Jill stared in disbelief at the manuscript. It still lay on the floor exactly where she had hurled it. The fireplace beckoned, begging her to let its flames destroy the words.
She had always looked at each story as a gift. Something that could captivate her attention, entice the imagination, take her away from the dark that threatened to overtake her. Could she ever find such joy, such escape, from words again?
She snatched the binder off the floor, forcing her hands not to shake and to once again read his words.
A successful writer told me once that all good stories start at the beginning... I laughed. Isn't the start of any story it's beginning? I chided.
No. She took on her exasperating teacher tone with me. The beginning is what drives your characters, their actions, your plot. The audience can't understand where the character is NOW if they don't know where she came from. It's your hook. And that is the beginning...
Well, no offense to her, but I was never a good student. I don't take direction well. Certainly not from HER. Plus, I think you, my dear audience, would be more captivated with this tale if you knew upfront who it was about. That's MY hook. MY beginning.
Jill Flowers.
Who?
Oh, you know Jill. She is the one responsible for Paramount. Yes, the publication company. Sorry. "Publishing house." Don't ask me the difference. I never really understood nor did I want to expend the time or effort to pretend like I cared.
Chances are the last book you picked up...before this one, of course...was a story hand-selected and published by my little fleur. God does she hate when I call her that!
The nickname makes her feel small, weak. And those are two words little miss editor would NEVER use to describe herself...anymore. She fancies herself all big, bad and powerful.
She wears her black pinstripe power suits. She thinks of herself as the ultimate judge and jury of new literary talent. She loves to hold the fate of those hopeful authors in her hands. She tears into each package with a new manuscript with all the joy of a child opening a present on Christmas morning.
I'm sure she opened MY package with THIS manuscript in much the same way. What a shock these words must have been to her. If I know my girl - and believe me, I KNOW Jill - she began plotting in vain how to stop this book from coming to light...in any means possible...as soon as she read my plan.
You see, our little fleur has careful crafted the image the rest of the world has seen all these years. But the whole thing is just a fucking facade.
The truth is she is no stranger to holding someone's fate in her hands.
To serving as judge and jury over one's life.
To serve as executioner over those she deems unworthy...
Intrigued, my dear readers?
Good.
That was my intent. My hook. See, Fleur. You don't know shit!
______________
It's been awhile since I played along with a Theme Thursday.
This is the second part of a story that began here.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Manuscript
The package arrived late morning and sat largely unnoticed on the corner of her desk. It was unobtrusive, wrapped in brown paper. The address was neatly printed in black ink on a white label. There was no return address.
She was the editor and, therefore, received similar boxes all the time. Manuscripts. Plays. Novels. Poetry. Once or twice some misguided songwriter tracked her down, thinking she would read his words and transform him from starving musician to a star.
It was four hours and several meetings later when she finally turned her attention to the unassuming package. She tore into its wrapping eager to discover what potential treasure lay inside. She tossed the cover letter aside, assuming it contained the standard pleas for publication of what the author assured her to be a literary masterpiece, the likes of which she had never seen before.
Instead, she gently lifted the manuscript from the box. It was in a blue three ring binder. Odd, but not entirely unheard of. It wasn't a secret that she would immediately toss all unbound submissions directly into the recycling bin. Every editor had her preferences. Hers was not to be shipped a mess of papers, which half the time were also unnumbered. If you can't make it easy for me to read and page through your work, I'm not going to...
She turned to the first page, with all the excitement of a little child on Christmas morning opening a present. It may seem silly to you, but she loved this part of her job. The discovery of something new, something wonderful was just...awesome.
The first page contained two words - I lied. She wrinkled her nose. Lousy title. Not a good start...
The dedication page made her raise an eyebrow. "Dearest Fleur, some promises are meant to be broken."
Such a strange inscription. Stranger still was her reaction to the words. Her palms were clammy and fingers trembled noticeably as she turned the page.
The prose was child-like in its approach, the storytelling dreadful. She knew this less than 10 pages in, but she felt an odd compulsion to keep going. When she finished skimming to the conclusion, she sat in silence. She couldn't move, couldn't think. Then she picked up the manuscript and hurled it across the room, screaming obscenities at its author.
Only then did she notice the cover letter on its tacky blue marbled paper, still mocking her from its perch on her desk. He was shopping it to every major publisher in the country. He promised the story would run and, when it did, she would be ruined.
Angry tears streamed down her face. She was Jill fucking Flowers... The dynamo editor. The one who turned Paramount around, transforming it to from a floundering company to the world class publishing house it was today. The strong businesswoman that made her colleagues cower in the boardroom.
But this story told a different tale... Jill Flowers. Victim? Assailant? She shuddered, trying to block out those portions of her past that she had long since buried.
There was only one other person who knew this story - HER story - well enough to have been the author. And he had to be stopped, no matter the cost.
She was the editor and, therefore, received similar boxes all the time. Manuscripts. Plays. Novels. Poetry. Once or twice some misguided songwriter tracked her down, thinking she would read his words and transform him from starving musician to a star.
It was four hours and several meetings later when she finally turned her attention to the unassuming package. She tore into its wrapping eager to discover what potential treasure lay inside. She tossed the cover letter aside, assuming it contained the standard pleas for publication of what the author assured her to be a literary masterpiece, the likes of which she had never seen before.
Instead, she gently lifted the manuscript from the box. It was in a blue three ring binder. Odd, but not entirely unheard of. It wasn't a secret that she would immediately toss all unbound submissions directly into the recycling bin. Every editor had her preferences. Hers was not to be shipped a mess of papers, which half the time were also unnumbered. If you can't make it easy for me to read and page through your work, I'm not going to...
She turned to the first page, with all the excitement of a little child on Christmas morning opening a present. It may seem silly to you, but she loved this part of her job. The discovery of something new, something wonderful was just...awesome.
The first page contained two words - I lied. She wrinkled her nose. Lousy title. Not a good start...
The dedication page made her raise an eyebrow. "Dearest Fleur, some promises are meant to be broken."
Such a strange inscription. Stranger still was her reaction to the words. Her palms were clammy and fingers trembled noticeably as she turned the page.
The prose was child-like in its approach, the storytelling dreadful. She knew this less than 10 pages in, but she felt an odd compulsion to keep going. When she finished skimming to the conclusion, she sat in silence. She couldn't move, couldn't think. Then she picked up the manuscript and hurled it across the room, screaming obscenities at its author.
Only then did she notice the cover letter on its tacky blue marbled paper, still mocking her from its perch on her desk. He was shopping it to every major publisher in the country. He promised the story would run and, when it did, she would be ruined.
Angry tears streamed down her face. She was Jill fucking Flowers... The dynamo editor. The one who turned Paramount around, transforming it to from a floundering company to the world class publishing house it was today. The strong businesswoman that made her colleagues cower in the boardroom.
But this story told a different tale... Jill Flowers. Victim? Assailant? She shuddered, trying to block out those portions of her past that she had long since buried.
There was only one other person who knew this story - HER story - well enough to have been the author. And he had to be stopped, no matter the cost.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Alone
She dressed with care. Perfect makeup. White dress. Long hair flowing down her back like dark waves of silk. She fastened the straps of her favorite wedges around her ankles.
She didn't know why she bothered.
He picked her up at the appointed time, barely giving her more than a passing glance and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Unshed tears burned her eyes as she wondered, not for the first time, what more she could possibly do. What else she needed to be. She shuddered as she took the thought further tonight - how else she could once again become the woman he wanted.
At first she had fallen into the usual female trap of thinking it was the way she looked. With a critical eye, she had analyzed each of her faults, trying to determine whether it was the one that caused such a shift in his feelings for her. She bought new clothes, new makeup, sexy lingerie. She worked out like a fiend, dieted almost to the point of starvation. But all along she knew. No matter how many calories she deprived herself of, how many hours she toiled in the gym or how she dressed, it wouldn't bring back what was lost.
At night she laid in bed, sometimes crying herself to sleep. Their bed was cold. Lonely. The distance between their bodies, between them, seemed insurmountable sometimes. She shook her head, trying to clear it of these unwanted thoughts, as he parked the car.
They circulated through the room full of his friends, his work colleagues. She smiled, subtly supplied all the names he managed to forget, charmed even the biggest curmudgeon in the room. They talked, ate and danced.
She continued to look happy, to play her part. It was expected of her and she filled the role well. But it was all an act, nothing more than an illusion she feared was becoming as transparent as glass.
Because when it came right down to it, in that crowded room, on his arm, she had never felt more alone.
She didn't know why she bothered.
He picked her up at the appointed time, barely giving her more than a passing glance and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Unshed tears burned her eyes as she wondered, not for the first time, what more she could possibly do. What else she needed to be. She shuddered as she took the thought further tonight - how else she could once again become the woman he wanted.
At first she had fallen into the usual female trap of thinking it was the way she looked. With a critical eye, she had analyzed each of her faults, trying to determine whether it was the one that caused such a shift in his feelings for her. She bought new clothes, new makeup, sexy lingerie. She worked out like a fiend, dieted almost to the point of starvation. But all along she knew. No matter how many calories she deprived herself of, how many hours she toiled in the gym or how she dressed, it wouldn't bring back what was lost.
At night she laid in bed, sometimes crying herself to sleep. Their bed was cold. Lonely. The distance between their bodies, between them, seemed insurmountable sometimes. She shook her head, trying to clear it of these unwanted thoughts, as he parked the car.
They circulated through the room full of his friends, his work colleagues. She smiled, subtly supplied all the names he managed to forget, charmed even the biggest curmudgeon in the room. They talked, ate and danced.
She continued to look happy, to play her part. It was expected of her and she filled the role well. But it was all an act, nothing more than an illusion she feared was becoming as transparent as glass.
Because when it came right down to it, in that crowded room, on his arm, she had never felt more alone.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Trust Me, I'm a Lawyer
It's no secret what I do for a living. And that subjects me to being the butt of a large number of jokes. Some are funny. Some aren't.
Right after law school, I remember one of my friends was walking around DC in grubby jeans and her "Trust Me, I'm a Lawyer" t-shirt when she got a call for a job interview. She had to show up in half an hour or they were going to give the job to someone else. So she showed up, in that shirt, for the interview. (She didn't get the job)
In my personal life, I don't trust people all that freely. For some reason, professionally, I trust people until they burn me. It probably should be the other way around, but this is me - for better or worse.
I'm very straightforward and honest with people. If I tell you I have $45,000 to settle a case - that's what I have. I didn't really have 80 grand. I don't want to waste my time doing the dance until we meet in the middle. My time is worth more to me than that. 45 means 45. (typically within a couple grand or so)
My word is all I've got. I'm very conscious of that in my dealings with other people. Even more so now that everything I do is an even larger reflection on the firm since I share the same last name as the managing partner...
So it REALLY pisses me off when I deal with people who take advantage of me and the way I operate.
I had a trial today in a case which never should have gotten to this point. And opposing counsel burned me twice in the past 72 hours. It took a lot of self control to actually shake his hand, as opposed to punching him in the face, when he introduced himself this morning.
"Let's talk about this case," he said.
Sure...
"I don't understand why you won't settle with me." he continues.
Because you rejected my settlement proposal and never bothered to make me a counteroffer? I told you to come back at me with something your guy would go for... I'm still waiting.
"Well you're being so unreasonable."
I'm the unreasonable one? Go back and re-read your client's answers to our discovery demands. They've admitted to every single fact in the joint statement I sent you yesterday. You're now trying to claim they don't admit signing documents they've authenticated. You didn't even agree to the address of the house where your client lives!
The judge made it clear he wanted us to talk about trying to settle the case. Except this jerk wouldn't let me get a full sentence out without cutting me off or talking over me. Maybe it's because I'm a woman. Maybe it's because I look young. Or maybe he's just an asshole. But still, shut the fuck up and let me talk. I listened to you ramble incoherently, now it's my turn! And yet, while I was still trying to figure out what settlement position he wanted me to convey, he threw his hand up in my face (one of my BIGGEST pet peeves) and told me to go away, he's made his offer, I better go convey it to my client.
Do you work hard to be this obnoxious? Or does it just come naturally?
Yes, I actually said that to him. He got me to the point where the sensor between what I think and what I say - one which very much stays intact when I speak to annoying asshole adversaries - just vanished.
It's guys like this who give the rest of us attorneys a bad name.
HE is the reason why 500 lawyers on the bottom of the ocean "is a good start."
HE is why Jersey has all the chemical plants and toxic waste dumps (California has all the lawyers cause Jersey got first choice).
Trust me I'm a lawyer? Not this fucking guy...
And do you know how pissed I am that I'm still thinking about how much of a prick this guy is? That I let him piss me off so much that I lost it in the hallway of the courthouse?
