Enemy Queen by Robert Steven Goldstein

Author:Robert Steven Goldstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SparkPress
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION of College and University Attorneys holds its annual conference in a different city every year. I’d been a regular attendee for over a decade. Although the discussion groups and workshops were always useful, I especially looked forward to catching up with old friends.

As was the case each year, I was particularly excited to see Sydelle Lubinksy, a loud and formidable attorney whom I had met when she and I were finalists for the chief counsel position for the University of California, Berkeley. Neither of us got the job, but we wound up on adjacent bar stools one night lamenting our mutual rejections. She eventually was appointed chief counsel for a small liberal arts college in Hawaii.

Sydelle was an imposing woman, built along the lines of the professor and his lineman cronies, only a good deal shorter. She was an unabashed lesbian whose physical characteristics suggested no dearth of testosterone in her system.

She and I had always been fans of good architecture, so Chicago presented an especially awesome spectacle. The two of us skipped the day’s final workshop and instead strolled for a couple of hours around the Loop, admiring Chicago’s majestic edifices.

“It’s not just the magnificence of any single building, Stanley,” she said, as we both stopped and turned in circles to take it all in. “It’s how beautifully they all fit together. The gestalt they create. I’ve never seen a city where the architecture is so seamlessly integrated.”

I mused aloud: “I wonder if someone mapped it out this way, or if every architect who designs a building here studies everything around it first and uses that as input.”

“That will be a good homework assignment for us,” she said with a laugh. “We can research the history of Chicago’s architecture and e-mail each other about it. In our copious spare time.”

“Right.” I chuckled. “Copious spare time!”

As I perused the panorama, I spotted an upscale bar, up the block on the other side of the street, and pointed it out to Sydelle. “Are you ready for a drink?” I asked.

“I’m ready for three or four.”

We entered the tavern through heavy wooden doors sporting thick varnish and massive chrome handles. Inside, the lounge was nicely appointed with plush carpets and booths, and at this hour was still nearly empty.

“Oh, good,” Sydelle said. “It’s nice and quiet. It looks like they serve food in the back room. Maybe we can have dinner here too.”

It was a great relief to me that the conference never scheduled group dinners for the participants. That would have been oppressive. Bad enough were the daily “networking breakfasts” and “networking lunches” sponsored by prestigious law firms, which were considered bad form to spurn.

“We can peruse the menu while we drink,” I said.

We sat down in a beautifully upholstered booth.

As the cocktail waitress approached, I girded myself. I always tried not to wince when Sydelle ordered it, but I was never entirely successful.

“Scotch and milk,” she announced unflinchingly.

One eyebrow of the waitress squirmed almost imperceptibly, but she made no comment.

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