by Kiki Swinson
“That’s your retainer. I’ve heard about you, Ms. Lomax,” he said, peering at me over his tortoiseshell Versace shades.
“I hope you’ve heard good things,” I replied, looking down at the envelope, dying to tear it open.
“I did, and that’s why I need you to jump on board and tackle this case of mine so you can bury those sons of bitches that arrested me!”
“When is your next court date?” I asked, even though I’d already known.
“My preliminary hearing is four days from now.”
I sighed heavily. “That’s not a lot of time to do anything. I am working on another huge case as we speak,” I said; then my voice faded as I went into deep thought. “Unless I pay my staff to work with me day and night on it, but…,” I said, as if I had just come up with the best idea ever. I did this, hoping he would take the bait. I wanted him to believe that it would be impossible to do the quality of work I do in that short period of time without an added bonus.
“But what?”
“Well, I was thinking that if I did take your case, I would have to get my staff to start on your paperwork today, plus pay them overtime to stay on the clock after work hours. I mean, we are talking at least twelve to sixteen man-hours a day nonstop—if you want a guaranteed acquittal.”
Saying the word “acquittal” was music to Sheldon’s ears. His face lit up. “So you’re saying that you can guarantee me an acquittal?”
“Yes, I can,” I said, jumping the gun. “But it would take me and my staff working all those hours to go through your case to find every loophole there is and to poke holes through them.”
“What will it cost me to get you and your staff to do that?”
“To retain me is fifty thousand, and I take that in cash. And depending on the severity of the case my hourly rate starts at twenty-five hundred, again, in cash. And to have my staff work side by side with me beyond normal business hours will cost you an additional nine hundred an hour. The firm will send a separate bill for the staff fees.”
“I don’t care how much it costs. I just want to be a free man after this is over.”
“And you will be after I work my magic.”
Sheldon put a huge smile on his face. It was evident that he was happy as hell. So as he stood up he said, “Well, I guess this means you’re hired.”
I didn’t respond. I just smiled, trying to play it cool because all I could think about was all the money he was going to be throwing my way. And to think I was going to be paid $2,500 an hour in cash, while the firm sent a bill for nine hundred dollars an hour, which is actually the firm’s billing rate on a case like this. I’d be getting cash up front and the billing. I was one bad bitch!
“That’s one hundred grand right there. Bill me the rest,” he said, and then he and his boys walked out of my office.
“No problem,” I said as I watched him leave.
Right after he walked out, I called Donna into my office.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“Take this indictment and make Mr. Chisholm a file, complete with the standard motion of discovery forms and the motion to suppress.”
“So you’re gonna take his case?”
“I already have,” I said, and then I dismissed her.
Immediately after she left, I grabbed the envelope from my desk and tore into it…. The curiosity was killing me. I found two banded stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills…each band read, one hundred thousand. Sheldon paid well already! I smiled and thought about what I’d do with my new cash and my new car. As I sat wondering, Donna came back into my office.
“Ms. Lomax, another potential client called to hire you today. His name is Lamont Whitehead, but he raps by the name Crazy Eight,” she said.
“Wait, didn’t he just lose his recording deal?” I asked, with my face crinkled up.
“That’s what the tabloids are reporting,” Donna replied.
“Then tell Crazy Eight to lose my number because he can’t fucking afford me. I defend only millionaires. Ballers, not crawlers,” I spat.
Donna turned and left, without a word. I sniffed my new cash again. “Ahhh, the smell of success.”
Not too long after Sheldon and his crew left my office, Paul’s silly ass came strolling into my fucking office. I immediately cringed at the sight of him, and then I threw on a fake smile.
“Good to see you! How is everything?” I asked, knowing damn well I could not have cared less.
“Ah, don’t give that bullshit-ass ‘good to see you’ line. Tell me what’s going on with the fellow who just left here,” he demanded as he stood over the top of my desk.
“What? You didn’t recognize him?”
“Of course I did. Now, are you representing him or not?”
