Correcting Ms. Hardin

by David O. Sullivan

  “I appreciate it, but this isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “You’ve entered the lion’s den. I’ll introduce you to the other assistant.” Robert led Sol into the copy room. “Kelly, this is Solomon, which is what he prefers to be called.” He faced Solomon. “Kelly is the legal secretary for Joel Kingsley, who’s on a three-month vacation with family in Asia.”

  Sol took in Kelly’s short, slender appearance with conservative skirt, blouse, short but stylish haircut, and earrings. Maybe she was thirty-something. “Kelly is my mom’s name. How do you spell it? Mom spells it with an ‘i’ at the end.”

  “I spell it with a ‘y.’”

  “And of course Phillip works for you. That’s it for staff here, except for the bookkeeper we deal with electronically. Oh, remember Ms. Hardin requires a no-fraternization policy between office staff, and she likes us guys to dress a bit flamboyant.”

  Solomon smiled, ignoring the dress comment. “This is a larger building, but now with me here, why are there are only three attorneys?”

  Kelly moved close to him. “There are offices for eight attorneys. This used to be a bustling firm, but she cut it back from what I’ve heard. No one lasts a year working here.”

  Sol raised his eyebrow.

  The day sped by as Solomon made notes on Hardin Law. He liked the sound of working there. He knew the law well and only needed to learn office routines.

  He met his parents and brother for dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant in downtown. He gushed inside at how his parents seemed to find a new love between them. They held hands and pecked cheeks. He traded smirks with his brother, who asked, “So, how’d the first day go?”

  Sol filled them in. Dad asked, “Why are you doing this? Are you a glutton for punishment? You’re like the fish who jumped out of the river to avoid being eaten, but found itself on the beach.”

  “I never heard that comparison before.” He took a sip of wine. “I don’t really know, but it seems like something I have to do. It’s fun how she convinced herself that I’m gay.” He let out a slow exhale. “I suppose I want to see how far I can adjust her attitude before she tries to fire me. It’s just something to do for a while. I’ve inherited a significant caseload and want to dig into it.”

  Brian draped an arm around Sol’s shoulder. “I give it a week at the most.”

  Dad snorted. “Two weeks.”

  Mom shook her head. “Is she pretty?”

  Solomon’s face tightened from the smile that jumped on his face.

  Brian shrieked. “Ewww. You’re not thinking—”

  “Hell, no! She has a nice figure—” He wagged his eyebrows. “She could use a bit more makeup to enhance her natural beauty.”

  Brian teased. “And you noticed all this, huh? Damn, bro, be careful. Girls got cooties!” He shook his body in jest.

  Dad playfully slapped his hand. “And you’re about to say your mother is the exception.”

  Brian blushed. “Aw, sorry, mom. I don’t mean you.”

  “I know, baby.” She brushed his face with a hand. “You’re so cute when you blush.” She held Sol’s hand. “Solomon, your dad and I can’t thank you enough for helping us retire the mortgage. We hate the way it happened, but you snatched victory from a crisis. We’re proud of you.”

  Dad toasted. “We love you, boys. I don’t say it enough, but I love you and am proud of both of you.” He locked eyes with Brian. “Son, I grew up with homosexuality being a bad thing, but I know it’s a knee-jerk reaction. It’s a big world and history is full of artists. I truly am proud of you, although you didn’t get your talents from me.” His voice choked up, and thankfully the server rescued them from the emotional moment by bringing a giant pizza.

  * * *

  The next day Solomon arrived at work in dress slacks, a red shirt, and black tie. He poured coffee into a mug with Snoopy acting as flying ace atop his doghouse. Ah, if only real life was as easy as climbing on your doghouse and flying away.

  Ms. Hardin rushed in. The other assistants put their heads down to busy themselves. “Where’s my coffee?”

  Robert brought the witch her morning brew, and Sol shook his head. Phillip approached. “How do you like your coffee, sir? And how should I address you?”

