Left: A Love Story
By Mary Hogan
4/5
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About this ebook
In this beautifully crafted novel from the author of the critically-acclaimed Two Sisters, comes the story of a woman who retreats into a fantasy world on New York City’s Upper West Side as she slowly loses her once whip-smart husband to dementia—perfect for fans of Still Alice.
When life falls apart, a little fantasy goes a long way…
It started as a dream vacation in Spain, with Fay and Paul Agarra enjoying all the delights of a European holiday. A respected New York City judge, Paul has always been the man Fay can rely on, no matter what. When he inexplicably disappears from a Barcelona street corner, Fay knows something is terribly wrong. Once reunited, Paul shrugs off the episode as a simple misunderstanding—but Fay suspects her almost perfect life has taken a dark and sudden turn.
Soon there are more signs that Paul is beginning to change. Bouts of forgetfulness lead to mistakes in the courtroom. Simple tasks cause unexplainable outbursts of anger. Fay’s worst suspicions are realized when she learns her husband—her rock, her love, her everything—is succumbing to the ravages of dementia.
As her husband transforms before her very eyes, Fay copes with her fears by retreating into a fantasy life filled with promise instead of pain. In Fay’s invented world, she imagines herself living a glamorous life free from heartache, with a handsome neighbor she barely knows rescuing her from a future she can’t accept.
Poignant and beautifully crafted, Left is an unforgettable tale about life’s aching uncertainties—and a woman who discovers that somewhere between hope and reality, an unexpected future will find its way forward.
Mary Hogan
Mary Hogan is the bestselling author of Two Sisters and the historical novel, The Woman in the Photo. Previous novels include the young adult titles, The Serious Kiss, Perfect Girl and Pretty Face (HarperCollins). Mary lives in New York City with her husband, actor Robert Hogan, and their Catahoula Leopard rescue dog, Lucy. maryhogan.com
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Reviews for Left
49 ratings20 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5It could have kept it going a little better. It took me a long time to read this book. I read about half of it and set it down for a year before I finished it yesterday. But it was a nice story and am glad I finally finished it.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Fay and Paul have had an intriguing marriage, with both physical and intellectual compatibility. A trip to Spain, that initially delights, brings fear and a sense of foreboding when Fay realizes the very astute, Paul , a Judge, a man of the world, is slipping away into the beginnings of dementia. Her life begins to exist in both its realistic challenges and in her own daydream fantasies of a parallel life. There were very sincere moments here, believable relationships, and a plot that held interest.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/53.5 He was much younger than her, a respected state supreme Court judge, already married once with a son. He was kind, funny, smart, and from the moment Faye saw Paul, they clicked, married. Now after many years of a successful marriage, Paul surprises her with a trip to Spain. At first things go marvelously, but then she begins to notice little things, and then something major happens.There is such a realistic feel to this book, a honesty that is compelling and heartbreaking. Watching someone you love, leave you unwillingly in body and mind. Caregiving such a demand on the spirit, the emotional toll on the person. Family who try to help but don't understand, and then a granddaughter and a caretaker who have words of wisdom, much needed.The author has watched someone she loves struggle with Alzheimers, and does a wonderful job here conveying the emotional and physical struggle on all involved. A difficult book to read, but one that provides an important insight into this horrific condition.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I loved Fay and Paul story of how they met and their relationship. It was a true love one. Although, my issue is that this love and bond they shared was not so easily conveyed to me. In the matter that I was not able to fully embrace them or the story as strongly as I wanted too. For this story, it should be about the characters. I am only basing this off the story and not on the author's life. This book is part memoir/non fiction about the author's marriage. Alzheimer's is a sad disease. It was apparent in this book. It does not just affect the person experiencing Alzheimer's but also the person's loved ones as well. I felt for Fay and her frustration with trying to get help for Paul. It was like she was hitting brick walls. The most powerful sentence in this book was said by Paul when Fay caught a glimpse of her husband in his eyes. He said "I never left".
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This was a quick book to read. Sad, of course, but like many books of this sort it tries to be uplifting in some small way. Told from the viewpoint of the wife, she wanders off into her own fantasy world to cope with her husband's growing dementia but her fantasies are proved to be no better than her reality. My overriding feeling after reading this book is just how horrible this disease is. ***I received this book through LibraryThing Member Giveaway. The opinion is solely my own."
