Lori slid the back of her head and shoulders into the water. Her long dark hair fanned around her. Bubbles from the jet streamed over the self-inflicted scars that criss-crossed her stomach. Gently, she touched the ridges, a painful reminder of her tormented past. Over a decade ago, she had combated the demon within. The demon that had made her believe she was too fat and had to starve herself, when the opposite was true. The demon from which the only escape seemed to be self-mutilation.

    Lori reminded herself of how far she had come. She and her therapist were proud of the work they had done together.

    "You've come a long way," Belle had said, "but be vigilant. Under stress the symptoms could return. Use the tools you’ve learned, but if you can't cope, get therapy."

    Although the old symptoms seemingly vanished, other problems plagued her. She felt as if she had two personas: Professionally, a well-organized jurist and feminist, and personally, a rebellious slob and infidel.

    Lori slowly stepped out of the tub and into a cool shower. The pulsating water striking her body felt too good. She turned the knob until the icy cold water made her shiver. Another way to beat herself up, her psychologist would probably say.

    She toweled off, slipped into a pair of sweats and padded back to the answering machine. She replayed the tape, deleted the first message and carefully listened to the threat. The voice sounded flat, a rehearsed recitation. A phony English accent. She marked down the times of the two calls.

    Lori brewed coffee, microwaved a frozen veggie wrap and flipped on the compact disc player. Mozart's Jupiter Symphony would fill her emptiness momentarily. Soon the scent of coffee and cilantro pervaded the room.

    Cross-legged, she sat on the black leather couch, sipped coffee and bit into the tasty food. Although hungry, she didn't deserve to eat.

    She hurried to the kitchen, splashed the coffee into the sink and fed the meal to the garbage disposal. Almost mesmerized by the grinding sound, Lori spied the kitchen knife in the open drawer and started to reach for it. "No, no!" she cried. With a quavering hand, she slammed the drawer shut, rattling the utensils.

    Lori Parker knew she was in trouble. Real trouble. She grabbed the phone and called her psychologist, Dr. Belle Glades. "It’s urgent. I’m her patient."

    "Sorry, Dr. Glades isn’t available until tomorrow. She’s on her way back from vacation. Dr. Levin is on call," said a cheerful voice. "If you leave your number, I'll page him."

    "I can’t wait."

    "Then go to the nearest emergency--"

    Lori slammed the phone down. Terrified of the revisit of her symptoms, she searched for ways to combat them.

    She brewed triple strength chamomile tea and remembered Belle had told her to distract herself and connect with a supportive friend.

    Patti. Her best friend since college. They had helped each other through the years. Patti had rescued Lori from a suicide attempt and referred her to her own therapist, Dr. Glades.

    Lori consoled Patti through several shattered love affairs.

    "Romantic interests may come and go, but your women friends will be there for you," Belle had said.

    Lori picked up the phone and called Patti. "I need a friend," she said in a weak voice she barely recognized as her own.

    "Uh-oh! You sound awful. I’ll be right over."

    Patti had a key to Lori's apartment, but knocked first. Lori opened the door, fell into her friend’s arms and sobbed.

    After Lori calmed down, Patti shed her backpack and hung her leather jacket in the hall closet. Wearing blue jeans, a sweater, no makeup and her blonde hair in a braid, Patti could have been mistaken for a student instead of a part-time college instructor.

    When they were seated on the couch, Lori blurted, "My symptoms are back. I tried calling Belle, but she won’t be in until tomorrow."

    Patti's blue eyes widened. "You've been symptom free for about ten years, right?"

    Lori nodded.

    "So what's causing it, now?"

    "You've read about the real estate scam? Well, someone is attempting to blackmail me to rule in that crook's favor."

    "Blackmail?" Patti furrowed her brow. "What have they got against you?"

    Lori told her.

    Patti shook her head. "I'm not going to go moralistic on you. You've got a big enough conscience already. It's your guilt that's driving you down that old path. Belle will deal with that, and I'll help you reason this through."

