Meter Angel

Horace was clean shaven and his clothes were always well laundered. He wore khaki trousers, a blue plaid shirt, and black suspenders. His hair was gray, and the creases on his face mapped decades of emotional responses to his many experiences. He was whistling as he walked. He knew the meter maid would be rounding the corner soon. He saw that the time had expired on a parking meter in front of a modest car. He sang as he put a nickel in the meter.

“Put another nickel in

In the nickelodeon…”

He was walking briskly now and laughing as he saved two more people from getting parking tickets. He saw the meter maid, and he sat down in his usual spot with a look of innocence on his face. He was holding a jar with a hand printed label that read “Tip Jar.” It was about a third full of coins.

The meter maid parked her vehicle and walked down the row of cars checking the meters as she went. All of the meters she checked had time remaining on them, which is to say that no one was in violation. She glanced over at Horace as she checked one of the meters in front of Frankie’s Coffee Shop. He was sitting outside of Frankie’s, just to the right of the front door. She abruptly turned to face him.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Horace! You’re costing the city a lot of money, and if we catch you feeding the meters again you’re going to jail.”

He answered in song.

“So here I am in the Tijuana jail

Ain’t got no friend to pay my bail…”

A group of people leaving the coffee shop witnessed the exchange, and they were laughing. All of them put some money in Horace’s tip jar.

“You won’t think it’s so funny when I catch you, you bum!”

He smiled. She let out a little growl and stomped off to the applause of the onlookers.

Horace was not really a bum. Begging was his avocation rather than his trade. The income from it merely supplemented his Social Security benefits. He had started begging quite by accident. He had seen the meter maid at the end of the street when he parked in front of the coffee shop. He had no change, and he knew she would give him a ticket before he could come back with the change he needed for the meter. So he stopped a man who was walking by.

“Pardon me, sir. But I have no change, and she’ll write me a ticked before I can get any. Would you …”

“Say no more. The bitch wrote me up yesterday.”

The man pulled a quarter out of his pocket and handed it to Horace. This stranger’s hostility toward the meter maid had Horace thinking. What would happen if he took contributions to feed the meters so no one got a parking ticket? He might even collect enough money to pay for his lunch every day. On his tight budget, that would be a blessing. He actually collected more than he needed to buy lunch and feed the meters. This was a strong incentive to keep begging. He was feeding the meters openly back then, never dreaming that he was doing anything illegal. The meter maid thought otherwise.

She yelled at him. “Stop that! Stop that right now!”

“What?”

“You can’t pay for people’s parking.”

“Yeah, right.” He put a nickel in another meter to keep the time from running out.

“That does it. I’m going to have you arrested.”

He smiled as he sat down in front of the coffee shop. Ten minutes later a squad car showed up. Two officers stepped out of the car.

“Is he the one?”

“That’s him.”

At this time something important came over the police radio.

“Tom, there’s a two-eleven in progress!”

The other officer pointed his finger at Horace. “Don’t do it again or we’ll arrest you!”

He then joined his partner in the car. They took off with lights flashing and siren blaring.

“You won’t be so lucky next time,” the meter maid said.

Horace ignored the warnings. He thought he could still feed the meters surreptitiously. She, however, changed her route to arrive earlier than usual and caught him in the act. This time he was arrested.

He pled not guilty.

“Are you denying that you put money in the meters?” the judge asked.

“No, I put money in the meters. But the whole purpose of the meters is to collect money for the city, and I’m paying that money. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s aiding and abetting.”

“What?”

“Letting the time run out on a meter is a violation of the Municipal code. You’re aiding the violators by letting them avoid the penalty for that.”

Now Horace understood. It had nothing to do with holding people accountable. This was about the money. The city wanted to fine people because the money it collected from the fines greatly exceeded the amount of money it collected from the meters. Horace thought this was outrageous. He was about to express his anger but the judge preempted him by telling him the penalty for feeding the meters.

“I’m fining you fifty dollars. Please pay the court clerk.”