I smiled and said, “Did he walk out of here with a smile on his face?”
“Stop the bullshit, Yoshi! Are you representing the guy or not?”
I sighed heavily. “Yes, I am, Paul.”
“I know you like to bill your clients the firm’s rate plus your random ego fees. How much are you charging him?”
“Enough,” I said without giving that bastard any solid numbers. Shit, that’s personal if you’d ask me.
“Well, you just make sure you get that guy a victory! I would hate to see you fuck his case up and his people come back through here and kill everyone in sight.”
I burst into laughter. “Do you know who I am, Paul? That would never happen. And you can take that one to the bank and cash it.”
“Yeah, okay. Don’t get too cocky. Remember, there’s always a chance that your case can fall right out of your lap.”
I laughed louder. “Not one of mine.”
“Okay! We’ll see,” he said, and then he walked back out of my office.
Immediately after Paul carried his hating ass out of my office, I got on the phone and called Maria. She sounded like she was in her car when she answered her phone.
“Girl, you will not believe it when I tell you that Sheldon Chisholm just left my office.” I didn’t hesitate to tell her.
“Is it official? He’s your client?”
“You damn right!” I said, sifting through the stack of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“How much did he lay on you?”
“Let’s just say that I would be able to drive off the lot with a Maserati for me and you, and still have a huge piece of change left over.”
“Well, I guess that means I can get a raise,” Maria hinted, then chuckled.
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you what, if you continue to get me what I need, then you’d definitely keep your job.” I chuckled right back at her.
“Oh, Yoshi, you are such a tight ass! You know I’m good for a five percent raise. You saw the new house I just bought. You know I’m going to need it.”
“Granted, your house is beautiful, but I didn’t tell you to go out and make a huge purchase like that. Shit, a five percent raise ain’t gonna help you. Your ass needs a man!”
“Well, find me one!” she replied sarcastically.
“You don’t want me doing that, especially with all the thugs I know,” I said, and laughed. “Fucking around with me, you’d probably be dating a wealthy-ass criminal. And I know you don’t want that, especially since they won’t have a pension plan.”
“I see you are full of jokes today.”
“Got to be when you’re working around assholes like Paul,” I said, changing the subject. “Speaking of which, do you know that this fat fuck just waltzed in my damn office and asked me why Sheldon Chisholm was in my office? So, in short, I told the nosy motherfucker that he was there to pay me a retainer so I could represent him in his upcoming trial. So then he asked me how much I was charging him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him shit. Paul knows that he’s not privy to that information.”
“So, what did he say after that?”
“He just got frustrated and started talking about
how I needed to be careful—”
“Careful about what?” Maria cut me off.
“Girl, I don’t know. He was kind of talking off the wall, if you ask me. But, believe me, I cut his conversation short and got him out of my office really quick.”
Maria laughed once again. “I know he wasn’t too happy about that.”
“No, he wasn’t, but I’m sure he’s gotten over it by now.”
“So, what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“Well, first off, I am getting out of here. And then I am going home to freshen up for a party I was invited to later on tonight.”
“Whose party?”
“One of my old clients.”
“You aren’t going to get enough of hanging out with your old clients until something bad happens.”
“Come on now, Maria. What could possibly happen?”
“Do I seriously need to answer that one?” she replied sarcastically.
“Alright! Alright! You’ve made your point. Let me assure you that I am only going to this party to show my face, pass out my business cards to a few potential clients, have a couple of drinks, and then I am out of there.”
“Well, you be careful.”
“I will.”
“So, when are we going to hang out and go to a club or something? You know I’m getting tired of sitting at home, my head buried in paperwork.”
“We’ll get together this weekend.”
“Okay, well, call me tomorrow and let me know how your night went.”
“I will. Now have a good one.”
“You do the same,” Maria told me; then we hung up.
