Sorry Santa...How About a Little Christmas Cheer?

So apparently I managed to anger Santa with my last post. (You don't believe me, check the comments.) I didn't really mean the bah humbug stuff. It was a bad day and I REALLY do hate the freaking mall, especially this time of year.

But after the little guy went to sleep last night...at 10:00 (who told this kid that 10:00 is an appropriate bed time for a 2 year old!)...I had to assemble all the presents for the litany of paralegals, secretaries, managers and supervisors I'd bought stuff for.

I trudged into the office this morning, arms loaded with bags, totally psyched to dole out my gifts. I ran into my secretary first, pulled her into my office and closed the door. She actually thought she was in trouble... But I plunked the bag down on my desk and watched her eyes grow wide as she read the tag. We have a couple huge cases going on right now in the office and I was giving my staff "survival kits" to get through the cases. Deanna reached into her bag and hysterically laughed as she pulled out booze, caffeine, sweets and a scratch off lottery ticket for a little luck...

She was so happy with it that I eagerly dragged one of my paralegals in next. She laughed so hard it brought tears to her eyes. Then she gave me MY gift. Well, first she hands me a package of homemade cookies saying, "These are for the boys. You are NOT allowed to eat any." Then she proceeded to hand me a beautifully wrapped package of carrot and celery sticks. "THESE are all yours." Too funny - and all day I had to explain the wrapped bag of veggies on my desk...

Anyway, I was a good little elf today and everyone loved their gifts. It put me in a particularly good mood. Well, that and receiving a copy of my first published article.

So, since I'm feeling generous, I thought I'd give out a few more presents tonight.

The first is for Mr. Condescending...

Just what you always wanted...your very own pirate ship. Now don't forget your promise to take me on the maiden voyage!

This next one goes to Ms. Salti...

How could I not pass on a little vampire love for the holidays? Assuming he can follow instructions, he'll be arriving at your door bright and early Christmas morning. But he is a man, so I'm not sure how well he can actually follow directions. ;)


Now for Otin...

I wasn't really sure what to get you... I hope this new fishing boat will do.

I was thinking about getting this for Jormengrund...



But I decided this would be more appropriate....

...for easy disposal of all obnoxious and annoying people at the office.


To show that I'm a good sport too,

Matty, this one's for you. You demanded a black one, right?


Brad, I stumbled over this on the way home. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you a cut?

And Andrew thought that your little one could use THIS...

Hopefully Santa is more satisfied with this post and I've gotten myself off the naughty list. Merry Christmas guys.

A little holiday bitching...

I hate shopping. I don’t mean I mildly dislike it. I mean HATE…you know, the I’d rather knife myself in the eye than do this type of hatred. And it’s not just mall shopping that I hate. I hate ALL kinds of shopping. Hell, if not for my son, I probably wouldn’t even go to the grocery store as much as I do.

Today I had to face the evil of all shopping evils – the mall, 3 days before Christmas. For those of you who have missed my shopping escapades, I have some type of misadventure just about every time I go to the mall. I’ve sworn off EVER going to the VS semi-annual sale again, after almost getting my ass kicked over the most hideous thong ever created. (lemon-lime mesh lace up the back cheekies - HORRIBLE.) I refuse to go to the mall after Halloween because I hate the crowds.

But, for my darling husband, I braved the mall today. Being the good wife that I am (or maybe I was just struck by a moment of pure insanity), I offered to buy the holiday presents for his staff. I haven’t even gotten stuff for my own secretary and paralegals, but let’s put that one aside for the moment… The mall at lunchtime is a sea of cars as far as the eye can see. I found the one, lone parking spot left in the lot. Of course no one wanted it - it was in the middle of a solid sheet of ice. I turn slowly into the spot, hoping that I don’t skid into the SUVs on either side of the car and that my breaks don’t lock up, sending me careening into the Chevy parked in front of me.

I step out of the car and immediately lose my footing, practically toppling into another car. Though I could be in better shoes for this trek, I’m immediately grateful that I opted against the 4 ½ inch heels that I almost slid my feet into this morning. Taking baby steps, I slowly make my way across the glacier I’m parked on until I safely reach the street. (I wanted to embellish the story here to say that I slipped, fell on my ass and broke the heel on my shoe – but why lie just for the sake of humor. Besides it's NOT funny when you break your heel. It's not like the heel completely snaps off like in the Mentos commercials...It hangs there, partially dangling and partially still attached by screws. But I digress...).

My paralegal loves tea, so I figured I could score a good gift for her in Teavana, but the second I entered the store, the perfume-y scents made my head ache. I immediately turned around and went to Godiva. Too many people. On to another store, which had the worst music blaring from its speakers. With my head already throbbing from the tea leaves, I was done with that place. (This is part of why hubby loves me. I shop like a guy) I decided to enter the store of my former employer for a whopping 3 days – bath and body works – in hopes of finding something fast, cheap and suitable there.

SCORE! I loaded up my arms with baskets and boxes and trudged to the front of the store, where some obnoxious woman refused to move an inch to allow me to put my stuff down on the counter as I stagger under the weight of my purchases. I smacked the dumb ass with my bags as hard as I could without being accused of assault when I was done.

But I managed to forget one of the people I needed to shop for. So I quickly dove in line at Lindt and snagged some candy, because who doesn't want to add to the size of their waistline to celebrate the holidays? And I groaned as I had to turn down the offer of free chocolate while I waited in line. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to have to refuse all things sugar and fruit at the holidays? EVERYTHING is sugar and fruit!

I leave the store, trying not to over my purchases, realizing for the first time that I spent my entire lunch shopping and not eating. My stomach began grumbling loudly in protest. But who has time for food? My break was over. I'd shopped for hubby, but done nothing for myself. Since I managed to roll into work an hour late this morning, I couldn't turn this into a 2 hour lunch. Which meant the thrill of shopping after work with the little guy.

He did okay at first, placated with a bag of yogurt melts and happily commanding me around the store, pointing and shouting "GO THAT WAY!" at the top of his lungs. But then I made the strategic miscalculation of walking past the cupcakes (I had to - the little guy deserves to celebrate his birthday with his class, with cupcakes like everyone else - even if he does have to do it the day before his actual birthday) and he proceeded to scream bloody murder because he wanted a cupcake. Then he wanted animal crackers. And so I became "that mom" cruising around the store with a kid in full on melt down mode.

Mercifully, I got us back into the car an hour later. Of course, I could barely stand after all the walking in my boots. Andrew insisted on listening to the same song over and over again on the way home. He didn't want to get out of the car without pushing every single button in my car and stopping to eat snow every 2 inches between the car and our house.

It's a few hours later and he's finally asleep. I now have to go make about 6 trips out to the car to bring everything inside, assemble my gifts and hubby's and lug them back out to our respective cars.

BAH HUMBUG

I mean...happy holidays everyone.

Return of the Vampire

He stumbled upon her lair, looking for shelter in the most dire of circumstances. She should have killed him instantly for his intrusion. But something about the waves of desperation rolling off the man stopped her cold.

Instead, she leaned back against the bed of black silk, propping herself against the mountain of pillows. The folds of her dress opened at the movement, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her thigh. She made no effort to adjust her clothes. Instead, she looked directly into his eyes and began to speak. The rhythm of her words, the lilt of her voice was intoxicating and he quickly fell under her spell.

"The problem with immortality," she began slowly, "is its very nature. You go on forever. The ones you love grow old and die, yet you remain. It is hard to form attachments when you know they are fleeting. That you will live on long after they have passed."