Horace was smart enough to realize it would not do any good to argue with the judge, but the city council was holding an open meeting the next night to give people an opportunity to express their opinions about a different matter. Horace decided to attend that meeting. He was, of course, going to ignore the topic of the meeting and get in his two cents worth about being fined for putting money in the parking meters.

When his turn at the microphone came he said: “Yesterday I was fined fifty dollars for putting coins in the parking meters so that the poor people parked there would not be in violation of the parking regulations. When did this city become so greedy? When did you decide that the money collected from the meters was not enough? When did you decide that increasing revenues by fining people was so important that you now punish Good Samaritans? When did Good Samaritans become bad Samaritans? This is outrageous! Good neighbors are supposed to help and care for each other.”

“You’re out of order,” the mayor shouted. “Now sit down and be quiet!”

“This is my turn. I will not sit down.”

“Then you will be removed.”

Two hefty men in uniforms were approaching him. He put down the microphone and started walking to the door in order to avoid the humiliation of being man handled by them.

A reporter from a local newspaper interviewed Horace outside of the council chambers. His story ran in the Sunday edition, making Horace somewhat of a local celebrity. This quite naturally increased his income from begging. He thought that getting arrested that day was one of the best things that ever happened to him.

So where was the meter maid now? Her threat made him think he had better cool it for a while. He spent the next hour begging. He waited until the noon rush at the coffee shop ended before going in there for his lunch.

“Good afternoon, Gloria.”

“Good afternoon, Horace. What’ll you have?”

“The usual.”

She poured a cup of coffee for him. “Cheese burger and fries coming up.”

She left to place his order then returned to refill his coffee cup.

“So how are you doing out there?”

“Better today. Thanks to the parking witch.”

“Well, be careful. You don’t want to get arrested again.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. She laughed.

“Order up!’

She retrieved the food and set the plate in front of Horace.

“Are you going to the council meeting tomorrow?” she asked.

“You bet. I’m going to yell at them about the speed trap on West Street.”

She smiled. “Give ‘m hell, baby!”

Horace did not confine himself to the parking meter issue. He had become the town crank. He was the gadfly who always seemed to change the subject at the council meetings and frequently said what other people were thinking.

He paid for his meal with dollar bills rather than change. It was his practice to go home after lunch and empty his tip jar. He would then return to continue begging. The key was to be at his spot in front of the coffee shop when the traffic was the heaviest. He always rolled his coins at night and made his bank deposit the next morning. He did not worry much about other beggars taking his spot when he was not there. Most of the beggars hung out in the poor sections of town, but some were foolish enough to think they would do better in the section of the city with luxurious offices. Horace knew better than to try the rich section. The snooty bastards there all read Ayn Rand. They thought people who were mentally ill or people who were experiencing some tough times deserved to starve. He had thought that once. He had been opposed to Social Security, Medicare and unemployment insurance. Now that he was collecting the benefits of Social Security and was on Medicare, however, he had changed his mind. He was not hypocritical enough to think that only the right sort of people should be permitted to benefit from those programs. If you paid into them you deserved what they provided. As for his begging? He justified that on the grounds that he was providing a service by preventing people from getting parking tickets.

When returning from home to his spot in front of Frankie’s he circled the block. The meter maid would be lurking somewhere nearby. He finally saw her hiding in the crowded parking lot across the street form the coffee shop. He smiled and waved to her as he sat down. He knew she would not remain there long. She had tickets to write, and you could bet that the city expected her to write a lot of them. That was why she was so angry with him for feeding the meters. Well, we all have our cross to bear.

At the city council meeting the next night they let him have his say even though his tirade had nothing to do with the reason they had called the meeting. They had learned that ejecting him only drew more attention to him. It was better to just let him sound off and treat him like the town character no one took too seriously. He was aware that they were trying to marginalize him, and he was thinking of doing something that would get their attention. Since the Councilman in his district was up for reelection Horace decided to run against him. Horace had some signs printed that said “Central City Deserves Horace Grimes!” Somehow Horace’s opponent got one of those signs. This councilman then displayed the sign in his store window alongside another sign that asked, “Why? What did we do that was so terrible?”

