“What I was trying to say is that the only thing her judge likes is pastrami. As in, the only thing he talks about is pastrami. Which is pretty weird, you know,” he paused. “And I’m sure Heidi would trade places with you in a minute. She hates New York.”

How could anyone hate New York? I found myself a bit cross with Matthew for dating someone who affirmatively hated New York.

“Yeah, I guess New York is tough for some people. It’s expensive. Um.” I searched for another negative but was coming up short.

“Well, in law school, she used to get up really early and go walking at the mall in New Haven. And there’s no place really for her to do that in Manhattan.”

“As in mall walking? That kind of mall? That kind of walking?” I asked, trying to suppress my shock. Was Matthew dating a senior citizen? Did we have a Harold and Maude sequel on our hands?

“Yeah, she likes to walk at the mall,” he said, his face reddening a bit, “and, er, there was this one store she loved where she used to buy postcards for her collection. And I think she misses that, too.”

I’d never been so happy to see the courthouse and was actually grateful for the security check, as I couldn’t think of anything to say about postcard collections.

Entering chambers, I quickly returned to my cubicle to do some covert Internet research on the ACLU. Matthew headed for the supply closet, presumably to grab a new mechanical pencil. The judge kept taking his from his desk drawer.

“MMMAATTTTTHHEW!” Surely Matthew’s mother had never intended his name to be pronounced in such a fashion.

“MMMAATTTTTHHEW!” Surely Matthew’s mother heard the judge all the way in Idaho. “Get in here now!”

Matthew stumbled inside. At least six feet tall, he nevertheless looked meek next to the judge. One of the few things I knew about Matthew was that he’d grown up on a farm in Idaho where he spent his youth castrating bulls. Twenty years later, a small elderly lady was making him shudder.

“You and Sheila have been gone for over two hours!” Talk about fuzzy math. We’d left at 12:05 and it was 1:10. We’d been gone for sixty-five minutes.

“Um, Judge, actually, we left shortly after—”

“NO! NO! NO! Janet said you’ve both been gone since eleven-thirty!” What! Why would Janet lie? And the judge had been staring at me at 11:30. How on earth was it possible for me to have been getting stared at by her and lectured by Brian all at the same time? The ginger noodles started to stir.

“SHEEEEELLLLLAAA!!” Shoot—I was selfishly hoping that Matthew would take the rap for the both of us. I walked into the torture chamber as Matthew headed out, nostrils flaring.