Well, I would like to thank the people that responded to me privately regarding my story.  I would like to acknowledge the very kind words they gave me in my first real attempt here.  Several have indicated passionately that they would much like to “know how everything got to that point and that is,” and “where the real story is.”  So-to-speak that is, since elements of the story are real and some is fantasy, thus far that is…

So, I have decided to share parts of my life which are real and some are quite clearly not real and weave them into what, “the real story” is for your pleasure and mine.  I hope that every-one who reads my works have enjoyed them as much as the compliments which I have received about my first submission.  Again, thank you for your patience and energetic enthusiasm.

Now, on to the story…

Chapter 1.

This story, like so many other things in life, started without one realizing that it did, in fact, start.  In fact, it is typically difficult for most to actually determine what change was the start; that is, which was the trigger-effect which started the “story.”  However, my slide into my personal situation can be clearly pinpointed to a particular time and event.   Unlike other’s stories, the weather and every day conditions seemed to lack any narrative style.  It was simply a pleasant late spring day with a gentle waft of breeze and non-descript 68 degrees in the late morning.  It was so like so many other spring days that I hardly even noticed.

I have a really small law practice.  Well, at this point, had.  But at that time, it was so small that I was the only Partner, Associate and Receptionist and Paralegal.  (Which is a bit untrue, I did hire out for temps on occasion.) It was small, but it was all I had ever wanted to have, or at least work for.  Thank you very much; too much television programming with too little variety.   And, like those dramas on the screen, I only wanted to work the cases which I thought were cases which represented the righteous and necessary part of American Law.  You know, fight the good fight. 

All through high school and college, even after having been married and becoming a mother during my college career, nothing diminished the glorious work which I had envisioned myself to be doing when I was out in the “real world.”  Reality turned out to be much different from theory or college, as I learned, all too quickly.  What I learned was that there is nothing more banal then the practice of law.  Meaning that; what is presented in novels, T.V. or even in the papers really lacks the actual grind of working a case load.  Every file eventually turns into every other file.  Every ruling is predicated on a prior ruling.  There is no originality, no spontaneous or creative thinking.  It is really a bunch of very dull people talking about very dry issues; both of which tend to be so far divorced from reality that the system itself tends to be only a justified means of keeping-others-from-getting-what-you-have gotten-from-others.

But, it paid the bills…or at least, gave me the opportunity to have my own money in my marriage.  It provided me what granted the morsel of freedom that I used to maintain individual space.  I was rather lucky in that regards, having married well in college and my husband, whose family was rather wealthy, was not the lethargic misanthrope common to wealthy families, but was a high-energy, ruthless executive.  Son was like Father.  And like his father, his duties caused him to travel quite a bit.  But, more of that later.

Aside from the daily grind and routine filing of paper work, the litany of what goes on and on, the other lesson I learned was to actually resent the clients that I represented.  Once I saw those actors on the screen as those wronged and needing assistance to regain what was rightfully theirs or correct an injustice.   The truth was quite different.  What I learned was the venality of my clients actually made me sick.  To listen to their heart-felt complaints of being wronged and “only seeking justice for justice sake,” nearly made me choke whenever I hear that phrase uttered now.  I often wished that those same clients would do so as well.  The pandering of concern and the projection of assurances and good-will made my mouth go dry with each meeting.

The loathing that I had was not necessarily only because of my clients, or my ‘less than the T.V. glamour’ office.  There were so many things just slightly askew, but nothing so dramatic as to present itself as being the cause of my dissatisfaction.  It did make things harder at home than they needed to be.  But I did my wifely duties in and out of bed…or sometimes in the car as he wished, once in the parking lot garage at the airport.  Nor did I neglect my darling daughter, who was growing to be a young lady and seeking the independence of a woman, thinking that she was closer to adulthood rather than realizing that she was still closer to being a toddler.  But every mother knows the stubbornness of a young daughter, or, a newly teenage daughter.   So there isn’t anything ‘tragic’ or momentous in that itself. 