Horace was too preoccupied with the election to be as cautious as he should have been. He got caught feeding the parking meters again, and they arrested him. Some enterprising soul made “Free Horace” T-shirts that bore his likeness behind bars. Some of the small business people even took up a collection to pay his bail. “Don’t Jail The Town Character” was one of the headlines in the local paper. Although Horace thought “Candidate For City Council Arrested” should have been the headline, the reporter was at least kind enough to write that Horace was running for that office. Horace considered the story to be a good thing. He said feeding the meters was an act of civil disobedience and that his arrest made him a martyr. He was getting the attention he wanted, but he still lost the race for city councilman.

Horace’s statement about being a martyr, however, was not lost on the politicians. They decided that arresting him was not a good idea. He might not be able to win an election but that did not mean another candidate could not use the sympathy for Horace as a weapon against them. They developed a new tactic for dealing with him. They had the police take him into custody for vagrancy during the peak begging hours, drive him around for a few hours, and then release him. They were trying to starve Horace into submission. Much to their disappointment a young attorney took the matter pro bono and made them stop doing it. Their next tactic was to arrest him when they caught him feeding the meters but release him at mid-night before they would have to arraign him. This did not give anyone the time to start another free Horace campaign. It did not deter Horace either. He did not get caught often enough to make the arrests anything more than a minor annoyance. He also used every open council meeting to tell people of how many times he was arrested for saving them from parking tickets.

Feeding the meters was a cat and mouse game. He would lay low for a while. Then he would feed the meters at random times. He did not have to worry about citizens reporting him or testifying against him. The public was enjoying the game too much to interfere, and most of them were cheering for Horace. Emboldened by the sympathy he received over feeding the parking meters, he started objecting to a wide variety of things that the mayor and city council were doing. People who attended the open council meetings or read about them soon considered him the best show in town. They were really amused by his efforts to make things hot for the politicians. This prompted the mayor to say that their hot sauce was his pain in the ass!

Any city without a town character to make people laugh or a gadfly to keep the powerful from getting too comfortable is deprived. Horace was Central City’s character and their gadfly. He was also their meter angel.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Aug 10, 2011

Dreamers and Inventors

In regard to dreamers and inventors the saying, not worth a tinkers damn, comes readily to mind. Throughout most of our history inventors were dreamers who tinkered with things. They were not highly thought of unless they invented something people wanted. Until then most of the people who knew them thought they were peculiar folks who whiled away their time on one fool thing or another.

Let us suppose for a minute that your neighbors, Orville and Wilbur, are bicycle mechanics. All right, they have the mechanical skill to repair bicycles. Such skill is not all that impressive. As Joe, the barber, used to say:

“Those contraptions are fine for exercising but not much good for transportation. It seems to me that you work your legs off just to propel yourself forward while sitting down. I’d rather have my horse work his legs off to get me where I’m going while I’m sitting down.”

Now let us suppose that those neighbors, those bicycle mechanics are always banging on things and making a racket by running an internal combustion engine. And when you ask them what they are doing they tell you they are making a flying machine. Your reaction is likely to be, “What, do they think they’re Daedalus and Icarus?” It is easy to see why you might refer to them as those crazy bastards who live next door. I can almost see you sticking your head out of your bedroom window and yelling:

“Go peddle your bicycles, at least they’re quiet!”

The next time you are getting your hair cut you complain about your noisy neighbors and express some skepticism about man’s ability to fly. The man who is waiting his turn to get his hair cut is less than sympathetic about your complaint. He does not find it interesting. Complaints about noisy neighbors are common, whereas trying to fly is unusual.

“I suppose it’s possible to fly,” he says. Birds do it, don’t they?”

Seeing that your complaint is not well received you go along with the change of subject.

“What do you think, Joe? Is it possible to build a flying machine?”

“I can’t say one way or another. The only thing I know for sure is that if they go up they’re going to come down.”

Since you are still feeling a bit peevish about the lack of sympathy your reply is a bit more petulant than you intended.

“And with my luck they’ll make even more of a racket by coming down on my house.”