Time to Celebrate
After stashing half of my personal retainer from Mr. Chisholm and picking myself up a bottle of the most expensive champagne I could find to celebrate my new client, I headed home in my new Aston Martin. The freedom celebration awaited my presence, and I was going to make it spectacular. I made it home in enough time to relax a bit before my night out to celebrate. When I turned the key and entered my penthouse, I was met by Ophelia. She was cleaning all of my luxury European furniture, fine art, and china with a feather duster. I smirked to myself. It made me feel good to have a servant. I picked up the mail she’d left on the front table for me. Nothing of interest.
“Ophelia, have the valet pick up my Benz from the office. The keys are in my purse, and the car is parked in the visitor’s spot nearest the entrance. Oh, and please run me a nice hot bubble bath.” I could have done it myself, but why do that when I was paying her ass?
“Yes, senora,” Ophelia replied, dropping what she was doing and rushing toward my master bathroom. She always moved right away when I requested something; she knew I had very little patience.
“Oh yeah, and could you also fetch me a cup of hot mint tea?” I asked. I loved to see her rush at my beck and call.
“Would you like the tea at the bath side or right away?” Ophelia asked.
“Um…I’ll have it in the bath,” I replied as I headed for my massive bedroom. “Oh, Ophelia, can you lay out several party dresses for me and several pairs of shoes? I will choose something after my bath.”
“No problem, ma’am,” she answered in a low tone.
I took off my clothes and left them right in a pile on the floor for Ophelia to pick up. I looked in the mirror at my beautiful shape, and my five-seven frame was perfect. My waist was tiny like a doll’s, which was from my constant gym activity. I sometimes wondered if it was a sin for one person to love herself this much. After admiring my beauty for a while, I stepped into the bathroom. Ophelia had done just what she knew I’d like. She set the tea at the side, ran the tub lukewarm, with just the right amount of bubbles, and lit the entire bathroom with candles. This was the life. The atmosphere was serene and I loved it. I climbed into the tub and let my muscles relax. I soaked in my oversized Jacuzzi tub for more than thirty minutes, sipping tea from my finest china. I felt like a queen, but time was ticking and I had to get ready.
Picking out a dress was a job—so many beautiful designer things to choose from. I finally settled on one, but it wasn’t easy. I turned around and around in front of my floor-length mirror, checking my ass over and over again. The slinky black spaghetti-strapped Roberto Cavalli dress I’d chosen fit me perfectly; my tiny waist and long legs had me looking like a model. Driving around Miami, I often got mistaken for Kimora Lee Simmons. I’d even gotten a free dinner one night after I hadn’t denied being her to the waiter—he was convinced I was the sexy Asian female mogul in the flesh.
I clamped my Charriol diamond pavé earrings onto my ears and swung my head back and forth. My loose curls danced around my face and I slid one back behind my ear so that the earrings showed. I topped my outfit off with a brand-new pair of Christian Louboutin open-toed stiletto sandals and a Marc Jabobs clutch.
“Ophelia, have the valet bring my car to the front, please,” I called out. Then I whispered to myself, “Okay, Yoshi, do it, girl.” Mr. Santana better be ready for me tonight. He was so used to seeing me in suits in court, I might make his head spin tonight. “Fuck his wife,” I whispered. I was so wicked. I laughed into the air.
“Ms. Lomax, your car is here,” Ophelia notified me. I looked at my diamond-encrusted Cartier watch…. Perfect, I was running on schedule. I took one last look at my stunning ass before I left. Ophelia watched me either in admiration or in hatred.
As I took the elevator downstairs, my phone rang. It was Paul. He had been calling me and leaving me all kinds of threatening messages since he left my office earlier. This motherfucker was really insane. On one of the messages, he’d said, “Yoshi, you have gotten really cocky these last couple of years. But remember, I hold your career in my hands. You are nothing without me.” Was he seriously that sprung over some pussy? Well, since it was my pussy, he had to be, I guess. With all the dirt I had on Paul, he’d better not fuck with me.
