She’s the perfect office assistant for certain kinds of men in this world. I’ll take her to my grave with me, or she’ll take me to hers. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, then fell back staring at the ceiling. Where have all the years gone? He recalled his days as a struggling attorney, almost twenty-five years ago, when Shirley Kilroy first entered his life.
“I need an ambulance chaser,” a voice inside his office said.
Bill Baxter didn’t hear the door open. He was at his desk staring down at the stack of unpaid bills, both personal and business, while constantly running his fingers through his hair, and chewing on chalky antacid pills. As he looked up, he recognized the powder blue blouse and beige skirt that the person speaking was wearing as the daily uniform of the waitresses from that dump of a diner down the street, about a block away. A place he frequented only when desperately hungry, and when he didn’t have the money for lunch at a better restaurant. She stood in the doorway with a cigarette in one hand, and a leather hand bag slung over the opposite shoulder.
“I beg your pardon,” Bill said.
The woman walked toward his desk, her face emerged through a puff of smoke. She wore no makeup, and did not need any. Her face was somewhat prepubescent looking but without any acne blemishes. She was no girl however. The dark roots of her bronze-like blond hair, was the only imperfection that he saw.
Her left cheek was red, perhaps bruised. A button was missing from her blouse. Her breasts were full, and appeared that they would pop free from her blouse with every step she took. Her waistline and abs were as flat as the top of a desert plateau, and the calf muscles on her short legs looked like they were tailor made for a hard working waitress, or a halfback.
“Are you a lawyer?” she said.
“Yes, and would you please put that out.”
She dropped the cigarette onto the terra-cotta tiled floor, then raised her skirt just above her knee as she slowly twisted out the burning cigarette with the tip of her shoe, swinging her hips from side to side ever so slightly.
“I need a lawyer.”
“Please, sit down," Bill said motioning to the chair in front of his desk, "Ms?”
“Kilroy, but please, call me Shirley."
Bill watched her as she sat down crossing his legs in front of him. She was a welcomed diversion, and Bill Baxter made no effort to hide his attraction.
“Well Shirley, how can I help you?”
“I want to file a sexual harassment suit against Ollie, my boss. The jerk called me into his office, and started hittin on me, touchin me, grabbin me, ya know. And when he tried to kiss me, I slapped him cross the face. Then he back handed me across mine then fired me. I want to sue his ass for harassing me. And I got three weeks pay comin too.”
Bill cleared his throat and shook his head.
“My specialty is personal injury law; you know slip and falls, car accidents, product liability. You need an attorney that specializes in labor law." I’m really not interested in taking on a low level client, and a time consuming case, he thought.
Too much work, with no upside, meaning no huge monetary gain for the client or me.
“You’re an ambulance chaser, right?” she said.
Bill bristled at the comment. Who does she think she is berating my profession? Especially considering what she does for a living. She is a fiery little sexpot though.
“I’m a lawyer, an attorney. I’ll ask you to be respectful of my profession.”
“It’s a slam dunk case," she said. "It's not the first time that he's tried to get his greasy little prick fingers on me. I got dates, details and witnesses," she said as she pulled a spiral notebook from her handbag.
“I’m sure even an ambu..., a personal injury attorney like you can handle this case.”
Bill took the notebook, and flipped through its pages then looked up at her through narrowed eyelids.
“How long have you been planning to sue your boss?”
She leaned back into her chair, and pulled out another cigarette.
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