Unexpected Consequences

by Sloan Johnson

  There are no words, only grunts and moans as we all climb higher. I feel Mary tightening around me and know there’s no way I’ll be able to resist. “Jeff, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, I’m going to… oh, fuck!” I scream in release as Mary’s body clenches me like a vice, milking every last drop out of me. Mary bites my shoulder hard enough to draw blood as she rides out her own explosive release and Jeff follows. Sated, Jeff and Mary tumble to my side, all of us quickly succumbing to exhaustion.

  I shove my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk, wishing for the first time that I didn’t have to get out of bed and come to a real job this morning. If not for needing food, I’m pretty sure the three of us wouldn’t have gotten out of bed all weekend, which made it hard to leave the guys sleeping so I could prepare for my first big meeting with Sperry this morning. I suppose it’s my own fault since I left early Friday, promising myself that I would get ready over the weekend, but it still sucks.

  Mister Bennett pokes his head around the corner and it’s obvious that he has a raging case of the Mondays. He’s never a happy man, but today his normal scowl would be an improvement over this surly expression.

  “In my office, Ms. Brunner.” He walks away and I take a deep breath. It’s never a good thing when he refuses to call someone by name. I think back to last week, trying to come up with anything I might not have done that I said I was going to. Other than the fact that there’s no way to please Greg Sperry, who thinks the city should bow at his feet for bringing jobs to the area instead of insist he follow the same laws every other business is required to respect, I can’t think of anything.

  Not wanting to poke the angry bear this morning, I gather my coffee and a legal pad and quickly follow Mister Bennett to his office. Looking around as I move through the department, an unsettled feeling washes over me. I don’t like it. I’m beginning to doubt what I’m doing. I dreamed of being an attorney, following in my father’s footsteps, since I was a little girl. I remember sitting on the floor in his office, pretending to draw up contracts, talking to make believe clients on the phone my dad set up in my “office” in the corner. And when I got older, he hired me to do simple filing in the summers, explaining that not all lawyers deserve the reputation of being greedy, dishonest charlatans.

  He dedicated his life to helping those who needed him most. We weren’t poor by any means, but we were a far cry from living in a mansion with ostentatious import cars in the garage. Looking back, I think about the values my father drove into my head and can’t help but wonder what he would say to me now. It seems that since I came back from the accident, it’s a little harder to walk through those glass doors each week. Not that I know why, but it’s time to figure out what to do about it.

  “You wanted to see me?” I ask, sheepishly making my way into the spacious corner office. I push back the myriad of thoughts in my head, focusing on every subtle movement of my employer, trying to read his mood.

  He motions for me to sit and I do, crossing one leg over the other with my back straight. We sit in silence, appraising one another in a way only two attorneys can do, neither willing to say a word until they get a read on the situation. The longer he glares at me, the more uncomfortable I become.

  “Ms. Brunner,” he begins, reaching for a newspaper clipping on his desk. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news regarding Nicholas Romero?” Everyone has heard about the inmate’s death, it was on the front page of the Saturday newspaper because it was the abrupt end to a major drug case. I have no doubt Mister Bennett knows this, so I’m clueless as to why he’s interrupting what could have been a halfway decent morning to ask about it.

  “I have,” I confirm, unwilling to go into any detail with him. I spent most of the weekend trying to forget about that one incident because that prick has already taken up too much of our time, stolen too much emotional energy from my entire circle of friends.

  “Of course you have,” he says sarcastically. Next, he reaches for a manila folder on his desk. One by one, he starts handing me printouts of every email Sarah and I sent back and forth on Friday while I was out shopping. The ones where she told me what happened and we worked to put together a motion to have Holly’s charges dropped. Shit.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. He has me backed into a corner and it’s now up to me to decide how to react. There’s no point in denying that I went against a direct order and helped Sarah with her motion.

