Sycamore Row - John Grisham

during lunch. He knows the score and he obviously knows how to play the game. He’s
been in my shoes before. I think I can talk to him.”
“Talk fast, Jake, and get out of this damned trial. You want no part of this jury. This
ain’t nothin’ like Hailey.”
“No, it’s not.”
Jake thanked him and went inside. Carla was already in bed, reading and worrying
about her husband. “What was that all about?” she asked as he undressed.
“Just Ozzie. He’s concerned about the trial.”
“Why is Ozzie out roaming around at this hour?”
“You know Ozzie. He never sleeps.” Jake fell across the end of the bed and rubbed her
legs under the sheets.
“Neither do you. Can I ask you something? Here you are in the middle of another big
trial. You haven’t slept four hours in the past week, and when you are asleep you fidget
and have nightmares. You’re not eating well. You’re losing weight. You’re preoccupied,
off in la-la land half the time. You’re stressed-out, jumpy, testy, sometimes even
nauseous. You’ll wake up in the morning with a knot in your stomach.”
“The question?”
“Why in the world do you want to be a trial lawyer?”
“This might not be the best time to ask that question.”
“No, it’s the perfect time. How many jury trials have you had in the last ten years?”
“Thirty-one.”
“And you’ve lost sleep and weight during each one, right?”
“I don’t think so. Most are not quite this significant, Carla. This is exceptional.”
“My point is that trial work is so stressful. Why do you want to do it?”
“Because I love it. It’s what being a lawyer is all about. Being in the courtroom, in
front of a jury, is like being in the arena, or on the field. The competition is fierce. The
stakes are high. The gamesmanship is intense. There will be a winner and a loser. There
is a rush of adrenaline each time the jury is led in and seated.”
“A lot of ego.”
“A ton. You’ll never meet a successful trial lawyer without an ego. It’s a requirement.
You gotta have the ego to want the work.”
“You should do well, then.”
“Okay, I admit I have the ego, but it might get crushed this week. It might need
soothing.”
“Now or later?”
“Now. It’s been eight days.”
“Lock the door.”
Lucien blacked out somewhere over Mississippi at thirty-five thousand feet. When the
plane landed in Atlanta, the flight attendants helped him off. Two guards put him in a
wheelchair and rolled him to the gate for the flight to Memphis. They passed several