Typically, when a client comes in as a walk in, and they come with a file in hand, it means that they were booted from one office and were already in litigation.  Typically they are seeking alternative counsel because:

1.         “The prior attorney didn’t believe in my case.”  (meaning that they tired of dealing with the high-maintenance pain in the ass of a client and sent them packing )

2.        “The prior attorney had a too high of a work load to devote time to their case,” meaning that they tired of dealing with the high-maintenance pain in the ass of a client and sent them packing and/or, their case was a loser and would only result in an anticipated loss for the attorney.) (I learned that those interested in “justice for justice” sake tended to be really liberal in spending my money to prosecute their case, but seldom if ever would consider financing their own matter…What I really learned was it is after all, only about the money despite what they claim)

3.         The prior attorney was retiring and would no longer be able to assist the client (meaning, the case was a loser and was so muddled that attorney was bailing to extricate themselves from the myriad of problems, and oh yeah, that they tired of dealing with the high-maintenance pain in the ass of a client and sent them packing)

None of the reasons are attractive and as a rule I tend to avoid them.  Bottom-line, is that they are a pain in the ass.  However, on this one day, after a couple months of no cases coming in and thinking that I would just simply take my shingle off the post and call it quits, a man walked into my office.

My head turned as the bell on the wooden framed door jingled.  It substituted as the receptionist for me.  As a rule, I wore a head set and always pretended to be on the phone when someone walked in for an unscheduled visit.  It was a control mechanism.  Part of me enjoyed the projection of control, but it had paled quickly as it didn’t fill me with the satisfaction that I wanted.  Hind-sight is always 20/20.  Plus, it seemed to project that I was indeed busy and that I could be selective about my clients.  I still did it, despite my deep awareness to the contrary.

However, at that moment, I was simply taken by the physically commanding presence of this man.  He stood just over 6 feet tall with short black hair, cut in a close cropped military style called a flat top.  His was just like the football commentator, Howie Long.  My husband had made me watch each Sunday morning prior to watching his football games with his friends who would show up before game time.  Being the good wife, I watched, but eventually really only watched to see the hulking man with the chiseled features and sharp hair style.  As any other gal, he is yummy.  It was many a night in which I saw Howie over me while my husband mounted me.

Not as big as my T.V. fantasy lover, the gentleman standing in the small foyer to my office was of an undeterminable age and appeared to be even more chiseled, nearly gaunt.  However, his huge shoulders and trim waist were clearly evident, even under the suit and tie he wore.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t too coy about giving him a look up and down.   Seeing the head set on he assumed that I was on the phone and casually sat down at one of the two padded chairs that occupy the front of the reception area of my office. 

He placed a large white cardboard box, like one typically used to store files; like so many like I had stored in a closet in the back of my office, where I kept my completed cases.  The names printed on the white boxes in dark black marker only served to remind me of the petty loathing that I had for each one.  I tried not to go back there if I could avoid it.  However, there was a couple that also brought a rueful smile to my mouth.  The ones who had strongly irritated me and whom I took out some measure of revenge on for it was the cause of mild mirth.  But he sat calmly, nearly serenely, as he waited for me to finish my apparent call.

I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, in what I was hope sly.  I saw that the size of the man’s hands were huge.  At least his palm was huge and his fingers thick.  The wrists that disappeared under the finely tailored sleeves were as thick as my ankles.   Everything bespoke unbridled power and command, but he still projected a calm, nearly tranquil presence.  Odd that such a powerful man could look composed while being constrained.  Each pause served to remind me that I was staring and not talking, which sparked another line of utterly unconvincing acting from me.

After a couple more of my “subtle” glances, I pretended to wrap up the conversation and removed my head set.  For some inexplicable reason, I shook my head to tussle my hair, in the hope to look as sexy as I could; I wanted or needed to be sexy to this total stranger.   I felt like I had on the playground 20 years before.  All in the space of seconds I relived every awkward boy/girl meeting I ever had.  My breathing quickened and I blushed slightly as I walked over to introduce myself.  As I walked, my heels clicked loudly on the wooden flooring.  I could see that in a single glance he took me all in.  All those emotions went racing through my head, all for someone who, I was likely to despise shortly after he started talking.

Finding myself not wanting to have him spoil the moment for me; I started out blurting out my spiel in rushed speech, not letting him get a word in edge-wise as I walked him to a chair opposite my large wooden desk.  After I finished and didn’t have anything left to say, I spoke without having said anything useful and I was stuck for what else to say.  Out of steam, I just sat there and tried to hide behind a gracious smile.   