    "Thanks, Patti. This is humiliating. I have to tell the sheriff about the blackmail threat. The deputies will check out Mike Teague’s people. I don’t have to say what bait was used, but I dread the rumors."

    "You can't prevent gossip. It's a reasonable assumption that the blackmailer is involved with Teague, but the threat may be coming from elsewhere."

    "But who’d gain?"

    "Someone vengeful."

    Lori grew thoughtful. "Your former boyfriend, Kyle Black. He coveted my job. He really deserved it, but he’s never shown any resentment toward me. We stayed friends."

    "Yeah, well, we share a bottle of wine now and then, but he’s no real friend."

    "You think Kyle . . .?"

    "Maybe he or someone you’ve harshly sentenced could be behind this. Make a list. Have them investigated."

    "God! This is hopeless. Do you know how many people could be angry with me?"

    Patti shrugged. "I'll make popcorn."

    From her briefcase, Lori pulled out her calendar, pen and a yellow legal size lined pad. She sank back into the couch, thumbed through her calendar and copied the names of her most likely enemies.

    Patti returned from the kitchen carrying two large bowls. She handed one to her friend.

    Lori nibbled popcorn as she wrote, Patti peering over her shoulder. Soon, Lori had prioritized a list of twenty names.

    "I hate to make this harder, Lori, but maybe your enemy is someone from your private life."

    "What private life? All I have is you and Paul."

    Patti looked at her sideways. "That’s right."

    "Oh, Patti, wipe that smirk off your face, please. He's a good friend."

    "How have you two been getting along lately?"

    Lori hesitated. "Well, it’s been awhile since we’ve had sex, but he knows I'm uptight from work."

    "Maybe you’ve fallen out of love."

    "Paul isn’t vindictive."

    "He put himself out for you and you’re no longer showing your appreciation."

    "But he’s mature. Understanding. He’d gain nothing by ruining me and himself."

    "Hah! In his circle affairs between older married men and younger women are no big deal. Look at our president. It’s his lies that got him in trouble, not his infidelity. His wife stays because she profits from his power. Paul has less to lose than you do."

    "I’ll talk to him tomorrow." Lori shuddered.

    "I’m sorry to be harsh, Lori. Maybe I’m wrong. Look, I've brought a change of clothes and can stay the night, if you'd like."

    "I'd like."

    With Patti beside her in the king size bed, Lori felt comforted. She knew her friend would protect her from herself.

    Lori awoke at seven to the aroma of coffee. She climbed out of bed, splashed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth and headed for the kitchen.

    Dressed in a long black skirt and a loose blue sweater the color of her eyes, Patti had a casual, but professorial look. She sat at the kitchen table munching a slice of toast and sipping black coffee. Sunlight streaming through the window gave her a golden glow--a halo.

    "You're an angel. That was the best sleep I've had in a long time. What time do you have to be at school?"

    "Around noon."

    Lori poured herself a mug of coffee and reached for the milk."

    "Don’t. It's spoiled." Patti grabbed the container and tossed it in the trash. "I've checked the pantry and fridge. Practically empty. When were you last at the market?"

    Lori shrugged.

    "I can shop for you this morning."

    "Only if you'll be my guest at your favorite restaurant tonight." Lori said.

    "You're on. I'll pick you up at six."

    Lori pulled a fifty-dollar bill from the kitchen drawer and handed it to her friend, then showered and dressed and off to work she went.

    Lori closed the door of her wood paneled chambers, picked up her private phone line, and called Paul's office. "This is Judge Parker." Absentmindedly, she caressed the spines of the leather bound California and Federal law books lining the wall behind her desk.

    "I'm sorry Mr. Southwood will be out of town for a few weeks," said his secretary.

    A few weeks? "I don't understand. We're scheduled for a conference tomorrow."

    "Just a minute please."

    Lori drummed her pen on her large, neatly arranged desk and stared at a blank computer screen.

    Paul's secretary came back on the line. "I have his schedule in front of me. He must have forgotten to write in your name."