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Like the title says, Left is a love story and is told from the main character, Fay's point of view. Fay fell in love with Paul, who is a judge and is 20 years older than her. I finished the book in just a day or so, but it really stuck with me. The story is just about an ordinary woman with a "normal" life. One could really relate. Then she slowly begins to notice odd behavior from her husband. Eventually we discover he has dementia. To cope, Fay begins to imagine a different life she could escape to. The end of the book allows us to see that things may not always be better elsewhere. I would love to read more from this author. I received a complimentary copy as part of the Librarything Early Reviewers program.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5Paul Agarra, a respected judge, and his much younger wife Fay are on the last day of a trip to Spain. Fay proposes a quick side trip on the way to the airport, but they soon got lost. They pull into a diner so that Fay can use the rest room and ask for directions; Paul will circle around until she comes out. Except that Paul never returns. Frantic, with no money or cell phone (she had left her purse in the car), Fay finally makes her way to the airport, where she finds Paul waiting for her. He insists that going to the airport without her was the logical thing to do, since they were lost and he knew that she was expected to be there. This is one of the first signs that something isn't quite right with Paul, and the rest of the book tracks his slide into Alzheimer's. Fay struggles with the changes while Paul, his children, and his ex-wife refuse to accept his decline--until one night the police find him wandering in the middle of the night.This book has been likened by many to 'Still Alice.' Don't believe it--this one is far inferior. Yes, it's about a smart professional who develops Alzheimer's. But whereas Lisa Genova focused primarily on Alice herself, Hogan's main character is Fay, and I found it extremely hard to empathize with her. She's a vain, shallow, pampered woman who is really full of herself. I got tired of reading about her classy outfits, her constant primping, her flashing diamond earrings at doormen to let them know how important she is, her fantasies about younger men that she expected would fall in love with her, her claims that she looked much younger than her years, her insistence that she had the most perfect husband in the universe, yadda, yadda, yadda. By the time she tried to redeem herself, it was too late for me. It also bothered me that, after Paul suffers a serious shoulder injury, the whole family is ready to blame the surgeon and the hospital for his rapid decline. I have great compassion for families having to deal with a relative suffering from this dreaded disease, but I know that there are much better novels written about the issue, ones that make you care about their dilemma. The only likable character is Lola, the dog. Not recommended.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5When things go wrong in life, some people retreat into fantasy. Sometimes the life they imagine is very basic and other times it can grow to be an elaborate escape from the reality they are facing. This is the case in Mary Hogan's newest novel, Left: A Love Story.The novel opens with Fay Agarra, the narrator of the story, walking her dog Lola and talking to and about a pre-war building in her New York City neighborhood, a building she's fallen in love with and is fantasizing about moving into "after it was all over" without mentioning what "it" is. The story immediately jumps to Spain and a vacation she took with her husband, the time from which she dates the changes in her life. Fay is 21 years younger than her husband and although she says often that their May-December romance shouldn't have worked, it has been a nearly perfect marriage for 22 years. Paul is a well-respected sitting judge in the city and has an adult son and an annoying ex-wife. Fay is an artist whose Etsy store is finally taking off. They're in Spain for a break from real life and so that Fay can find some more inspiration for her lamp shades. As they are getting ready to leave Spain, something strange happens though. Fay's "there kind of guy" drives off and leaves her, then telling police that she's lost. This turns out to be the first instance of Paul's forgetting, his dismissal of Fay's concerns, and a rather abrupt personality change that comes and goes. Fay is concerned by what she sees as significant changes but when she mentions her fears to her stepson and to Paul's doctor, each of them discounts her observations, suggesting she is imagining things. Only after a fall and surgery change things irreparably, does the truth come out.Fay, as Paul's wife and caretaker, narrates the story, flipping back and forth from the past that led her to where she is and the present where she imagines herself falling into a relationship with a man she's seen in the building she covets. That she has created a whole story about this man---she's dubbed him Blake and invented his entire life out of thin air--and seems to truly believe her invention or maybe just wants to believe it so badly that she is shocked when it turns out to be as far from the truth as possible seems a little odd, as does her obsession with the building this man lives in. This easy belief in her own story, and the fact that Fay is