Read Online One Good Turn by Judith Arnold - Free Book Online

and he’d come to Smith, and he’d chuck the idea of becoming a lawyer and find out what he really wanted to do with his life, and they’d do it together.
    Glorious but crazy. She’d only just met him. She had no reason to be mapping out a future with him.
    But optimism never hurt anybody, and Jenny was an optimist. So she continued to enjoy her fantasy.
    * * *
    “YALE, STANFORD AND Harvard, of course,” said Luke’s father, lowering his silverware in order to tick the schools off on his fingertips as he named them. “Columbia, Penn...”
    Luke stared at the top his father’s head. A significant number of silver strands laced through the black waves, but it was still as thick as an adolescent’s. He wished he could see his father’s face rather than his hair, though. He wished his father would look up, would talk to him instead of at him.
    “Duke would be acceptable, I suppose,” his father droned. “Chicago...”
    “Dad.”
    His father ignored the interruption. “As far as the second-tier schools—although heaven knows you’d go to one of them only as a last resort—there are plenty to choose from right in the New York area: N.Y.U., Fordham, St. John’s—”
    “Dad, please.”
Look at me,
he silently implored.
Just look at me.
    James Benning lifted his fork and knife and cut into the pink slab prime rib on his plate. “You remind me of your mother,” he said, his tone implying that this wasn’t a compliment. “She’s always complaining that it’s impolite to discuss business at the dinner table. I say there’s no such thing as a bad time to discuss business. It’s July. You can’t procrastinate when it comes to applying to law school. Now Yale is your first choice, of course. I can speak to some of the law school’s trustees for you. And Roger Chase maintains close ties with Columbia—”
    “Dad.” Luke tried without success to keep his voice from revealing his impatience. His father raised his eyebrows in tacit disapproval of his son’s interruption. Luke offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t want you speaking to people about getting me into law school,” he explained. “If I can’t get into law school on my own, then maybe I don’t belong there.”
    “That’s a very noble sentiment,” his father said in a condescending tone. He cut another forkful of roast beef and popped it into his mouth. “However, much as I hate to have to remind you at this late date, the first rule of survival in this world is: use what you’ve got. What you are very privileged to have, son, is a father with a network that runs through the best law schools in the country. If you don’t tap into that network you’re a fool.” He set down his fork and reached for his glass of wine. The gold and onyx cufflink at his wrist glinted beneath the sleeve of his jacket.
    Luke felt as if he were spinning back in time. Suddenly he was thirteen years old, sitting in the somber walnut-paneled formal dining room at the house in Larchmont. His father sat at the head of the table in the room’s one arm chair—his throne. Luke’s mother sat at the other end of the table, fair and fragile in her silk dress and pearls, with her ash-blond hair swept back into a knot at the nape of her neck, her eyelids permanently at half-mast and the pale, slender fingers of her left hand curled around her martini glass. Across from Luke sat Elliott, dark haired and broad-shouldered, being lectured by their father about his performance on the links at the country club that day, or about the importance of rising to a leadership position on the debate team or the basketball team, or about the significance of the country’s cultivating new Asian markets for American goods. Luke’s mother remained silent throughout the meal, sipping her drink, and Luke attempted futilely to contribute to the discussion. He tried to offer an opinion and his father cut him off, bore down on Elliott and said, “But you see, the zone defense detracts from