"But this is a blessing you speak of. A gift." His voice was hoarse, straining under the effort of speech.

"One man's blessing is another man's curse." She retorted simply. "Am I a monster? Or merely a woman more extraordinary than most? I have lived longer than you can imagine and I have yet to figure this out." She shifted slightly, her dress slipping down over one shoulder, revealing the long lines of her neck, the fabric dipping low enough to bare the curve of her breast.

"No matter what I am, I can still be killed, of course. Oh, I could go and meet the sun, feel its rays warm my flesh before it splinters me into a million pieces. Or some silly human could try to stake me through the heart. So many have tried, only to meet their own untimely death." A cruel smile formed as she thought of the last human who tried to attack her, the stupid human had no idea what he had invited into his truck...

"Your time grows short. I can smell the death upon you. I will grant you the choice, human. Certain death or the curse of everlasting life. Choose quickly. You only have minutes left."

Without hesitation, he answered in a broken whisper, "You are...the most extraordinary... creature...I have ever met...Save me."

With superhuman speed, she was off the bed and across the room. She lifted him as if he weighed nothing and laid him gently on the couch. With a swift movement he could barely track, her fangs bit into her wrist, opening her vein and she pressed her arm to his mouth. "Drink," she commanded.

He hesitated, refusing to take her into his mouth. "Drink or die, human." His eyes widened at her cruel tone, but the message sank in. He opened his lips and let the blood flow into his mouth. She moaned as he began to suck at her wrist, lapping at her greedily.

She leaned her head back, eyes closed, as his mouth worked at her, becoming stronger and more insistent. The sensation was both pleasure and pain, building together in increasing intensity until...

"Stop!" She pushed him away from her wrist, licking the wound gently to seal it closed and begin the healing process. He had enough of her blood to change him, any more would kill them both. "This next part is going to hurt," she warned.

He was her first. More would follow. She needed each of them. Strong men, each through his own choice, would forever be bound to her by blood, do her bidding as their creator and mistress.



This was part 10 of the vampire series. Missed parts 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 or 1?

History

So I had a great post planned for this week's Theme Thursday. It would have appealed to my dear hornball readers who keep pestering me to post some porn-like steamy fiction. Sadly, you will have to wait a little longer for that post. Yes, I'm a tease. But you already knew that.

This morning, the phone rang at 6 AM. My first instinct was to be pissed off at whoever was calling so early. Frustration at being woken out of a dead sleep was quickly followed by the realization that good news is never delivered at that hour... Hubby, Andrew and I are now on our way out to Cleveland.

We're headed out there for a funeral (his grandma). While in a lot of ways it's sad, it's also one of those situations where we're glad she's not suffering anymore.

I'm happy he got to know her, because she'll always be a part of his history... I wish Andrew would have gotten to spend more time with Tibey and hope that when he's older he'll remember her and how much she loved him to pieces.

I better run before the sappy side of Jaime really takes over and before I miss my plane.

But when I return, so will the vampire series... I don't care if everyone in the world has their own vampire story. I kind of miss writing mine.

Snow Day

I'm still drowning in motions... I have 4 briefs that have to get out the door by 2:00 tomorrow. I haven't even written one of them yet and I have zero energy or motivation to do so. Since I don't have time for a real post, I leave you with this...


Why am I dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man just to go outside?

Hey! What's all this white stuff?

Hmm... it tastes okay. But why'd daddy tell me not to eat the yellow snow?


And it's fun. I can mash it up and throw it at people. They don't even get mad!


NO MORE OUTSIDE!!!


This was Andrew's last big adventure out in the snow... He loved the snow - until he fell in it and it went all up his sleeves and down the back of his jacket...

When my office decides to let me have a life, I'll be back. It might be time to revive the vampire story... Hope you all had a good weekend.

Law and Disorder: The Finale

And finally, without further ado, Part 7 of Law and Disorder. If you missed any of the other parts, Otin has parts 1-6 up on his blog now.
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Tammy's next call was to the prosecutor. She got the 24-hour answering service. "Get him out of bed," Tammy growled. "He's going to want my call."

A few moments later, she was connected to the head of the prosecutor's office. "Tammy. It's 3 in the freaking morning. This better be good."

"You will release my client from jail. Now. In return, I will give you the real killer." That got his attention. She laid it out for him quickly. He needed time to line things up with the local authorities before they could move.

Tammy was buzzing with tension and couldn't get back to sleep. She gave up and drove back to Boca so she could be there when it all went down. She owed her family and her client that much.

At 9 am sharp, Tammy marched into the local police department. Moments later, she saw both her parents being led in, escorted to separate interrogation rooms. The prosecutor nodded at Tammy, who took a deep breath before springing into action.

She threw the door open to Interrogation A. "How long were you fucking Jenny? And don't even think about giving me any of that 'she initiated it' bullshit! How long were you and her having an affair?"

William put his head in his hands, but said nothing at first. After a few seconds, she began to speak. "Let me tell you a story... It's about a lonely high school girl. Her mother suffered from depression. Her dad couldn't deal so he spent most of his days too wasted to care what she was doing. She gets a job working at a local law firm and for the first time feels like she is accomplishing something. Doing something with meaning. She was all alone that summer. Her best friend had decided to spend it with her aunt in the Catskills. And then, one day in the conference room, her boss comes to her. Tells her how much he appreciates all of her hard work. They're both lonely. Depressed. Starved for attention. And they cure that need with a totally taboo relationship for... three months before the boss knocks her up."

William stared at her, jaw slack, eyes wide in disbelief. "Its okay dad. Admit it. The statute of limitations has run on the statutory rape charge."

"I had to split you two up. It was not that she was bad, it was that I could not bear seeing her every day," He said, trying to make Tammy understand his long ago decision that forever altered her life.

"It's okay, Dad, you can admit it," Tammy repeated.

Then William, the paragon of strength and virtue, crumbled. Sobbing too hard to speak, he simply nodded. For a moment, Tammy's resolve cracked too. She put her hand over her dad's and whispered, "You loved her, didn't you?"

Again, William could only nod. Tammy brushed her chair back from the table, straightened her shoulders and readied for round two.

Throwing open the door to Interrogation B, she led with "You knew." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

"Dear girl. Do you really think there's anything I don't know about that man's life?" Her mom challenged. "I knew about the affair. And the bastard child. And the millions he funneled to that tramp."

Tammy ran back to her father. "Either you killed her or she did. What's it going to be, dad? Will you let your guilt consume you and send you to jail for her crime?"

William smiled sadly. But beneath the sorrow was nothing short of total pride. "I knew you'd figure it out, honey. That's why I sent Harold to you. You would never let an innocent man go to jail on your watch."

Tammy looked at her father coldly. "You knew all along? But you were shocked when I told you."

William reached out for her. "I knew. I had to pretend. For her. For you. For all of us."

At that moment, two detectives walked into the interrogation room and slapped handcuffs around Lara's wrists. Lara screamed over being read her rights, "This is all his fault! He let that bitch into our lives, into our bed. I forgave the bastard in the beginning. But now all these years later, he was going to leave me for her! That's why he was transferring all his money to her. He was going to leave me and try to leave me with NOTHING!"

Tammy crossed the room in three long strides. Then she drew back and slapped Lara across the face. "You stupid bitch!" Tammy spat. "You stupid crazy bitch. He was never going to leave you. For some insane reason, the man actually loved you! That money was for their daughter! When you go to jail, I want that to be the last thought that goes through your head. You murdered that poor girl for nothing."