So I'm going to comfort myself with the fact that I got a good result from my client today. That he'll never pull one over on me again.
And if that doesn't work, I'm going to have a few drinks...
Right after law school, I remember one of my friends was walking around DC in grubby jeans and her "Trust Me, I'm a Lawyer" t-shirt when she got a call for a job interview. She had to show up in half an hour or they were going to give the job to someone else. So she showed up, in that shirt, for the interview. (She didn't get the job)
In my personal life, I don't trust people all that freely. For some reason, professionally, I trust people until they burn me. It probably should be the other way around, but this is me - for better or worse.
I'm very straightforward and honest with people. If I tell you I have $45,000 to settle a case - that's what I have. I didn't really have 80 grand. I don't want to waste my time doing the dance until we meet in the middle. My time is worth more to me than that. 45 means 45. (typically within a couple grand or so)
My word is all I've got. I'm very conscious of that in my dealings with other people. Even more so now that everything I do is an even larger reflection on the firm since I share the same last name as the managing partner...
So it REALLY pisses me off when I deal with people who take advantage of me and the way I operate.
I had a trial today in a case which never should have gotten to this point. And opposing counsel burned me twice in the past 72 hours. It took a lot of self control to actually shake his hand, as opposed to punching him in the face, when he introduced himself this morning.
"Let's talk about this case," he said.
Sure...
"I don't understand why you won't settle with me." he continues.
Because you rejected my settlement proposal and never bothered to make me a counteroffer? I told you to come back at me with something your guy would go for... I'm still waiting.
"Well you're being so unreasonable."
I'm the unreasonable one? Go back and re-read your client's answers to our discovery demands. They've admitted to every single fact in the joint statement I sent you yesterday. You're now trying to claim they don't admit signing documents they've authenticated. You didn't even agree to the address of the house where your client lives!
The judge made it clear he wanted us to talk about trying to settle the case. Except this jerk wouldn't let me get a full sentence out without cutting me off or talking over me. Maybe it's because I'm a woman. Maybe it's because I look young. Or maybe he's just an asshole. But still, shut the fuck up and let me talk. I listened to you ramble incoherently, now it's my turn! And yet, while I was still trying to figure out what settlement position he wanted me to convey, he threw his hand up in my face (one of my BIGGEST pet peeves) and told me to go away, he's made his offer, I better go convey it to my client.
Do you work hard to be this obnoxious? Or does it just come naturally?
Yes, I actually said that to him. He got me to the point where the sensor between what I think and what I say - one which very much stays intact when I speak to annoying asshole adversaries - just vanished.
It's guys like this who give the rest of us attorneys a bad name.
HE is the reason why 500 lawyers on the bottom of the ocean "is a good start."
HE is why Jersey has all the chemical plants and toxic waste dumps (California has all the lawyers cause Jersey got first choice).
Trust me I'm a lawyer? Not this fucking guy...
And do you know how pissed I am that I'm still thinking about how much of a prick this guy is? That I let him piss me off so much that I lost it in the hallway of the courthouse?
So I'm going to comfort myself with the fact that I got a good result from my client today. That he'll never pull one over on me again.
And if that doesn't work, I'm going to have a few drinks...
Thursday, October 27, 2011
hmm...is this thing still on?
What do you know?
I still have a blog.
I miss writing. I really do. And I miss you guys.
Things have been crazy. I used to be one of 42 attorneys. Now I'm at an office where we have less than half that number of attorneys - and I'm one of three who do the trial work. It's been a big change. Though definitely a good one, except for the fact that I haven't been able to squeeze in time to work out at all this month :(
I have no doubt that things aren't going to settle down, but I'm still hoping that I'll be able to juggle things better so I have more time to play in the blogosphere...
I still have a blog.
I miss writing. I really do. And I miss you guys.
Things have been crazy. I used to be one of 42 attorneys. Now I'm at an office where we have less than half that number of attorneys - and I'm one of three who do the trial work. It's been a big change. Though definitely a good one, except for the fact that I haven't been able to squeeze in time to work out at all this month :(
I have no doubt that things aren't going to settle down, but I'm still hoping that I'll be able to juggle things better so I have more time to play in the blogosphere...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Try Me...
Trials are far more common on television than they are in real life. Most cases resolve. One side knows their case is utter crap and settle at the last minute. Trials suck up a lot of time and cost a good chunk of change, so there's motivation - on both sides - to avoid them.
But every so often, you have to take one all the way.
I had one of those cases last week. It became mine about two and a half weeks beforehand, so I had to become fully conversant in the facts, the law and get everything done in a very short amount of time. Almost too short.
Because I almost didn't have a witness...
Because I was late getting my trial brief in...
Because I absolutely could not wrap my head around why the hell this case was going to trial in the first place...
When I was in high school, I watched my dad argue a case before a judge in bankruptcy court. I remember - clearly - that the case drove him absolutely crazy. They were literally fighting over what "sale" meant. My dad, logically, was arguing that the moment of "sale" was when the sheriff banged the gavel at the conclusion of the sheriff's sale and said "sold to the highest bidder." His adversary was arguing that the sale didn't occur until the deed to the property changed hands from the sheriff to the bidder.
I watched the argument, unable to comprehend how someone could argue that sale meant anything other than the transaction where one person buys something from another. And I remember talking to him about it afterwards, having him tell me that this case reminded him what it was to be a lawyer - that sometimes we have to raise arguments like this in order to best help our client.
Every lawyer knows the saying: If the law isn't on your side, argue the facts. If the facts aren't on your side, argue the law. If neither are on your side, just argue like hell.
My trial was one of those cases, as well as being my own reminder of what it is to be a lawyer. My adversary took the truly bizarre position that a statute which only applied to residences should apply to a furniture store. She was taking one clause in the mortgage and turned that into the argument that this statute should apply to the property. And the worst part was that the judge actually was buying her argument when the trial started.
Immediately from the time I gave my appearance, he started in on me about it. "Your client wrote the mortgage. It says the Act applies. Isn't there an entire body of contract law that says I have to enforce the document as written?"
It was exactly what I didn't want him keyed into. Not like I wanted to admit it, but the client used the wrong form. If the judge believed the Act applied, I couldn't salvage the case. And I had clearly started off this trial from a losing position. But I got him to listen... "No judge. The form doesn't matter. You have to look at the intent behind the transaction."
He leaned back in his chair, smirking. It's a signal every lawyer knows and hates because it means you're about to be crucified. "And, of course, you have some legal authority for this position, right counsel?" he challenged, fully expecting me to say no. Except I did. Not only could I cite the case, I had a copy of it with me in court.
So I interested him enough that he let me call my witnesses. My client had never testified before in court. But she was excellent. I don't know if it was my prep session of her company's, but she handled the questions like a pro.
And the other side called their witnesses. I'm being kind by saying that they sucked. I had a very "My Cousin Vinny" moment on my cross of the defendant. You know the scene... The one where Joe Pesci says "I got no more use for this guy." It was pretty much like that.
During lunch, the judge went out and re-read the mortgage. He also read the case that I gave him, because when we got back after the recess, he lit into my adversary. "Even if I accept every single one of your arguments, don't you still lose based on this paragraph in the decision?"
YES! I was totally cheering in my head.
But I was also freaking out because this is a judge who likes to play devil's advocate and just because you think you're winning doesn't mean you actually are. So while my adversary was bumbling through her closing argument, I'm remembering every time my old boss would say to me, "My dad always said to stop running when I've caught the bus." And then I'm remembering all the times I heard him say that in court, before this judge, and the judge tells him "Have you heard me rule yet? I say a lot of things I don't mean during oral argument, counsel."
So in a last second decision, I decide I have to sum up. If I lose, I can't have the case go to the Appellate Division without my making a full record. And, after a couple minutes, the judge cuts me off. "Jaime, don't make it more complicated than it needs to be. Didn't I just go over this with defense counsel? You have anything else you want to add?"
Yeah... I should have stopped running when I caught the bus.
The judge didn't rule that day. He made me wait it out three days before we got the order telling me that I won.
But in the meantime, I impressed the attorneys who were watching me argue the case. One of them actually asked me to run a trial boot camp for the office, which floored me because this was only my SECOND trial.
I made the client really happy. She had no idea the hell I went through getting the case to trial, how pissed the judge had been at me or how close he was to dismissing our complaint. She didn't have a clue how nervous I was going into the courtroom that morning. Nor should she! She was nervous enough. So you have no idea how good it felt to hear her say that I could not have done a better job representing the company and she was really happy with the way things went.
But more importantly, it was my first trial for the office as one of its three trial attorneys... Not only did I get through the trial, I did it well. Really well.
So while I still think that none of these cases should ever have to go to trial, I'll be ready for the next one...
But every so often, you have to take one all the way.
I had one of those cases last week. It became mine about two and a half weeks beforehand, so I had to become fully conversant in the facts, the law and get everything done in a very short amount of time. Almost too short.
Because I almost didn't have a witness...
Because I was late getting my trial brief in...
Because I absolutely could not wrap my head around why the hell this case was going to trial in the first place...
When I was in high school, I watched my dad argue a case before a judge in bankruptcy court. I remember - clearly - that the case drove him absolutely crazy. They were literally fighting over what "sale" meant. My dad, logically, was arguing that the moment of "sale" was when the sheriff banged the gavel at the conclusion of the sheriff's sale and said "sold to the highest bidder." His adversary was arguing that the sale didn't occur until the deed to the property changed hands from the sheriff to the bidder.
I watched the argument, unable to comprehend how someone could argue that sale meant anything other than the transaction where one person buys something from another. And I remember talking to him about it afterwards, having him tell me that this case reminded him what it was to be a lawyer - that sometimes we have to raise arguments like this in order to best help our client.
Every lawyer knows the saying: If the law isn't on your side, argue the facts. If the facts aren't on your side, argue the law. If neither are on your side, just argue like hell.
My trial was one of those cases, as well as being my own reminder of what it is to be a lawyer. My adversary took the truly bizarre position that a statute which only applied to residences should apply to a furniture store. She was taking one clause in the mortgage and turned that into the argument that this statute should apply to the property. And the worst part was that the judge actually was buying her argument when the trial started.
Immediately from the time I gave my appearance, he started in on me about it. "Your client wrote the mortgage. It says the Act applies. Isn't there an entire body of contract law that says I have to enforce the document as written?"
It was exactly what I didn't want him keyed into. Not like I wanted to admit it, but the client used the wrong form. If the judge believed the Act applied, I couldn't salvage the case. And I had clearly started off this trial from a losing position. But I got him to listen... "No judge. The form doesn't matter. You have to look at the intent behind the transaction."
He leaned back in his chair, smirking. It's a signal every lawyer knows and hates because it means you're about to be crucified. "And, of course, you have some legal authority for this position, right counsel?" he challenged, fully expecting me to say no. Except I did. Not only could I cite the case, I had a copy of it with me in court.
So I interested him enough that he let me call my witnesses. My client had never testified before in court. But she was excellent. I don't know if it was my prep session of her company's, but she handled the questions like a pro.
And the other side called their witnesses. I'm being kind by saying that they sucked. I had a very "My Cousin Vinny" moment on my cross of the defendant. You know the scene... The one where Joe Pesci says "I got no more use for this guy." It was pretty much like that.
During lunch, the judge went out and re-read the mortgage. He also read the case that I gave him, because when we got back after the recess, he lit into my adversary. "Even if I accept every single one of your arguments, don't you still lose based on this paragraph in the decision?"
YES! I was totally cheering in my head.
But I was also freaking out because this is a judge who likes to play devil's advocate and just because you think you're winning doesn't mean you actually are. So while my adversary was bumbling through her closing argument, I'm remembering every time my old boss would say to me, "My dad always said to stop running when I've caught the bus." And then I'm remembering all the times I heard him say that in court, before this judge, and the judge tells him "Have you heard me rule yet? I say a lot of things I don't mean during oral argument, counsel."
So in a last second decision, I decide I have to sum up. If I lose, I can't have the case go to the Appellate Division without my making a full record. And, after a couple minutes, the judge cuts me off. "Jaime, don't make it more complicated than it needs to be. Didn't I just go over this with defense counsel? You have anything else you want to add?"
Yeah... I should have stopped running when I caught the bus.
The judge didn't rule that day. He made me wait it out three days before we got the order telling me that I won.
But in the meantime, I impressed the attorneys who were watching me argue the case. One of them actually asked me to run a trial boot camp for the office, which floored me because this was only my SECOND trial.