This inspires laughter rather than sympathy. You are tempted to say it is easy for them to take a wait and see attitude when they are not the ones being inconvenienced.

Orville and Wilbur eventually get off the ground but fly only a short distance. While this is quite an accomplishment the benefits of it are still remote. Furthermore, flying is dangerous. It is not something most people would want to chance. You are smart enough to realize that once someone figures out how to do something this person or others will rapidly improve our ability to do it, but you do not get too excited about this short flight because it does not have an immediate impact on your life, whereas the noise the Wright brothers are making does.

The point is that people are selectively myopic. What we see most clearly are the things we deal with on a daily basis. We do not remember the names of many of the aviation pioneers who died in crashes. What we remember are the successes and the breakthroughs that advanced our knowledge and made flying a viable means of transportation. Reading old newspapers tells us what was being reported about those breakthroughs, but they do not tell us what one of our ancestors thought about such accomplishments or what it must have been like to live next door to Orville and Wilbur Wright. As you can probably tell, I am having some fun conjecturing about that.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Jul 26, 2011

Sometimes Life Kicks You

It was one of those bright, warm, summer mornings for which Southern California is so famous. The traffic was Friday morning light. It was moving slowly but it was not mired in its normal stop and go mode. Max Stevens had left home a bit later than usual, and the extra hour he had slept put him in a particularly good mood. He stepped out of the elevator and walked to the reception area of the law firm. The last song he had heard on his car radio was still playing in his mind. The receptionist sitting behind the counter looked up at him and smiled.

“Good morning, Max.”

“Good morning, Emily.”

“Mr. Grazewski would like to have a word with you.”

Max glanced down at his watch. It was nine o’clock. “You mean he’s here this early?”

“He has an appointment.”

“Oh.” Max thought this added some urgency to Mr. Grazewski’s request.

Max whistled a part of the tune stuck in his mind as he entered through the double doors separating the reception area from the offices. Off to his left were the offices of Patrick O’Toole, Sean Hennessy, Daniel McDonnell, Theodore Grazewski, and Douglas McGregor. As Max turned toward those offices he saw Mr. Grazewski and another man enter Mr. Grazewski’s office. They left the door to the office open.

“So tell me,” the gentleman said, “how did someone with the name of Grazewski wind up in the Irish corner of his firm?”

Mr. Grazewski laughed. “If you think that’s bad just consider McGregor, who happens to be a Scot. You wouldn’t believe the arguments he and the Irishmen get into over who makes the best whiskey.”

“I’d have to side with McGregor on that one, but I don’t think I’d pay him for defending my preference.”

“No need; just mention the subject to McGregor when one of the Irishmen are present and enjoy the show.”

The conversation told Max they had not gotten down to business yet. “We attorneys will argue about anything.” Max said it to let them know he was there. They laughed.

“Come in, Max. This is Stanley Walker from Wallers Insurance International. Stan this is one of our brightest associates, Max Stevens.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Max said.

“Likewise.”

Max and Mr. Walker shook hands.

“Max, the reason I left the message with Emily is because I want to know how you’re doing on our answers to the interrogatories in the Smith/Haller case.”

“I’ll have them on your desk by three-thirty today.”

“Good man.”

Max took this as his cue to leave. He turned and took several steps out of the office.

“He makes a good impression. Will he be working on any of our cases?”

“He already is.”

Max continued walking and did not hear any more of the conversation. What he had heard was enough to please him. Mr. Walker was the CEO of Wallers Insurance, and the law firm made millions of dollars representing that company and the clients of that company. Making a good impression on a man who was as important as Mr. Walker was would certainly raise Max’s standing with the law firm.

Max entered his own office. A copy of the interrogatories and a legal pad of notes containing the information he needed to answer the questions posed were sitting on his desk. The workload of an associate was usually too brutal to allow much time for a personal life. In the last few days, however, Max’s caseload had actually decreased, which is to say that the last urgent matter he had to attend to was answering those interrogatories. He set about his task as quickly and efficiently as possible. He was really looking forward to getting home at a decent hour and enjoying a weekend of some much needed recreation. It was almost one-thirty when Max finished dictating the answers. He took the tape to his secretary and went to lunch. He returned at two-fifteen. The transcript of his dictation was sitting on his desk. He finished editing the answers by three, and his secretary handed him the edited answers at three-twenty. He immediately took the finished product to Mr. Grazewski’s office. The door to the office was closed.

