Santa's Pet

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Ah, never mind,” the man said. “One day, when Bamm-Bamm turns pro, you can walk into any bar and have your pick of chicks.”

  “Yeah, something to look forward to once I get out of this joint.” Ben turned away from the drunk and palmed his face.

  That was too close. Where the heck was his agent? He’d used his single phone call to leave her a message. There was no sense getting his grandfather riled up and possibly cause another heart attack.

  True, the cops had taken Grandpa’s dog, but Treat was enjoying all of the doggy treats thrown his way. Last he heard, the traitor was singing and howling to the entire station’s entertainment.

  The heavy metal door swung open and a jailer said, “Mr. Powers. Your attorney’s here.”

  “Powers?” the drunk slurred. “Did I hear right?”

  “Bowers with a ‘B’,” Ben said as he followed the guard. Since he wasn’t deemed a danger, they left him without handcuffs. It was about time Dominque, his agent, found him a lawyer.

  The guard brought him to the secured cubbyhole with a bolted down wooden table and three plastic chairs. Dominque sat there with another woman who looked like she could be her twin.

  Ben waited until the guard retreated through the door before taking a seat across from the two women.

  “Dominique, thanks for coming on a Saturday evening. I hope I haven’t disturbed your plans.” He nodded to her and waited for an introduction.

  “I’m not pleased with this at all.” The black woman glared at him. She was one of the top sports agents in the country, and he was well aware she was counting on him getting picked in the first round and earning her big numbers on the contract.

  “It’s not what it looks like. I’m sure I’ll be vindicated when the witnesses come forward.” Ben glanced at the other woman. She wore her hair short and naturally curly, while Dominique had a head full of sleek, shoulder-length braids which she tied to one side.

  “My sister, Delaine DeMarie, defense attorney. You’re lucky she owes me a favor.” Dominique tilted her head at her sister. “Tell this slimeball what trouble he’s in.”

  Delaine stuck her hand out for a quick shake. “Indecent exposure is a serious charge, Mr. Powers. If convicted, you will be registered as a sex offender. Couple that with lewd misconduct and the possibility that your codefendant might sue you for sexual harassment …”

  “Hold it!” Ben leaned forward. “Sexual harassment of who?”

  “The elf, Brittney Reed,” Delaine said. “Her attorney’s looking at that angle to get the charges of lewd misconduct dropped for her.”

  “Wait, you spoke to him before talking to me?”

  “I ran into him in the hallway,” Delaine replied. “It was professional courtesy for him to let me know what I’m up against.”

  “Why don’t you hear me out?” Ben turned his gaze on Dominique. “If you two think I’m guilty, how will I ever get a fair trial?”

  “We have no opinion whether you’re guilty or not,” Dominique said. “Of course, as your agent, I’m on your side—if your reputation is reparable. At the same time, I have standards. I will not tolerate you lying to me nor will I put up with clients who are disrespectful to women. You want to be a bad boy, get yourself a bad boy agent. There are plenty of them around.”

  “I might not want a bad boy agent, but I definitely deserve a good one who believes in me.” Ben folded his hands in front of him and stared down the two women.

  “Fair enough,” Dominique said. “Delaine wanted to let you know how serious the charges are, but the good news is, she can get you off if the state cannot prove intent.”

  “Intent?” Ben repeated.

  “Yes, intent is important in an indecent exposure case,” Delaine said. “The prosecution has to prove that you intended to gratify or arouse either yourself or another person sexually by exposing your genitals, or that you intended to offend someone else sexually.”

  Ben slapped the table. “Then they don’t have a case. I didn’t intend any of it. In fact, I asked Brittney to sit on my lap to cover any possible exposure through my boxer shorts.”

  “Oh, yes, those boxers are Exhibit A. I need you to remove them and let me photograph them.”

  “Right now?” Ben’s blood pressure dropped. If he pulled down the sweatpants the police lent him, he could be charged again.

  “Not right now.” Delaine chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Is it true you wear boxers that are so ripped they might as well not be there?”