I made the client really happy. She had no idea the hell I went through getting the case to trial, how pissed the judge had been at me or how close he was to dismissing our complaint. She didn't have a clue how nervous I was going into the courtroom that morning. Nor should she! She was nervous enough. So you have no idea how good it felt to hear her say that I could not have done a better job representing the company and she was really happy with the way things went.
But more importantly, it was my first trial for the office as one of its three trial attorneys... Not only did I get through the trial, I did it well. Really well.
So while I still think that none of these cases should ever have to go to trial, I'll be ready for the next one...
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I know I'm a fan but...
Rain out...can't lose this one!
(Want another 6 words?)
To AAA with you, you bum!
I thought the Mad Woman would appreciate this one for her first 6 word Sunday...
(Want another 6 words?)
To AAA with you, you bum!
I thought the Mad Woman would appreciate this one for her first 6 word Sunday...
Monday, July 25, 2011
Bars...and bars...
So I'm taking this moment to come out of blogging obscurity. I feel the need to pay tribute to those recent law school grads who are about to face the last hazing ritual before they're let into the club... The bar exam started today for most of them.
It doesn't seem like all that long ago that I was driving myself up to Albany, where they stuck all the out of state people to take NY bar. My trunk was full of study materials, but they never made it out of the car. My brain was on vacation and I decided it deserved the night off. However, I was struck by full blown panic when I realized around 9:30 that I didn't have any sharpened pencils.
As I plugged in the electric pencil sharpener and moved it as far away from the wall as the cord would reach, I had visions of waking up my strung out neighbors and having them come to impale me with their own #2 pencils. As I was sharpening my 5th pencil (and really, who needs THAT many pencils?), the sounds of a fist pounding against my door made me break into a sweat. I stopped what I was doing, hoping the noise would go away. But it came again, louder than before.
I crept over to the door and peered outside to see who was undoubtedly the largest, beefiest man I'd ever seen scowling back at me.
Oh, fuck, I thought as I opened the door. I am going to die before I get the chance to take this stupid test I spent all summer studying for!
"WAS THAT A PENCIL SHARPENER I HEARD IN YOUR ROOM?" He demanded.
I began to profusely apologize, not wanting to piss off another strung out, sleep deprived, tanked up on caffeine would be bar exam taker... Then he held up a fist full of pencils. "PLEASE? I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to. PLEASE let me sharpen my pencils in your room."
The three days of testing that followed that moment passed in a blur. I know I left the test center in New York first, being assured by all the cab drivers outside that this was a good sign and that the first to leave always passed. I drove from Albany to Central Jersey and was so tired when I got to the hotel that I couldn't even give the clerk my name in order to check in. I have a vague recollection of being happy to be on the concierge floor because I was too tired to do anything more than stumble down the hall, grab some free food and pass out. I know I set four alarms to make sure I woke up the next morning so I didn't sleep through the exam and refused to speak to anyone, other than to text my parents and hubby that I had safely made it from NY to NJ. And I know at the end of the bar, I got stuck in the worst shore traffic coming south and was treated to a lovely voice mail from my bank telling me that I was going to bounce my rent check if I didn't transfer some funds into my checking account by the close of business.
But the point is, I got through it.
It was two and a half months of torture getting ready. It was three hellish days of testing. And with each year that goes by, the memory of it fades a little bit more.
So, to those of you taking the bar, good luck - not that you need it. You've spent your entire lives taking tests. You're a pro at it by now. And this is the one test you don't have to ace. C = ESQ (and look forward to your trip to the bar after you're done with the bar)
To those of you who already took it and passed, aren't you glad we're not doing this again?
And to those of you who never had to deal with this at all, you're far smarter than I am!
It doesn't seem like all that long ago that I was driving myself up to Albany, where they stuck all the out of state people to take NY bar. My trunk was full of study materials, but they never made it out of the car. My brain was on vacation and I decided it deserved the night off. However, I was struck by full blown panic when I realized around 9:30 that I didn't have any sharpened pencils.
As I plugged in the electric pencil sharpener and moved it as far away from the wall as the cord would reach, I had visions of waking up my strung out neighbors and having them come to impale me with their own #2 pencils. As I was sharpening my 5th pencil (and really, who needs THAT many pencils?), the sounds of a fist pounding against my door made me break into a sweat. I stopped what I was doing, hoping the noise would go away. But it came again, louder than before.
I crept over to the door and peered outside to see who was undoubtedly the largest, beefiest man I'd ever seen scowling back at me.
Oh, fuck, I thought as I opened the door. I am going to die before I get the chance to take this stupid test I spent all summer studying for!
"WAS THAT A PENCIL SHARPENER I HEARD IN YOUR ROOM?" He demanded.
I began to profusely apologize, not wanting to piss off another strung out, sleep deprived, tanked up on caffeine would be bar exam taker... Then he held up a fist full of pencils. "PLEASE? I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to. PLEASE let me sharpen my pencils in your room."
The three days of testing that followed that moment passed in a blur. I know I left the test center in New York first, being assured by all the cab drivers outside that this was a good sign and that the first to leave always passed. I drove from Albany to Central Jersey and was so tired when I got to the hotel that I couldn't even give the clerk my name in order to check in. I have a vague recollection of being happy to be on the concierge floor because I was too tired to do anything more than stumble down the hall, grab some free food and pass out. I know I set four alarms to make sure I woke up the next morning so I didn't sleep through the exam and refused to speak to anyone, other than to text my parents and hubby that I had safely made it from NY to NJ. And I know at the end of the bar, I got stuck in the worst shore traffic coming south and was treated to a lovely voice mail from my bank telling me that I was going to bounce my rent check if I didn't transfer some funds into my checking account by the close of business.
But the point is, I got through it.
It was two and a half months of torture getting ready. It was three hellish days of testing. And with each year that goes by, the memory of it fades a little bit more.
So, to those of you taking the bar, good luck - not that you need it. You've spent your entire lives taking tests. You're a pro at it by now. And this is the one test you don't have to ace. C = ESQ (and look forward to your trip to the bar after you're done with the bar)
To those of you who already took it and passed, aren't you glad we're not doing this again?
And to those of you who never had to deal with this at all, you're far smarter than I am!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
missing
I hate people on Facebook who effortlessly post really great stuff as their statuses. I don't care if you just ate the best ham and cheese sandwich of your life at the corner deli or that you just checked in at the Freehold Raceway Mall (unless I happen to be there too and actually want to see you). No, I mean the people who can crack you up with their one liners and make you smile with their posts.
Since I can't compete with people like that (yeah, Brad, I am, in part, referring to you), I don't try. Now that I've de-friended all the partners from my old office, I can start using FB again for its intended purpose...amazing the world with how mind-numbing your status updates can be.
Except when I look for inspiration, instead of something clever, I hear crickets. Kind of like when I'm looking for something to post over here. So, while waiting for my long missing muse to reappear, I've been borrowing quotes from other people to post as my status. If my friends don't like them, I really don't care. They made me smile.
So I stumbled across this one tonight...
"Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish." (The lawyer in me feels compelled to write that John Jakes said that one)
And it really struck me. Earlier this week, I bumped into one of my oldest friends while we were dropping our kids off at daycare. We talked for a few minutes before she gave me a hug and told me how good it was to see me. She didn't just mean that it had been a couple months since we crossed paths, which it was. She told me that I finally seemed almost like myself again.
If I take the time to think about it, she's right.
I can pretend like I don't care anymore about the way my old office fucked me over. If I'm being honest, the truth is, it still stings.
Not every day.
But enough.
Enough that I can remember exactly how it felt the minute I got called into my boss' office and he gave me "the talk." How I felt afterwards, knowing that I could never stay at a place I had never planned to leave. How what those assholes did, and how they did it, stripped me of not only the love I had for my job and my clients, but my confidence. And if I dwell on it too much, I'll probably start crying again, which would really piss me off.
The whole thing has left me stripped pretty raw (as I'm sure you can tell because I don't write like this often). I still don't feel entirely like myself yet. But I'll get there...hopefully soon.
Since I can't compete with people like that (yeah, Brad, I am, in part, referring to you), I don't try. Now that I've de-friended all the partners from my old office, I can start using FB again for its intended purpose...amazing the world with how mind-numbing your status updates can be.
Except when I look for inspiration, instead of something clever, I hear crickets. Kind of like when I'm looking for something to post over here. So, while waiting for my long missing muse to reappear, I've been borrowing quotes from other people to post as my status. If my friends don't like them, I really don't care. They made me smile.
So I stumbled across this one tonight...
"Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish." (The lawyer in me feels compelled to write that John Jakes said that one)
And it really struck me. Earlier this week, I bumped into one of my oldest friends while we were dropping our kids off at daycare. We talked for a few minutes before she gave me a hug and told me how good it was to see me. She didn't just mean that it had been a couple months since we crossed paths, which it was. She told me that I finally seemed almost like myself again.
If I take the time to think about it, she's right.
I can pretend like I don't care anymore about the way my old office fucked me over. If I'm being honest, the truth is, it still stings.
Not every day.
But enough.
Enough that I can remember exactly how it felt the minute I got called into my boss' office and he gave me "the talk." How I felt afterwards, knowing that I could never stay at a place I had never planned to leave. How what those assholes did, and how they did it, stripped me of not only the love I had for my job and my clients, but my confidence. And if I dwell on it too much, I'll probably start crying again, which would really piss me off.
The whole thing has left me stripped pretty raw (as I'm sure you can tell because I don't write like this often). I still don't feel entirely like myself yet. But I'll get there...hopefully soon.
Friday, July 1, 2011
birthday blues
I've never been a big fan of birthdays (meaning mine, other people's are fine). I don't know what it is exactly. Perhaps the irrational fear of getting old - imagining that one day I'll end up like the scary-looking old people in the nursing home where I once volunteered. (But that's a story for another day)
Whatever it is, I don't like them.
So by the time I rolled out of bed this morning, I had a bunch of messages from people wishing me a happy birthday by text, email and facebook message. By the time I got to the office, I had threatened to punch hubby due solely to the sheer number of times he had said the words "it's your birthday" in the span of 40 minutes. (Yes, I know it's my birthday. Can we PLEASE stop talking about it????)
As I sat down at my desk, I pulled out my Blackberry and saw the first email of the day that really made me smile... It was from someone who knows me well enough to simply say "Happy birthday, try to smile today." That email was followed a couple hours later with another stating little more than "smile more."
For once I actually listened. And it turned out to be a pretty good birthday, in spite of my being another year older.
On a totally different note, Brad over at Diaries of the Professor is (finally) back to blogging. If you don't know him, you should check him out. He's my favorite blogger (no offense - i love you guys too) and one of the best writers I know. And I'm not just saying that because he has all the dirt on me going back to my sorority girl days. ;)
I'm pretty sure by now I've stayed awake long enough that the snoring has subsided upstairs and hopefully the little guy is in his own bed, instead of talking in his sleep in mine. ("NO! I wanna bat first!") I love it. My son talks baseball in his sleep. I'm so proud. And tired.
Whatever it is, I don't like them.
So by the time I rolled out of bed this morning, I had a bunch of messages from people wishing me a happy birthday by text, email and facebook message. By the time I got to the office, I had threatened to punch hubby due solely to the sheer number of times he had said the words "it's your birthday" in the span of 40 minutes. (Yes, I know it's my birthday. Can we PLEASE stop talking about it????)
As I sat down at my desk, I pulled out my Blackberry and saw the first email of the day that really made me smile... It was from someone who knows me well enough to simply say "Happy birthday, try to smile today." That email was followed a couple hours later with another stating little more than "smile more."
For once I actually listened. And it turned out to be a pretty good birthday, in spite of my being another year older.
On a totally different note, Brad over at Diaries of the Professor is (finally) back to blogging. If you don't know him, you should check him out. He's my favorite blogger (no offense - i love you guys too) and one of the best writers I know. And I'm not just saying that because he has all the dirt on me going back to my sorority girl days. ;)
I'm pretty sure by now I've stayed awake long enough that the snoring has subsided upstairs and hopefully the little guy is in his own bed, instead of talking in his sleep in mine. ("NO! I wanna bat first!") I love it. My son talks baseball in his sleep. I'm so proud. And tired.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
That night...
It had been a long night and one I would never forget. Not just because it was the night before graduation, so every minute of our time at the bar meant that much more, wondering if it'd be the last time we'd be together. Not just because I was the lucky one to go home with him. And not just because if I closed my eyes, I could still feel every kiss and each caress.
I didn't want the night to end. I never wanted any of our nights together to end. But morning had once again come too soon and the sun now streamed through the windows. I closed my eyes against the glare and felt the electric tingle that always accompanied his touch.
I wanted nothing more but to stay right there with him. Instead, I had to get ready to walk the stage. Pulling on my black robe over my clothes, I looked back at him, wishing I had the courage to say the words that had always been in my heart. I stopped the impending flow of words and tears with a kiss.