  “I like my coffee made by my own hand. That’s not a duty I expect from a trained legal secretary, and call me Solomon. I like things professionally casual. How do you like to be addressed?”

  He smiled. “Phil, but Ms. Hardin insists on Phillip.” He shrugged. “The economy stinks, law practices are shrinking, and I need the job. She pays decently.”

  “If you prefer Phil, then that’s what I’ll address you by.”

  Phil smiled deeply. “Thanks.”

  Solomon adjusted his desk around the room to his liking, settled back into his chair, and moved the computer monitor to where it was most comfortable, making a mental note to tell Hardin he needed one on a swing arm to keep the ergonomic standards high. Phil prioritized the cases for him, and Solomon began reviewing them, planning to call the clients and introduce himself.

  That afternoon an elderly gentleman struggled in using a walker. He stopped Solomon in the outer office. “Ah, yet another new assistant. Well, young man, I got this bill in the mail.” He handed it to Solomon, who passed it to Robert, who checked the computer.

  “Yes, sir, we sent it. Is it wrong?”

  He chuckled. “Of course. I don’t get billed.”

  “Sir?” Solomon tilted his head in confusion.

  “Before the name of this firm was changed to Hardin Law, it was Hardin, Dinelli, and Moriarity.” He steadied himself and reached a hand out. “I’m Moriarity, Maurice Moriarity. Hardin is Janet’s father, my best friend.” A full grin lit his wrinkled face.

  “I’ll check with Ms. Hardin.”

  She wandered out and cawed, “Check with me for what?” She paused. “Hello, Maurice.”

  He nodded. “Janet.”

  “I prefer Ms. Hardin in the office.”

  He winked at Solomon. “Of course, Ms. Hardin. We’re back to formalities again, eh? I’m Mr. Moriarity, Esquire.”

  She snapped back, “I’m busy; you should have called.”

  “I just came in to see why I was billed. Your billing clerk must have erred.”

  “Everyone gets billed.”

  He smiled and reached into his pocket and counted out hundred-dollar bills, with a comment in between each slow drop of a bill. He spoke to Solomon. “She’s forgotten I’m her godfather, and that after Mr. Dinelli died her dad and I gave her the firm for one hundred dollars. A month later she changed the name. She was such a sweet little girl, but now she has the heart of a wicked witch. I feel so sorry for her, but don’t know how to reach her sensibilities and compassion.” He counted the final bit of currency. “The bill is $1,495. Here’s fifteen hundred. Keep the change. Mail a receipt, please.”

  Robert nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  Janet huffed. “We’ll do dinner sometime.” She spun and left.

  He patted Solomon’s hand. “Good luck. Whose secretary are you?” He ambled off with Solomon shadowing him to help with the door.

  “I’m an attorney.” Sol kept walking with him.

  “Ah, okay. I’m sorry about that, but like I said, good luck.” Outside, Mr. Moriarity lowered his voice. “We had a verbal agreement that I’d never be charged for legal assistance. Her father always pampered her, never spanked her like he did with the boys. If you ask me, she is long overdue for a session over someone’s lap. I’d do it if I had the health.” He winked.

  Sol helped him with the car door.

  Despite being settled into the driver’s seat, Mr. Moriarity went on. “When she was thirteen she had been ill and after a lot of tests there was a false diagnosis of blood cancer. Her father’s world turned upside down. Once the correct diagnosis came in it was too late. He’d turned Janet into a princess who could do no wrong, doting on her.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “She been going dow
nhill ever since with the concept the world exists to serve her.” Mr. Moriarity patted Sol’s hand. “You don’t look gay. Thanks for listening.”

  “I’m not gay.”

  His brows knit. “She only hires gay men to avoid, shall I say, complications. The poor girl’s had her heart broken, and to insulate herself, she usually drives a stake through the heart of anyone she dates to kill his desires.” He gave the same sad shake of the head. “She’s a good person, but lonely and won’t heed me or anyone. Thanks for listening.”

  Just before the door closed Sol asked, “What’s her favorite color and flower?”