Tammy's initial anger turned to sorrow.

"How could you , Mom? All of those holidays and vacations that we were all happy. The dinners that we cooked together. You knew all along and yet you let us go on pretending to be the perfect little family."

" I didn't know all of it", She protested. "It was not until I had found out about the money that I became bitter. All of your life, I was genuine when it came to the three of us. I knew about your dad's little secret. It was hard on me, too. I had to keep it from Jennifer's parents and smile whenever I saw that family, but I accepted that he made a mistake and I still loved him. When they visited here last year, and they showed up in a Patricia's Mercedes, and then Helen told me that Patricia didn't even have a job, that's when I knew that something was wrong. I dug through your dad's papers and found letters from Jennifer, asking for more money. When he told me that he was going north to take care of some firm business, I knew where he was going."

"So you followed him?!" Tammy asked, emotionally bankrupt at this point.

"Yes Tammy! That is what you want to hear? I did it. I confess! But remember this. I still love both of you, and nothing will ever change that."

Lara's head slumped to her chest as the two detectives led her away.

Tammy could not watch as her mother was taken away. She turned and looked back toward interrogation room A.

A few days later, Tammy stood on the steps of Patricia Greenhill's beautiful home, snow falling gently around her. She had never been nervous interviewing anyone before. But today she was not here as a lawyer. Today she was introducing herself as a big sister. And she had no idea how it would all turn out.

Law and Disorder: Part 5

Yes, our story is still going. If you've missed any of the other parts, click for Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4.


Tammy and William made their way to his study, which was basically a little den located off of his bedroom. She shut and locked every door behind her as they went through the two rooms.
"That wasn't a very nice greeting, Pumpkin," he said, trying to lighten her mood. He practiced with Tammy long enough to know when she had a bone to pick with someone.

"Dad, a few months back, you came up to take care of some firm business, yet you never came to see me? That seems a little strange, being that I am running the firm," Tammy began grilling him.

"Your Mom told you this?" He asked back.

"Yea, I know that it is Thanksgiving, but this is also a business trip for me. I have a bunch of questions that I need answers to, and it all seems to lead to you."

"You are acting crazy, Honey. What's going on?"

"Do you know who B. Greenhill is and why she has been getting well financed by the firm?" She asked.

He did not respond right away, he knew that he could not dodge her. She had the tenacity of a bulldog.

"B. Greenhill is Jennifer Dobson," He replied, staring down at the floor. "The money that she has been paid over the years is because of the guilt that I carry.""Guilt?? Over splitting us up?" she responded, already sensing the true answer, but wanting to hear her dad say it.

He knew that it was all going to come out anyway and figured that she might as well hear it from him.

"No, not over splitting you up," He said reluctantly, "Over the fact that I was the one who got her pregnant! Her daughter, Patricia is your half sister."

Shocked as she was, anger took over. "You Lousy Bastard!" she said in a hostile voice. "You ruined my friendship, you hid a sister from me, you paid this girl enough money to live like a queen, you cheated on Mom! With a high school girl! My Fucking Dad, holier than thou lawyer, couldn't keep it in his pants! You make me sick!"

"Now you look, Jennifer was 17, but she was no innocent school girl. She asked me for a ride home. I am not going to go into details, but I will tell you that I did not initiate any contact with her. She was the aggressor."

"Great excuse, Dad." Tammy scoffed. "She asked for it. She wanted it. You are disgusting! So is this why you killed her?

"Killed her???" William seemed genuinely surprised. "Jennifer is dead??"

"Yep, knife in the chest. Mom's missing kitchen knife, if I had my guess." William collapsed in his chair, muttering to himself for a minute before he spoke again.

"Why would I kill Jenny?" He asked Tammy, in a much slower and softer voice.

Tammy pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "I found this in Jennifer's room. No one else has seen it but me. I thought that it looked like your handwriting, but was not 100% sure until a few minutes ago."

She began to read the note:

Jennifer, I cannot give anymore than I am giving. If it comes down to you blowing the whistle, then I might have to take some drastic action. You have been well compensated for your part in our little secret. I have upheld my end of the deal. You cannot keep changing the rules as you go, or someone is going to get hurt.

There was no signature.

"I did write that," he confessed. "When Jennifer moved out of her parent's home, she came to me for money. She said that if I did not give her five hundred every month, that she would tell our story. Over the years, as the firm grew so did her desire for money. I should have come clean and put a stop to it, but she mailed me statements showing that the money was going into a secure account that only Patricia would be able to draw from when she got older. I think that I let it go because I felt so guilty and wanted to support my child, even after Jennifer married that Greenhill guy. When I turned seventy, I sent her a note telling her that I could no longer do it. She threatened to tell everyone that I was the father. It would have ignited a shitstorm!"

"You mean like what we have now?" Tammy broke in.

"This will blow up only if you allow it to," William responded calmly. "I wasn't physically threatening her. I meant someone would be hurt emotionally. You, your mom, Jen, Patricia, Helen, Ted, everyone. I am sorry that she is dead, but all of that crap could end right here in this room."

He went to hug Tammy and she withdrew from him. "Don't touch me, don't call me, you are dead to me! Harold Greenhill is sitting in jail, waiting for me to come up with something to set him free. I am keeping this note, and I am leaving right now. Don't even think about throwing your knife set away. It would make you look even more guilty."

"You are defending Greenhill? How did he just happen to find you? Ask yourself that one!"
Tammy stormed out of the room. She crossed the hall and grabbed her small suitcase, which she had never unpacked. She made her way out to the kitchen where her mother was still laboring away.

"Tammy, dear," her mother said, sounding concerned, noticing her flustered appearance, "Have you been crying? What's Daddy done this time? I wish that you two would not fight."

"Mom, I can't stay here. I have some...um...business that is really important. I may have to do something that is going to be hard on all of us. Promise me that you won't hate me."

"Hate you!?! Never sweetie! You are just like your Dad, business first. You do what you need to do, Baby. I wish that you could stay."

They hugged and then Tammy grabbed her bag and disappeared out the door. William came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "What was all of that about? Tammy was pretty upset with you?" Lara asked him.

"It was nothing. We just had a little spat about business," he replied.

Lara smiled. She knew more about his business that he could ever imagine.

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Stay tuned. Otin's posting part 6 tomorrow and I'll have the finale here.

Law and Disorder: Part 3

If you're new to this party, this story is a collaboration between Otin and me. If you want this to make any sense, click here for Part 1 and here for Part 2 of this story before reading Part 3.

So Jenny Dobson and Barbara Greenhill were the same person. Tammy wondered when that happened, knowing there was something more there. Jennifer's middle name had been Barbara and her mother had sometimes called her "Barbie." Jennifer could have simply decided to go by Barbara when she married Harold Greenhill.

But the name continued to tug at the edge of Tammy's consciousness. She quickly concluded the rest of the initial interview, even more convinced at her client's innocence. A grand jury had been convened and Harold wanted to testify. They set another meeting to prepare his testimony.

"Barbara Greenhill"? She knew that name, but from where?

When she returned to her office, the payroll checks were on her desk. She hated this part of her job and didn't understand why they couldn't just automate this whole thing. Why should she have to sign each paycheck herself? Tammy quickly signed the stack of checks without looking at them and threw them into her outbox for delivery to the HR department.