    "It's urgent that I speak with him."

    "I'm sorry, he's on a sailing trip. With his family."

    A sailing trip with his family? Lori was baffled. "You must have some way of reaching him."

    "I'm instructed not to give out his number, but I'll try him now, and relay your message."

    "Thank you. Please tell him to phone right away. I'm expected in court soon."

    Lori waited, pacing her office. She pulled out the list she had compiled last night and read the names again. She sensed she had omitted someone, but drew a blank.

    An Arizona travel magazine poking out of her briefcase jogged her memory. Sahara Sand, a rising rock star whose personality was anything but arid. The nasty woman had appeared before her on charges of masterminding a scheme in which she solicited her idolizing teen fans for prostitution.

    Lori had pronounced the maximum sentence the law allowed and Sahara, in shackles, was dragged from the courtroom screaming, "I’ll get you for this!" How could Lori have forgotten the day Sahara Sand's star had fallen? Reporters had clamored for interviews and Judge Parker made headlines.

    Lori Xeroxed two copies of the list of blackmail suspects, highlighted the woman's name and slipped the batch into her briefcase.

    Twenty minutes had passed since she had called Paul's office. Perplexed and angry, she sat down, laid her head on her desk and sobbed.

    Someone tapped on the door.

    "Who is it?" she called, hoarsely.

    "Hal Meyer."

    Quickly, Lori brushed away her tears with her hands. "Come in," she said.

    Her law clerk, a short, intense young man with a large crop of wiry brown hair, squinted at her through his thick lens glasses. "Are you okay, Judge?"

    "Why do you ask?" she answered, brusquely.

    "It's none of my business, but I thought you may have heard some bad news."

    "Thanks for your concern, Hal. You're right. I'm worried about a friend. That's all."

    "I'm sorry. Sally has finished calling the calendar."

    Lori donned her black robe and marched into her courtroom.

    During lunch break, she called Paul's office again. The secretary said she couldn't reach him, but would continue her efforts. Lori thanked her.

    She ate the tuna sandwich, and savored the latte Hal had picked up for her at the corner cafe. Tossing the paper sack and container into the trash, she was pleased that she had eaten without guilt. Best friends are the best therapy, she told herself. No need to bother Belle, now.

    There was no time to diddle-daddle. She would proceed without consulting Paul. Lori contacted the sheriff and scheduled a late afternoon conference regarding the Teague matter.

    She sped through the afternoon calendar surprising herself on how well she had focused.

    As they left the courtroom, Hal Meyer smiled at her. "Good round-up."

    "Thanks Hal. Was I too hard on that gang leader? It's his first offense."

    "Not at all. You were very fair."

    Waiting outside Judge Parker's chambers were Sheriff Rob Shore, a tall husky man in his forties with blond short cropped hair, and Deputy Jill Chavez, a bright-eyed petite woman in her thirties. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail.

    Lori ushered them in and provided a round of soft drinks from the small refrigerator cabinet at the base of her bookcase. "I need your help. Sunday at 5:35PM, a woman phoned my unlisted number and left a blackmail threat on the answering machine."

    Rob and Jill glanced at each other.

    "I’d have notified you earlier, but I didn’t notice the message until yesterday. She threatened to expose some cockamamie lie about me if I don’t go easy on Teague."

    Jill Chavez looked up from her notepad. "Any suspects?"

    "It could be a vendetta from someone other than Teague. Remember Sahara Star? She threatened me in court." Lori pulled out the notes from her briefcase and handed copies to Rob and Jill.

    "Do you have the taped message?" Jill asked.

    Lori felt her face redden. She bowed her head. "By mistake, I erased it."

    "What’s the phone number where you received the threat?"

    Lori grabbed a piece of paper. "Here’s my number and I’ll give you my mother’s, too. Her message came through at 4:01." Lori’s hands trembled as she scrawled and slid the paper to Jill.

    "It's been a hard day for you. I hear you're worried about a friend," Rob said.