He moved off the bed, kneeling before me to help slide my shoes onto my feet. My mind briefly flitted to another place, imagining him on his knee for another reason entirely. But that future would not be ours to share.
Then his hand drifted up my thigh and I lost all ability for conscious thought...
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
random
I spent Sunday at the Stadium, like any good summer Sunday. It was Old Timers Day. It's a little scary that they consider guys I grew up watching "old." But it's still my favorite game of the year. And it was great that my dad finally got to take Andrew to a Yankee game. :)
I'm in court in mediations most of the week. They aren't bad, except for the way they're run. And today I have the pleasure of being in the worst county possible (which unfortunately is the one closest to home). I'm going to head to court in about an hour, ready for my 11:00. They won't call me until at least 12:15, which is 15 minutes after my second mediation is supposed to start. i won't catch a break long enough to eat lunch until after my 3:30 is done (probably around 5 or 6 tonight).
I finally got around to watching the first episode of True Blood last night. It was disappointing. They only person who got (almost) naked was Tara. I just have no desire to watch her with another woman.
I miss writing. Other than the briefs that I have to write for work, I have very little motivation to do anything else these days. I have 2 articles due in a couple weeks that I haven't even started thinking about writing. Well, maybe writing that line was the start of me beginning to think about writing.
My birthday is Thursday. My anniversary is Saturday. We didn't plan this well. In the span of about a month, we have both our birthdays, mothers day, fathers day and our anniversary. Makes for an expensive month...
I hate my credit card company. They lost the check I know I sent them last month and now they're sending me nasty letters because between 1996 and 2011, I have "missed" a whopping ONE payment in my entire history with them. Seriously? You lost the damn check. I sent you another. Now go away. We can return to our normal routine - you send a bill, I pay it, you leave me alone.
Speaking of debt collectors, I don't know who had this cell phone number before me, but they must have been a total deadbeat. On a daily basis, I have at least one (sometimes 10) debt collector calling me demanding to speak with someone who isn't me, has never been me and is never going to be me. I also get some really bizarre text messages... I thoroughly enjoyed hearing about Cassy's doctors appointments (they didn't want to remove me off their auto confirmation text list until I pointed out that I'm a lawyer and they might want to consult their attorneys about their disclosure of confidential information to third parties without authorization), girls who want to get with Axel and the ones I can't even begin to decipher because they're in Spanish.
Why did I take French? It's such a useless language.
That's enough random for now. I have to get to court. Wish me luck. I have one mediation where I won't be able to get a client on the phone. And I have another where I know going in I'm going to get my head handed to me because this is our TENTH time coming back to court on it and the other side still hasn't provided all the docs we need. Somehow this will become my fault.
I'm in court in mediations most of the week. They aren't bad, except for the way they're run. And today I have the pleasure of being in the worst county possible (which unfortunately is the one closest to home). I'm going to head to court in about an hour, ready for my 11:00. They won't call me until at least 12:15, which is 15 minutes after my second mediation is supposed to start. i won't catch a break long enough to eat lunch until after my 3:30 is done (probably around 5 or 6 tonight).
I finally got around to watching the first episode of True Blood last night. It was disappointing. They only person who got (almost) naked was Tara. I just have no desire to watch her with another woman.
I miss writing. Other than the briefs that I have to write for work, I have very little motivation to do anything else these days. I have 2 articles due in a couple weeks that I haven't even started thinking about writing. Well, maybe writing that line was the start of me beginning to think about writing.
My birthday is Thursday. My anniversary is Saturday. We didn't plan this well. In the span of about a month, we have both our birthdays, mothers day, fathers day and our anniversary. Makes for an expensive month...
I hate my credit card company. They lost the check I know I sent them last month and now they're sending me nasty letters because between 1996 and 2011, I have "missed" a whopping ONE payment in my entire history with them. Seriously? You lost the damn check. I sent you another. Now go away. We can return to our normal routine - you send a bill, I pay it, you leave me alone.
Speaking of debt collectors, I don't know who had this cell phone number before me, but they must have been a total deadbeat. On a daily basis, I have at least one (sometimes 10) debt collector calling me demanding to speak with someone who isn't me, has never been me and is never going to be me. I also get some really bizarre text messages... I thoroughly enjoyed hearing about Cassy's doctors appointments (they didn't want to remove me off their auto confirmation text list until I pointed out that I'm a lawyer and they might want to consult their attorneys about their disclosure of confidential information to third parties without authorization), girls who want to get with Axel and the ones I can't even begin to decipher because they're in Spanish.
Why did I take French? It's such a useless language.
That's enough random for now. I have to get to court. Wish me luck. I have one mediation where I won't be able to get a client on the phone. And I have another where I know going in I'm going to get my head handed to me because this is our TENTH time coming back to court on it and the other side still hasn't provided all the docs we need. Somehow this will become my fault.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
What the hell was I thinking?
It's almost 11. I have to leave the house to hop a plane to Chicago in a few hours... Not because I need to be there at the crack of dawn but because my dumb ass waited too long to book a flight that left at a reasonable hour.
I have to train my editorial staff. Who are flying out from all over the country. To listen to me. And I'm still wondering what the hell I'm going to do with them for TWO freaking days.
I've been on this publication for 2 years. I've never been trained myself and now I have to train other people?
We're writers. If they've gotten to this stage in life and don't know how to write, I'm can't help them in just 2 days. And if they can't write, what are they doing on my team anyway?
I'm still not sure what's going to come out of my mouth when it comes time to talk to these guys... hopefully I'll be brilliant. I'll settle for not sounding like a bumbling idiot and wasting everyone's time. But if I don't go the hell to bed soon, I'm never going to make my damn flight!
Wish me luck. I need it.
I have to train my editorial staff. Who are flying out from all over the country. To listen to me. And I'm still wondering what the hell I'm going to do with them for TWO freaking days.
I've been on this publication for 2 years. I've never been trained myself and now I have to train other people?
We're writers. If they've gotten to this stage in life and don't know how to write, I'm can't help them in just 2 days. And if they can't write, what are they doing on my team anyway?
I'm still not sure what's going to come out of my mouth when it comes time to talk to these guys... hopefully I'll be brilliant. I'll settle for not sounding like a bumbling idiot and wasting everyone's time. But if I don't go the hell to bed soon, I'm never going to make my damn flight!
Wish me luck. I need it.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Heartbreak Cavern
She lay back on the blankets, watching the clouds roll in. The sky had turned black and ominous. Wind howled and the temperature had turned unseasonably cold.
The impending storm was perfectly matched to her mood.
The day hadn't started like this, of course. It began with brilliant blue skies and a hike to this clearing. They sat on the rocks overlooking the water... Out of nowhere, he got down on one knee. She was so distracted by the incredibly large diamond sparkling on her finger that he couldn't make out the words of his proposal...
She pulled him to his feet, kissing him hard. They spent hours on this blanket. Making love in the middle of this field, where anyone could come by and find them, was one hell of a rush. Perhaps it was that rush, too much sun or too much wine...but why did he think it would be a good idea to take a swim?
They had raced over to the water's edge, climbing over, under and through the rocks that stood in their way. Diving in, they savored the chill of the water after the heat of the sun baking down on their naked flesh.
It could have been hours, or only minutes, that they had the water to themselves. Time had always ceased to exist when they were together. But too soon they heard voices coming toward them. They quickly scrambled from the water.
As they were climbing up a particularly large rock, she lost her footing. He reached down to grab for her, but the rock's surface was slick. He managed to pull her to safety, but lost his own footing and fell. There was a sick crunching noise as the base of his skull connected with the boulder. His body was limp as it bounced off smaller rocks before coming to rest, face down in the water.
There was nothing she could do to help him. To save him.
Her screams echoed off the rocky walls of the cavern. When the hikers found her, she was still screaming. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook uncontrollably. They helped her back to the clearing - to these blankets, where she remained huddled ever since.
When asked, she rambled incomprehensibly about the accident. She would later repeat the same story to the police. To his family. To her own. To herself.
Because no one could ever know the truth of what happened up on that cavern...
Monday, May 23, 2011
First Day Jitters...
Just over three weeks ago, I walked out of my office for the last time.
Some people have asked me if it was hard to leave. The answer isn't a simple yes or no. It was hard to leave certain people. I was very comfortable with what I was doing... I mean, I can put together the entire case in an oppressed minority shareholder dispute in my sleep at this point. And it's never easy to leave what's familiar and start over again somewhere new.
But that's what I'm about to do.
Today I actually have to set the alarm. Dress in something other than the sweats I've been bumming around in since my surgery. Because today I start my new job...at the new office...in a new area of the law...
And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm nervous as hell about it.
Ultimately, I know it's the best thing for me... But still, wish me luck.
Some people have asked me if it was hard to leave. The answer isn't a simple yes or no. It was hard to leave certain people. I was very comfortable with what I was doing... I mean, I can put together the entire case in an oppressed minority shareholder dispute in my sleep at this point. And it's never easy to leave what's familiar and start over again somewhere new.
But that's what I'm about to do.
Today I actually have to set the alarm. Dress in something other than the sweats I've been bumming around in since my surgery. Because today I start my new job...at the new office...in a new area of the law...
And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm nervous as hell about it.
Ultimately, I know it's the best thing for me... But still, wish me luck.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Has anyone seen my mojo?
Yeah, I know.
I've been a bad girl again. I'm neglecting my blog and it's been ages since I put together a good story. The whole job debacle kind of killed my writing mojo and I'm still trying to get it back...
So, until I do, I leave you with this....
I've been a bad girl again. I'm neglecting my blog and it's been ages since I put together a good story. The whole job debacle kind of killed my writing mojo and I'm still trying to get it back...
So, until I do, I leave you with this....
Friday, May 20, 2011
Gossip
Did you hear about Jaime?
Did you SEE her at the bar? She was wearing (gasp) leather pants!
I heard that she put herself through law school on the tips she earned working at a strip club.
She's sleeping with Brian.
She has a child with Brian.
She has another child with Joel.
She slapped Hunter across the face because he wanted to have a baby with her.
She has a baby with her roommate.
Oh...and while she's off being such a slut, she's engaged to someone else.
Going to law school is a lesson in reverting back to kindergarten... Other than study, all anyone seems to do is talk about each other. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe it was the boredom of going to school in a dinky little town where virtually everything but the bars shut down after dark. Maybe it's just because there was nothing else to do.
But those were actual rumors that went around the school about yours truly. Only one of them was actually true...can you guess which one?
I thought it was pretty entertaining that people seemingly were gullible enough to believe that I was somehow impregnated by my female roommate, grew a human inside me for 9 months and popped out a baby - all within the first month of school.
You'd think that people who graduated from high school, possessed a college degree and scored high enough on the LSAT to get into law school would be a little more...mature. You might also think that we grew out of that kind of juvenile nonsense after we graduated, passed the bar and became practicing attorneys. And if you believe that, I have a nice bridge I'd like to sell you...
These days, the gossip about me focuses on why I really left my job and what I'm doing with my life now. The thing I can't understand is why anyone is publicly speculating about any of this.
Can't people just mind their own fucking business? Why does it matter to any of them that I left my job? Or why it happened.
If they really have nothing better to do than idly speculate about me, maybe they need to get a new job...
Did you SEE her at the bar? She was wearing (gasp) leather pants!
I heard that she put herself through law school on the tips she earned working at a strip club.
She's sleeping with Brian.
She has a child with Brian.
She has another child with Joel.
She slapped Hunter across the face because he wanted to have a baby with her.
She has a baby with her roommate.
Oh...and while she's off being such a slut, she's engaged to someone else.
Going to law school is a lesson in reverting back to kindergarten... Other than study, all anyone seems to do is talk about each other. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe it was the boredom of going to school in a dinky little town where virtually everything but the bars shut down after dark. Maybe it's just because there was nothing else to do.
But those were actual rumors that went around the school about yours truly. Only one of them was actually true...can you guess which one?
I thought it was pretty entertaining that people seemingly were gullible enough to believe that I was somehow impregnated by my female roommate, grew a human inside me for 9 months and popped out a baby - all within the first month of school.
You'd think that people who graduated from high school, possessed a college degree and scored high enough on the LSAT to get into law school would be a little more...mature. You might also think that we grew out of that kind of juvenile nonsense after we graduated, passed the bar and became practicing attorneys. And if you believe that, I have a nice bridge I'd like to sell you...
These days, the gossip about me focuses on why I really left my job and what I'm doing with my life now. The thing I can't understand is why anyone is publicly speculating about any of this.
