World Enough and Time Ch. 01

I immediately felt a tremendous shame, as well as both an overwhelming compassion and desire for her. But I was also aware of an understandable urge to project an image of professionalism, perhaps made more crucial by our racial distinctions. As she seemed unwilling or unable to speak, I resumed my explanation.

"Either way, in order to get started, I would require a retainer of $500, which will cover the first 10 hours of my services. If that retainer were to be exhausted, I would simply charge you at my hourly rate of $50 per hour, billable at the end of every month up until the sale of the business or the conclusion of our contractual relationship. If I did not exhaust all of those funds by that time, I would return the remaining portion to you, though I would think it unlikely that there would be funds left over. I would also provide you with monthly statements that inform you of all of my billable hours, and precisely what legal work I devoted to each hour of billable service. All of my costs are thoroughly explained here."

I handed her a one-page flyer with all of the pertinent information about my services outlined, as well as the projected costs for various types of representation. Once she accepted the page and looked at it briefly, she stared up at me again with the same pained look in her beautiful, green eyes. And when she did, I asked a question that I already knew the answer to.

That, coincidentally, is something that attorneys are trained to do, both inside and outside of a courtroom. I knew what she would say before I asked, but I did so anyway. "I don't want to rush any decision you make, and you should take as much time as you need to decide, but if you don't mind my asking, in what way do you think you might want to proceed, Mrs. DeStephano?"

"This is all very intimidating, Mr. Murray, but I have already made my decision. I would like you to take care of everything. I trust you, and if you don't mind accepting a compliment, you seem so knowledgeable and well-versed about this subject that I'm convinced you will make my life so much easier if you handle everything for me, sir. I am prepared to write you a check for your retainer right now if that is acceptable, Mr. Murray."

Even though I expected that response, I felt the need to make it clear that decisions about hiring an attorney should not be taken lightly or made hastily. "Please don't feel rushed into making an impetuous decision, Mrs. DeStephano. I'm afraid I may have hurried you unnecessarily. I only wanted to know which way you were leaning. Do you want to sleep on the decision, maybe run it by your friends and neighbors that helped you over the past year, and get back to me tomorrow?"

She straightened up, raised her chin in a kind of aristocratic defiance, and gathered up every ounce of stolid resolve she could muster, tempered with a courteous comportment. "I am a woman of unimpressive knowledge and skills, Mr. Murray, but I am not a child. I have made my decision, and if you will accept a personal check for your retainer, I would like to write one now before I leave your office. Any other paperwork that requires my signature can be mailed to the address on the check or I can come back in to sign it." She reached into her handbag, and pulled out her checkbook.

I felt like an ass and immediately began falling all over myself apologizing. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. DeStephano. I fear that I may have talked down to you, and if so, I truly regret having done so. You are so right. It is your decision to make, not mine, and if you want me to get started right away, I am honored to accept your business. Yes, of course, you can write a check," I said with contrition, reaching my arm out across my desk to offer her a pen.

She wrote the check, and handed it to me. We both rose from our seats, and as we moved lethargically toward my door, I made small talk, commenting briefly about the cool weather we'd had over the weekend. She seemed to ignore the topic.

We moved into the hallway, and that was when I caught our reflection in the mirror. Then, Ruth surprised me. "Were you involved in any way in the nastiness that happened downtown this morning, Mr. Murray?" she asked with sadness in her eyes. "It's all over the news." I was astounded that she'd brought it up, or was even aware of it, considering the fact that she lived in the suburbs and was essentially unaffected.

"No, but a friend of mine was attacked this morning. He's in the hospital now."

She put her hand over her mouth, as if the very thought of it was too excruciating to even fathom. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Murray. I hope you know that not all of us feel the same way. I'm sorry about your friend. I hope he will be okay."

"He will be, and thank you, Mrs. DeStephano. I appreciate your saying that."

And then she did something else that really surprised me -- she started to wax philosophical. "I don't know why it is so difficult for people to get along with each other. It simply makes no sense to me. We all ultimately pray to the same God, so why is it so difficult to understand that the only thing that can destroy us is hate and the only thing that can save us is love?"

I didn't know what to say to that. For someone who possessed such "unimpressive knowledge and skills," she had astutely assessed just about all of the world's problems in one tiny, succinct aphorism. "I don't know either, Mrs. DeStephano." I responded stupidly.

We shook hands and said goodbye, and I told her that I would be in touch very soon. And then I went back to my desk, and sat for a good 15 minutes thinking about her. Not only did I now appreciate her beauty, style, manners, and overall demeanor, but she had made me think in a way that attorneys rarely think. Besides, she'd just given me the closing argument to my housing discrimination case that was likely to conclude the next day. I think she'd saved me several hours of work.

The next day around 7:00 o'clock, I finished drawing up the contract, and I called her at the number that was on her check to see if she wanted me to mail it to her, as she had already suggested I could do, or whether she wanted to come into the office to sign it.