While on a particularly boring phone call, Tammy tuned out her adversary's rambling rendition of his client's settlement position and pulled out the payroll folder again. She looked at the checks she had signed for the first time in ages. There was a check in the middle for $10,000 made payable to "B. Greenhill." She knew that she had seen that name before!

There had to be some mistake, Tammy thought. Even her dad didn't pull down 10 grand a pay cycle! She yelled for her assistant to pull the payroll records for B. Greenhill. The information was sketchy at best. There was no first name, only the initial "B." Human Resources only had an address, no description of the job she was hired to perform, no time records. Only an amount to be paid each pay cycle and the authorization code indicated that Tammy's father hired the mysterious B. Upon further investigation, it was revealed that the payments to Barbara Greenhill had started almost thirty years earlier, at approximately the same time that Jennifer Dobson and Harold Greenhill had been wed. It had not always been $10,000, the amount had increased over the years. All of this coincidence was beginning to give her a headache. She had probably signed the Greenhill check a thousand times in her life.

Tammy had expensive investigators at her disposal, but she believed that each of her cases warranted her personal attention as well. If she was going to sell her client's story, she had to see the crime scene with her own eyes, walk the victim's last steps, feel the emotion of those last painful moments.

Tammy moved through the house slowly and methodically, her studied eye carefully searching the Greenhill home. She saved the scene of the crime for last, beginning in the bedroom. Experience taught her that you can learn a lot about someone from studying their most personal space. Tammy swept through the bedroom, finding relatively little of note. She found one of Barbara's old high school yearbooks. Tammy flipped through the pages, finding her inscription to Jenny, who she had called the sister she never had. Tammy reached for a tissue to wipe away the tears that sprung from her eyes, knocking a picture frame behind the large wooden desk.

She got to her knees to reach for the frame. The back had fallen loose and when Tammy turned the frame over to fit the pieces back together, an envelope was wedged behind the photograph. Tammy's fingers grazed the creamy fabric of the envelope and took in the elegant script. She gasped, instantly knowing the source of the writing without looking at the return address.

Shaken, Tammy hastened through the rest of her search, happy that her investigator was also there. Tammy did take careful note of the collection of kitchen knives. All of the larger knives were in a matched set. It was a cheap bargain store set, with light natural wood handles. They were nothing of particular note, except for the fact that one was missing. From the space in the knife block, it was a long blade, at least 6 inches - the exact length of the murder weapon. No other knives had been found in any of the drawers.

Later, back at her desk, Tammy mulled over some of the evidence and facts of the case. Barbara Greenhill, formerly Jennifer Dobson, had been receiving large sums of money for thirty years from the very law firm which Tammy now ran. Harold and Barbara lived very modestly. They drove cheap cars. Harold worked full time as a contractor and they had few luxury items. The Greenhill daughter, thirty-three year old Patricia, lived an upper middle class life style, even though she had never had a steady job. Tammy had not met Patricia yet, but Rose had interviewed her and she needed to be investigated further.

The murder weapon was also a bit puzzling to her. It was a very expensive kitchen knife, with a fancy gold flower pattern on the handle. It did not match any other kitchenware in the house. It was possible that they just had one stray knife but the house was so well organized, that wasn't likely. Tammy suspected that the knife was brought into the home. This would be a plus for Harold's case.

He had been fixing an outdoor faucet that evening. Where would he have gotten a fancy knife from, and why? The missing knife in the Greenhill set had been found in the dishwasher, so the murder weapon obviously did not come from their knife rack. The worst thing was that Tammy felt like she had seen that pattern before but could not remember where.

And then there was Harold. What motive would he have for killing his wife? Harold had been under the impression that Patricia was living off of a trust fund which had been given to her by her rich grandfather on her father's side. He never knew Patricia's real father. When Harold and Barbara had gotten married, she had told him that the man was deceased. He legally adopted Patricia when she was three. Money could not be the motive, because if there was a trust fund, then he would not be able to get at any of it anyway. From all accounts, the people who knew both of them said that they had seemed rather happy and rarely fought. But no matter how hard they searched, they could not find any witnesses who saw Harold, or any one else, coming or going from the house. Any other time, someone would have been nosy but not that night.

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Otin will be posting part 4 Tuesday night and you'll find part 5 over here. Wednesday will bring Part 6 over at Otin's and the finale here... Yeah, we wrote a blog story in 7 parts.

Haven't I told you before that lawyers may write briefs, but we never do anything brief?

Law and Disorder: Part 2

So Otin finally guilted me into finishing this story. I was busy doing the real life law and order thing... The story was Otin's idea but I kinda helped with all the lawyer parts.

Anyway, this is Part 2 of the story that began on Otin's blog. If you haven't already read Part 1, click here and then come back.


The black phone on the corner of her desk began to ring. Tammy raised her eyebrows at the sound. This was her "special line." The number was top secret, known only to her family and her high end former clients. She let the machine answer, waiting to hear if they knew the right thing to say.

"Uh...I'm in trouble here. Norma Jean referred me."

Tammy smiled. That was the right thing to say. She answered quickly and set up a meet the following morning.

Harold Greenhill was a wreck as he was led down the corridor by a striking brunette. If he wasn't so distracted, he would have enjoyed watching the seductive sway of her hips and the way the black knit dress hugged her curves. Instead, the clacking of her stilettos pounded through his head with every step.

The woman - Harold forget her name the second she gave it - held open the door to a conference room. Harold slid into the chair closest to the door and declined the offer of coffee. He was surprised to see a striking Brunette sit across from him and slide a legal pad from the center of the room. She began asking questions. At first it was the basics - name, address, children, marital status. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched when he responded "widower" with a cracked voice. Then the questions became more focused on his current legal situation. Harold returned home from his job that night to find his front door ajar. He rushed inside, finding his wife, Barbara, laying in a pool of her own blood on the kitchen floor. There were multiple wounds all over her body and the knife was still sticking out of her chest.

Harold's first instinct was the wrong one - he removed the knife and tried to revive Barbara. He called 911, continued his attempts to stop the bleeding, to breath life back into his wife's lungs. By the time the authorities arrived, Harold was covered in blood with his prints on the murder weapon. When he was asked if anyone could corroborate his story, Harold snapped. "Listen. I'm sure you're very good at your job. But I came here to meet with Tammy Jenkins, not her secretary! Now go on back and bring out my attorney!"

The brunette rolled her eyes as she stood. "The name is Rose, Mr. Greenhill. Since I'll be second chair at the trial, I expect you to remember who I am next time and speak to me about your case." She turned on her heel and let the door slam on her way out.

Rose slipped into the room next door, where Tammy had been watching through a two-way mirror. Tammy smirked at their exchange, liking Harold instantly, but more importantly, she believed every word of his story. Something troubled her though. The name - Barbara Greenhill was oddly familiar. Grabbing the file from Rose, she flipped through it briefly. Barbara's photograph was in the file. It was a grainy autopsy photo, but Tammy would recognize that face anywhere. Barbara Greenhill looked exactly like her best friend from high school, Jennifer Dobson. "Rose!" Tammy called. "What was the wife's maiden name?" Rose hesitated for an instant before confirming Tammy's suspicions.


Check back here Monday night for Part 3.

Seriously?

Let's start by saying that the height of laziness is ordering pizza online. But since I'm tired and it's snowing and my bastard neighbor parked in my parking spot forcing me to park half way down the street, I'm not venturing out for food. I don't care how lazy that makes me.