so easily bullied, unsure of her observations about Paul once they are questioned, contribute to her coming off as far younger than she actually is. Her world, until the incident in Spain, seems to have been so charmed that she is incredibly naive and completely blindsided by any hint of trouble. Although Fay narrates her own story, she resolutely steers away from discussing everything going on with Paul as much as she can, escaping into her imaginings rather than detailing the actual day to day with her failing husband. This means that although the novel deals with a very difficult subject, the story as a whole remains mostly quite light and superficial. It does address some of the stresses of being a caretaker but obliquely instead of head-on, making it difficult to connect and sympathize with Fay's character. She almost seems as if she spends the entire book in shock, repeating phrases throughout and focused on inconsequential things rather than bigger issues and concerns. The reader is told about the Agarra's wonderful marriage but never shown it to make it real. Secondary characters, including Paul, are lightly sketched, keeping Fay as the main focus of the story. The book, this tale of a love and marriage slowly fading away, is quite short and a very fast read that many readers will find sweet and affecting.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5"Left: A Love Story" is about a married couple, Paul and Fay. Paul is a New York judge who is in denial about being in the early stages of dementia. The story is told from Fay's point of view as she watches her once vibrant husband turning into a stranger and how she tries to deal with it. It was a good story and I enjoyed reading it.***I received this book through LibraryThing Member Giveaway. The opinion is solely my own."
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Thanks to the publisher, Wm Morrow, via LibraryThing, for a copy of this novel in exchange for my honest opinion.Mary Hogan is a new author for me. She has written a passionate novel about a happily married couple of 22 years who find themselves coping with the husband's dementia. He is a prominent judge and over 20 years older than his wife and has always been there for her. She's an artist and is overcome with his condition so creates a fantasy world to escape which adds a lot to the story line. Their dog, Lola, is prominent throughout the novel.Since I have done volunteer work with patients suffering from dementia, I have knowledge of how this ravaging disease affects not only the patients, but their caregivers. I found this author did a great job of describing the path of decline for the judge and his wife's reactions to various situations. It's a very difficult situation for both.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Left: A Love Story is a poignant book about watching your beloved fall victim to dementia and decline. It is both affirming of love and heart wrenching. The effects that this process has on family members is well-explored, describing the various reactions of the children and other family. This book is easily read and is written so that you want to continue on to see what happens. I read the book in a day. It flips back and forth between the past and current day, and addresses a coveted apartment building as if it were a lover. I enjoyed the description of the apartment building, as well as the details about the various locations. This is a book that can be difficult to read for its sadness, but I am glad that I read it.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Hogan provides a painful but beautiful way to present the issue of Alzheimer's in a novel. She writes from person experience because her father died so recently from the condition. Fay, the judge's young wife, slowly discovers what is happening to her husband but is unable to make anyone else understand. Hogan provides a clever beginning to the book as we watch Fay try to conceive of a future life for herself. It's sad that the book is so accurate in the portrayal of anyone working with someone with Alzheimer's -- the patient's mind has left and the partner has been - left. I liked Fay so much and thought the author probably put a lot of herself into the character.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Left is a beautifully written story about a woman coping with the onset of her husband's dementia. Dotted with touches of humor, and understandably sad at times, the novel made for a quick and enjoyable read.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This is a beautiful and poignant love story about a young woman watching the love of her life slowly fall into the depths of dementia. Kudos to all those caretakers out there who decide to care for their loved ones at home. This book made me very sad as my own father developed dementia and unfortunately my sisters and I were not able to take care of him. 3 stars and an extra 1/2 for the caretakers point of view. I won this book from LibraryThing.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I liked this book and for the most part had sympathy for Faye. I did feel like it ended abit abruptly and at times I was confused as to where I was in the time line. It was interesting to read about this subject though and to see how Faye coped with Paul's decline.