  The old man winked yet again. He waited, obviously weighing his answer as any attorney would. “Yellow roses from the peasants but red ones from lovers.” He cackled. “Next Monday is her birthday.”

  Solomon returned to the office and noticed Ms. Hardin in an attractive but not-too-tight skirt parading back to her office from the copy room.

  The rest of the week passed. She was in trial most of the time, so things were comfortable in her absence. The others had merrier attitudes while the witch was absent.

  The next Monday, Sol made certain he was the first one to the office and scattered several vases with yellow roses around the office and three in Ms. Hardin’s office. His mom made her huge chocolate cake that Sol brought and placed by the coffee; he made two pots.

  Ms. Hardin arrived next. Sol observed from the coffee area as she strode in, making it halfway to her office. She slowed, a smile began, and she stopped, obviously noting the flowers. Moving toward Sol, she said, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Hardin.” He whispered, “Happy birthday.”

  She snapped, “Don’t tell the rest of the fucking staff that. I’m a private person.”

  Sol raised an eyebrow. “I expected that, which is why I whispered it when we are alone and why there are no cards on the flowers.”

  She poured coffee. “Finally someone has some fucking common sense around here.”

  Sol couldn’t contain himself. “It’s okay to say thank you.” Other comments, all flippant and immature, were on the tip of his tongue but he kept his mouth shut.

  “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Understood, counselor. It was a gesture of kindness. If we poison the soil, nothing will grow. I think offices can show a spirit of kindness without damaging the professional manner.”

  She blinked. Had her facial tension lessened?

  “You remind me of the captain that torpedoed his own vessel,” he went on. “You don’t have to give the command to abandon ship; everyone knows.”

  In a soft voice, she asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Not sure, but I like legal work.”

  She left for her office. Sol sighed.

  Chapter Four

  Janet Hardin fidgeted with her drink in the crowded restaurant, waiting for her brother. Just as she was about to leave he sallied forth as though he had all the time in the world. She glared as he casually sat. “It’s about f’ing time you got here. Time is money.”

  Evan smiled, brushed his lips to her cheek, and sat. “Take a chill pill, sis.” He laughed as a waiter approached in sharp attire, a black shirt, and white tie.

  “Anything to drink, sir?”

  Janet moaned. “Be quick; I have to get back to the office. I have a new attorney.”

  Evan smiled at the server. “Busy day, huh? Good for business.”

  A soft smile creased his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like a bottle of beer, the one with the wolf on the label, and since I just discovered I’m in a hurry, may I have a mushroom burger, cooked medium well, and a salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil?”

  “For you, ma’am?”

  Janet slammed her hand on the table, rocking it and all the contents. “Never call me ma’am.”

  Taken aback, the server held a hand up. “I’m sorry. Your order?”

  “I’ll have the exact same thing as him, but I want it medium rare.”

  They chatted over the beer and salads as they waited.

  “Janet, I’m starting to worry about you,” Evan said after some small talk. “You’re always wound so tight. We thought it was a stage you were going through after the last divorce but maybe not.” He smirked. “Maybe you need to see a shrink.” The next instant a mischievous grin developed. “Are you getting laid?”

  “No man can satisfy me. You all fuck for thirty seconds, come, and roll off to go to sleep, lying to yourself that the woman is happy because you are. Bullshit! No man knows how to truly treat a woman.” She realized she was speaking too loudly but didn’t care.

  Evan smirked again. “My wife is very happy. Maybe you can see a counselor?”

  “Only crazy people see shrinks!”

  “My point exactly.” He chortled at his rebound.

  The server brought their burgers. She immediately cut into hers. “Son of a bitch. This is medium. I asked for medium rare; can’t you get a simple order straight?”

  The waiter reached for her plate. “I’m sorry. I’ll have a new one made.”

  “I don’t have the fucking time. I’ll eat this one.” She sent him away with a wave of her hand.

  Evan leaned close. “You’re such a fucking bitch.” He smiled.

