Page 94 of A Dead End Wedding

"No, Mrs. Stilkich, I am not a loser druggie. The reporting was grossly inaccurate. But we've been going around and around on this topic for nearly," I glanced at my watch and did a mental eye roll, " . . . nearly twenty minutes. I'd completely understand if you choose to seek differentcounsel." I stood up, smiling and holding out my hand, figuring I'd be way better off if she'd just go away.

Mrs. Stilkich was a big woman with a slight trace of an accent and a bright yellow scrunchie holding her hair up in a big know on the top of her head. She was somewhere between fifty and seventy, and suspicious as hell. Whether about me, personally, or lawyers in general, I didn't know yet.

Naturally, after ten minutes of grilling me about my background and "addiction issues," she suddenly changed her mind. "Oh, no, no. Lordy, anybody can see that you're not a drug user. I mean, if you want to take that jacket off and show me you don't have any track marks . . ."

"Mrs. Stilkich!" I said and crossed my arms. "I'm running out of time and patience, to be honest. There are still more than a dozen people in the waiting room, and it's almost two. I have had no lunch, and I'm getting cranky. So either tell me your legal problem, or go get another lawyer, but do it now, please."

Maybe not the preferred method of winning over your new client, but sometimes a lawyer's gotta do what a lawyer's gotta do.

"Speaking of which, excuse me for a moment," I said, picking up the phone and pressing a button.

"Hey, D, what's up? Ready for the next person?"

I sighed. "I wish. No, I'm ready for lunch. I'm starving here. Let's order pizza, okay? And get enough for any clients who are still waiting, too. Take the money out of petty cash."

"D? We have twelve cents in petty cash after I paid Mr. Ellison for the coffee. Any other ideas?"

"Oh. Right. I'll bring you out my credit card." I hung up the phone and looked at my recalcitrant potential client. "Are you coming, or would you like to wait for me, ma'am?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Then she settled back in her chair. "I'll wait here, young lady. I think you can helpme after all. Anybody who'd feed that crowd in the waiting room can't have much of a need for drug money, right?"

Saved by the pizza. Who knew?

I walked down the hall to give my credit card to Max, who had the pizza place on the phone. She gave me a thumbs-up signal, then continued ordering extra cheese and pepperoni.

Mr. Ellison barreled his way over to me when I walked back to my office. "Hey! Did you know none of these people plan to pay you?"

"Yes, that's why they call itpro bono. It means 'for the public good.' We're giving back to the community here." I smiled, feeling benevolent again.

He scowled at me. "Sounds likepro stupidoto me. And now you're buying them pizza, too? Bunch of deadbeats with no jobs? How do you expect to pay my salary if you don't have any clients that got actual cash?"

The headache that had been lurking behind my skull started pounding again. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Ellison. Everything will be fine."

He snorted and stomped off down the hall, muttering something about "damn fool women." I stood there and watched him go, wondering suddenly what his salarywas.Come to think of it, I wasn't exactly sure what Max's salary was, either. We'd sort of discussed working the details out when money started coming in the door.

My forehead started doing the scrunchy thing again. Max couldn't afford to go without a paycheck for very long, despite her pageant-winnings savings. I needed to make money. I needed to?—

"Are you coming or what?" Mrs. Stilkich yelled down the hall. "Don't make me change my mind about you, young lady."

I needed to get Mrs. Stilkich out of my office.

"Okay, we did it. Somehow, we saw twenty-seven clients," I said, sprawled out on the couch in reception.

"I thought there was thirty-two," said Mr. Ellison, who was slumped in a chair.

"Five were friends or relatives who came for moral support," Max said, from her position draped across the other chair.

Mr. Ellison squinted at us. "You two look terrible."

I was too tired to argue with him. Max lifted her head briefly, then sank back down on the chair. "Whatever. You're not exactly fresh as a daisy, you old geezer," she said.

He puffed out his chest. "Hey! I've got twenty years on you two!"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Twenty? Which would make us what? Fifty-two? Nice. Very nice."

He snickered.

Max raised her head again. "Oh, by the way, D, that annoying Addison Langley called. He wanted you to hold off on filing your motion to compel. I told him you were busy, but that we'd already filed it. He got pretty nasty about it and told me the boxes were on the way. Said he hoped we couldhandlethem when we got them, whatever that means."

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