  “Uh, well, sure, I haven’t done the laundry. Yes, I guess.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “I figure as long as the elastic waistband is good and I can put my legs through them …”

  “In that case, if it’s your usual habit to wear torn and holey boxers, then I can prove that your exposing your genitals was accidental and unintentional.”

  “That’s correct,” Ben agreed. “Besides, it wouldn’t have been exposed if that woman hadn’t sat on it and wiggled to tease me.”

  “She did?” Dominique’s jaw dropped. “You mean she’s at fault?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Ben opened his hands palms up. “Kids were laughing and saying my pants were down. I realized I had only my holey candy-cane boxers on, so I asked Brittney to sit on my crotch to hide it while I took off my Santa jacket to cover myself.”

  “So, you’re saying she deliberately moved in a sexual manner to cause you to expose yourself?” Delaine clarified.

  “Absolutely. I couldn’t help what happened next. It’s impossible for a man not to react.”

  “For some men,” Delaine said, huffing. “Okay, now what about the touching of her breasts that happened earlier? The police are charging you with lewd misconduct, too.”

  “How’s that defined?”

  “Willfully touching a female breast counts,” Delaine said, pursing her lips. “You’re guilty if you did it with the intention of sexually arousing or gratifying yourself or another person, and at the time you did the act, you were in public or in a place open to the public, and someone was offended by viewing your act, and finally that you reasonably knew that person would be offended.”

  “Everything’s true except for the intention.” Ben closed his fist. “I touched her breast to push it back into her skimpy elf costume. I have absolutely no interest in arousing or gratifying Brittney Reed, and it certainly didn't give me the jollies.”

  “Oh, really?” Dominique raised an eyebrow. “What if a witness said you became aroused?”

  “It doesn’t matter. My intent was not to be aroused. Is that clear?” Ben narrowed his eyes at Delaine. “Can you get both charges dropped?”

  “The state has a higher hurdle for the indecent exposure. They’ll probably come back with an offer for you to plead guilty to the lewd conduct in exchange for dropping indecent exposure which carries with it the stigma of being a registered sex offender.” Delaine leaned back and steepled her fingers as if she had won a point. She turned to her sister. “Is that good enough to get him drafted?”

  “I think we should also fight the lewd conduct charge, too.” Dominique’s eyebrows creased and her nostrils flared. “It’ll be bad for my reputation to represent him.”

  “I’m not pleading guilty to anything,” Ben said. “If you two can’t help me, then I’m hiring someone else.”

  “He is a hot prospect for a first round draft pick,” Delaine said, nudging her sister.

  “Except for this lewd conduct thing,” Dominique replied, eyeing Ben as if he were a giant cockroach. “Can you get all the charges dropped?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Delaine rolled up her sleeves. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll get you out on bail. You’re not pleading guilty to anything. Meanwhile, we dump the blame on Brittney. Only problem, her lawyer’s a real trickster.”

  “That chubby chump with the fast food wrapper sticking out of his suit pocket?” Dominique scrunched her nose.

  “Never underestimate him. R
emember, it’s all about intent. He’s probably building a case where his client had no intention of arousing or gratifying anyone and that Ben here was the perpetrator. Slap on a civil suit of sexual harassment, and he’s got the stronger case.”

  “Wait, so what do we do?” The hairs on Ben’s scalp prickled and he tasted blood in his throat. “I’m not going to sit back and let them pin it on me.”

  “We go on the offensive. Paint her as a slut all over town,” Delaine said. “Our prime witness, the woman who called the police in the first place, is vulnerable to your charm. She has a son in elementary school, and I can arrange for you to visit the school and toss a football with his P.E. class.”

  Ben rubbed his chin as a growly feeling clenched his insides. He didn’t like it one bit. It was one thing to blame Brittney for this arrest, but to slut-shame her? That was a low blow.

  “I’m not sure we should ruin her reputation,” Ben said. “Shouldn’t the video prove neither of us had any intentions of a sexual nature? We were helping each other out. Double wardrobe malfunctions. No sexual feelings at all.”

  “You want me as your attorney or not?” Delaine lowered her voice. “Believe me, that Owen Williams is a shark inside a koala bear’s skin. What are you going to do when he slaps sexual harassment on you? Or worse? Claims you tried to rape his client?”