“Sorry Max, but Ted hasn’t returned from lunch yet,” Mr. Grazewski’s secretary said.

“The infamous two martini lunch with Mr. Walker, no doubt.”

“You’re probably right about that. Ted took him to the California Club.”

“Will you please give this to him as soon as he returns?”

“Hot date tonight?”

“No, I’m just looking forward to some much needed time off.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I’ll try to get him on it as soon as he returns.”

“Thanks, you’re a jewel.”

Max returned to his office. The fact that Mr. Grazewski was not there to review the answers and make the changes he deemed desirable was disappointing to say the least. Traffic was typically light on Friday mornings but by five pm it turned into a nightmare.  Max’s Zippo cigarette lighter was sitting on his desk. People who spend a lot of time at the beach really like Zippo lighters because the wind rarely blows out the flame. The old adage about not spitting into the wind, however, also holds true for Zippo lighters. No one wants the wind to blow the flame from the lighter into his face. Max pulled a can of lighter fluid out of one of the drawers of his desk. He opened the Zippo and filled it with the fluid. At four-thirty Mr. Grazweski called and told Max the answers were fine as written. Max looked down at his watch. Well, at least he would not be delayed by having to change any of the answers. He shoved the Zippo into one of the front pockets of his trousers, and he headed for home. He did not arrive there until seven o’clock.

It was not until Max was getting out of his car that he realized his leg was wet. He must have over filled the lighter. At least the leaking fluid had not migrated to his crotch. He was grateful for that. To say it was unpleasant when that happened would be an understatement of the first order. After taking a shower he put on some white trousers, blue deck shoes, and a blue sports shirt. He picked up the lighter, but then thought better of it. It still might be too full of fluid. He set the lighter on the night stand next to his bed. There was a book of matches in his kitchen and he put that book in one of the front pockets of his trousers.

Max went to a little place near the pier. He had a basket of shrimp and French fries, which he ate at one of the tables outside. Then he drove to one of his favorite places on the bay. It had a restaurant on the first floor, but he always felt self-conscious when he ate there alone. He took the stairs to the second floor. There was a terrific bar there with a dance floor and live music. He walked up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. He noticed an attractive lady walking toward him as he took a sip from that beverage. He also noticed a book of matches sitting on the bar. The cover of the book was open to expose the matches. He picked up that book of matches without thinking and stuffed it into a front pocket of his trousers. The exposed matches must have rubbed against the striker pad of the book of matches already in his pocket because those matches instantly burst into flames. He pulled the burning matches out of his pocket, threw them on the bar, and blew out the flames. The attractive lady was now standing next to him, and she was laughing.

“Nice going, hot pants. Did you get burned?”

Max laughed with her. “I can’t believe I did that. My leg and hand are a bit tender, but there’s no serious damage.”

“I could actually see your hand through the material of your pants. It was quite a show.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. I’m Max.”

“I’m Alice. I’m here with my fiancé, but my friend is available.”

“Oh?”

“She’s at the third table back. She has long brown hair and is wearing a green blouse.”

“She’s very attractive.”

“Help me carry the drinks I’m ordering and I’ll introduce you to her.”

“Thanks, that’s very kind of you.”

When they reached the table Alice set one drink in front of her fiancé and the other in front of the chair next to him. This told Max he was carrying the drink for the other lady, and he set that drink in front of her.

“Max, this is Karen and Jim. Karen and Jim, this is Max.”

Max said he was pleased to meet them and they said they were pleased to meet him.

“Have a seat, Max.”

“Thanks, Alice.” He sat next to Karen.

Alice looked at Karen and smiled. “See I told you you were going to meet someone hot tonight, and he’s so hot he literally lights up his pants.”