Can't people just mind their own fucking business? Why does it matter to any of them that I left my job? Or why it happened.
If they really have nothing better to do than idly speculate about me, maybe they need to get a new job...
Saturday, May 7, 2011
I'm not a very good patient.
I don't do "take it easy" well. I feel like I should be doing something, almost all the time. If I sit on the couch too long, the lack of inertia slowly starts driving me insane. And I HATE having to rely on other people taking care of me...
I had knee surgery yesterday. It was relatively minor as far as knee surgeries go. I tore the meniscus in my left knee because my trainer was a MORON and had me doing band pull-ups in two bands. My leg got stuck between them and, while I was twisting around trying to get unstuck, he was on the other side of the room paying absolutely no attention talking to some ugly guy with a really unkempt beard. By the time he saw what was going on and started to run over to help, I had twisted my knee the wrong way...and the rest is history.
Anyway, they gave me crutches at the surgical center. My doctor told me that I probably wouldn't be using them by the end of the day. I ditched the things as soon as I got to the house. After about six hours of icing my knee, tanking up on pain killers and laying on the couch, I ventured upstairs. Mostly to see if I could do it. Also because I was a bit lonely and hubby was on the phone up there so he wouldn't disturb me.
You know that someone who is as used to pushing as I am isn't satisfied with silly little things like being able to hobble a few feet at a time or climbing the stairs. No, my dumb ass decided that I could walk around today...without taking anything for pain (not even tylenol). My knee started bothering me after I had gone out to lunch and wandered through Dicks to find a lefty glove for Andrew. But I didn't listen.
I admit it... I totally overdid it today. And I am absolutely paying for it now. Like I said at the beginning of this post, I SUCK at being a patient.
So I'm going to end this post by saying it's time to pop some percocet, strap on a fresh ice pack and fall asleep for as long as I can. Maybe tomorrow I'll figure out how to do this better. maybe.
I don't do "take it easy" well. I feel like I should be doing something, almost all the time. If I sit on the couch too long, the lack of inertia slowly starts driving me insane. And I HATE having to rely on other people taking care of me...
I had knee surgery yesterday. It was relatively minor as far as knee surgeries go. I tore the meniscus in my left knee because my trainer was a MORON and had me doing band pull-ups in two bands. My leg got stuck between them and, while I was twisting around trying to get unstuck, he was on the other side of the room paying absolutely no attention talking to some ugly guy with a really unkempt beard. By the time he saw what was going on and started to run over to help, I had twisted my knee the wrong way...and the rest is history.
Anyway, they gave me crutches at the surgical center. My doctor told me that I probably wouldn't be using them by the end of the day. I ditched the things as soon as I got to the house. After about six hours of icing my knee, tanking up on pain killers and laying on the couch, I ventured upstairs. Mostly to see if I could do it. Also because I was a bit lonely and hubby was on the phone up there so he wouldn't disturb me.
You know that someone who is as used to pushing as I am isn't satisfied with silly little things like being able to hobble a few feet at a time or climbing the stairs. No, my dumb ass decided that I could walk around today...without taking anything for pain (not even tylenol). My knee started bothering me after I had gone out to lunch and wandered through Dicks to find a lefty glove for Andrew. But I didn't listen.
I admit it... I totally overdid it today. And I am absolutely paying for it now. Like I said at the beginning of this post, I SUCK at being a patient.
So I'm going to end this post by saying it's time to pop some percocet, strap on a fresh ice pack and fall asleep for as long as I can. Maybe tomorrow I'll figure out how to do this better. maybe.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Elvis has left the building...
Tonight, I walked out the door of the office at 6:00. Despite it being a Friday, that's the usual quitting time, particularly when big brother is watching all our comings and goings. It was like any other night, except that my key ring felt slightly lighter in my hand.
I said goodbye to Matt as he was heading over to crossfit, which I take full credit for getting him addicted to. Instead of just telling me to have a good weekend, he gave me a hug, warned me I'd be getting lots of calls with stupid questions and said things wouldn't be the same without me. The guy's only been at the office a little over a year...but he knows what a loss this is.
I had people coming into my office all day, looking at me shyly - saying they're not supposed to know that I'm leaving but they're so sorry to see me go. That they have loved working with me. Learning from me.
My assistant literally ran out of the office at the end of the day to avoid getting too emotional. Deanna is a tough cookie and I rarely ever see her shaken.
I got all misty just thinking about saying goodbye to Jay. I've been his associate since day 1 at the office seven years ago. He's been my mentor. He and his wife were at my wedding. I was at his daughter's wedding. When he moves into his new house, he'll invite me over for the housewarming. The truth is, I don't know how either one of us got through saying goodbye without crying.
Despite all of this, it still doesn't feel completely real.
Waking up Monday morning is going to be something like waking up the day after the bar exam... You wake up late, freaking out because you overslept and have to hurry up and study. Then realization dawns that there's no more studying to do... Only then do you think to yourself "I don't have to study...what the hell do I do now?"
I said goodbye to Matt as he was heading over to crossfit, which I take full credit for getting him addicted to. Instead of just telling me to have a good weekend, he gave me a hug, warned me I'd be getting lots of calls with stupid questions and said things wouldn't be the same without me. The guy's only been at the office a little over a year...but he knows what a loss this is.
I had people coming into my office all day, looking at me shyly - saying they're not supposed to know that I'm leaving but they're so sorry to see me go. That they have loved working with me. Learning from me.
My assistant literally ran out of the office at the end of the day to avoid getting too emotional. Deanna is a tough cookie and I rarely ever see her shaken.
I got all misty just thinking about saying goodbye to Jay. I've been his associate since day 1 at the office seven years ago. He's been my mentor. He and his wife were at my wedding. I was at his daughter's wedding. When he moves into his new house, he'll invite me over for the housewarming. The truth is, I don't know how either one of us got through saying goodbye without crying.
Despite all of this, it still doesn't feel completely real.
Waking up Monday morning is going to be something like waking up the day after the bar exam... You wake up late, freaking out because you overslept and have to hurry up and study. Then realization dawns that there's no more studying to do... Only then do you think to yourself "I don't have to study...what the hell do I do now?"
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Counting Down
My last day of work is Friday.
It's been very strange wrapping things up at the office. For the first time in seven years, I really have no desire to walk through the door. I had the best of intentions of finalizing all the stuff I had on my plate. I cannot make myself do it. I think for the entire month MAYBE I've billed 45 hours. (I'm supposed to bill 163.3)
I went to work today in a suit. I put on make up. All because I had a 3:00 meeting in a case with the clients and our court-appointed fiscal agent. And my boss announced that he was going to go instead of me. I know he didn't mean it as a slight. He has to learn this file and he knows no one knows it better than me. He also wanted to have the clients alone so that he could tell them that I am leaving the firm. But still...it stung a little that I wasn't going.
I removed all my diplomas and law licenses from my wall at the office tonight. It was a simple act. Certainly an inevitable one. And yet the finality of it has me wide awake in the middle of the night because I'm completely freaking out.
I know I did the right thing.
I know it's the best thing for me.
So why am I driving myself nuts second guessing everything right now?
It's been very strange wrapping things up at the office. For the first time in seven years, I really have no desire to walk through the door. I had the best of intentions of finalizing all the stuff I had on my plate. I cannot make myself do it. I think for the entire month MAYBE I've billed 45 hours. (I'm supposed to bill 163.3)
I went to work today in a suit. I put on make up. All because I had a 3:00 meeting in a case with the clients and our court-appointed fiscal agent. And my boss announced that he was going to go instead of me. I know he didn't mean it as a slight. He has to learn this file and he knows no one knows it better than me. He also wanted to have the clients alone so that he could tell them that I am leaving the firm. But still...it stung a little that I wasn't going.
I removed all my diplomas and law licenses from my wall at the office tonight. It was a simple act. Certainly an inevitable one. And yet the finality of it has me wide awake in the middle of the night because I'm completely freaking out.
I know I did the right thing.
I know it's the best thing for me.
So why am I driving myself nuts second guessing everything right now?
Monday, April 18, 2011
Things I Never Thought I'd Hear Myself Say...
Sweetheart, I appreciate the sentiment... But "And the Yankees win!" is not part of the Passover seder.
Andrew, I'm very proud of you, but when we leave this bathroom, please don't announce to the entire restaurant that you went pee-pee in the potty and that you did it standing up.
NO! The waitress does NOT need to hear that the donkey at the petting zoo was pooping.
But most of all, "I quit" is not something I really expected to hear myself say.
I gave notice at work today. I agonized over finding the right words all weekend. I dreaded telling my direct boss. I love working for him and it hurt the most telling him that I leaving. In 7 years, I've never seen the guy rendered speechless, but today he was pretty damn close. I still hadn't fully recovered from that conversation when I closed the door to the managing partner's office.
Although I had perfectly scripted things out in my own head, the reality often comes out pretty different. I knew as soon as I opened my mouth that if I didn't go with the brief version, I would never get through it. I still don't know how I got through both those meetings without crying...
In the morning I'll have one more tough conversation - with a partner who I know wanted me to stay and fight. Maybe he sees this as caving. Except this is me fighting. It's far harder to leave and start over again somewhere new, standing up for the woman and attorney that I am, then to stick around and force myself into the mold they want me to fit myself into if I stayed.
I deserve to play for a team who values me for me, my talents and what I bring to the table. I know what I did was right and ultimately will be the best thing for me. But I'm still a bit freaked out by the change...
Yeah, this post has been pretty random. I spent all my energy trying to have coherent conversations with these guys at work. And I think right now, I'm going to drag my ass up to bed and hopefully get my first good night's sleep in a week...
Andrew, I'm very proud of you, but when we leave this bathroom, please don't announce to the entire restaurant that you went pee-pee in the potty and that you did it standing up.
NO! The waitress does NOT need to hear that the donkey at the petting zoo was pooping.
But most of all, "I quit" is not something I really expected to hear myself say.
I gave notice at work today. I agonized over finding the right words all weekend. I dreaded telling my direct boss. I love working for him and it hurt the most telling him that I leaving. In 7 years, I've never seen the guy rendered speechless, but today he was pretty damn close. I still hadn't fully recovered from that conversation when I closed the door to the managing partner's office.
Although I had perfectly scripted things out in my own head, the reality often comes out pretty different. I knew as soon as I opened my mouth that if I didn't go with the brief version, I would never get through it. I still don't know how I got through both those meetings without crying...
In the morning I'll have one more tough conversation - with a partner who I know wanted me to stay and fight. Maybe he sees this as caving. Except this is me fighting. It's far harder to leave and start over again somewhere new, standing up for the woman and attorney that I am, then to stick around and force myself into the mold they want me to fit myself into if I stayed.
I deserve to play for a team who values me for me, my talents and what I bring to the table. I know what I did was right and ultimately will be the best thing for me. But I'm still a bit freaked out by the change...
Yeah, this post has been pretty random. I spent all my energy trying to have coherent conversations with these guys at work. And I think right now, I'm going to drag my ass up to bed and hopefully get my first good night's sleep in a week...
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Empty
The week started off like any other. I rolled out of bed, happy that we seemed to have finally found the key to getting Andrew to sleep through the night. Amazingly, it was as simple as putting Food Network on the tv in his room. (Apparently when we changed the channel one night to watch something, around 1:00 every morning the programming turned "scary" and either screams or gunshots from some variation of Law and Order would wake him up and freak him out)
We got up early and I managed to cruise into the office before 8, giving me the ability to start in on banging out a motion before most people got to the office. Around 9:15, the head of the commercial lit department buzzed me and asked if I could come join him in his office. When I walked in, another partner was sitting there. Oh-oh was the first thought that went through my head...
I had no idea...
The equity partners had met that morning and voted to cut my hours and pay by 20%. They questioned my commitment to the firm. To my own development as an attorney. To say that I was floored by their decision is the understatement of the century.
In subsequent meetings, which have consumed virtually every day of the week, I learned that they never talked to my direct boss about this - the guy who has gone out of his way to mentor me since the day I set foot in the office, who I've worked on every single one of his files for the past seven years. The partners seem to want this to be something that I'll look back on "fondly" in a year as the kick in the ass I needed to be the best possible Jaime I could be. And these guys actually thought that I would "embrace" this.
After 7 years, I can say definitively that they don't know me at all.
How can they question my commitment to the firm? I'm still the same person who last winter practically moved into the office, working 21 hours a day to get a trial together. There was nothing that I didn't do, manage, handle. The partner wanted for nothing - because I anticipated everything he needed and did it better than he expected. Because of my work, we achieved a phenomenal result for the client. I'm still the same girl who, six months later, learned an entire new area of law in a week to get ready for another trial because the partner whose file it was hadn't learned admiralty law during the course of his 3 years living that file.
