diners seated.
    “John?”
    “Agreed,” I said. “Lovely evening.”
    Nancy took my arm, giving me a sidelong glance. “You still down about the Eliot?”
    “Yes, but I did what I could, which was to send the place off with as much good feeling as it gave me back when.”
    “Then there’s nothing else you can do.”
    “Right.”
    Nancy tone changed. “You know the photos of the runners on the wall?”
    “Yes?”
    “I bet you’d look cute in one of those little running outfits, with the silk singlets and short shorts.”
    “You should catch me in the swim-suit competition.” Nancy drew my arm toward her more tightly. “I was kind of hoping for the birthday-suit competition.”
    “If you can curb your lust until after dinner.”
    “You’re on.”
    Just past Dartmouth , we turned down a set of stairs to Thai Basil.
    Nancy smiled. “My tummy’s happy already.”
    The owner, a smiling man with full cheeks and a bustling manner, takes such pride in the place I’ve never eaten there when he hasn’t been behind the cash register. He welcomed Nancy and me before leading us to a table separated from its neighbor by a clear glass panel. Though the restaurant isn’t huge, there’s always a sense of privacy accompanying the intimacy, and it’s become my favorite place in Back Bay .
    I ordered a Dry Creek Fume Blanc from the ponytailed waitress, whose command of English still reflected the tinkling accent of her homeland. The mixed appetizer plate for two (shrimp toast, spring rolls, and five or six other delights) arrived so quickly you almost couldn’t believe it was freshly prepared, though one taste convinced. And, as always, the entree dishes of Tamarind duck and garlic pork and pad Thai noodles were truly to die for.
    Nancy spooned a few more finger-sized slices of duck onto her plate. “So, you given any thought to what we’ll do for the weekend?”
    “No. You?”
    “I was thinking of a road trip.”
    I had some wine. “To...?”
    “Mystic Seaport.”
    “In Connecticut ?”
    “It’s only a hundred miles or so, John. We could stay at a bed-and-breakfast Saturday night.”
    I pictured the bills in piles back at my office. Nancy warmed up to her subject. “One of the other prosecutors went last weekend, and she said it was neat. The seaport itself has all kinds of shops set up the way they were in the whaling days, with ships and demonstrations of sail rigging and anchoring and so on. Be a real nice break from the city, not to mention my judge-review homework.”
    As good an opening as I was likely to get. “I don’t know, Nance. I might have a case I’m starting that would make it tough for me to take off like that.”
    She blinked. “You don’t know whether you’re starting the case or not?”
    “I told the lawyer who wants to hire me that I needed to talk with you about it first.”
    “Me?” Nancy sipped some wine. “I don’t understand. If it’s a case I’m working on, you really shouldn’t take it, but otherwise there’s no conflict.”
    “Not directly, maybe. But... Nance, it’s Alan Spaeth.”
    Her face lost all color, and I suddenly had the impression that if she hadn’t set her glass down, she’d have dropped it. “You can’t be serious.”
    “Steve Rothenberg asked—”
    “I know who the defense attorney is, John. Everybody in the office is on eggshells about it.”
    “But Steve said you