And I like tracking the progress of my order as it goes along. But what does concern me is Dominos' new quality assurance step. I don't want to know how they're double checking my pizza for extra deliciousness... But I certainly hope it doesn't involve anyone licking my damn pie before it goes out the door! Hmmm... probably better not to think about these things.

Anyway, grab a slice and crack open a beer or some wine. I'm going to vent a little about the train wreck that is MTV's "Jersey Shore." How many of you watched this mess? It's two hours of my life that I'll never get back.

The show was horrible and I just couldn't look away. (If you don't know the basic premise, 4 guys and 4 girls living and working together at the Jersey Shore.) The show's first problem is with the fact that they're basing this show in SEASIDE. Just about everyone here has been to Sleeze-side after their prom and hasn't been back since. Unless you have a hankering to get your ass kicked. Then just roll up into any bar in Seaside sporting a shirt with sleeves. It's an open invitation for a beat down.

But since this show wasn't meant to be real reality tv, I suppose we're supposed to let that slide. I mean, if you're watching this show, it's to see which of these morons makes the biggest ass out of themselves trying to get a piece of ass. And, I suppose to make fun of these morons playing out the worst stereotypes of New Jersey.


Gee... Don't they all look like total catches?

We've got the self-proclaimed biggest Guido in Rhode Island. I wonder exactly how many other Guidos there are in RI that he had to beat out in order to earn this distinction. He's a DJ with an overinflated sense of importance and overestimation of his ability to get into girls' pants... And you should see the amount of hair gel this guy packed in his bags. Literally 50 fucking tubes. Does he not think there are convenience stores in Jersey where he could pick up some more shellac for his hair?

Then there's the loud mouthed midget with a huge ass, enormous fake boobs and sky high bangs. Didn't she get the memo? Even in Jersey, that hair went out in the 80s! She dubbed herself "Snookie." What the hell's a snookie? I like that all the guys started calling her Snickers. And that the random guy she brought home from the bar for a little late night hook up ended up puking all over the place.

Further adding to the cast of idiots is a guy who calls himself "The Situation." Okay...if you can get past the attitude, that he spends far too much time in a tanning bed and the fact that he wears enough hair gel to cause a bigger oil slick than the Exxon Valdez, his abs are fucking amazing. But one needs to have a bit more going on than a rock hard bod. I mean, the second he opens his mouth, it's all over.

Anyway, I could go on. But why bother? The chicks are all whores. And dumb asses. One practically gets naked with her roommate and then runs out of the room because she "doesn't want to cheat on her boyfriend." I don't know YOUR definition of cheating... But if hubby stuck his tongue down some chick's throat, they were rolling around in the sack together and she saw his cock, he's cheating. I wouldn't care if they actually screwed or not...

And the guys are all man-whores. Disgusting, greasy, over tanned, stupid fucking man-whores. They should spend a few less hours in the gym and read a freaking book. Maybe that's too much of a jump. They could start with a newspaper or a magazine or something. Hell, maybe I give them too much credit for being able to read.

I mean, one guy treated having pink eye like he had come down with a severe, life threatening affliction. The rest of them couldn't even pronounce "Purell" if their lives depended on it.

Yeah, you could say I wasn't a fan.

Friends

It took months to get here.

Cultivating his friendship was easy. Chris was the trusting sort, outgoing by nature and had a killer smile. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, the kind of guy you felt you could say anything to...and that made him dangerous.

But the danger was sexy as hell and it was time to give things a firm shove away from being just friends. Tori slithered into her black dress and slipped her feet into some towering heels. She took extra care with her makeup and straightened her normally curly locks. Surveying her reflection, she smoothed her hair behind her ear, grabbed her clutch and hurried out the door.

Chris was standing by the bar when she arrived 20 minutes late. He had a Cosmo waiting for her and was working on his second bottle of Bud. She accepted the glass gratefully, practically inhaling its contents. The biter aftertaste left on her lips was unexpected though not unfamiliar either.

Tori ordered them another round before proclaiming it time to dance. The music tonight called for sultry salsa and the floor was already full of couples bumbling their way through the dance. When he asked if she could salsa, Tori rolled her eyes before saying she could follow his lead. She let her voice slur and slumped against his chest as he led them onto the dance floor.

The evening flew by in a blur of twirling, swaying hips and heated embraces. Tori pressed her lips against his and invited him back to her place. He quickly accepted.

Her mind was fuzzy with the combination of alcohol, lust and whatever it was Chris slipped into her drink. She couldn't remember the cab ride back to the condo or how they made it up the stairs to her unit. The images flashed through her head, almost as if it were happening to someone else.

Hands groping. Tongues dancing. Clothing quickly removed. Sucking. Biting. Teasing. All leading up to that exquisite moment of release.

She fell back against the pillows, smiling with satisfaction. Chris kissed her rolled out of bed, heading to the kitchen to bring them drinks. Tori watched until she could no longer see his remarkable naked body.

Then she slid her hand under the pillow, feeling the comforting brush of the cold steel against her fingertips. Releasing the safety, the sadness crushed down on her.

There were no friends in this business. Only assets and enemies. And the line between the two was becoming far too thin, too blurred for poor Chris.


Check out the other Theme Thursday friend stories.

The Problem with Holiday Gift Buying

Thanksgiving barely gets any attention these days. Halloween ends and the next day "Jingle Bells" is blaring from every radio station and the malls are decked out in full Christmas mode two months early.

I have no problem with Christmas. Just because it's not my holiday, I don't begrudge the rest of you your celebration. For many of you, I know this is your favorite time of year. But come on! Why do I have to be tormented with nothing but lousy Christmas music for months on end?

Not just that... Malls become dangerous places. I hate malls to begin with. But I am not about to take my life into my own hands just to fight some stupid woman for the last Tickle Me Elmo in the store. Nor do I have any interest in mowing down a little old lady just to buy my husband a Blu-Ray DVD player.

I like to try to find the perfect gift for everyone on my list. My problem with buying gifts, other than a total lack of time, is that I lack the knowledge find hubby the perfect techy gift and my sister the right girly girl present... Sure, I know generally what they'd like. But if I went to the store and tried to buy hubby a new tuner, for example, I'd come home with whatever the store told me was a really good one (read: probably the most expensive in the store) and it wouldn't be the one he wanted. And then we'd have to deal with the annoyance of the malls right AFTER the holidays to return what I bought for him.

So...I thought that I'd run down some other problems with holiday gift buying. Yeah, I'm sure there's a lesson in my ramblings here somewhere.



Jewelery. I am already sick to death of all the damn Zales and Kay and other commercials proclaiming that the PERFECT gift is a diamond.

Let me begin by professing my total bias. Grandpa is a jeweler. And when you have a family member "in the business," you don't buy retail. Ever. He made just about every piece that I wear and quite a few that I can no longer squeeze my fingers in to.

So... lesson number 1. If your significant other has family in this business, go to them. Don't hit the mall to buy her something sparkly. And while we're on the subject, if you do venture into the diamond district, bring cash and be prepared to haggle.

But for something that might be a little more relevant... there are some strong preferences when it comes to the shiny and sparkly. I, for example, hate pearls. They're too grandma for me. I tried to talk a friend out of buying his girlfriend of 3 months a pearl necklace (get your damn minds out of the gutter)... He wouldn't listen and she hated it. Some girls don't care. Some do...


Okay, so jewelery is out. Who doesn't like a nice box of chocolates? I mean, Godiva comes in a lovely gold box with a green and red bow for Christmas and a blue and white one for Hanukkah. Some have cute little ornaments or dreidels on top.