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I received this book as part of the Early Reviewers program. When Faye and her husband Paul are on vacation and he leaves her behind at a convenience store and heads to the airport, she knows in her gut, that there is something wrong with Paul. As the weeks unfold, Paul changes dramatically until one culminating event changes both lives forever. Left A Love Story is the story of what happens to a relationship when memories are diminished and families are torn apart. A quick, easy read with a big subject keeps readers engulfed in a story too many couples go through. Told with sensitivity, Hogan tells a story that will have the reader wiping tears.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I had a hard time at the start of this book. First chapter had me pretty confused. I am so glad I kept going because I was rewarded with an emotional journey thru the awful world of dementia. This book could have been written about my father who passed away 2 years ago from Alzheimer's. The author did an excellent job of showing the reader how confusing and terrifying this disease is for everyone involved. She validated so many of the emotions and thoughts I had while caring for my father. I literally couldn't put this one down and highly recommend it.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book took me a bit to get into it, but it's a REALLY light read that's a lot shorter than it seems, since the print is very large and all chapters start on the right page. Parts of this story really hit home, since I've had some family members have cognitive issues as they got older. I even learned a couple things about motor function being more connected to cognitive function than I'd realized. If you're looking for a REALLY quick read (under 2 hours for most people, I'd guess) about coping with a loved one heading into dementia, this is a good choice.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was a wonderful book which I read in a day and a half. It was beautifully written and accurately portrayed the difficulties of caring for a loved one with heartbreaking humor. I highly recommend this book
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A wife’s journey as her husband begins to leave her. But not in the way you think. Very well written and very touching. The author’s first hand real life witnessing of this is evidenced by her accurate writing. My only question is who would be the target audience?
Book preview
Left - Mary Hogan
Chapter One
I NEVER MEANT FOR IT TO HAPPEN. THOUGH, ISN’T THAT what they all say? My heart was at the wheel; my mind and body were buckled, helpless, in the backseat? Lola was along for the ride, of course. Best friends like her appear only once or twice or maybe three times in a lifetime.
Lola—leggy, striking, indifferent—was standing a few feet back when love broadsided me. More precisely, when lust hit in a T-bone collision. Because that’s what it was. Blind and combustible want. A longing so fiery I felt like a flushed teenager. As if I would incinerate if we didn’t connect.
Lola. Look.
She didn’t look. She hated to be told what to do. Silently, I pulled her closer. You were surrounded by red geraniums, lit by summer’s lemon macaron of a sun. Brazenly, I lifted my chin to take in your full height. Tall, stately, a touch of gray. Never had I seen such a flawless exterior, so utterly smooth. I longed to reach my hand up, touch, stroke gently with the backs of my fingers. My eyelids quivered. Lola couldn’t bear to look at my foolishness.
I stepped forward; Lola stepped back. We both paused at the base of your granite steps, scrubbed and sparkling. The two of us squinted in the gleam bouncing off your front door. Your glass sat behind a swirl of wrought iron, within a rectangle of shiny black trim. The fluid finish was clearly the work of an ox-hair brush. And, of course, a superior undercoat. Probably Hollandlac. Worth every dollar. Bookending your regal entrance were two holly shrubs, shaped to conical perfection. Above them, copper light fixtures with the dusty gray of a natural patina. Peaked bulbs resembled a gaslight’s dancing flames.
I’m going in.
My legs lifted me up the steps. Lola hung back. The leather strap in my hand slipped through my fingers. I reached for your brass grip—rub-polished with a chamois, not a cloth, to a depth of gold that stole my breath. Inside, I saw a marble vestibule. Mosaic edging. Beyond it—was that stained glass?
May I help you?
From within your vast lobby, a doorman appeared. His uniform was sedate: black slacks and bow tie, short-sleeved white shirt. No stiff suit with brass buttons or epaulets. No white gloves or pilot hat. Understated class. Like you. He was in his late thirties, early forties, maybe. Cocky in a sexy sort of way. He opened the door and blocked my entrance.
I, um, well, see—
What exactly could I say? I’d been walking down the street, teetering on the brink of despair, when blam, I fell in love with his building? Its perfection tugged me up the stairs as if I were in a trance? My heart knew that nothing bad could happen to me beyond its guarded doors. Inside, I would be forever safe.
I blinked at him. He stared at me. Silently, I debated ways to explain my desire without sounding demented. Could I confess that, lately, I felt like I was living in the middle of an icy lake? Cracks everywhere. Frozen in panic. At any moment, I could be plunged into its frigid depths? Was managing emotional terror part of a doorman’s purview? Or was he primarily there for the dry-cleaning delivery?