Karen blushed.

“I’m afraid she’s being a bit too generous. I acted more like a clown than a Casanova.” He then went on to explain what happened, much to the amusement of the people at the table.

“See,” Karen said. “Cigarettes are dangerous.”

“Granted, but I didn’t think they’d cause me to burn myself.”

“Are you badly burned?”

“Just a little tender.”

“Let me see your hand.”

He held up his right hand with his palm facing her.

“You have a blister on your middle finger.”

“That means I’m one of those rare individuals who can make a disdainful gesture and still be a sympathetic character.”

She smiled. “I’ll buy the character part.”

“I really enjoy this song. Would you like to dance?”

“Yes.”

Max and Karen were having a good time. They danced and flirted with each other all evening. Max was disappointed when the bar tender finally announced last call.

“I’d like to take you to the beach tomorrow and to dinner afterwards. May I have your telephone number?”

“Sure.” She wrote her name, her phone number, and her address on a cocktail napkin and handed it to him. “No need to call tomorrow, just drop by my place at ten in the morning.”

She left with Alice and Jim. Max drove to her house the next morning as they had agreed. Since he did not know whether she would want to shower and dress for dinner at her place or his he threw some clothes in the back seat of his car.

She was wearing a bathing suit when she answered the door. Her smile was beautiful but what he really noticed was her terrific figure.

“The fact that your wearing a bathing suit tells me you’ve probably eaten already.”

“I didn’t want to assume that you were taking me out for breakfast.  I made macaroni salad and some sandwiches to take with us. There’s enough to have a sandwich now if you’re hungry.”

“You’re beautiful and thoughtful, but I rarely eat breakfast anyway.”

She picked up her towel and the container holding the food. “I guess we’ll need to pick up a cooler on the way.”

“There’s one in the car. It has ice and beer in it, but there’s enough room for the food as well.”

“Good.”

They spread their towels out on the sand and set the cooler next to them. Max was delighted to see that she was the athletic type. She went into the water with him, and they played in the surf. When they returned to their towels they had lunch.

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I’m a decorator who specializes in restaurants, offices and other businesses, but I suppose most people would say I’m a sales person.”

“That should give us some privacy because we’re the sort of couple other people tend to avoid.”

“Because I sell?”

“And because I’m an attorney.”

“So you’re argumentative.”

“That’s the common belief, but I rarely argue when I’m not being paid to do it.”

“Ah, the all mighty dollar.” She presented him with a seductive smile. “But I’m guessing you also use your persuasive skills to get other things you want.”

“I’m afraid the only professionals at seduction are gigolos, but you’re certainly inspiring me to make the best of my amateur talent.”

She laughed. “You really are an attorney.”

“What do mean.”

“It’s the phrasing. You’re not going to argue with me if a say no, are you?”

“Arguing rarely works, and it’s detrimental if you want to see the lady again.”

“So you’re a man of experience.”

“I come pre-trained. My ex-wife taught me to say ‘yes, dear.’”

“Then you’ve been married?”

“Yes, and you?”

“No. It’s not something I’ve been looking for, but who knows?”

“I have the same attitude. I’m not real eager to try it again, but I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Was the divorce painful.”

“Painful enough for me to make some rather rude jokes about marriage, but I can’t really blame her, or myself for that matter. Sometimes things don’t work out. You have to accept it and move on.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No, and that’s probably a good thing when it comes to divorce. If you have children you have to see each other while you’re still in pain. I really hate it when I see couples using their children as weapons to punish each other.”

“I don’t think you’d do that.”

“I sure hope I wouldn’t.”

“How do feel about your ex-wife now.”

“We rarely see each other. Each of us has built a new life, but I’m at the point where I could accept her as friend.”

“That speaks well for you.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“You’re welcome.”

The fact that she did not take any clothes to the beach told Max she wanted to shower and change at her place. The only question in his mind was whether she expected him to go home to shower and change and then come back to pick her up.

“I notice that you brought some clothes.”

“I hope you don’t think I was presuming anything by doing that.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll carry the clothes if you carry the cooler.”