They don't think I get my name out there? Show me another attorney who has published 20 articles in ONE year. To write those articles, I have to be in regular contact with bar leaders across the state and the country. And I'm now the editor-in-chief of both state and national publications. I have a higher ranking position in the hierarchy of the national organization than anyone else in my office. I sit as a member of senior leadership of the bar, on counsel (which makes all the strategic plans for the organization) and am one of two people in line to be the next communications director of a national organization.
My biggest client generates more than double my salary. Show me one other associate who can say that ONE client generates that much income for the firm.
I've gone out of my way to mentor every new attorney who has come through the office. I make the people around me better attorneys. And isn't that exactly the kind of player you'd want on your team? Someone who elevates the play of the whole team simply by being on the same field...
I suppose that I can say this slap in the face has been one hell of a wake up call. I suppose it did make me think about the kind of attorney I am and that I want to be. And I need to be somewhere that my talents and my contributions are actually appreciated... Unfortunately I'm not at an office who seems to acknowledge anything that I do for them.
We got up early and I managed to cruise into the office before 8, giving me the ability to start in on banging out a motion before most people got to the office. Around 9:15, the head of the commercial lit department buzzed me and asked if I could come join him in his office. When I walked in, another partner was sitting there. Oh-oh was the first thought that went through my head...
I had no idea...
The equity partners had met that morning and voted to cut my hours and pay by 20%. They questioned my commitment to the firm. To my own development as an attorney. To say that I was floored by their decision is the understatement of the century.
In subsequent meetings, which have consumed virtually every day of the week, I learned that they never talked to my direct boss about this - the guy who has gone out of his way to mentor me since the day I set foot in the office, who I've worked on every single one of his files for the past seven years. The partners seem to want this to be something that I'll look back on "fondly" in a year as the kick in the ass I needed to be the best possible Jaime I could be. And these guys actually thought that I would "embrace" this.
After 7 years, I can say definitively that they don't know me at all.
How can they question my commitment to the firm? I'm still the same person who last winter practically moved into the office, working 21 hours a day to get a trial together. There was nothing that I didn't do, manage, handle. The partner wanted for nothing - because I anticipated everything he needed and did it better than he expected. Because of my work, we achieved a phenomenal result for the client. I'm still the same girl who, six months later, learned an entire new area of law in a week to get ready for another trial because the partner whose file it was hadn't learned admiralty law during the course of his 3 years living that file.
They don't think I get my name out there? Show me another attorney who has published 20 articles in ONE year. To write those articles, I have to be in regular contact with bar leaders across the state and the country. And I'm now the editor-in-chief of both state and national publications. I have a higher ranking position in the hierarchy of the national organization than anyone else in my office. I sit as a member of senior leadership of the bar, on counsel (which makes all the strategic plans for the organization) and am one of two people in line to be the next communications director of a national organization.
My biggest client generates more than double my salary. Show me one other associate who can say that ONE client generates that much income for the firm.
I've gone out of my way to mentor every new attorney who has come through the office. I make the people around me better attorneys. And isn't that exactly the kind of player you'd want on your team? Someone who elevates the play of the whole team simply by being on the same field...
I suppose that I can say this slap in the face has been one hell of a wake up call. I suppose it did make me think about the kind of attorney I am and that I want to be. And I need to be somewhere that my talents and my contributions are actually appreciated... Unfortunately I'm not at an office who seems to acknowledge anything that I do for them.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Illusion
Her life was a carefully crafted illusion.
By all outward appearances, she had a perfect life. Good job. Nice house. Loving marriage. Bright, beautiful twin girls. She was one of those annoying women who lost the baby weight almost immediately and, even to her own critical eye, she looked fantastic.
The truth? She laughed bitterly into her glass of Shiraz. She was miserable.
The pressure of her fast-paced job was damn near stifling. She wished someone had warned her that life on the Street wasn't as glamorous as it first appeared. The pay was high because your firm owned you. That the company-paid cell and beeper weren't cool - if those damn things went off, you better jump to answer.
The hours were long. The work was hard. Intense. Driving. Demanding. But, most of the time, she reveled in her ability to deliver results and satisfy even her most challenging clients.
No, the hardest part of her day was walking through the door after work.
She loved her girls. They were, without question, the best thing she had ever done with her life. The girls were blond haired, green eyed beauties. Cassie was all her - curiosity, intelligence, attitude, drive. In Danielle she also saw herself - the creative, the passion, the athleticism. Being with them was the highlight of her day.
While they greeted her warmly, throwing themselves into her arms, her husband met her at the door with a perfunctory kiss. They exchanged pleasantries, but largely stayed to themselves. She couldn't remember the last time he touched her...
She loved Steve. Promised to remain by his side through good times and bad, sickness and health, richer or poorer. Those were vows she took seriously.
So how do you tell that person that they're not enough? She wondered once again. Because while Steve was a great father and a wonderful agent, he was utter crap when it came to pleasing her. It was like he had just stopped trying. While she could put up with a lot of things, she couldn't fathom living without any kind of passion in her life.
A bolt of lightening lit up the night as the skies opened up, splattering water across her windows.
The crack of thunder unhinged the dam that kept her feelings carefully bottled up tight and tears slid down her cheeks, splattering across her pillow.
Settling back against the pillows, she prayed for sleep to claim her quickly and bring with it the escape she so desperately needed...
Saturday, April 2, 2011
And so it begins...
Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that it was Opening Day this week. Facebook was full of posts from fans reveling in the beginning of the new season. It was also full of status updates asking questions like:
Ugh. Is it that time of year again?
WHAT is the big deal about Opening Day?
Isn't it just another baseball game?
First off, I immediately wanted to de-friend anyone who asked any of these questions. But in humoring them (and in case you are among the confused), the appropriate answers are:
Damn straight.
It's NOT just another baseball game.
And if you have to ask, you'll never understand...
I took Thursday off work. It was the last billable day of the month. It was doing a lovely mix of rain, sleet and snow out. I had a brief I needed to finish for the managing partner.
Wild horses couldn't have stopped me from being at the game...
In high school, I was never allowed to go to the game until my senior year. That year, it snowed on Opening Day. Not just a few flurries. We're talking full on snowstorm. They sold out of hot chocolate and coffee by the third inning. We made it through the game sucking down hot dogs trying to stay warm...
I've been to every Opening Day I could since then. Even if it meant taking the train back from Maryland or doing the 6 hour drive from Concord for the ballgame while I was in college and law school. Much to my mother's chagrin, I work Rosh Hashana, but I won't work Opening Day.
There's just something special about the day. Even when it's 20 degrees without the windchill and pouring rain (or driving snow).
It's the first trip into the Bronx with my dad and uncle, who I've been watching games with for the past 27 years. It's the ridiculousness of my father buying 37 programs to send to clients and schlepping them around the stadium or hoofing it quickly back to the car to drop them off before walking through the turnstiles. The first time stepping into the Great Hall, seeing all the pictures of the old Yankee greats...or the first time you head out to your seats and can take in the field and the players... it's just amazing. Even when the bleachers does their first roll call of the year, concluding with a rousing chant of "box seats suck" is special.
It's tradition. It's the end of a long cold winter without baseball - the first time checking out your team, with the season full of promise and potential. (Unless you're a Met fan anyway...)
And if you're not a fan, maybe you wouldn't understand. So you'll just have to trust me when I say, the only thing better than being there to support your team on Opening Day is being there cheering your team on when they win the World Series :)
Ugh. Is it that time of year again?
WHAT is the big deal about Opening Day?
Isn't it just another baseball game?
First off, I immediately wanted to de-friend anyone who asked any of these questions. But in humoring them (and in case you are among the confused), the appropriate answers are:
Damn straight.
It's NOT just another baseball game.
And if you have to ask, you'll never understand...
I took Thursday off work. It was the last billable day of the month. It was doing a lovely mix of rain, sleet and snow out. I had a brief I needed to finish for the managing partner.
Wild horses couldn't have stopped me from being at the game...
In high school, I was never allowed to go to the game until my senior year. That year, it snowed on Opening Day. Not just a few flurries. We're talking full on snowstorm. They sold out of hot chocolate and coffee by the third inning. We made it through the game sucking down hot dogs trying to stay warm...
I've been to every Opening Day I could since then. Even if it meant taking the train back from Maryland or doing the 6 hour drive from Concord for the ballgame while I was in college and law school. Much to my mother's chagrin, I work Rosh Hashana, but I won't work Opening Day.
There's just something special about the day. Even when it's 20 degrees without the windchill and pouring rain (or driving snow).
It's the first trip into the Bronx with my dad and uncle, who I've been watching games with for the past 27 years. It's the ridiculousness of my father buying 37 programs to send to clients and schlepping them around the stadium or hoofing it quickly back to the car to drop them off before walking through the turnstiles. The first time stepping into the Great Hall, seeing all the pictures of the old Yankee greats...or the first time you head out to your seats and can take in the field and the players... it's just amazing. Even when the bleachers does their first roll call of the year, concluding with a rousing chant of "box seats suck" is special.
It's tradition. It's the end of a long cold winter without baseball - the first time checking out your team, with the season full of promise and potential. (Unless you're a Met fan anyway...)
And if you're not a fan, maybe you wouldn't understand. So you'll just have to trust me when I say, the only thing better than being there to support your team on Opening Day is being there cheering your team on when they win the World Series :)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Valentine's Heartbreak
So I'm a month behind in writing this piece of the story... Anyway, this is the continuation of the story that began here and here)
____________
Julianne rose on shaky legs. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep and unshed tears. A wave of nausea washed over her when she realized the date.
February 14.
She reached for the book on her night stand. The edges were tattered and slightly torn. Julianne pressed the well-worn pages to her heart as she made her way downstairs.
The remnants of a fire still flickered in the hearth. Staring at the flames, the tears finally began to side down Julianne's cheeks. Clutching the book to her chest, she made her way to the bar. Her usual glass of Chardonnay wouldn't be strong enough tonight. Instead, she reached onto the top shelf, fingers grasping for something far stronger.
She found the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and poured herself a very tall one. Slugging back the first shot for liquid courage, Julianne began to read the words she had memorized long ago...
Not that she needed the words. The world might view their creation as a steamy piece of fiction, but this was the story of her life. Of the relationship that defined her. Of the love of her life.
He started it with the first chapter, describing for her, in graphic detail, how he envisioned their first encounter in over five years. The story built on itself, each of them taking turns telling their story.
In the beginning, words were all they had. But, in spite of all the obstacles before them, they rekindled their relationship one very memorable valentines day several years ago. Despite the rings which attached them to others, there was no denying they were still very much in love with each other.
She fell asleep in his arms, sated and positively blissful, after hours in bed with the love of her life. When he left her side hours later, her body immediately registered the loss. She found him in her office, hunched over her desk, writing furiously.
That night he started a new tradition. Every year, they were together on Valentine's Day and each year they wrote another chapter of their story. Sometimes they were his deeply erotic words poured onto the page just for her. Other times she filled the pages with sensual images for him. But her favorite times were when they wrote the chapters together.
More tears slid down her cheeks as she settled herself at the desk, running her fingers over the cherry wood as her lover had once done. Turning to the next available page, Julianne pulled out a pen and began to write.
I can hardly believe that we won't be together tonight. It has been months and my heart still hasn't mended, my body hasn't stopped aching for your touch. And I still can't wrap my head around the idea that we will never be together again.
Sobs overtook her. Taking a large slug of Blue, she allowed herself to fully indulge in her misery.
"Kevin," she whispered. "I am so sorry. For my part in all this. For not being strong enough to stop it."
Julianne closed her eyes against the world and prayed - that the pain would go away and that Summers would catch the son of a bitch before he completed his plan.
Gathering the tattered pages and her resolve, Julianne rose on unsteady feet. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep and unshed tears. And she thought, not for the first time, of the bottle of sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet.
Sleep. It sounded so good...to finally be at peace and be with her Kevin again. But she would go on. She was not meant to be the Calendar Killer's next victim.
____________
Julianne rose on shaky legs. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep and unshed tears. A wave of nausea washed over her when she realized the date.
February 14.
She reached for the book on her night stand. The edges were tattered and slightly torn. Julianne pressed the well-worn pages to her heart as she made her way downstairs.
The remnants of a fire still flickered in the hearth. Staring at the flames, the tears finally began to side down Julianne's cheeks. Clutching the book to her chest, she made her way to the bar. Her usual glass of Chardonnay wouldn't be strong enough tonight. Instead, she reached onto the top shelf, fingers grasping for something far stronger.
She found the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and poured herself a very tall one. Slugging back the first shot for liquid courage, Julianne began to read the words she had memorized long ago...
