I nodded and followed her farther onto the floor. There were six desks spaced like a U and behind the formation was a large table at what looked like a break area. There was a stove, refrigerator and cabinets. I noticed the area had a privacy wall that slid from one wall to another, but now, it was wide open.
“That’s the break area. We eat snacks at our desks, but when we have a meal, we sit over there. Mr. Forrest is not a fan of foods and drinks near the computers, but if you get a thermal cup, one that you need to physically open to drink from or an enclosed straw cup, then he’s fine with that. I’ll show you mine. You definitely need to choose one because Mr. Forrest loves to surprise visit.”
“Great. I’ll get one after work today,” I nodded.
“Good. Come this way,” Alannah pointed, then walked toward a hall.
We walked to the back of the floor into a huge room filled with file cabinets. They were massive and lined every wall in different colors. There were even some in the middle of the floor, sitting back to back.
“Red is for criminal, white is for white-collar, green is for civil, blue is for family, including divorces and prenups. The new color, silver, is entertainment. Those are pretty empty, but I’m sure that will change soon since this firm is new to that area.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The different types of law this firm covers. Corporate, criminal, white-collar, civil, family and entertainment. From time to time you’ll be asked to find a file and may have to take it down to the offices throughout the building. Mr. Forrest specializes as a corporate attorney and they have the most meetings, so they will use you the most, but I’m sure he’ll lend you out to other areas. Corporate’s cabinets are brown. He says it’s because the corporations are greedy and full of shit.”
I laughed loudly, then looked around. “Where are the brown cabinets?”
Alannah smiled. “Farther back. Follow me.” She took me back to the hall and pointed out the storage area and rest rooms. “They are unisex since it’s only four women and a gay guy on this floor, and he has no interest in seeing anything we have.”
I laughed again and blinked when I saw the huge room full of brown cabinets.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Right?” Alannah murmured beside me. “Five per alphabet, except Q, X, Y and Z. They have one each and are no more than half full. Mr. Forrest wants digital and hard copies on everything. Once a year, we have to do a clean-out. He tosses anything that we haven’t used in five years. By toss, I mean it’s warehoused in the basement. It’s climate controlled, and only two people work down there. They basically get paid to sit on their asses since all they do is stare at one another.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. Let’s go see your desk.”
We went back to the desk area, where three more people were talking as they settled in.
“Guys, this is Cassidy Wren. She’s our newbie. Cassidy, this is Trista Washington.”
I held out my hand to the older, Caucasian woman with the shocking white-blonde hair and piercings up the side of her ear and eyebrow. She was also tatted. My eye zoomed to the ‘Mikey’ tattoo on her wrist when she extended her hand to me.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I smiled.
“You, too, sweetie. A little advice—don’t ever bring lunch. We cover for Alannah and she makes us the most delicious meals ever. That chicken stew from yesterday was so awesome I had it for dinner, too.”
“You cook, too,” I asked a blushing Alannah.
“It’s a hobby,” Alannah shrugged. “I’m thinking about opening a place with a friend after she finishes college. She’s a pastry chef and taking accounting courses. Why she chose accounting as a back-up, I have no idea.”
I thought that sounded boring and so far away from pastries but who was I to judge? Besides, she could do her own bookkeeping and save on expenses. Do what she loved and what was necessary. Her friend may be a genius.
“She sends things when she’s in town. You joined us just in time, Cassidy. Macy is currently on summer break. Prepare to put on pounds over the next two and a half months,” Alannah laughed. “Trista is our bad girl and if you ever need sex advice, she’s it. Most times. She has another job, too. She’s a receptionist in her brother’s shop.”
“Skull is my baby brother. He has a tattoo and piercing shop on Main if you’re ever interested. He’s great with a needle and he did quite a few of mine.”
My nose wrinkled. “I’m not big on needles, but I do like how your brow piercing looks. Did that hurt?”
“No, hun,” Trista laughed. “It was numbed first. My little brother did it years ago, right around the time our older sister died.”