Except if your woman is on a diet, or even remotely hinting that she doesn't love the way she looks, SKIP THE CHOCOLATES! Yes, it's the easy gift. But if you think she's bitching about the size of her ass now, just wait until you have contributed to the typical holiday weight gain of 10-15 pounds. Do you want that on your head? Or filling your ears?

I didn't think so... Moving on...


Perfume. Not a bad gift, but difficult to do right. It's easy if you know exactly what scent she wears and she's running low. Otherwise, you might as well skip right over this one.

I worked in Bath and Bodyworks for a whopping 3 days. I tried to help a guy buy a present for his wife. When I asked him the obvious, he had no idea what she liked - but didn't want to ask her because this was supposed to be a surprise. I spent literally an hour with this man, who unfortunately knew better than to have me spray stuff on the test strips I carried in my apron. "It smells different on the body."

Absolutely true - but damn it - I had different scents sprayed all up and down both arms and both sides of my neck by the time we were done. The perfumes were nauseating when combined together. I couldn't wait to get off shift and take a freaking shower. But, despite my best efforts and losing out on the commissions for all the easier sales, he still couldn't figure out what to get her. He finally conceded defeat and called his woman, who wanted the first scent we had tried out. (Are you surprised I only lasted 3 days in retail???)


Let's be honest, shall we? If you're buying lingerie, you're buying it for YOU - not HER. But it is still her body this is going on. Try to keep that in mind. No matter how much she loves you, if crotchless panties aren't her thing, they ain't going on her bod.

You have to buy the right size. No, you can't ask. You should know these things. And if you don't, be careful if you raid her drawers. Most women have bras and panties in there that are the completely wrong size.

Don't go too small. She'll be pissed that: 1) You don't know the right size. 2) She can't even hope to squeeze herself into whatever you picked out. 3) She USED TO BE that size and can't even remember the last time she fit into a 36B.

Don't go too big. She'll be equally as pissed that you don't know the right size and can't fill out the truly lovely piece of lace you want her to prance around in. Oh. And you're fucked if you THINK she wears something 4 sizes larger than she really is. You can hear it now, can't you... "Do you really think I wear a 42DD? DO YOU THINK I'M THAT HUGE????" Or even better, you'll get the "my chest isn't big enough for you?"

Chances are, you've probably seen her dancing around in a teddy or a slip or something before. That's most likely the stuff she actually likes. If she's the pink filmy chiffon kind of girl, the leather bondage get up probably isn't going to go over well and vice versa.

But, like I said in the beginning. This isn't a present about her. It's about you. Just remember: get the size right boys.


Gag gifts?

They have their time and place. But choose your gifts carefully. I, for one, do not find anything poop-related funny. Save your money.
Matty thinks I should get him a shiny new car for Christmas. In return, he's going to get me this loveliness... The new Betty Crocker bake set.

*Sigh*

Okay... #1 - house stuff is not a present, unless she specifically asks for it.

#2 - if she doesn't cook or bake, BUYING her cookware is not going to turn her into Betty freaking Crocker.

#3 - If she's buying you a car, you are NOT buying her bakewear.

Now... If anyone wants some ideas about what I'd like to find wrapped up for me for the holidays...

Yummy.

I don't get it...

Just a few things that I don't understand...

Why anyone watches "Dirty Jobs." It's just gross. Who wants to watch a grown man wade around in shit?

How my son has so much energy from the second he wakes up until the second he collapses...and why can't I bottle that energy and sell it!

Why the ending of "New Moon" was such a cop out. I know it's a set up to the rest of the series, but the ending could have been a bit more satisfying.

Why it takes days to prepare the thanksgiving meal - and the meal itself is over in less than an hour.

How I managed to get through the entire weekend without eating any cakes, cookies, cupcakes or anything with sugar.

I don't understand the allure of Black Friday shopping. The idea of waking up before the sun in order to fight thousands of people over stuff just to get the best deal? No, thank you. As my sister would say, "I'd rather knife myself in the eye." Give me my laptop and I'll do all my shopping on line thanks.

And really...Why I have no idea what to write about in a real post.

Got any ideas for me?

Thanksgiving

Welcome to my place at Thanksgiving. I'm so glad you could be here. Now pull up a chair, grab some coffee and let's talk. You don't mind that I'm working away furiously in the kitchen, right?

I got up to my parent's late. By late, I mean I still hadn't left the office by the time I normally have my sleeves rolled up and am up to my elbows in batter. So it's now 9:30 and I'm officially on my face and still have a couple hours of cooking to do before morning. But the bread's in the oven and the cranberries are chilling, so I have a couple minutes to relax before I start in on the sweet potatoes. (You know the irony of this is that everything I've made so far, I'm technically not allowed to eat...)

Anyway, I've been thinking what a difference a year makes. Last year this time, Andrew was barely out of the hospital and still recovering from the kidney infection that scared the hell out of all of us. I think we all were still trying to get over what happened. I mean, one minute the kid was fine, happy as a clam, cruising around daycare like the king of the classroom. And the next minute, he had a raging fever that wouldn't go down no matter what we did... The week long stint in the hospital was a nightmare but right around Thanksgiving, after more tests, bloodwork, MRIs, CT scans and ultrasounds than a kid should ever have to deal with in a LIFETIME, we got word that whatever was wrong with Andrew, it wasn't cancer. We all breathed a little easier around the Thanksgiving table after getting that news.

I'm so happy that the family is going to be together. That my grandpa is doing well enough to make the trip out from Long Island with my grandma. That my uncle, his wife and kids will all be here. That my sister's in from Florida this week and I can enjoy this time we have together, now that we arent' constantly trying to rip each other's heads off every second, like we did when we were little. I get to try to sneak stuffing with my dad in the morning, while my mom somehow manages to catch us, no matter where she is in the house. And, of course, if he isn't snoozing on the couch all weekend, I actually get to spend some time with hubby. With how crazed things have been for us both at work, those moments have been too few recently...

Unfortunately, hubby's family is down in Florida this year - but rumor has it next year we'll all be together. Yeah, I said it. Holidays turn me sappy, what can I say?

Okay...break's over and there's a mountain of sweet potatoes calling my name. Hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving (and to anyone who doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving - have a great weekend).

Masquerade

Rain fell gently outside, the scent mixing with the hay and Chrysanthemums. Fires crackled in the fireplaces throughout the room, barely audible above the string quartet's warm up. The combination of scents and sounds always made her think of fall.

Jane smoothed her hands over the silken folds of her gown. The fabric was a brilliant blue that matched the color of her eyes. Her chestnut locks fell in waves to her shoulders. She fastened her diamonds at her throat and around her wrists. Finally satisfied with her reflection, Jane secured a mask over her eyes, silently cursing the stupid tradition of the fall masque. Then again, it was somewhat fitting, since she had been wearing a mask of sorts for some time now. She was tired of pretending she was okay, like the past hadn't happened, hadn't been devastating to her.

Jane entered the ballroom alone, plastering a fake smile on her face. She was departing from her usual tradition of being escorted in on the arm of a handsome man. For the past three years, it had been the same handsome man. Jacob.

Jane willed the tears not to fall as she thought back to the last time they were together. He had picked her up early for their date, excited to show off his new ride. When he opened the door for her, a single red rose rested on the passenger seat. Every time they were together, he always brought her one.