I ignored his call and his message as usual and I rushed out of my building to my waiting Aston Martin. The valet smiled at me and I did the same in return. As he opened my car door, he said, “If I wasn’t the one who had driven that hot car of yours around here, I would’ve sworn you were about to be carried off on a white horse by a prince.” I loved attention of any kind. Flattered, I flashed my perfect white teeth at him.
“Don’t tempt me—one day you might just see me being carried off on a white horse,” I said jokingly. I got into the car and looked up at him. When he closed it, I reached for his hand and touched it. He looked at me and I could see him blushing. I placed a one-hundred-dollar bill in his hand and continued on. I knew I had made his fucking night. A hundred dollars was nothing to me, but I knew it might’ve meant a month’s worth of groceries for him.
The car was the right accessory for my look. It drove like a dream. I mean, the tires hugged the road and it felt like I was in a spaceship, riding on air. When I pulled up to the Panama nightclub, the crowd outside was outrageous. There had to be more than two hundred people outside alone, so I could only imagine what inside was like.
“I should’ve invited Maria,” I said out loud. I didn’t want to be lost in a sea of unknown people. A valet approached my car and I slid out. All eyes seemed to turn to me. As usual, I flashed a sexy smile and walked toward the front door. I was held up by security, but I pulled Mr. Santana’s personal invitation out of my bag and the velvet rope was immediately moved out of my way. I felt like the only VIP.
The inside of the club was decorated beautifully with all red, white, and gold. I’d learned from living in Miami that Hispanics always loved those colors. There were bouquets of bloodred roses on each table and gold glittery accents all around. It looked more like someone was getting married. A jazzy-sounding Carlos Santana tune blared from the speakers and the Latina were eating it up. I struggled my way through the hip-swaying, foot-tapping crowd, trying to make my way to the VIP room. Finally, after a million “excuse me” and “watch it” asides, I was at the door. A tall, skinny ma
n dressed in all black guarded the door.
“Hi, I’m here on the request of Mr. Santana,” I screamed, yelling over the music.
The man looked at me from head to toe. “Your name?” he asked stoically.
“Yoshi Lomax,” I screamed in reply. He immediately moved.
“Shit, now that’s first-class service,” I said to myself, feeling good as hell.
Sauntering my sexy ass into that VIP room felt like walking a red carpet. In fact, the carpets were red. The room was decorated just like the rest of the club, and the gold accents gave everything a rich feel. I looked around for Mr. Santana. I didn’t see him. But I did see a whole lot of gorgeous—and I do mean gorgeous—Latina women. These women looked like supermodels and they were dressed to kill. I suddenly began to feel a little self-conscious. After looking at them, I no longer felt like the belle of the ball. Then I noticed that I was receiving my fair share of stares from the well-dressed men in the room. All of a sudden my high confidence came rushing back. “Never doubt your beauty, Yoshi,” I said to myself under my breath. I guess I was the different kind of beauty in the room.
They were all Latina and kind of looked the same. I was Asian and Black, so I looked way more exotic than they did. I walked toward the bar. I was going to get my own party started. Before I made it all the way to the bar, I felt a hand on my back. I whirled around in surprise.
“Yoshi, I’m so glad you could make it,” a soft voice whispered right in my ear. I could tell from the smell of that sweet-ass cologne that it was Luis Santana.
I seductively turned my body toward his voice. “I would not have missed it for the world,” I said back.
“You look amazing,” Mr. Santana said, grabbing my hand and leading me away from the bar.
“Wait, I wanted to get something to drink,” I told him, still allowing him to hold on to me.
“Don’t insult me. You don’t drink from the bar,” he replied. We walked hand in hand toward the back of the room. As we approached, I could see a table with bottles of high-priced liquors on it—Perrier-Jouet, Johnnie Walker Blue King George V, and Moët Gold Label were just a few. I also noticed the women. The red suede couches were filled with exceptionally beautiful women. They sat and posed like statues. Mr. Santana still held on to my hand. We approached a woman dressed in a red sequined dress—one I could swear I saw Halle Berry wear on the red carpet.