I nodded. “I’ll keep him in mind, if I get the nerve.”
“Good. If you do and I’m not there, ask for Archer. That’s Skull’s real name: Archer Washington. He’ll know I sent you.”
I nodded. Alannah turned me to the next woman. “This is Callie Billups. She’s a huge music fan and has no preference in genres; we usually end up liking whatever she plays. Callie, this is Cassidy Wren.”
“I hope you’ll like what I play, too,” Callie smiled and shook my hand. “But I will forward a track if you absolutely hate it.” She was an African-American woman with a short haircut. Her hair was very black and shiny and the ironed curls seem to be frozen in place. I love the way it looked on her. She wore makeup, but not much. It flattered her skin. She reminded me of Gabrielle Union.
“I’m open as well.” I smiled. “As long as it has a good beat and I can dance to it.”
“Good,” Callie laughed, then went to her desk. “Welcome, Cassidy.”
“And this is our raging queen, Walden Spencer,” Alannah drawled, then grinned. “He is a vindictive, foul-mouthed asshole who loves to talk his shit. Mondays are the worst days because he parties hard on the weekends and is full of stories. Walden, be nice.”
“Bitch, please. I’m always nice.” Walden smirked, then scoffed as he looked me up and down, his brown hair spiky and his blue eyes looking at me disbelievingly. “So you the bitch that’s taking me down, huh? I doubt that shit seriously. You don’t look as if you can type your name let alone 140 words a minute.” Walden rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers hard. “I think my shit is intact, okaaaaay?”
“Yeah?” I chuckled then raised a brow. “Care to wager on that?”
Walden smirked. “Sure, boo-boo. Anytime. I win, you call me ‘The King.’”
“You mean the queen, don’t you, Walden?”
“Shut up, bitch,” Walden snarled at Callie, who laughed.
“Fine, I’ll call you King,” I interrupted. “If I win, you have to treat me as though I was Barbra Streisand and Liza Minnelli’s love child.”
Walden’s mouth dropped. “Ooh, no new bitch didn’t!”
“Yes, I did. And that ‘bitch’ word is history as long as we work together. Deal?”
“Deal, bitch,” Walden sang. “No way can you beat me. What are we typing, Lala?”
Alannah sighed. “How about Callie tell us about her date last night?”
I shrugged. “No problem.”
Walden snorted. “Ha! For me either, bitch!”
I sat at my assigned desk, fired up the computer and silently waited while flexing my fingers. I needed to win, just so I can get that damn word gone. I know he meant nothing by it, but I just hated the word and I cannot believe anyone would want to be called that, even in jest.
“At my go, Callie starts talking, and for no more than ten minutes. Print out what you’ve typed and I’ll check your averages. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Deal,” Walden mimicked.
Alannah giggled. “Okay, go!”
Callie started talking and my fingers flew. Walden stayed quiet and I talked, including what I said in my typing. I noticed Walden’s smirks and include them, as well. Alannah called ‘time.’ My hands froze then pushed the print command. I silently watched as
Callie, Alannah and Trista compared the work.
“Holy…”
“What the…”
“Wow,” Alannah murmured. “One-forty my ass. You punctuated and everything, Cassidy. And at 160. Walden you did 130.”
“No fucking way,” Walden shouted. “Show me!”
“Here you go,” Alannah laughed, passing Walden the papers. “And she included your smirks as well as everything she said.”
“Damn,” Walden murmured. “I was tired of ruling this nest anyway. Congrats, Lil Miss Barbariza Streisand-Minnelli. Can I get you some water or something, boo-boo?”
* * *
Now onto me being late…
After I’d been at my new job for a few days, I talked Ed into fronting the money for a real bed. He finally agreed, and night one we overslept. Why? Because the bed was so comfortable and we were overly exhausted. Eddie insisted we didn’t need delivery. We hauled that queen-sized monstrosity into our apartment, just the two of us.