  “Sir, I told you the day I came back that I was going to continue working on this case,” I point out to him. It’s time for me to get back to the values my father instilled in me, even if that means I walk out the door today, unemployed. “Holly Richards is a family friend. She and her family trusted me to see her case through to the end. Not Sarah, me.”

  “And, as your employer, I told you that you needed to focus on the Sperry account, not some low-rent crack addict who got herself in a pickle,” he seethes. I lurch out of my chair, regretting the quick movement when a sharp pain shoots up my leg. That discomfort is quickly erased, anger and hate replacing it.

  “That crack addict, as you so eloquently put it, is paying for every minute I work on her case. And for your information, she has since gotten clean and has finished her first semester of college,” I say defensively. I know what I have to do. “If you’re so far gone that you can’t help someone who is paying, albeit less money, the same as a huge corporation, I’m not sure I can continue working here.”

  The words hang heavy in the air. My hands rest on the edge of his desk as I lean over to get as close as possible. I’ll probably regret this in about an hour, but there’s no way I’m changing my mind. “Mister Bennett, I thank you for taking a chance on me when I was fresh out of law school, but it’s apparent to me that our time has come to part ways. I quit!”

  Before he can say another word, I storm down the hall to my office, knocking someone’s printing to the floor as I swipe a paper box to hold my personal belongings. I slam the door behind me, barely noticing that every associate on our floor is now gawking at me. Let them. Maybe they’ll be able to find their way out of the cesspool of greed before it consumes them.

  The door flying open nearly hits me in the face as I rush to get out the door. Tonight is a huge night for us, with Blessed Tragedy taking the stage at Last Chance. How Dylan managed to get them on such short notice I’ll never figure out, but that’s why I love the shit out of him. When a band cancels at the last minute, he finds a way to get an even bigger act into a venue far smaller than they’re used to, guaranteeing a packed house.

  “Slow down, killer,” I laugh, wrapping my arms around Mary as she storms through the door. I reach for the overflowing box she’s fumbling with as she tries to get the purse off her shoulders. “Hey, want to talk about it?”

  I so don’t have time for this right now. I guide a seething Mary into the living room, hoping we can quickly figure out why she’s home at nine in the morning and carrying a box of personal belongings with her.

  “I quit my job,” she says, flopping onto the couch. “I quit my job. Holy crap, I don’t have a job!” She springs to a seated position, staring at me with wide eyes. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but it sounds like she quit her job this morning.

  “Okay, got that part,” I say dryly. “Want to tell me why?” I pull my phone out of my pocket, sending a message to let Dylan know I’ll meet him at the bar. I sneak into the kitchen, grabbing two cups of coffee as Mary starts telling me something about her dad. I’m not sure what this has to do with quitting her job since one of the few things I know about the man is that he died over ten years ago, but there has to be a connection.

  “So I told him that if people weren’t as important to him as businesses, I wouldn’t keep working for him.” She reaches for her coffee, taking a sip, waiting for me to say something. I really wish I hadn’t zoned out because I’m sure I missed something important.


  “You sure that was a good idea?” I ask, turning to face her on the couch. “I mean, I agree with you, but it seems a bit extreme.”

  “Extreme?” she shrieks, jumping up to pace in front of the windows. I’m not used to seeing her this animated, it’s as if she put a little extra something in her coffee this morning. She spins to face me, her expression beyond rage. “He called Holly a low-rent crack addict! You seriously mean to tell me I should sit there and listen to that? I know she and I aren’t besties or anything, but what do you think Tommy would do if he heard that? What would you do if you heard someone say that about me?”

  I know damned well what Tommy would do. The same thing I want to do, which is drive down to her office and put my fist through that pompous asshole’s face.

  “Babe, I’m sorry,” I say, making my way over to her. I wrap my arms tightly around her, grateful as hell that she puts up with me. “I have a lot on my mind right now and kind of missed that part. I think you did the right thing,” I assure her.