As I was talking and outlining in general terms what an office like mine would be able to do for those that I could help he sat his box on his lap and started to remove the contents, which was folder after folder.  Three ring binder after three ring binder.   He laid everything out in a neat, if not precise chronological order.    

Sensing that I was waiting for him to speak, he did so, in a melodious cant that was nearly hypnotic.   As I pretended to listen, I found that I was twirling the ends of my hair and had let the bundled end of my hair make its way into my mouth.  I was unaware of how long I had been doing this but realized that it conveyed what I was thinking too clearly.  As he finished summing up why he need to change counsel, I reviewed his files for injury history and the two claims he had, both exceptional in several ways.

First, he had Lasik surgery that damaged his eyes, causing both irises to be stretched vertically, giving a near reptilian visage.  In my opinion, one that I kept secret, it enhanced his presence.  But then I noticed that in addition to his chiseled features, he had flawless skin.  He was quite devilishly handsome.  However, to compound insult to injury, literally, the prior counsel managed to mangle the case and had committed legal malpractice in the same process.  Outstanding!  Not only did I have to prove the damages were in excess of the settlement offer in the first matter, I had to then prove that the handling of the first case caused the second case to be valid.

The fact that the initial medical malpractice case was more complex than I realized, even on the surface, such a case, or cases in this matter, were both very hard to prove and yet can be very lucrative.  Even more so as there was only one other firm to have handled the matter and we wouldn’t have to split fees as they were a named party to the malpractice.  Also, they had documented in writing to the prospective client insisting that they would waive their fees in the first case; likely to get him to settle and absolve them of any malpractice.  “Hit the right button and this could be my retirement ticket,” I thought.  This path to retiring at 34 suddenly seemed like my idea all along.    

Considering that this matter came along at a time when I hadn’t had any clients in two months and had a really light work load for the next three months before I had one of my few remaining cases to prep for the typical file summons, serve summons, get enhanced offer and close to satisfy one of the cheaper clients that I had.  Hey, we all make deals with the devil…so to speak….to get by. 

With my thoughts of cash registers dinging dollars in my ears, I sat appearing attentive, all the while discussing the details with the new client on autopilot, obtaining the signed contract, medical authorizations and Power of Attorney letters to obtain any other records necessary. 

In a surprising chuckle, he extended his hand and said, “I am glad that you are so eager to work on this matter for me.”  He continued as I shook his hand, “As you can see I man of action.  I don’t tolerate mistakes or suffer fools easily.”

He stopped and grasped my hand slightly more firmly, and then without any further preamble walked away from the desk and left my office.

I sat there for an indeterminate period before my heart stopped racing and sweating slightly.  I had finally struck the case that would let me retire as I wanted, comfortably.  Also, I met someone that stirred lustful feelings long since dormant, nearly hidden and forgotten.  And then I made a rookie mistake.  I trusted what the client told me.  He indicated that no action would be required on the file for over thirty days.  He was right; there was a pre-trail conference was in 30 days.

However, with the additional malpractice issues at hand, he wasn’t.  Evidently, the first attorney had neglected to properly name a party to the suit and the statute for inclusion to this matter expired in ten days.  That I didn’t look at the file for fourteen and didn’t realize it for a week afterwards essentially cost my new client a relatively small percentage of his case, but the $500,000.00 policy that went unnamed was still five hundred thousand dollars for my client lost, or more importantly to me, $175,000.00 in fees lost to me.

When I found out I broke several small items on my desk and then cried a mournful sob.  When my “retirement” client returned back in the states, I was going to have to advise him that his original claim, and the subsequent malpractice case was now marred by a secondary malpractice issue.  I would soon find exactly how he suffered fools.  Not having $325,000.00 dollars just sitting idly around to indemnify him or even half that to just pay him off as the legal malpractice insurance would be a huge expense.  Likely costing me three or four times the loss in premiums over the rest of my career, if I avoided being disbarred.

For the first time in my life, I was fearful and oddly excited.  At least I would get to see him sooner than I anticipated.  It would be nice to see if that passion deep in the pit of my stomach was a onetime thing.  Though, I already knew it wasn’t.  I just had no idea where that passion would lead me.