On the ninth late day, after I apologized profusely and promised to go straight after work to buy a better alarm clock, we’d typed the entire morning, contracts mostly. Aside from the consistent typing, it was quiet there when it needed to be, outside of the music Callie played, with which I had no problem. There was this one song that played that made me shudder every time I heard it play.
I first heard it in New York. I immediately loved it. The pain in the guy’s voice, I swear it was real. He was pleading for someone’s love, and I could practically see the guy on his knees, begging her to change him, turn him into a better him.
I have always been me, the me I thought I wanted to be
But now I want to be him, the real me, the me I can be with you.
He’s not far away, maybe you can love him
In the same way that he has always loved you
Here I am in the open, telling you I want and need you
Say that you can, say that you will try to want and need me, too.
Allow me to kiss you, to hug you, make love to you
Allow me hold you, to comfort you, to be true.
Trust me, feel me, kiss me, take care of me
Fulfill me, complete me. Baby, please, just love me
‘Cause all these things I already feel deep inside for you.
“That guy wets my panties,” Callie sighed. “I mean he’s in such… He’s so… It’s just, wow, you know?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I can feel the pleading in his voice. And the guy singing his background. I swear it’s gut-wrenching to hear them. Whoever they’re singing to, I swear I want to be them.”
“It was written for someone,” Trista stated. “I mean, it had to be. It’s much too personal not to have been, but other people can identify with it.”
“I can’t,” Walden scoffed. “I’m always me. I love no one and never will.”
We were all about to say something when the buzzer sounded. Alannah picked up her desk phone.
“Fifteen, Alannah speaking… Yes, sir… Of course, straight away.” Alannah smiled at me as she hung up. “Cassidy, you’ve been requested. Put on your headphones. 815, new doc, family law.”
I nodded. A new case was being heard in conference room 815 with the family law attorneys. I quickly set up and waited for someone to acknowledge me, headphones on and all. I shook my head and smiled as the others stared at me and watched me as I waited.
I saw their mouths moving and knew they were laughing, but everything was silent to me. Those were some excellent noise-cancelling headphones. I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. All I could hear was people moving about and papers shuffling in conference room 815.
I heard a door open, several people moving chairs and grunts as they sat. Then they started talking, I could hear them clearly, but I didn’t start typing yet. I didn’t have the go ahead.
“Being a father fucking sucks. Damn it all and damn it all again. I cannot believe she would do this to me. God, I want a drink and a damn blunt. I want to get so high right now and erase all of this from my head.”
“You do and I will drop you as a client. You’re getting me for free so you better do as I say and not do anything to jeopardize this case. Unless you want to never see your daughter again. Besides, partaking in substances won’t erase anything; it’ll be right there when you’re back in your normal mindset. I’m going outside, take a deep breath and try to pretend I didn’t hear what you said.”
There was another sound of chairs moving then a door opening and closing.
“Son? We’re here, finally. Traffic was a godawful mess. How’s it going?”
“Hasn’t started yet, but I hate my lawyer, Dad. I hate every strand he has left on his nearly bald head. Mostly because he makes sense and is right on everything he fucking says.”
“Language. Relax and breathe. He’s going to help you keep my granddaughter. Vonda’s not going to get away with this. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Dad. Hey, Stone. Where’s the others?”
“Mike’s still AWOL with some girl. Ren is helping his father with something at one of his properties. He’s going to meet us at yours later today. You holding up okay?”
“No. The lawyer is insisting I remain sober. I need a distraction. You know what? I need to get laid. I wonder where that damn Camille chick is. I hear she sucks dick really well and rides like a cowgirl.”
“She fucking does, guy. That blow she gave me after we got back from the East Coast was… whoo. Call her after this. She’ll work out the kinks.”
“Nah. A threesome is one thing, but leftover pussy is another. You guys are my family. It’s bad enough she used to fuck Red and gave you oral, but I think she fucked or sucked off Red and Mike at the same time. Fuckers made it kinda obvious when they came back to the garage at the same time. No thanks.”