Not that she needed the words. The world might view their creation as a steamy piece of fiction, but this was the story of her life. Of the relationship that defined her. Of the love of her life.
He started it with the first chapter, describing for her, in graphic detail, how he envisioned their first encounter in over five years. The story built on itself, each of them taking turns telling their story.
In the beginning, words were all they had. But, in spite of all the obstacles before them, they rekindled their relationship one very memorable valentines day several years ago. Despite the rings which attached them to others, there was no denying they were still very much in love with each other.
She fell asleep in his arms, sated and positively blissful, after hours in bed with the love of her life. When he left her side hours later, her body immediately registered the loss. She found him in her office, hunched over her desk, writing furiously.
That night he started a new tradition. Every year, they were together on Valentine's Day and each year they wrote another chapter of their story. Sometimes they were his deeply erotic words poured onto the page just for her. Other times she filled the pages with sensual images for him. But her favorite times were when they wrote the chapters together.
More tears slid down her cheeks as she settled herself at the desk, running her fingers over the cherry wood as her lover had once done. Turning to the next available page, Julianne pulled out a pen and began to write.
I can hardly believe that we won't be together tonight. It has been months and my heart still hasn't mended, my body hasn't stopped aching for your touch. And I still can't wrap my head around the idea that we will never be together again.
Sobs overtook her. Taking a large slug of Blue, she allowed herself to fully indulge in her misery.
"Kevin," she whispered. "I am so sorry. For my part in all this. For not being strong enough to stop it."
Julianne closed her eyes against the world and prayed - that the pain would go away and that Summers would catch the son of a bitch before he completed his plan.
Gathering the tattered pages and her resolve, Julianne rose on unsteady feet. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep and unshed tears. And she thought, not for the first time, of the bottle of sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet.
Sleep. It sounded so good...to finally be at peace and be with her Kevin again. But she would go on. She was not meant to be the Calendar Killer's next victim.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
It's been a bad week...
I like to think of myself as a strong person.
Not just because I can toss my son around like he weighs nothing or because I can *almost* deadlift my body weight. Or because I can snatch with the best of them. (GET your minds out of the gutter - I'm still talking about weight lifting).
Not just because I can carry a team of 12 people while coordinating the prep for a 20 million dollar case, without any assistance from the partner who we were prepping for trial. Or that I learned an entirely new area of law in a week so that I could get a different partner ready for trial.
And not just because a guy who asked me to marry him turned into an abusive alcoholic prick, who started stalking me when I came to my senses and dumped him. Or that I somehow managed to break a guy's heart ending our engagement when I realized we were completely wrong for each other instead of taking the cowards way out and going forward with a wedding that certainly would have ended in a nasty divorce.
For over a year and a half, I have been suffering from inexplicable bouts of dizziness. I've been to FIFTEEN freaking doctors. I've been tested for everything from brain tumors and cardiac insufficiency to diabetes and lymes disease. I've had an amazing amount of blood drawn... and for someone who HATES needles, that's a big thing for me.
So two doctors have finally decided that at least part of what's wrong with me is that I have Meniere's Disease. If you Google it, this is what it will tell you: Ménière’s disease is a disorder of the inner ear that causes severe dizziness (vertigo), ringing in the ears (tinnitus), hearing loss, and a feeling of fullness or congestion in the ear.
No one knows why people end up with this, but it's basically caused by a fluid imbalance in the ear.
Let me tell you what it's really like...
I can be perfectly fine for days...weeks...months even, without a single symptom. Sometimes the disease manifests itself with an annoying ringing in my left ear. Of course, I've always said that I work better with background noise, so a lot of the time I can tune it out. I can't pick up the telephone and hold it against my left ear because most of the time, the ringing is so bad, that's all I'll hear.
Since I started doing Crossfit, I have been fortunate enough to have gone through four months of being virtually symptom free. Then one night I was sitting on the couch and, with absolutely no warning, I got so dizzy that I couldn't move. I sat on the couch staring at one spot on the wall willing myself not to toss my cookies, sweating like I was in a sauna with my hands shaking uncontrollably. (That was actually the highlight of the night, because I spent the next 3 hours with wild vertigo and praying to the porcelain gods).
I'd like to say that the next morning I was fine. But it actually took three weeks to fully recover from that attack. My doc put me on some meds that would supposedly help me. They made me break out in hives. This week, while I was waiting for the doc to call me back and tell me what else he'd like me to take, Wednesday afternoon while I was at work, I pushed back from my desk and the room started spinning. The room felt like it was 1000 degrees. I was shaking. I could barely reach for the phone to call hubby and tell him that he had to leave work right that second so he could pick up Andrew (and then me) because I was in no condition to drive.
I spent two hours sitting in my office (fortunately with the door closed) wishing for nothing more than to be home in my bed and having no way to get myself there. When I got home, hubby had to help me out of the car and practically carried me to the couch where I promptly passed out for hours.
I have been fortunate that I'm usually much better the day after an attack. And I had never had days with back to back attacks before. Until this week. Because late Thursday afternoon, I was making another call to hubby with tears running down my cheeks as I begged him to come down and pick Andrew (and me) up. It wasn't as bad as the day before. I guess I should be happy to have avoided the vertigo, but I was so dizzy that I couldn't even stand up and close my door. I had a brief to write that had to go out the door the next afternoon. I couldn't work on it. I couldn't even look at my computer. And I spent three hours this time staring at the wall praying for it to stop.
Two days of back to back attacks left me feeling like I had been hit by a fucking truck. My whole body ached. I was dead tired - and the worst thing in the world would have been for me to drink caffeine. (I've had to give up coffee and limit myself to 2 sodas a day because if I drink more than that, I'll get loopy). My head was foggy and unfocused.
But the worst part? There is NOTHING I can do to stop an attack. They come without warning and absolutely bring me to my knees. While the attack is happening, I can't do anything. I can't get up. I can't move. I can't drink or eat, even if I know it'll make me feel better if I do. I can barely talk.
I certainly can't drive. I can't take care of my son. Hell, I can't even take care of myself. And I feel like one hell of a burden on hubby.
I'm just useless. And I'm not a useless person. I hate feeling so weak and helpless. I despise the fact that people at work saw me mid-attack and saw just how sick I was. How weak I was. Just thinking about how bad this week was makes me cry.
I don't usually have such a public pity party, but this week has left me feeling pretty down. I've been two days now without another attack and I'm thankful for that. I really am. But periods of the disease being out of control freak me out.
And yet, no matter how bad this seems, I know it could be so much worse. I have a relatively "mild" case. There are people who have this disease who suffer from full blown vertigo every day. Others can't deal with the ringing in their ear and go fucking crazy. People get the drops and literally get so dizzy they fall to the ground. They lose their jobs because they can't force themselves to get out of bed and function. They get so desperate for relief that they have surgery - one which will stop the disease, but leave them completely deaf.
So, yeah, you could say this has been a bad week. I try to get through the bad weeks telling myself the bad times never really last that long and are always followed by periods of relief where everything is under control. I just never know how long the good periods are going to last...
Not just because I can toss my son around like he weighs nothing or because I can *almost* deadlift my body weight. Or because I can snatch with the best of them. (GET your minds out of the gutter - I'm still talking about weight lifting).
Not just because I can carry a team of 12 people while coordinating the prep for a 20 million dollar case, without any assistance from the partner who we were prepping for trial. Or that I learned an entirely new area of law in a week so that I could get a different partner ready for trial.
And not just because a guy who asked me to marry him turned into an abusive alcoholic prick, who started stalking me when I came to my senses and dumped him. Or that I somehow managed to break a guy's heart ending our engagement when I realized we were completely wrong for each other instead of taking the cowards way out and going forward with a wedding that certainly would have ended in a nasty divorce.
For over a year and a half, I have been suffering from inexplicable bouts of dizziness. I've been to FIFTEEN freaking doctors. I've been tested for everything from brain tumors and cardiac insufficiency to diabetes and lymes disease. I've had an amazing amount of blood drawn... and for someone who HATES needles, that's a big thing for me.
So two doctors have finally decided that at least part of what's wrong with me is that I have Meniere's Disease. If you Google it, this is what it will tell you: Ménière’s disease is a disorder of the inner ear that causes severe dizziness (vertigo), ringing in the ears (tinnitus), hearing loss, and a feeling of fullness or congestion in the ear.
No one knows why people end up with this, but it's basically caused by a fluid imbalance in the ear.
Let me tell you what it's really like...
I can be perfectly fine for days...weeks...months even, without a single symptom. Sometimes the disease manifests itself with an annoying ringing in my left ear. Of course, I've always said that I work better with background noise, so a lot of the time I can tune it out. I can't pick up the telephone and hold it against my left ear because most of the time, the ringing is so bad, that's all I'll hear.
Since I started doing Crossfit, I have been fortunate enough to have gone through four months of being virtually symptom free. Then one night I was sitting on the couch and, with absolutely no warning, I got so dizzy that I couldn't move. I sat on the couch staring at one spot on the wall willing myself not to toss my cookies, sweating like I was in a sauna with my hands shaking uncontrollably. (That was actually the highlight of the night, because I spent the next 3 hours with wild vertigo and praying to the porcelain gods).
I'd like to say that the next morning I was fine. But it actually took three weeks to fully recover from that attack. My doc put me on some meds that would supposedly help me. They made me break out in hives. This week, while I was waiting for the doc to call me back and tell me what else he'd like me to take, Wednesday afternoon while I was at work, I pushed back from my desk and the room started spinning. The room felt like it was 1000 degrees. I was shaking. I could barely reach for the phone to call hubby and tell him that he had to leave work right that second so he could pick up Andrew (and then me) because I was in no condition to drive.
I spent two hours sitting in my office (fortunately with the door closed) wishing for nothing more than to be home in my bed and having no way to get myself there. When I got home, hubby had to help me out of the car and practically carried me to the couch where I promptly passed out for hours.
I have been fortunate that I'm usually much better the day after an attack. And I had never had days with back to back attacks before. Until this week. Because late Thursday afternoon, I was making another call to hubby with tears running down my cheeks as I begged him to come down and pick Andrew (and me) up. It wasn't as bad as the day before. I guess I should be happy to have avoided the vertigo, but I was so dizzy that I couldn't even stand up and close my door. I had a brief to write that had to go out the door the next afternoon. I couldn't work on it. I couldn't even look at my computer. And I spent three hours this time staring at the wall praying for it to stop.
Two days of back to back attacks left me feeling like I had been hit by a fucking truck. My whole body ached. I was dead tired - and the worst thing in the world would have been for me to drink caffeine. (I've had to give up coffee and limit myself to 2 sodas a day because if I drink more than that, I'll get loopy). My head was foggy and unfocused.
But the worst part? There is NOTHING I can do to stop an attack. They come without warning and absolutely bring me to my knees. While the attack is happening, I can't do anything. I can't get up. I can't move. I can't drink or eat, even if I know it'll make me feel better if I do. I can barely talk.
I certainly can't drive. I can't take care of my son. Hell, I can't even take care of myself. And I feel like one hell of a burden on hubby.
I'm just useless. And I'm not a useless person. I hate feeling so weak and helpless. I despise the fact that people at work saw me mid-attack and saw just how sick I was. How weak I was. Just thinking about how bad this week was makes me cry.
I don't usually have such a public pity party, but this week has left me feeling pretty down. I've been two days now without another attack and I'm thankful for that. I really am. But periods of the disease being out of control freak me out.
And yet, no matter how bad this seems, I know it could be so much worse. I have a relatively "mild" case. There are people who have this disease who suffer from full blown vertigo every day. Others can't deal with the ringing in their ear and go fucking crazy. People get the drops and literally get so dizzy they fall to the ground. They lose their jobs because they can't force themselves to get out of bed and function. They get so desperate for relief that they have surgery - one which will stop the disease, but leave them completely deaf.
So, yeah, you could say this has been a bad week. I try to get through the bad weeks telling myself the bad times never really last that long and are always followed by periods of relief where everything is under control. I just never know how long the good periods are going to last...
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Yup... I Still Hate Valentines Day
Valentines Day is the kind of day where I want to pull the covers up over my head and hide. I've never liked it. I won't go into all the reasons why. I've done that a couple times already on my blog...
Like here where I explain how every time I try to plan something for valentines, it goes to hell. Or that time where I talked about all the stupid shit guys do for valentines day. And to top it all off, we had last year's valentine's day. You know, where we had to deal with saying good bye to my grandfather...
So, needless to say, I put a ban on valentines day this year.
I told hubby that I would be REALLY pissed off if he tried to do anything to celebrate valentines day on February 14. No presents. No cards. No flowers. No chocolates. NOTHING. Fortunately, he humored me...