  “Only you can say that to me.”

  “And it’s true. Remember, you reap what you sow.”

  “Don’t give me that religious bullshit.”

  “It’s a universal truth of life.” He smiled again. “You need to get laid.”

  “Find me a man who knows how to please a woman and I’ll keep him.” She bit into the burger. “This is actually good.”

  Evan shook his head.

  * * *

  Weeks later, at 9 a.m., Janet sat in the courtroom in her best jury attire of a black skirt, white blouse with a red tie, and red nails, wearing a conservative pearl necklace. Her two clients sat beside her with nervousness dripping from their taut faces. The judge leaned forward in his seat and removed his glasses. Janet wondered if it was a good idea to allow the retired jurist to fill in on a complicated case, but it was the only way to get a trial under five years with the backlogged court system. He had to be eighty. Did he refresh himself on current laws?

  The judge faced the jury. “You’ll be given a copy of the jury instructions that I’ve approved from what each side has presented. It’s clear to me as to what your decision will be, and I wish to remind you, this is Christmas Eve. If you fail to return a verdict today, this trial will carry over to Monday. It’ll weigh on your minds over the holiday weekend.”

  Janet jumped to her feet. “Your honor, objection! Appeals courts have ruled that neither a rising dough nor a jury’s verdict can be rushed. I ask that you rescind those comments. There are some complicated details that will require the jury’s time to weigh them.”

  The senior judge nodded and gave a condescending smile. “Of course, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, take the time you need to deliberate with all due efficiency; after all, time is of the essence. A verdict today would be best, but of course, take your time.”

  Janet steamed. “Objection!”

  He patted the air with his hand. “You’ve had enough to say on this. Let’s get this rig on the road.” He went on with other legal guidelines and the jury retired.

  Janet paced the halls with her clients. “I can’t believe that asshole said that to the jury.”

  One client, wringing her hands, asked, “Will that work against us?”

  “Very likely.”

  “This is our lives. My husband and I worked decades to develop our company and now this software, and they’ve stolen it from us and made millions. We can’t start over again.”

  Janet sighed. “Yes, I know.”

  The man asked, “If we lose, what are the chances for an appeal?”

  “In all honesty I suspect the judge’s instructions will be overturned at the first level. Case law is clear; he’s wrong, but that wou
ld mean a new trial.”

  The woman plopped on a bench. “Dear God. I can’t go through this again.”

  “I have to get back to my office. The bailiff will text all of us when the jury has a verdict.”

  They nodded, shook hands, and left arm-in-arm looking drained. Back at the firm, Janet busied herself in her office with the door closed. She took a shower with the lights off and vanilla candles burning. She seethed over the idiot judge’s actions. Through the frosted shower door, she smiled at the orange glow on the counter and closed her eyes, glad she’d had the bathroom upgraded with a shower and tub since she spent so much time in the office. The shriek of a smoke alarm snatched her back to reality. She opened the door to face flames on the counter. She screamed and ran out. “Fire! Fire!”

  Robert rushed in with Solomon right behind him with a fire extinguisher. She stood dripping wet and naked. “Don’t spray that. It’ll make a mess.” She followed Solomon into the bathroom where a towel burned on the marble counter. Solomon grabbed another towel, wet it from the still-running shower, and smothered the flames. Robert opened the high window.

  Sol faced her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head as her body trembled. She grabbed him like a sailor adrift seizes flotsam. She cried. He held her.

  * * *

  Solomon’s heart pounded as he held the shaking, naked attorney. He waved Robert off with a soft smile and thankful nod, and let Ms. Hardin sob as he surveyed the elegant bathroom. His clothes were damp from the embrace and his cock stirred. The quick glance he’d gotten had showed smaller, taut breasts and a well-trimmed pussy. If only she weren’t such a bitch. He smiled to himself. Funny how an emergency brings out fear and the need for nurturing.

  She released her death hold on him and stepped away. He covered her with a large towel. “Thank you.” She sucked breaths in. “I got you wet.”