“I know. That shit is off, guy. Mike or Red ever say anything to you about it?”
“Not a word. I never asked. Red. Damn. I miss his ass. I still have a hard time believing he’s… That he’s… I can’t believe he’s fucking… damn it! And how all the Malloys are suffering. Bad days for them. You know, Samantha’s old wedding date is coming up, and none of them are taking it well.”
“I know. His shit, Samantha and Parker almost canceling their wedding and now I’m possibly losing my daughter, all because I don’t want her mother anymore. I’m fucking stupid when it comes to Karima.”
“Understandable, man. She’s your kid. But this… Vonda’s ass needs a swift kick. Let’s kick this in the ass, then we can concentrate on Park and Sammi’s wedding in the fall. It’s going to feel beyond fucked up to perform without Red. I’m not sure I want to, guy.”
“Me either. Weird does not begin to describe how that feels to me.”
Another voice, the one I believe is the lawyer, called out, “Mr. Mitchell, we’ll be starting soon. Mr. Gates will have to leaves us now.”
“Right, Mr. Altman. I’ll see you later, man.”
“Yeah. I’ll be outside with your folks.”
It went silent, outside of papers shuffling. A few minutes later, other people entered then the door closed with a firm click.
“Are we ready?” a man’s voice asked.
“Ready,” several people murmured.
“Miss Wren?”
I press the intercom. “Ready, sir,” I murmured, then braced my fingers over the keyboard.
“Short meeting today, so let’s start. Input the date and begin, Miss Wren.”
“July 10, 1:19 p.m.,” I murmur.
“Thank you, Miss Wren. Ladies and gentleman, I am Enrique Gonzalez and I am the adjudicator in the child custody case of McCoy v. Mitchell. Ms. McCoy is seeking to sever the paternal rights of Mr. Mitchell, biological father of one Karima Janiece Mitchell, a minor. All parties, please answer ‘yea’ or ‘nay’ if the circumstances I have outlined are correct.”
“Yea.”
“Yea.”
“Very good. Please state your name
s and interest for the record.”
“Vonda Sharron McCoy, petitioner.”
“Greta Bostick, representing Ms. McCoy.”
“Allan G. Mitchell, respondent.”
“Isaiah Altman, counsel for Mr. Mitchell.”
“Very good. Ms. Bostick, please begin.”
“Ms. McCoy is seeking sole custody and termination of rights to Mr. Mitchell, citing his rampant absences from the child’s life, his extensive illegal drug use and his inability and/or refusal to provide ample support to said child. Ms. McCoy has recently become engaged and her fiancé is seeking to adopt young Karima and raise her as his own and can provide for Karima far better than the respondent has been doing lately.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bostick. Mr. Altman, you may begin.”
“Mr. Mitchell challenges these actions on the grounds that he has made himself available since the day his daughter, Karima, was born, as well as caring for Ms. McCoy when she fell ill at the end of her pregnancy with his daughter. Mr. Mitchell is gainfully employed and can provide proof that he has cared for his daughter, financially and emotionally, through receipts and witnesses and will continue to do so. Mr. Mitchell insists Ms. McCoy is acting out of malice over their mutually severed relationship and only initiated this suit in order to punish Mr. Mitchell for turning down her requests to reconcile the relationship.”
“Thank you, Mr. Altman. Ms. McCoy, is it your argument that Mr. Mitchell has never provided financial support for Karima?”
“He has, but he’s only given a fourth of what was needed for her care.”
“Mr. Mitchell, do you agree with this statement?”
“Somewhat.”
“I see. Ms. Bostick, you may question the respondent now.”
“Mr. Mitchell, what does ‘somewhat’ mean?”
“Somewhat means I was a teenager when Karima was born and only had a part-time job. The paltry amount I made was split in half. Half to me and half to Vonda. I mean, Ms. McCoy.”
Despair: Book Two of the Negative Ion Series Page 3