  “Really? You do realize that means I don’t have a job now, right?” She’s so fucking adorable when she worries her lip. Makes me want to dip my head and bite along with her. Ugh, I so don’t have time for a quickie right now and that’s the only fucking thing I can think of.

  “Yeah, I think I got that part,” I laugh. I have to get going, but I don’t want to leave her home alone today. The way she’s acting right now, I’m not sure what kind of reorganizing she could do in the few hours I’m gone. I’ll never point it out to her, but it’s possibly one of the few things she picked up from her mother, and I just figured out where all my dishes are from when that vile woman was here daily. “Hey, you want to come to Last Chance with me? I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them, but Dylan got Blessed Tragedy to play there tonight and we have to get some things moved around.”

  “Seriously? I’m pretty sure you’d have to be living under a rock to not know who they are. Plus, Jared is from some Podunk town in Illinois, so he’s almost like a local.” Fucking amazing woman. I don’t know what I did in a past life to get her, but I’m sure as shit not letting go. “I heard they’re going to be recording down on Willy Street later this month.”

  I stand there, utterly stunned by these obscure facts spewed from my legal eagle girlfriend. “You frighten me,” I chuckle, pulling her close, kissing the side of her head. “Don’t let on to Dylan how much you know, he’s been trying to get me to talk to you about doing some work for us. If he finds out you know something about the music industry, he’ll never shut up.”

  “I am looking for a job,” she points out, disappearing down the hall. “Let me get changed and then we can go.”

  Dylan and I work up a good sweat trying to rearrange the modest stage at Last Chance. While it’s not technically part of our job description, we’re still trying to make it up to Andrew for the problems we caused last fall. Not only that, but if things go well tonight, there’s a good chance we’ll be able to shove it down the throats of those middle aged suits at Thompson Productions and no one will be able to deny us a booking in the future.

  “How in the hell did you pull this off?” I ask as we sit down to enjoy a cold beer, admiring how cozy the stage looks. The band is doing an acoustic set tonight, so they wanted something to give a sort of MTV Unplugged feel to the club. I think we did a damn fine job given the fact that we only had a few hours.

  “Apparently, Liam is friends with their drummer. Did you know they’re recording their next album here in town?” Dylan reaches over to pat my back when I start choking on my beer.

  “Yeah, I heard that somewhere,” I chuckle. My buddy gapes at me as if I’m losing my fucking mind. I can’t help it, my mind is replaying the way Mary spewed factoids about Blessed Tragedy all the way here this morning after giving me this exact same tidbit. “So, Liam, huh? Is he going to be the next Caprese joining the team?”

  I haven’t seen much of Liam in the past few months. I know Dylan mentioned him doing some scouting for us, but that was as far as it went. It’s impossible for me to hear Liam’s name without thinking of Tommy, wondering how he’s dealing with his sister’s boyfriend being back in town.

  “Would you be cool with that?” Dylan asks cautiously. The way he’s eyeing me, I can tell it’s not easy for him to bring this up. I also know him well enough to know that he would do anything to keep his older brother where he can make sure he’s not going to self-destruct at any moment.

  I shrug, chugging the rest of my beer. It would be nice to have someone to ease the workload now that we’re getting busier, but I’m hesitant to seem too eager to have the elder Caprese working by my side every day out of loyalty to my own family. Then again, with the exception of Tommy, it’s not like any of them are talking to me anyway and I figure he’ll come around in time.

  “If you think he’s a good fit, yeah.” I wonder if it will ever get easier to stop worrying about what my family will think about what I do. They were the only people I considered in the past. Now, I’m taking baby steps to make sure that I am the person I’m worrying about. My success, my happiness, my life.

  My face nearly breaks in two with a wide grin when I see two of the biggest sources of my happiness walking across the empty dance floor. Mary went home to change after helping move furniture and brought Jeff back with her. “Hey, Tommy and Holly are going to pick up Tasha when they come down,” she informs me.

  Shit.