  “Rape her?” Ben jumped from the chair, knocking it backward. “That’s a lie.”

  “Didn’t you grab her and make her sit on your candy-cane boxers with the big rip down the front?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I grabbed her and she sat down on her own.”

  “Ah, but that’s your interpretation.” Delaine wagged her finger. “Face it, Mr. Powers, if you want me to get you off, you’re going to do things my way.”

  “Better listen to her,” Dominique said. “I’ve got an inside line to the owner of the New York Warthogs. Herbert Van Roekens is a good friend of the family and lately, he’s dating Dinah Silver, owner of the Los Angeles Flash. There’s also Gunnar Carson who owns the San Diego Surfriders, and I’m making connections with the San Francisco Bridges and Oakland Brigands. You want a contract, you need to cooperate with me.”

  “Don’t throw away your career on a two-bit slut.” Delaine pushed from the table and stood. “We’ll make bail tonight and have you home. From now on, you have to be on your best behavior. Stay with your grandfather. Do charity work, stay out of bars, and do not be seen with loose women. By all means, stay away from Brittney Reed, and don’t let her or anyone in her family know our defense strategy. Don’t speak to the press. Leave all the talking to me.”

  “This is important,” Dominique said, patting his shoulder. “Your entire football career depends on this, not to mention your future value in endorsements and deals.”

  “Sure.” Ben rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’ll stay on the sidelines and let you two do your work.”

  Both sisters gave him a thumbs up and a confident grin.

  Ben smiled back, but his stomach twisted and his heart flopped. Pinning the blame on Brittney and shoving her under the bus was unfair. Even if she’d dressed in a provocative manner, there was no excuse for him or any other man to think of her in a sexual manner.

  If anyone was to blame, it was that club he carried between his legs.

  “Oh, and before we forget,” Delaine interrupted the officer who’d come to escort him back to the holding cell. “We need your candy-cane boxers without the cannon, of course.”

  The two sisters giggled at the guard’s shocked expression.

  Chapter Seven

  ~ Brittney ~

  This is my worst day ever. Not only did I get hauled off to jail for lewd misconduct, but my feet hurt from being stuffed in Lacy’s stiletto fur-lined boots. Lacy and Brandon stroll arm in arm through the front door of my parents’ house, whispering and cooing to each other. Disgusting.

  “Where’s my phone?” I hold my hand out, interrupting their sweet nothings. I can’t believe I agreed to go without it in order to be an authentic elf.

  “Dad? What’s the day’s tally?” Lacy wrenches a briefcase from Brandon’s shoulder to get my phone. “Did the kissing booth raise more money than the pet rescue?”

  “Of course you did, sweet lips.” My father kisses her on the cheek.

  “Don’t forget to thank Brandon, too,” she says, then slips a glance at me. “Don’t worry, sis. There’s always next year. Now you’re going makeup shopping with me since you lost the bet.”

  “I don’t have time.” I take my phone from her and wake it up. It’s full of messages and missed calls. Dammit. The build’s broken and they can’t find Samantha, one of the new software engineers I hired. “I have to go back to work. See you all later.”

  “Wait, your lawyer’s here.” Mom drags me to the living room and addresses the chubby man sitting on the couch. “Oh, hello there, Mr. Williams, thanks for dropping by. Can I get you anything to drink? Ice tea? Orange juice? Coffee?”

  “Milk.” Owen grins as he spots me. “I’m a milk man—got a thing for milk, you know.”

  Ugh. I don’t like him already. Not only is he sweating like a pig, his face is bright red like he’s been drinking and his blue eyes bulge under his receding hairline.

  He sticks out his beefy paw to shake. “Nice t-shirt. I know the chairwoman of the board at Shopahol.”

  “Y-you do?” I’m stunned as his eyes stay on my face. I’d thought the t-shirt line was a segue into commenting on my chest.

  “Yep.” He sets his briefcase on the floor and grabs his lapels, beaming proudly. “She’s one of my oldest friends. I hear she’s your boss.”

  “You heard right. My company’s doing a joint venture with Shopahol, and I’m under her direct supervision.”

  “You like her?”

