Until by Timmothy B. Mccann

talking to Pete Sampkins last night about a case he’s preparing a motion of dismissal on and it reminded me of you.”
    Betty, who’d taken another tissue from her box for her nose, looked at O’Shaughnessy.
    â€œIt appears this African-American kid is being denied a promotion with a Subaru distribution center and he’s saying it’s because of racism. He has no evidence as such. They have no other legal precedence for making the claim, yet because he is black, I mean African-American, it’s discriminatory. He wants a promotion based solely on affirmative action, and that’s just not right. Call me crazy, but I just don’t understand it,” he said with a smile and shake of his Nixonion jowls. “I hate it when people use racism as an excuse for anything and everything that happens. When you cry wolf like that, the next time someone comes with a valid claim, they’ll be ignored. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been around. My father couldn’t get work in the union because of our last name. So I understand where you’re coming from with the racism thing there. But you can’t always blame it on race.” As he spoke, Betty sat poker-faced. “Which is why I thought about you. Because you are the perfect example of what is wrong with affirmative action.”
    Betty tilted forward in her chair and removed her glasses. “Oh really?”
    â€œHell yeah!” he replied with a raised voice. “Look at you! You’re black, I mean African-American, as well as a woman. I’ve worked with you on a couple of cases and you’re a pretty good lawyer. I don’t know what type of upbringing you’ve had, but you have had every reason in the world to give up. Every time I see Jesse Jackson or that Fair-a-con, yelling about quotas and affirmative action—I tell you, I think about you. Because,” he said, and thumped his fist on the edge of her desk, causing Betty to look at the ripples inher tea, “it’s people like you who show black folk that you can pull yourself up by your bootstraps in this country. In America,” he finished, and thumped his fist with every syllable, “the opportunity is there for anybody if they want it, by golly. But some people—and I’m not just talking about the black people, there’s some sorry-assed white folks out there too—would starve to death with a ham under each arm.”
    Betty was insulted, but almost laughed as he made the ludicrous comments and ended with the words “by golly.”
    O’Shaughnessy added, with a cock of the head and a gap-toothed grin, “You see, darling, the only thing America owes any of us is an opportunity. This is the land of opportunity. If you work hard in America, you can accomplish anything you want. I’m living proof of that. I never noticed that plaque over there. Did you just get it?”
    â€œNo. I mean yes,” Betty said. “It’s the Charlotte Rae award given each year by BALSA.”
    â€œI know her. She’s from New York, I think. Queens to be exact. She used to play in that sitcom with the cute little col—I mean African-American kid. ‘Diff’rent Strokes’ or something. Did she give them some money or something?”
    With a quiet sigh Betty said, “No. She’s the first female African-American attorney in the United States. She was a corporate litigator and had to close her doors because she could not get work, but I want to go back to what you said earlier.” Betty had to decide quickly, Do I rip his heart out and leave him for dead or do I take out a scalpel and delicately remove his organs, one by one? She chose the latter as the waves dissipated in her tea. O’Shaughnessy leaned back and crossed his long legs with a condescending smile on his lips.
    Betty leaned to the side in her chair, swiveled silently between the ten- and two-o’clock positions, and