They entered her apartment.

‘Set the cooler there.”

He set it down. She put his clothes on a chair. Then she opened the cooler and removed two beers. “Two can shower as cheaply as one,” she said, handing him a beer.

They took the beers into the shower. He soon had an erection. She looked down at it and giggled.

“Body surfing obviously makes you as horny as makes me,” she said.

“And people wonder why a love the ocean so much.”

After the shower they went to her bedroom and made love. She got up when they finished. She walked over to the telephone and started dialing a number.

“I hope you like Chinese. It’s one of the few good restaurants that delivers.”

Max spent the entire weekend with her. He took her to dinner on Sunday then returned to his place. He was sitting in his office on Monday morning when Mr. Grazewski’s secretary called to tell him to come to Ted’s office.

“Max we have a new case. I’m thinking of naming you as co-counsel. Here’s the complaint. We’re fulfilling Wallers’ obligation to defend Bracket Dunn Accounting and its auditors against charges resulting from an alleged Ponzi scheme perpetrated by A&P investments. Here’s a copy of the complaint and a motion to combine the cases for the purpose of discovery. I think we can assume there will also be an attempt to make this a class-action. Read over the complaint and try to put the charges into layman’s terms. I’ll arrange a meeting with Bracket Dunn and its auditors.”

Max wanted to cheer. Being named co-counsel on such a large case was the professional opportunity he had been dreaming about.

He carefully reviewed the complaint he had been given. It was representative of all the complaints filed on behalf of the people bringing the suits. The motion to combine those cases for the purpose of discovery named all of the individual plaintiffs. The name of one of the plaintiffs was all too familiar to him; it was Karen Anthony. He felt as though his heart had taken a giant leap and was now lodged in his throat. He rose from his chair and walked to Mr. Grazewski’s office.

“I might know one of the plaintiffs.”

“You might?”

“Well, I don’t know if the Karen Anthony bringing the suit as the same Karen Anthony I just spent the weekend with.”

“Was it an intimate weekend?”

“Very.”

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“I just met her.”

“Well, that’s a plus. It means the judge will be more likely to let us build a wall around you. You need to find out if it’s the same Karen Anthony. Do it today, Max.” Mr. Grazewski did not need to add that Max was off the case for now.

Max did not have Karen’s work number, and she did not answer her phone until seven o’clock.

“Hi, sweetheart. This is Max.”

“It’s good to hear from you.”

“I hope it will be.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Why the doubt?”

“Are you involved in a law suit?”

“Yes. I’m suing some scum bags who stole fifty thousand dollars from me, but why do you ask?”

“Is it A&P Investments?”

“How did you know that?”

“My firm is representing one of the defendants.”

“You mean you’re defending the crooked bastards?”

“We’re not representing A&P. There are a lot of defendants, such as attorneys and accountants, and the extent to which they might be culpable has yet to be determined.”

“Spoken like a true attorney.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t worry. I can’t work on the case. No one at our firm can even discuss it with me.”

“I glad to hear that.”

“Yes, but here is something else.”

“Oh?”

“Your attorney is sure to advise you not to see me again until the case is resolved, and my firm is bound to put pressure on me not to see you until then.”

“How long do you think it will take before the trial is over?”

“It could be years.”

“Damn it! I’m really going to miss you, but I can’t ignore the advice of my attorney. I hope you understand.”

“I do, honey. Maybe when it’s over…”

“Maybe.”They both knew that maybe meant unlikely. They said goodbye to each other and hung up. Max had lost a golden opportunity at the firm and perhaps a meaningful relationship with a lady he really cared about. He could not help thinking there were times when life kicked you in the crotch, and there is nothing you can do about it. The only choice he had was to stand up and keep trying. He told Mr. Grazewski about his conversation with Karen.

“I’m not blaming you,” Mr. Grazewski said. “You had no knowledge of the suit when you met her, but I hope you had a great weekend.”

“Not great enough to justify the consequences.” Max smiled. “I guess I just have to grin and bear it.”

“I’m afraid so.”

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Jul 20, 2011