  “Oh, heck ya. She’s the best.”

  We’re talking about Jen Jones Jewell, the former build engineer of Shopahol who rose to become chairwoman of the board, as well as wife to the CEO, Dave Jewell. Sigh. They’re the San Francisco Bay Area’s perfect power couple.

  “Great, let’s get started with your defense. Has Jen ever told you what messes I got her out of?” Owen accepts a glass of milk from my mother.

  “No, never.” I swallow hard and sit across from him. I’d heard about Jen and her unsavory past, and I suppose I could dig further, but frankly, she’s my heroine and I don’t believe everything I read online.

  “Well, then, it’s covered by attorney-client privilege.” He tilts his head back and gulps the entire eight-ounce glass of milk, his throat wobbling with each swallow.

  How can this bumbling bozo be my lawyer? I have no time for his antics, so I get to the point.

  “I’m needed at work. Tell me how you’re going to get the charges dropped.”

  Owen wipes his puffy lips with the back of his wrist and grins. “I’ve always said the best defense is a good offense.”

  So do three million other people, but I’ll let it pass. I glance at my watch. “Do whatever’s necessary. Mom said you needed my version of the story. Can I send you an email?”

  “No, I’d rather hear it from the horse’s lips.”

  “I’m not a horse.”

  “Oh, sorry, the mare’s lips then,” he says in all seriousness as he flips his notepad out.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Mrs. Jewell.

  “Sorry, I really have to take this,” I say, swiping the screen. “It’s the boss lady.”

  Owen grabs the phone from me and cups it to his ear. How the heck does this pudgy guy have such quick hands?

  “Jen, it’s me, Owen. No, no, no, you don’t have the wrong number. Hey, I know you guys have a fire at the datacenter. Ha, ha, just kidding, but I need Brittney right now. You’ve heard? No worries. Damage control here. I’m throwing sexual harassment at that young man and suing the police for wrongful arrest as well as sexual harassment. Yep. They were wearing body-cams. Of course, they roughened her up and made leer
ing remarks. I can guarantee they’re going to throw out all the charges.”

  “Wait, why are you discussing my case with my boss?” I pat Owen’s arm. “Give my phone back.”

  “Sure, call back in ten minutes,” he says and ends the call.

  Of all the flipping arrogant things?

  “Give me my phone,” I demand. “You have exactly five minutes to tell me what I need to do. Meter’s running.”

  “Don’t talk about the case to anyone. Wear sexy clothes and makeup so we can establish that it’s your normal attire and you had no intention of shocking or offending anyone, and stay away from Ben Powers.”

  “Wait. I get the first and third restriction, but wear sexy clothes and makeup? Are you nuts? It’ll only prove that I’m the type of woman who’d do lewd things.”

  “Ah ha!” His beefy, or should I say piggy, palm rises to a halt position. “So, you too, are stereotyping women who wear sexy clothes and makeup. What we need to show the judge is that you can’t help being sexy and that it’s a normal part of your appearance, that it’s not your problem, but a problem with the men around you.”

  “Uh, why can’t I wear baggy sweatshirts and long matronly skirts with clogs?”

  “Because that would be admitting guilt. That mother who raised the complaint would tell the judge that you knew your attire was arousing and went out of your way to offend, so now you’re wearing Amish clothing in hopes of getting a lenient sentence.”

  “I’ve never heard of this type of defense.” I flatten my palms on the table. “How qualified are you?”

  “He’s the best.” Lacy saunters into the room with a large pink satchel marked Mary Kay. “You’re not going anywhere until I make up your face.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” I back away from her slowly as someone does when approached by a particularly scary pit bull. “I really have to go. This is my life you’re playing with, and I’m not wearing any more makeup.”

  “Ah, but I won the bet,” Lacy says. “Don’t tell me you’re welshing out of our deal.”

  “No welshing,” Owen says. His bulging eyes are splayed on my face and I swear, his tongue’s about to hang out, looking like an eager dog waiting for a walk. The only thing missing is a leash around his thick sweaty neck. “One more thing, I spoke to the chief of police and he’s interested in you participating in the Police Dog Toy Drive coming up.”