So I spent the day yesterday at home with a sick munchkin. I was hobbling around the house because my calf had completely cramped up on me three days earlier and had yet to loosen up. I was freaked out because it was a major hit on my hours, which already suck and landed me on double secret probation. I had two articles to write for the ABA and no information with which to even bull shit my way through them. I was so freaking tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
And I was missing my grandfather like crazy.
Last week one of the stones fell out of the engagement ring he designed and made for me. I had lost my wedding band the week of his funeral. I have no idea whether the thing disappeared at our hotel out in Jericho or if it's lost in space somewhere in the house. But the damn thing up and disappeared on me.
My grandfather had gone with me and hubby into the diamond district to get the rings. He haggled with the store owner until we were getting two rings for less than the price it would have cost to get one at the mall. And he was still disappointed he couldn't get the price down lower, but it was a holiday weekend.
I was upset when it disappeared. But I was convinced that it would turn up. Well, one year later, the damn thing still hasn't surfaced.
So I lost the wedding band the week he passed away. The engagement ring broke the week of his unveiling. Kind of freaky timing, right?
I mentioned it to someone at work who thought it was all too creepy, then decided that it was grandpa's way of saying hi. Who knows if that's true. He could have decided to mess with my jewelery to let me know he was thinking of me... or to punish me for not keeping his work appropriately sparkly...
I'd like to think that he's out there looking down on us and smiling... That he's still watching Andrew grow up... That one day he'll see my sister walk down the isle at her wedding...
Valentines day...
bah humbug
I'm glad it's over.
Like here where I explain how every time I try to plan something for valentines, it goes to hell. Or that time where I talked about all the stupid shit guys do for valentines day. And to top it all off, we had last year's valentine's day. You know, where we had to deal with saying good bye to my grandfather...
So, needless to say, I put a ban on valentines day this year.
I told hubby that I would be REALLY pissed off if he tried to do anything to celebrate valentines day on February 14. No presents. No cards. No flowers. No chocolates. NOTHING. Fortunately, he humored me...
So I spent the day yesterday at home with a sick munchkin. I was hobbling around the house because my calf had completely cramped up on me three days earlier and had yet to loosen up. I was freaked out because it was a major hit on my hours, which already suck and landed me on double secret probation. I had two articles to write for the ABA and no information with which to even bull shit my way through them. I was so freaking tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
And I was missing my grandfather like crazy.
Last week one of the stones fell out of the engagement ring he designed and made for me. I had lost my wedding band the week of his funeral. I have no idea whether the thing disappeared at our hotel out in Jericho or if it's lost in space somewhere in the house. But the damn thing up and disappeared on me.
My grandfather had gone with me and hubby into the diamond district to get the rings. He haggled with the store owner until we were getting two rings for less than the price it would have cost to get one at the mall. And he was still disappointed he couldn't get the price down lower, but it was a holiday weekend.
I was upset when it disappeared. But I was convinced that it would turn up. Well, one year later, the damn thing still hasn't surfaced.
So I lost the wedding band the week he passed away. The engagement ring broke the week of his unveiling. Kind of freaky timing, right?
I mentioned it to someone at work who thought it was all too creepy, then decided that it was grandpa's way of saying hi. Who knows if that's true. He could have decided to mess with my jewelery to let me know he was thinking of me... or to punish me for not keeping his work appropriately sparkly...
I'd like to think that he's out there looking down on us and smiling... That he's still watching Andrew grow up... That one day he'll see my sister walk down the isle at her wedding...
Valentines day...
bah humbug
I'm glad it's over.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Random
It's been awhile. I make no apologies. Between work, my little guy, my big guy and my crossfit addiction, I'm spread pretty thin these days.
But as I was sitting in an incredibly boring meeting the other day, I started thinking to myself what if I could go back in time and give myself some advice? What would I say?
So I pulled out my blackberry, ignored the meeting going on around me and wrote this bit of advice to my junior in college self...
_________
You probably don't believe that it's me giving you advice. It's not bad to be skeptical. They teach a whole course on that in law school. But just to prove it's really me, I'm going to tell you something no one else knows.
You got a D+ in nutrition.
Stupid move, kiddo. I know you hated the TA because she kept calling you "Jaime Robyn" even after you asked her to stop. But she paid you back, didn't she?
now...on to the advice:
Don't listen to your mother. Your grades are fine. You'll pass the LSAT. And you will get into law school.
So listen to dad. Have more fun!
In so many ways, I wish I could save you the heartache that will come later this year. You've already met him and are well on your way to being head over heels... You won't listen to your friends, or your family, when they tell you (repeatedly) that you deserve more.
Believe it or not, a Garth Brooks song will bring you to your senses. You'll break up with him. Then things will get ugly. But the pain and fear will fade. It will show you who your true friends are. Take their help. Their support. You can't do this one yourself, wonder woman.
In the end, it will show you what you want, what you deserve, from a relationship. Hard as it will seem at the time, you are strong enough to get through it. It will help define you, so don't let it destroy you.
Oh. Elections are coming up soon! You'll tie Erica for president of the sorority. Julie will choose her. She'll realize her mistake too late. You can do great things as VP. It may even be worth the headache.
Jeff isn't the one, though because of him you'll be ready to love again when you find him. Trust your instincts and follow your heart. Say I love you when the time is right. You'll see. The moment is hard to miss.
Good luck, kid.
__________
Yeah... a little random and disjointed. But how do you really go back in time and tell yourself everything you want to?
So if you had the chance, what moment would you go back to and what would you say?
But as I was sitting in an incredibly boring meeting the other day, I started thinking to myself what if I could go back in time and give myself some advice? What would I say?
So I pulled out my blackberry, ignored the meeting going on around me and wrote this bit of advice to my junior in college self...
_________
You probably don't believe that it's me giving you advice. It's not bad to be skeptical. They teach a whole course on that in law school. But just to prove it's really me, I'm going to tell you something no one else knows.
You got a D+ in nutrition.
Stupid move, kiddo. I know you hated the TA because she kept calling you "Jaime Robyn" even after you asked her to stop. But she paid you back, didn't she?
now...on to the advice:
Don't listen to your mother. Your grades are fine. You'll pass the LSAT. And you will get into law school.
So listen to dad. Have more fun!
In so many ways, I wish I could save you the heartache that will come later this year. You've already met him and are well on your way to being head over heels... You won't listen to your friends, or your family, when they tell you (repeatedly) that you deserve more.
Believe it or not, a Garth Brooks song will bring you to your senses. You'll break up with him. Then things will get ugly. But the pain and fear will fade. It will show you who your true friends are. Take their help. Their support. You can't do this one yourself, wonder woman.
In the end, it will show you what you want, what you deserve, from a relationship. Hard as it will seem at the time, you are strong enough to get through it. It will help define you, so don't let it destroy you.
Oh. Elections are coming up soon! You'll tie Erica for president of the sorority. Julie will choose her. She'll realize her mistake too late. You can do great things as VP. It may even be worth the headache.
Jeff isn't the one, though because of him you'll be ready to love again when you find him. Trust your instincts and follow your heart. Say I love you when the time is right. You'll see. The moment is hard to miss.
Good luck, kid.
__________
Yeah... a little random and disjointed. But how do you really go back in time and tell yourself everything you want to?
So if you had the chance, what moment would you go back to and what would you say?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
New Year's Resolutions
(Christmas Crimes was part 1 of this story)
It was only a few days after Kevin's murder. We still had no leads and the lack of progress was wearing on me. 15 years on the job had taught me that these things take time, but patience has never been a virtue that I possess in great quantities.
All around me, people were celebrating the end of 2010 and welcoming the new year. I sat alone at the end of the bar, my best "fuck off" expression plastered across my face. The bartender brought me another drink and wordlessly slunk away.
It was a cop bar. Uniformed and plain clothes surrounded me. The camaraderie usually is a comfort. Today it was an annoyance. I felt their eyes, watching me, silently condemning me for each drink I threw back. I wanted to scream "It's not my fault! The fucker left no clues! It was a damn perfect crime!" Instead, I signaled to the bartender to bring my bill. As I was about to leave, he grabbed my arm. "You Summers? There's a call for you."
I stomped to the back of the bar to the phones. The voice on the other end was mechanical and cold. It sobered me immediately. "Sorry about your partner, detective. But he wasn't the man you thought he was. He had to die."
I'm going to put you in a cage, you son of a bitch. You will pay for what you did.
"Now, now, detective. There will be more like him. 11 more chances for you to catch me. 11 more times I will get away. 11 more victims. The next one will die tonight - at midnight."
Tell me where you are you asshole.
"Where's the fun in that detective. You have an hour. Catch me if you can." The phone went dead. I fumbled for my cell, forcing shaking fingers to call in a trace on the call. The guy probably used a disposable pre-paid, which would make tracking the call impossible. Still, there was a small glimmer of hope that he slipped up.
I forced my foggy brain to focus. Trying to slip into the mind of a killer was rough, but it was damned near impossible after... who knows how many...rounds of jack. The guy clearly wanted attention. If I wanted to make a public spectacle of myself, where would I go?
The answer came in a flash. I raced from the bar, lights and sirens blazing. This close to midnight, the roads were mercifully clear. I pulled my car up to the curb and sprinted into the amphitheater. Damned near a thousand people were inside watching the concert. Music blared. Lights flashed. Smoke billowed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the rafters. Racing up the stairs, my heart pounding with the thrill of the chase. Pausing on the top of the staircase, I quickly surveyed the area. The catwalk was cloaked in shadows, but in the darkness, I saw movement. I ran toward the figure gun drawn. "Freeze, asshole!" I commanded, gun trained on the figure's torso. He turned toward me slowly, hands raised. The pimple-faced kid worked for the theater and probably pissed his pants he was so scared.
I thought about apologizing for traumatizing the poor boy, but then I heard the first scream. Followed by thousands more. A corpse swung from the rafters. I was too late. Again.
Fucking bastard. I will catch you. You will pay.
New year's resolutions...let's hope I can keep this one.
It was only a few days after Kevin's murder. We still had no leads and the lack of progress was wearing on me. 15 years on the job had taught me that these things take time, but patience has never been a virtue that I possess in great quantities.
All around me, people were celebrating the end of 2010 and welcoming the new year. I sat alone at the end of the bar, my best "fuck off" expression plastered across my face. The bartender brought me another drink and wordlessly slunk away.
It was a cop bar. Uniformed and plain clothes surrounded me. The camaraderie usually is a comfort. Today it was an annoyance. I felt their eyes, watching me, silently condemning me for each drink I threw back. I wanted to scream "It's not my fault! The fucker left no clues! It was a damn perfect crime!" Instead, I signaled to the bartender to bring my bill. As I was about to leave, he grabbed my arm. "You Summers? There's a call for you."
I stomped to the back of the bar to the phones. The voice on the other end was mechanical and cold. It sobered me immediately. "Sorry about your partner, detective. But he wasn't the man you thought he was. He had to die."
I'm going to put you in a cage, you son of a bitch. You will pay for what you did.
"Now, now, detective. There will be more like him. 11 more chances for you to catch me. 11 more times I will get away. 11 more victims. The next one will die tonight - at midnight."
Tell me where you are you asshole.
"Where's the fun in that detective. You have an hour. Catch me if you can." The phone went dead. I fumbled for my cell, forcing shaking fingers to call in a trace on the call. The guy probably used a disposable pre-paid, which would make tracking the call impossible. Still, there was a small glimmer of hope that he slipped up.
I forced my foggy brain to focus. Trying to slip into the mind of a killer was rough, but it was damned near impossible after... who knows how many...rounds of jack. The guy clearly wanted attention. If I wanted to make a public spectacle of myself, where would I go?
The answer came in a flash. I raced from the bar, lights and sirens blazing. This close to midnight, the roads were mercifully clear. I pulled my car up to the curb and sprinted into the amphitheater. Damned near a thousand people were inside watching the concert. Music blared. Lights flashed. Smoke billowed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the rafters. Racing up the stairs, my heart pounding with the thrill of the chase. Pausing on the top of the staircase, I quickly surveyed the area. The catwalk was cloaked in shadows, but in the darkness, I saw movement. I ran toward the figure gun drawn. "Freeze, asshole!" I commanded, gun trained on the figure's torso. He turned toward me slowly, hands raised. The pimple-faced kid worked for the theater and probably pissed his pants he was so scared.
I thought about apologizing for traumatizing the poor boy, but then I heard the first scream. Followed by thousands more. A corpse swung from the rafters. I was too late. Again.
Fucking bastard. I will catch you. You will pay.
New year's resolutions...let's hope I can keep this one.
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