"I can always eat, Vic. You know that."
The cafes were jammed with the cruise-ship passengers, unleashed on the town for five hours before the horns blew and they rushed back to the harbor like rats heeding the pied piper.
"What about here, Steve? Your pal's place. We'll get that barbecued tuna you like so much."
Sure enough, they were in front of the Margaritaville Cafe, one of Jimmy Buffett's restaurants. The place was packed, with a line of starving patrons snaking out the door. Most had that pudgy, sunburned, tropical shirt right-off-the-hanger Midwestern look. Steve and Victoria moved to the end of the line.
"And how about some shrimp with andouille sauce?" she continued.
"Absolutely."
"But let's start with chowder with conch fritters and smoked fish spread."
"Anything you want. I'm buying."
"In that case, a couple of rum runners. And key lime pie for dessert."
More than she usually eats in a week.
He had planned to wait until she was on her second rum runner, but as they reached the end of the line, he just blurted it out: "Should we talk, Vic? About the future."
"Yes. I've wanted to."
"You really made a name for yourself with this one, so I'll understand if you still want to fly solo, but I'm thinking we shouldn't break up the firm."
"I'm thinking the same thing."
"Really?"
Could it be this easy?
"Handling Uncle Grif's trial was good for me," she said. "Really good. But we're better together than we are apart."
"Couldn't agree more."
"But you've got to give me room to grow."
"Lots of room. Lots of growing. No problem."
They inched forward but were still nowhere near the front door. "And we need to make some changes," Victoria said.
"Change is good."
"Those ads on the back of the Metro buses. Our faces right above the tailpipes. Let's get rid of them."
"They're good for business," Steve protested.
"They're tacky."
"They're gone. What else?"
"I want you to stop representing The Beav."
"Why? You know I don't mess around with the girls."
"It's unseemly."
"Jeez, Vic. You're starting to sound like your mother."
She shot him a look and he surrendered. "Okay, okay. Scratch The Beav."
That drew a look from the middle-aged woman in front of them, a tourist with eyeglasses on a faux pearl chain. Her husband wore madras Bermuda shorts with a long-sleeve white shirt.
"I wonder if your buddy's here." Victoria peeked around the people in front of them. The line wasn't moving. "He'd give us the VIP treatment for sure."
"I don't think Jimmy Buffett waits tables, Vic." Tangy smells drifted over them. Something was gnawing at Steve, something other than hunger pangs. "All we've talked about is Solomon and Lord. What about …?"
"Steve and Victoria?"
"Yeah. Aren't we better together than apart in that department, too?"
"I guess so." She leaned over and kissed him. "But I need a little time, okay?"
"I've been thinking about everything that's happened since the day the Force Majeure crashed."
"Me, too. Starting with your wanting to have sex in the ocean."
The woman in front of them turned and gawked over the top of her eyeglasses.
"I'm going to be a better person," Steve said. "A better dad to Bobby. A better son. A better partner to you."
"Don't get too much better, Steve. I kind of like you the way you are."
"Really? You don't want me to change?"
"Just one thing. From now on, total honesty. Complete candor and openness. Not even a white lie."
"No problema. By the way, did you know I was Phi Beta Kappa?"
"I'm serious, Steve. The truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth."
Not exactly the phrase he wanted to hear. "The most beautiful words in the English language," he said.
There was a commotion in front of them. A buzz in the conversation. Then someone applauded. A balding, suntanned middle-aged man in shorts, sandals, and a flowered shirt came out of the restaurant. People in line stopped him and shook hands. Some whipped out tour maps and pens and seemed to be asking for autographs.
"Steve! Look, it's Jimmy Buffett."
Steve craned his sore neck to get a better look. "You sure? Looks like one of those impersonators to me. Maybe he's got one in every restaurant."
"No, it's him. C'mon, Steve, say hello to him."
"Why so excited? You're not even a fan."
"But you're a major parrothead. And you're his bud. Maybe you can plan a fishing trip."
In a moment, Buffett worked his way to their position.
"Jimmy!" She grabbed one of his hands with both of hers. "I'm Victoria Lord, and here's your buddy Steve." She looked around. "Steve?"
He had wedged himself between two tourists. Victoria grabbed him by an elbow and dragged him over. "Maybe you two can chase the wily wahoo, or whatever it is you like to do."
Appearing confused, the man extended a hand to Steve. "Hi, I'm Jimmy Buffett. Welcome to Margaritaville."
"Steve Solomon." They shook hands.
"Wait a second," Victoria said. "Don't you two drink and fish together with Sheriff Rask?"
"You know Willis?" Jimmy said. "Helluva guy.
Well, nice meeting you, Steve." He moved down the line and shook some more hands.
Victoria cocked her head and studied Steve, who seemed to be counting the eyelets on his Reeboks.
"You can't change, can you, Steve?"
"We are who we are."
"You're right." The line moved a few paces, and they stepped with it. The aroma of fresh-baked bread grew stronger. "My mother. Your father. You. Me."
"What are you saying, Vic?"
"You taught me more than how to cross-examine. Remember what you said about your father? 'Love means accepting the other person just the way he is. Because he has to do the same.' "
"Yeah?"
She moved closer and nestled her head on his shoulder. "What's the ocean temperature today?"
"Warm. Eighty, eighty-one, maybe."
"Sounds wonderful. I know a secluded beach just off mile marker thirty-two."
"And …?
"You have swim trunks in the car?"
He shook his head.
"That's all right, Steve." She slipped her arms around him and drew close. "You won't need them."
SOLOMON'S LAWS
1. If the facts don't fit the law …bend the facts.
2. Always assume your client is guilty. It saves time.
3. Beware of a sheriff who forgets to load his gun but remembers the words to "Margaritaville."
4. You can sell one improbable event to a jury. A second "improb" is strictly no sale, and a third sends your client straight to prison.
5. "Love" means taking a bullet for your beloved. Anything short of that is just "like."
6. The client who lies to his lawyer is like a husband who cheats on his wife. It seldom happens just once.
7. When meeting an ex-girlfriend you dumped, always assume she's armed.
8. If a guy who's smart, handsome, and rich invites you and your girlfriend to a nudist club. . chances are he's got a giant shmeckel.
9. The people we've known the longest are often the people we know the least.
10. Choose a juror the way you choose a lover. Someone who doesn't expect perfection and forgives your bullshit.
11. If you're afraid of taking a big lead, you'll never get picked off. . but you'll never steal a base, either.
12. When a man and woman are in total sync- thinking each other's thoughts, making each other laugh, bringing each other joy-they've hit the sweet spot, and just being together is