They talked excitedly as he eased the car onto the highway. Then Jake's need for speed clouded his better judgment. He lost control of the car, careening into the concrete barrier before shooting off into oncoming traffic. They were struck head-on, the impact flipping the car. It skidded on its roof to the side of the road.

Jane still dreamed of that night. Her screams still echoed in her ears. She was able to escape from the car, somehow managing to drag her battered body through the hole left when half the windshield shattered and broke away. Jane tried to save him, but Jake was still trapped inside the car when it caught fire.

Two firemen had to physically restrain her from the wreckage. She sank to her knees, overcome by the sobs racking her body. She begged for his safety, offering to take his place if he would be spared, wishing with all her heart that she could have him in her arms one more time. Not one day went by that she didn't ache for him, feeling tremendous guilt that she was the one who survived the crash.

Jane tried in vain to shake the images from her head and enjoy the celebration, but the memories were too strong. Particularly tonight...the accident was three years ago tonight. She quickly slipped from the ballroom, seeking refuge in the library. This was her favorite place in the house with its leather couches and tall bookcase full of classic first editions. A fire burned in the corner of the room. She pressed a button, opening a panel in the wall to reveal the hidden bar. She poured herself a glass of brandy before melting into her favorite armchair, sinking into its plush cushions.

She didn't remember closing her eyes, but she must have slipped into a booze-fueled dreamless slumber. Jane sensed someone else in the room. Opening one eye, she saw a man dressed all in black, his long cape brushing the floor. He wore a Guy Fawkes mask that covered his entire face and his hands were encased in thick leather gloves.

As he walked toward her, there was something familiar about the stranger's presence and the way he moved. Glass clinked on the bar as he helped himself to the brandy in the decanter. Jane closed her eyes again, pretending to be asleep, as Guy made his way toward her.

He knelt before Jane, snaking his arms around her waist. Jane breathed him in, the combination of his musky cologne, brandy and smoke intoxicating. Guy nuzzled at her neck, weaving his fingers tightly through his hair. He pulled her against him, feeling the heat of her body and her pounding heart against his chest.

She lowered her head to his, but he moved away before their lips could meet. Guy shook his head sadly. "You should be more careful what you wish for, Janey."

That voice... It was so familiar. But no one called her Janey anymore, not since the accident. Guy brought her close again and whispered in her ear urgently. Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Jane opened her eyes, completely disoriented but feeling so much...lighter. As she stood, a blood red rose fell from her lap. She smiled at the sight and quickly tucked the bloom behind her ear. She threw open the library doors, leaving her mask behind, ready to rejoin the party.

time out

My boss dropped 6 briefs on me on Wednesday. Then he took off to Florida. He did this without asking me what else was on my plate, which was probably intentional because I also have a major arbitration cooking this week and I have to get my other boss prepped for it.

But while soaking in some rays, the big guy had a brilliant brainstorm that involved "us" writing 3 more briefs for 3 more motions that "we" will be filing on Friday. Of course, you know that "we" and "us" is code for "Jaime, give up sleeping, eating, seeing your family and blogging for the next week because YOU got a shit load of work to do while I'm out of town..."

So don't expect to see me around this week. Since I won't be entertaining you for a little while, go check out these other blogs, which are some of my favorite blogs and my choice distractions during the day when I should be working...

Brad - He gets top billing with Diaries of the Professor and not just because he knows me well enough to have a shit load of dirt on me... Despite being a Mets fan, Brad's a great guy and an amazing writer. Whether he knows it or not, he got me into blogging. So you all have him to thank (or curse) for these posts... Brad was on a blogging hiatus for awhile but now he's back and better than ever. So go check out his blog and give him some love...

Mr. Condescending - Mr. C's blog is just the right mix of humor, condescending and sex. He's always a great read and he takes some incredible pics.

Otin - Yeah...Who doesn't know Otin? With the 9 million blogs he reads and comments on every day, you probably already know him. But if not, he's a must read. His stories are great and always come with a little something unexpected at the end, making him king of the twist.

VE - VE's gnomes are working overtime coming up with some great fantastical nonsense. I find his blog addictive and I am always amazed at the creative stuff he comes up with everyday.



Matty gave me this award, probably to show that he wasn't totally bitter about losing our bet. But I do give good blog. So it works... And I in turn pass this award on to Brad, Mr. C, Otin and VE. VE hates getting these awards, but he always does some kind of spoof on them and I can't wait to see what he comes up with for this one!

Have a good week everyone. Wish me luck and I'll catch you on the other side...

When Opportunity Calls...

Tim knew better than anyone that one moment could change your life forever. By age 30, he was worth millions. Tim was a whiz with money. He sold his little start up for $30 million and was quickly named CFO of the largest lending institution in the US. He married the girl of his dreams and they lived together in a palatial estate in Malibu. They had the villa in Tuscany, the loft in New York City and a fleet of cars and a private jet waiting to take them where ever they desired.

Tim’s wife stopped working after they married and had a major problem with shopping. She spent his money as fast as he could make it, but there was always plenty coming in and lots in the bank. He loved her, so he indulged her lavish tastes.

Tim thought he was immune to the layoffs going on around him. But he was wrong and six months ago, it was Tim’s head on the chopping block. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife. So every day, he packed up his briefcase, pulled one of his finest suits and headed out. For the first four months, Tim searched for work, applying for jobs well beneath him just so he could have money coming in and a purpose to his days. He lost hope last month when he was turned down for a sales gig…at the mall.

Tim now spent his days at the local aquarium. Staring at the barracudas, he tried to figure out the right words to tell his wife that he was a failure. They had no money. He had sold off their cars, the jet and their other properties. Their safe deposit box at the bank, once flush with cash and jewels, was empty. He had pawned his watches and most of his possessions. He still couldn’t keep them afloat. The bank was about to start foreclosure proceedings on their Malibu home. Tim wept for all that they had lost, all that he had cost them.

At the end of the day, when he would be expected home from work, Tim entered the gates of the long, winding driveway – surprised to find a large truck in front of the house. Two men were unloading box after box of his wife’s most recent purchases. When they were finally done, Tim’s wife was smiling broadly as she unwrapped what was the ugliest – and most expensive – painting he had ever seen. “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked. “I thought we could put it in your office.”

Tim would rather die than have that monstrosity hanging on his walls. “ENOUGH!” he screamed. “Don’t you ever stop shopping? We can’t afford this!” Shit! He thought immediately. He didn’t mean for it to come out that way. But now that he confessed, the words couldn’t leave his mouth fast enough. It all came out in a jumble, his termination, his inability to find work, the imminent loss of their home. He apologized, profusely, and Tim was not a man who ever apologized for his actions.

His wife was silent for a moment, stunned by Tim’s confession. As she walked toward him, Tim opened his arms, expecting the comfort and support of his mate. Instead, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face. Then she packed a bag and left without a word.

Tim was stunned. He never expected her to leave him. He thought she would be there, that they would find a way out of this together. Tim felt as if his world was crumbling around him. He climbed into bed, sank into the plush mattress, pulled the covers over his head and slept.

Time seemed to stop as Tim stayed in that bed. He had no idea how long he lay there, not eating, not moving, not paying the ever-growing mountain of bills. He tried to call his wife, but she never answered the calls. The last time he tried his cell, the line was dead. The damn telephone company finally made good on its threats to disconnect the service.