Your dog, ma’am.
The doorman flicked his head.
I wheeled around. Lola had followed her nose into the middle of the street.
Come!
I yelled.
She didn’t come. Of course not. She never came when I called, only when I didn’t want her underfoot, like when I was searching the floor for a dropped Xanax.
Thankfully, we were on Hudson Crescent, a curved sliver of leafy street tucked into a nook between Riverside Drive and West End Avenue. A patch of green separated the Crescent from the Drive, so Lola wasn’t in danger of being flattened by a bus or a speeding cab. Hardly anyone even walked on the Crescent. Which was why I’d taken this route into the park. So I could hide. So I could cry behind my sunglasses.
Nonetheless, I flew down the steps into the street to grab Lola’s leather leash. She had no car savvy. None. If a car did decide to loop off the Drive and onto the Crescent, Lola would stare at it with her stoner eyes, annoyed by the rubbery smell of its tires.
With Lola’s leash firmly in hand, I pulled her onto the sidewalk. Stupidly, I said, Good girl,
even though she’d been bad. The doorman had stepped outside. I didn’t want him to think I was one of those emotional wrecks who spank a child or a dog out of fear.
Heel,
I added, yanking Lola in line.
Standing like a sentry on your top granite step, the doorman crossed his arms over his chest. His body language said, Move along, missy.
I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him I only looked like a dog walker with my dusty sneakers and saggy denim shorts. But, suddenly, I saw myself as he saw me: a middle-aged woman with love handles. A buyer of clothes from Target, because, well, why not? A person with no business in his building. What had I been thinking? A building like you would never go for a woman in my current state. Silently, I cursed myself for not wearing lipstick. For not brushing my hair or maybe even my teeth that morning. How had I let things unravel so?
With a lovesick sigh, I flapped a melancholy wave and moved along. Lola squirted a spritz of pee onto the base of your ornate streetlight, telling him, in her own way, that we would be back.
Good girl,
I muttered under my breath.
We walked through the Crescent to the path in the green that led to the Drive. There, we waited for the light before crossing the street into Riverside Park. As we ventured deeper into the trees, I felt our connection tug at my back. Was that stained glass beyond your lobby? Had I seen a brass railing? Did front apartments have a mind-blowing view of the river?
Once more, I felt the exhilaration of desire.
Lola pressed her nose into a clump of ryegrass and inhaled. I sighed. After it was all over, maybe we could live in that pristine place? With a doorman in a bow tie to keep unpleasantness outside your wrought-iron door, I’d forget the heartache of our trip to Spain, the incident that had started the downhill tumble. I’d forgive myself for looking away when so many signs were in front of my face. My messy life would be tidy again.
By the end of our walk that day, I was sure. Determined, even. Eleven Eighteen Hudson Crescent was where Lola and I would relocate. After. So I could remember the inferno of love.
Chapter Two
IT’S TRUE WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT LIGHT IN SPAIN. IT’S UNLIKE any other. Especially late in the day, when a persimmon sun begins to melt. Paul and I watched the colors of Málaga change from pink to purple to red on the patio of our rented cottage. We drank glasses of cherry-colored wine straight from the barrels of Casa de Guardia. Fresh figs—plucked from a tree at the foot of the mountain—lodged their seeds in our teeth; wedges of Idiazabal cheese released a smoky aroma into the air.
We should live like this at home,
I said, languidly. "Tapas y vino."
And siestas.
Paul suggestively bobbed his abundant eyebrows up and down. He stretched his palm out; I rested my hand on top of it and squeezed. After all these years, I liked that my husband still wanted to make love in the afternoon. Tilting my head in a seductive way, I said, In your chambers? On your desk?
Two weeks of Spanish bliss were his gift to me. The least I could do was return the favor.
Paul erupted in the laugh I fell in love with. Deep and unapologetic. "¿Por qué no?"
Why not, indeed?