    Lori stiffened. Hal must have opened his big mouth. He loved the attention he derived from gossiping. "Is nothing sacred here?" she growled.

    The sheriff stood. "You have discretion to take the case off your calendar for now. We'll get on this right away."

    "I hope your friend is better," Jill said.

    "Thanks," Lori murmured.

    By the end of the day, Paul had not phoned her and she was surprised at her reaction: She wasn’t hurt or angry. She was relieved.

    At six, Patti picked her up at the condo, prattling about a neighbor. "That motor-mouth is a regular rumor mill." Lori was reminded of her clerk. Had Hal picked up the vibes between her and Paul and had he blabbed?

    "And how did your day go?" Patti asked.

    Lori filled her in on the latest developments.

    "You're handling this very well."

    "You can take credit for that," Lori said.

    They headed downtown in Patti's old red Mustang and parked in front of Trattoria Roma.

    The host seated them at a table covered with the ubiquitous red and white checkered cloth and a lit candle in a wine bottle.

    Over chicken bathed in a mushroom caper sauce, the two friends spoke softly.

    "I wonder why Paul hadn't mentioned his trip to me."

    "Maybe it was sudden."

    "With his wife? For two weeks? He told me he couldn't tolerate her for more than an hour." Lori chomped on a breadstick.

    Patti rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time a married man lied to his lover about his wife."

    Lori stared at her friend. "When his secretary told me of his trip, I was furious. Now, for some reason, I don't feel angry."

    "Maybe it's because you wanted to end the affair, but were afraid of his reaction."

    Lori smiled at her insightful friend. "Well, I got what I wanted out of it. I hope you won't hate me for being an opportunist--and a hypocrite."

    "It's more important that you forgive yourself, Lori."

    "You sound like Belle," she said over the rim of her wineglass.

    "I guess I learned a lot from her."

    After dinner, they strolled through the fashionable Gaslamp district and perused the art galleries. "Tomorrow, I’ll hang the paintings cluttering my floor and take care of the mess at home."

    Patti smiled. "No symptoms?"

    Lori raised the palms of her hands. "Gone. They were a warning that I was on the wrong track with Paul. It's not necessary for me to hurt myself. The blackmailer did it for me. At first, I felt vulnerable and terrified. Now, I’m in control. I won’t be manipulated. I’m through compromising."

    Patti put her arm around Lori. "When Belle returns, it may help to have a tune-up."

    "Agreed."

    After Patti dropped her off, Lori had a burst of energy. She carted old newspapers to the recycle bin, tossed a pile of clothes and a scoop of detergent into the washing machine and trashed a bouquet of withered flowers Paul had sent her last week. Just like my romance, she thought as the phone rang.

    "Jill Chavez, here. Sorry to call so late, but I have the information you requested."

    Lori held her breath. "Great. You sure work fast, Jill."

    "It was easy. The call you questioned came from Kyle Black’s home. I interviewed him this afternoon. He said Patti Wilson called you from his phone."

    "But there’s no message from her. Wait! You mean she made the threat?"

    "I’ve just interrogated her. I had no trouble getting her to admit it."

    The room began to spin. Lori leaned against the wall and slid to a sitting position on the floor. "Unbelievable!"

    She’d trusted Patti. They’d exchanged keys to each other’s apartments. Patti probably found evidence of her affair with Paul. Having no current boyfriend, she became jealous. There was more. If Patti compared her tenuous part time teaching job and her feeble acting career with her friend’s success, it could have triggered her hostility. Patti acted like her best friend only when it made her feel important—when she was needed.

    "Judge Parker, are you there?" Jill asked.

    "Just a bit stunned. I’m trying to understand."

    "This will help. Kyle Black claims he and Patti Wilson had been drinking and only meant to play a joke on you."

    "Some joke!"

    "Do you want me to file charges?"

    Lori hesitated. In her position, she didn’t want the embarrassment of a prosecution and Patti would probably only receive a reprimand. Patti felt safe in confessing because she knew this.