ring.
A gleam of envy comes into Dan’s sparkling blue eyes, his only good feature now that he’s hidden the others.
“Damn!
This time last year you were about to get nailed by that social worker at the state hospital, weren’t you?”
I think of Rainey and smile.
“We’re just friends.”
Clan drops the empty bag into my trash.
“Kim Keogh, huh?” Clan muses.
“You look at these women on TV and wonder what they’re like once they’ve washed their faces.
Did you see Postcards from the Edge7 I lost all my illusions about Shirley MacLaine.”
So did I. Those old broads will do anything to stay in front of the camera. I can imagine Mike Nichols coaxing her, “Come on, it’s for art’s sake.” Shit. Maybe it is. But I hope she won’t start taking her clothes off.
“That was the point,” I acknowledge.
“It’s all fake, but nobody said the male species had any brains.”
His face red, Clan chuckles as he struggles to his feet. I can imagine his heart exploding through his chest someday.
“You about ready for lunch?” he asks.
I look at my watch. It’s only a quarter after eleven. Clan would get more work done if he moved his office down to the cafeteria.
“I got a call to make,” I tell him.
“I’ll see you down there in a few minutes. Don’t forget your files,” I add, shoving the two folders at him.
He wags his head.
“I need you to take a couple of cases for me. One’s a DWI and the other’s an adoption. I got the money, but I haven’t done anything with them. A check’s in there for them. I’m kind of stacked up right now. I’ll talk to the clients. They’ll be excited they’re getting a star.”
Bullshit. He’s giving them to me because he knows I need the money. It’s not much, but it’s more than I brought with me, if I don’t count what I stole.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“I
appreciate this.”
In a gesture of dismissal, Dan’s hands twitch outward.
“You’re doing me favor.”
Sure I am. I holler after him, “If you want to do me a favor, get rid of Princess Fishmouth out front.”
He comes back to the door, and shows me his dimples.
“You need to kiss and make up. We just heard our Miss Twin Peaks called in and said she’s taking a job at a health spa. The good news”—Dan leers—”is that she said all the lawyers on our floor can get a free workout if we come when she’s on duty.”
“From the way you describe her,” I say, playing to Dan’s fourteen-year-old side, “that wouldn’t be hard.”
“At our age,” he dead pans “it doesn’t get very hard.”
I laugh obligingly.
“Speak for yourself.” As if on command, Clan opens his mouth and closes it.
“This I can do,” he says and, turning to leave again, repeats solemnly, “this I can do.”
While I wait nervously for Oscar Mays to come to the phone, I reflect on my friendship with Clan. In part, perhaps the major part, of our affinity for each other is that if given the opportunity, we’d just as soon be back in junior high.
Oscar Mays sounds as if he had just buried his wife.
“Gideon,” he says sorrowfully after the most perfunctory of greetings, “I’m really disappointed in you. I thought you had more integrity than to steal a client from us.”
I say nothing, uncertain how to respond. My desire to lash out at him for firing me is balanced by the need to take whatever action I can to limit any potential repercussion. The pause becomes too long, and I say weakly, “I wouldn’t call it stealing under the circumstances. He didn’t want the firm of Mays & Burton; he wanted me.”
An angry tremor comes into Oscar’s voice for the first time since I’ve known him.
“You signed an agreement! When you give your word on something, doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
Lawyers! We hide behind pieces of paper like cockroaches.
He can treat me like a used sheet of toilet paper, and I’m supposed to feel guilty because I was coerced into signing a document
A gleam of envy comes into Dan’s sparkling blue eyes, his only good feature now that he’s hidden the others.
“Damn!
This time last year you were about to get nailed by that social worker at the state hospital, weren’t you?”
I think of Rainey and smile.
“We’re just friends.”
Clan drops the empty bag into my trash.
“Kim Keogh, huh?” Clan muses.
“You look at these women on TV and wonder what they’re like once they’ve washed their faces.
Did you see Postcards from the Edge7 I lost all my illusions about Shirley MacLaine.”
So did I. Those old broads will do anything to stay in front of the camera. I can imagine Mike Nichols coaxing her, “Come on, it’s for art’s sake.” Shit. Maybe it is. But I hope she won’t start taking her clothes off.
“That was the point,” I acknowledge.
“It’s all fake, but nobody said the male species had any brains.”
His face red, Clan chuckles as he struggles to his feet. I can imagine his heart exploding through his chest someday.
“You about ready for lunch?” he asks.
I look at my watch. It’s only a quarter after eleven. Clan would get more work done if he moved his office down to the cafeteria.
“I got a call to make,” I tell him.
“I’ll see you down there in a few minutes. Don’t forget your files,” I add, shoving the two folders at him.
He wags his head.
“I need you to take a couple of cases for me. One’s a DWI and the other’s an adoption. I got the money, but I haven’t done anything with them. A check’s in there for them. I’m kind of stacked up right now. I’ll talk to the clients. They’ll be excited they’re getting a star.”
Bullshit. He’s giving them to me because he knows I need the money. It’s not much, but it’s more than I brought with me, if I don’t count what I stole.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“I
appreciate this.”
In a gesture of dismissal, Dan’s hands twitch outward.
“You’re doing me favor.”
Sure I am. I holler after him, “If you want to do me a favor, get rid of Princess Fishmouth out front.”
He comes back to the door, and shows me his dimples.
“You need to kiss and make up. We just heard our Miss Twin Peaks called in and said she’s taking a job at a health spa. The good news”—Dan leers—”is that she said all the lawyers on our floor can get a free workout if we come when she’s on duty.”
“From the way you describe her,” I say, playing to Dan’s fourteen-year-old side, “that wouldn’t be hard.”
“At our age,” he dead pans “it doesn’t get very hard.”
I laugh obligingly.
“Speak for yourself.” As if on command, Clan opens his mouth and closes it.
“This I can do,” he says and, turning to leave again, repeats solemnly, “this I can do.”
While I wait nervously for Oscar Mays to come to the phone, I reflect on my friendship with Clan. In part, perhaps the major part, of our affinity for each other is that if given the opportunity, we’d just as soon be back in junior high.
Oscar Mays sounds as if he had just buried his wife.
“Gideon,” he says sorrowfully after the most perfunctory of greetings, “I’m really disappointed in you. I thought you had more integrity than to steal a client from us.”
I say nothing, uncertain how to respond. My desire to lash out at him for firing me is balanced by the need to take whatever action I can to limit any potential repercussion. The pause becomes too long, and I say weakly, “I wouldn’t call it stealing under the circumstances. He didn’t want the firm of Mays & Burton; he wanted me.”
An angry tremor comes into Oscar’s voice for the first time since I’ve known him.
“You signed an agreement! When you give your word on something, doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
Lawyers! We hide behind pieces of paper like cockroaches.
He can treat me like a used sheet of toilet paper, and I’m supposed to feel guilty because I was coerced into signing a document
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