All summer, back home in Manhattan, Paul’s ex had been popping over unannounced. Fay!
she’d chirp into our intercom. Only she made it a two-syllable word: Fay-ee. It irked me to no end. Nearly as grating as the name my parents gave me at birth: Faith. What were they thinking? Combined with my original last name, Thayer, it’s impossible to say both without sounding like you have a lisp. Faith Thayer. Thee? The moment I left home for college, I abbreviated it to Fay
and have never looked back. Besides, Faith
sounds so Sister Wives. As if I live with Hope and Charity in a sprawling Utah colonial, counting the days until it’s my turn to peel back the covers and invite my polygamist husband into bed.
"Fay-ee!"
Who’s this?
I knew. Of course. Our duplex in an old New York brownstone has only a front-door buzzer. No video intercom, no doorman to keep the riffraff out. All I can do is press the audio button and say, Yes?
whenever the buzzer ignites Lola’s barking frenzy. The way it did the week before we left for Spain.
Is Paul home?
Brenda, no dummy, knew I recognized her voice.
Bark, bark.
He’s in court. As he is every day.
I’ve come all the way from Jersey.
Still. Not home.
I was working. Paint was drying.
Mind if I come in for a minute?
Bark, bark.
Shut it!
"Excuse me?" Brenda’s mood often turned on a dime.
Lola is going berserk.
Contrary to her volume when the front door buzzes, Lola isn’t a beagle or a mini schnauzer or a Westie. She’s a large hound blend from a kill shelter in Arkansas. The seedy circumstances of her conception—a rushed encounter behind a gas station Dumpster, I heard—nonetheless produced a uniquely stunning girl. Her short white coat is speckled with black; her silver flop-over ears are as soft as rabbit fur. People who don’t know dogs—and kids—think she’s a Dalmatian.
She has freckles, not spots.
I smile to camouflage my displeasure whenever my genius girl is mistaken for one of those numbskulls from the Disney movie.
Paul and I have been unable to stop Lola’s buzzer barking for her entire eight-year life. Protecting her turf is hardwired into her DNA. As is her feline demeanor. When she’s not barking at the door, Lola is as haughty as a Russian Blue. She’s always been more cat than dog.
Have you tried a shock collar?
Brenda asked through the intercom.
I buzzed her in. As I always did. What else could I do?
Brenda’s latest reason for dropping by from her home in Ridgewood, New Jersey—a full twenty miles away—was to announce that she had reinvented herself as a meditation coach. Whatever the hell that was. How nice for you,
I said, not offering a chair or even a glass of water.
I was wondering . . .
I stifled an eye roll. Those were the three words Brenda Agarra used most around me and my husband.
I was wondering, Paul, if you might consider upping my alimony.
I was wondering if you knew anyone who’s interested in buying a used mattress?
Honestly, I wondered how my husband could ever have married such a flake. Youth.
That’s all Paul had to say about that. He was too much of a gentleman to bad-mouth the mother of his son. He was also too generous to curtail Brenda’s intrusion in our lives. I’d be happy if she was barred from the city entirely. Some roadblock, maybe, on the George Washington Bridge? I mean, the woman has a whole house in New Jersey. She thinks I should electrocute my dog. Still, I put up and shut up for the sake of a happy family. Bad blood between an ex and a current never does anyone any good. Too many scheduling conflicts at Thanksgiving.
I was wondering,
Brenda said that day, if Paul would consider a personal loan so I can build a meditation studio behind the house.
Again, I quashed the urge to roll my eyes.
What kind of repayment schedule are we talking here, Brenda?
Hm. I’ll have to meditate on that.
When Paul got home that night, we both had a hearty laugh.
My husband was right. As judges tend to be. A vacation in Spain was exactly what I needed. Bare feet on warm Saltillo tile. Time in slo-mo. Dinner at ten. Wine at five. Siestas. Lazy afternoons making love. Me and my man. Life as it should be.
To us,
Paul said, raising his glass into the auburn light.
Chapter Three
IT SHOULDN’T HAVE WORKED. PAUL AGARRA, A SITTING New York State Supreme Court criminal judge, was forty-five when we met; I was twenty-four. Recently graduated from art school, I did what most art school grads did: I worked as a waitress. It was one of those dark pubs in lower Manhattan that smelled like grooming cream and business suits that were regularly saturated in flop sweat. First-year law associates met there to gripe about the partners in their firms. Female attorneys drank scotch there. Male lawyers sat at the bar, shouting and shoving greasy peanuts into their faces.
"What can