  “Uh, Dylan?” I pull him into the makeshift green room after telling the bartender to put whatever Mary and Jeff wanted on our tab. I make sure the door is closed behind us before opening this can of worms. “So, uh, does Tommy know Liam is the reason they’re here tonight? I mean, I’m assuming that if he’s friends with the drummer and he convinced them to play, he’s going to be here.”

  “Shit,” Dylan grumbles, banging his head against the wall a few times. “I’ll call Liam, tell him to take the band out to dinner before they come down here. He drove them to a couple of radio interviews this afternoon. You call Tommy, tell him to get down here. If the girls aren’t ready, we’ll send Mary home to get them.”

  I shake my head, trying to remember a time when life wasn’t so complicated. Back when we were all single and didn’t give a shit about things like personal drama or whether the women in our lives had enough time to primp before a show. The more I think about it, the more I realize I wouldn’t trade a fucking minute of what we all have now for those simpler days.

  Thirty minutes later, Tommy walks uneasily through the front door. It seems all of us still have our hang-ups about this place. Too bad there’s no way we can say we’re not coming here since Andrew is the one owner we can always count on, and he knows that’s a two-way street.

  “Hey, where’s the fire?” he asks, sitting on the stool next to me. The bartender puts a draft beer in front of him and he takes a long draw.

  Dylan pussed out, saying he had some last minute errands to run, something about keeping pregnant women happy, so I’m left on my own to find out where Tommy’s head is at. “You know tonight is major for us, right?” I’m hoping that by pointing out that this isn’t just some garage band we’re trying out on a Monday night he’ll be a big boy and not throw a hissy.

  “Yeah, Dylan said Blessed Tragedy is playing. That’s huge, congrats!” Tommy sounds genuinely happy for us.

  “So, here’s the thing…” I signal for a round of shots. “They’re here tonight because Liam is friends with their drummer. I know you two have shit between you in the past and I don’t blame you for being upset about what he means to our family, but it’s time to get past it. I’m not saying you have to forget what happened, but you have to move on. Liam didn’t try to kill Maria. Even the cops said he lost control and over-corrected. How many times have you seen that happen? Shit, I can think of at least twice you and I were lucky to walk away after we got stupid behind the wheel. Do you think you can be here with him tonight? I need you here and Dylan needs his brother here, so we
need to find a way to make this work.”

  By the time I finish talking, I’m out of breath. Apparently, I decided to get everything out as quickly as possible so Tommy couldn’t get a word in. He stares at me, tossing back his shot and signaling for another. Then, he tips back his pint glass, draining it. This isn’t a good sign.

  “Fuck, Jeff’s right, you are the chick in your relationship,” Tommy laughs after a long pause. “What happened to being the man of few words?”

  It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s not answering me, but I choose to let him take the lead, even if it’s at my expense. “Sorry, it’s just that this is beyond huge for us. I need you in my corner, Tommy. And I can’t keep tap dancing around the Liam shit because it sounds like Dylan wants him to work with us.”

  Tommy lets out a low whistle, staring at a baseball game on the big screen. “Look, I’ve had a lot of time to think. I don’t know that Liam and I will ever be best friends, but yeah, you can count on me.” He reaches out his hand and we shake, pulling one another into a tight hug. As long as I have Tommy on my side, I’m feeling pretty confident I can do anything.

  One thing is for absolute certain. I’m too damn old to party on a Monday night. With the exception of two pregnant women perched on stools in the kitchen, presumably for easy access to the food, the condo is overflowing with drunks. I have to be up for work in five hours and these people don’t show any sign of slowing down or turning down the music.

  “Hey, where you goin’?” Zeke slurs, draping an arm over my shoulders. I get that tonight was a turning point for his company and he’s enjoying partying with his new rockstar buddies, but I don’t like seeing him this way. People get stupid when they get drunk. Maybe not all the time, but after the things I’ve dealt with in my life, it’s a bit of a hot button for me.

  “I’m going to head home, Zeke.” I pull him close, holding him tightly, praying he’ll pass out soon.