Tim didn’t know how to get himself out of this mess. He was literally worth more dead than alive right now. The thought had popped into his head, but he began to obsess over it. He had ruined them, but if he weren’t around, the insurance company would at least give his wife something…

A telephone started ringing somewhere in the house. Tim looked at the cell on his nightstand. It was lifeless, another victim of his stupid financial blunders. He dragged himself out of bed and began racing around the house, trying to follow the noise. He went from room to room, searching for the source of the ringing. Tim's search brought him to a little used portion of the house. His wife always loved the formal dining rooms and fancy ballroom over here.

The ringing led him into a small room, decorated in frilly lace and a shocking amount of pink. Definitely his wife’s room, the place she would retreat to when she wanted to be alone. Being in her private space, he missed her so badly he could hardly breathe. Tim looked down on the hideous pink sofa and found a tiny phone, one he had never seen before.

He grabbed the thing, pressed it to his ear. Before he could say hello, a gruff voice on the other end spoke. “It’s about time you got your ass out of bed! Now get your shit together and write this down.” The voice gave him a series of numbers.

Tim tried to question who was on the line, what the numbers meant. The only response was a cryptic, “You want to turn this around? You play those fucking numbers. I know you only have $10 in your wallet. Go down to the damn liquor store and lay down the ten. Do it now you loser. You have one hour. This is your last chance.”

The phone went dead. Tim stared at the numbers and tried to place the voice. It almost sounded like himself when he would growl out orders at his subordinates. Impossible, the thought to himself.

Still, Tim pulled on his jeans and stumbled outdoors for the first time in ages. He had no car, the last one having been repossessed earlier in the month. He ran down to the store, drawing stares from everyone he passed. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him how disheveled he looked. Tim walked to the counter of the liquor store and laid down his $10 and his picks. The cashier rang him up and handed him the ticket. Jim stuffed it in his pocket and returned home.

Affixed to his front door was the notice he had been dreading. The sheriff’s sale was coming up. He had lost his job, his wife, his last dollar and now he was about to lose his home. Tim would have cried if he had any tears left. He had nothing. Tim slumped down on the porch, head in his hands and wondered where the hell he had gone so wrong.

He was still there in the morning, stiff and cold, when the paper hit his porch. Strange, Tim thought. His subscription had been canceled months ago for non-payment. Who cares? He eagerly tore into the paper, bypassing the business and financial sections he used to spend hours pouring over. It took forever to Tim to find the section he was looking for. Maybe it wasn’t in the paper?

THERE!

Tim removed the crumpled ticket from his pocket and pressed it against the paper. He rubbed his eyes, twice, to clear them. Tim shook his head, making sure that was clear too.

Every one of the numbers matched up. He held the winning ticket. The ONLY winning ticket according to the article. Tim screamed…

Twenty seven million dollars was more than enough money to buy him a fresh start. And this time, he was going to make it count.


Check out the other Theme Thursday telephone stories.

the last shot

I promise this is my last shot at the Phillies...til next season anyway. But this was too funny to pass up!




Who's your daddy, Pedro!

the job

It's rare when people need lawyers for a good reason. Although I typically deal in commercial litigation, I also do most of the work for the firm forming nonprofit organizations. I love those files. I get to help someone create their vision, form something from nothing, and hear later how what we created helps others.

But most of the time I see people at their worst, being the victims or perpetrators of terrible wrongs against others. I've spent most of my week working on prepping a file for arbitration. The poor guy's business partner ripped him off for the tiny, insignificant sum of $10 million (that we know of anyway). Now he's on the verge of filing bankruptcy and his partner is going on lavish vacations and buying up properties, spending my client's money. The file pisses me off. I hate the injustice of it.

Friday afternoon I met with a prospective new client. It's never a good thing when a client wants to come in at the end of the day, right before the weekend begins. I'll give her a little bit of credit though. She was prepared and sent me all of the documents in advance so I could actually know what her case was about before she came in.

She leased a laser, couldn't afford the payments and now the loan company is suing her. She admits to owing the money and making a stupid business decisions. So I was prepared to tell her there was nothing I could do for her...

Except I took the time to meet with her, for far longer than I was supposed to without charging a consult fee. And I feel so badly for this woman. So I let her retain me to negotiate a settlement with these guys.

This is always a bad idea. You never want to be retained by someone who you know has financial difficulties for an insignificant amount of money... It's very hard to sign a limited retainer agreement and have the client actually stick to the limited agreement. But my heart broke for her, so I let myself get sucked in.

Anyway, there you have it. Proof that some lawyers actually transcend the lawyer jokes and really do have a heart...

The Bet

If not for bad luck, I usually have no luck at all. It's why I don't gamble. Well, that and I work too damn hard for my money to piss it away...

A few years back, I made a bet with my future brother in law on the baseball post-season. Mike is a huge Red Sox fan and I was confident my Yankees would take them down once again. So we bet. WHEN I won, Mike would have to prance around all day in a Mariano Rivera jersey. It would kill him because of all the Yanks Mike dislikes, Mo is the one he hates most. IF I lost, I had to buy him the Sox hat of his choosing.

The Red Sox NEVER win the Series. They lose, year after year. And they don't just lose. They rip their fans' hearts out doing it. So I felt this "bet" was really a "sure thing." Except that year, as the Yanks were poised to trounce the Sox, the Red Sox made an unbelievable comeback. They swept the rest of the games against the Yankees and then quickly won the World Series for the first time in almost a century.

Though it pained me, I am a woman of my word... I bought Mike his hat. I can't even put into words how DIRTY it made me feel. I put the hat on my credit card, went home and shredded the damn card. Every time I see Mike wearing that stupid hat, it gets me all over again. I lost. The Yanks lost. And he'll NEVER let me forget it.

When hubby and I got married, Mike and his hat made an appearance during the toast. I was pissed and chucked the thing across the dance floor. I wanted to aim for a candle and torch his hat, but that was a little too Bridezilla for my tastes. Hubby knew it was coming and I'm still pissed he didn't tell me. Because at the last second, I decided to be nice and not play any pranks on Mikey at the wedding. I was going to have him walk in to Mo's entrance music. (For the non-baseball folks, Mariano Rivera runs out to the pitcher's mound to "Enter Sandman.")

Anyway...my bet with Mike was the last real bet I made. Until this year. I was having some fun with Matty, who loves the Phillies almost as much as I love the Yanks. We spent weeks sparring over email. I forget what he said that really got me going, but I threw down the gauntlet and proposed a bet. He took the bait and, just in case you hear him complaining, let's not forget that HE was the one who set the terms.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that my boys in pinstripes won the Series at game 6 on Wednesday. Matty's a good guy and a man of his word. So he didn't hassle me at all when I told him to pay up. Check out this post on his blog and his guest post below.

_______________________

As the 2009 major league baseball playoffs were winding down, and it was becoming evident that the Phillies and Yankees would be squaring off in the fall classic, Jaime and I decided to square off. In support of our teams, we placed a bet with the baseball gods. She laid down her pride on the Yankees while I put mine down on the Phillies. It seemed like a sure thing. Phillies won it all last year, and were back to defend their title. I'm all good with that. What could go wrong?

So, in support of our teams, we agreed that the loser had to write a post on their blog acknowledging the winner. Additionally, the loser had to make a guest post on the winner's blog admitting that they were wrong and the winner was right.......and........say that the winner was a "baseball guru".

So, here is where I swallow my pride and pay up. Why? Because I'm a man, and a fan, of my word. I step up to the plate ( yes.....pun intended) and do the right thing.

Jaime, you were right and I was wrong. You are a (cough cough) baseball guru.

Until we meet again.....this time next year.

Matty