I realize now that I offered her the second option on purpose, even if it was subconscious, and in terms of ethics, it was not my finest hour. It was at the very least, a half an hour drive one way to come to Beacon Hill from Brookline, and she had to drive during rush hour, so it probably took at least twice that amount of time, even though it was only about eight miles.

Besides, she should really have let someone else look at the contract, and taken the time to peruse it thoroughly, but I know I wanted to see her again in person, and when she agreed to visit my offices again, I believe she must have had her own reasons for wanting to come in to see me.

She said that she would be happy to meet me the next day, though she said that she would be occupied until the late afternoon and wondered if I would still be in the office at around 6:00 p.m. It was at least an hour after that time already, so my being there at that time really wasn't an issue. I said that I would certainly be in the office at 6:00 and even later, but pointed out that my secretary left at 5:00 and that she locked the office doors when she left, and so I pointed out that when she arrived, Ruth would have to ring the bell so that I could let her in.

That may have been a subconscious message, too, though I do not know which of us had the greater desire to reconnect in that particular manner. I think it was probably both of us, but the bottom line is that the next time I saw her, we were alone together.

When she rang the bell at about 6:15 the next evening, I got up from my desk to answer it without my suit jacket on. I am a big man -- 6'3" tall, and about 225 pounds, and I've always lifted weights and kept myself in as good a physical condition as time would allow. In addition, ever since I left the Army, I have shaved my head -- having grown used to it in my time in the military, so I suppose all of these factors conspired to present me to others as a rather imposing, even frightening figure, especially to a white woman from the suburbs.

I guess that compared to our earlier meeting, I probably looked less professional to Ruth on this occasion, but if I looked differently, so did she. When I met her at the front entrance, she was still dressed stylishly, but now she was displaying much more of her best features.

She wore a dark, green chiffon dress that strained to cover her wide hips, and because it sported a "V" neckline that gave only a tiny peek at a white, satin chemise underneath, it exposed a delightful two or three inches of her cleavage. The dress also had a much shorter hemline than what she'd worn at our previous meeting, displaying a tantalizing view of just a little bit of her thighs, which were wrapped in sexy, black stockings or panty hose that fell to a pair of black, high heels.

"Good evening, Mr. Murray! Thank you for meeting with me so late tonight. I had some errands to run, and I had to drop my son off at his cousins' house. I am so sorry that I have kept you here in the office so late."

"It's not a problem, Mrs. DeStephano. I would have been here anyway. I have a number of cases -- one in particular -- that I need to prepare for, and I don't usually get home until at least 7:00 p.m. on most nights," I responded with a broad smile as I beckoned her into my front office. "Thank you so much for coming in. Why don't you join me in the conference room, and we can sit down next to each other, so I can point out some important things about the contract."

I led her back to a small conference room with a table and six chairs, and as I chivalrously pulled out the corner chair on one side of the table and invited her to sit down, she said something that I surmised was a not-so-subtle inquiry into my personal life. "That must be hard on your wife, Mr. Murray -- you spending so much time at work and all."

I sensed that there was a clear intent in that statement, and if she was going there, at first I saw no harm in going with her -- it was just some playful flirting. "I guess it would be, if I was married, but I'm not, so I have no wife to inconvenience."

She looked a little surprised. "Well, there must certainly be a girlfriend that's being inconvenienced, so I do apologize to her." "Hmm," I thought to myself. Now, there wasn't much question about her intent.

Maybe I shouldn't have responded, but I did. "No, no girlfriend either. I'm afraid I'm just a boring, 30-something attorney without much of a social life, Mrs. DeStephano." I smiled.

She looked at me intently with an even more surprised look on her pretty face. "I don't understand, Mr. Murray, how does such a handsome man not have a woman in his life?" It could have been a throwaway compliment, intended only as considerate politeness, though I doubted that, but whether I should have or not, I took it as something more. I blushed -- hard to believe, but black people do that, and as I felt the rush of blood to my face, I felt it rushing elsewhere as well.

But now this unabashed flirting worried me, even though we were alone. I didn't know what to say, and so, I said nothing at all. Still, I could tell that she could see the effect her question had had on me emotionally and very possibly physically as well. I sat down in the chair next to her, where I had two copies of the contract laid out for us to examine.

I got control of my emotions quickly enough, but, having gone from a standing to a sitting position, things became a little uncomfortable as my semi-erect cock was squeezed awkwardly, almost painfully, by my underwear and trousers. I couldn't tell whether or not she noticed, but as I started to explain the contract and, in so doing, to do my best to maintain some semblance of professionalism, my physical discomfort soon diminished.

I proceeded to go through many of the details of the contract with her, but I could tell she was distracted and that the language didn't interest her in the least. After 10 minutes or so, I stopped. There was no point in continuing -- it was clear she could have cared less. So I asked, "Do you have any questions, Mrs. DeStephano?"

"Mr. Murray? Would you be so kind as to call me 'Ruth'? I hope that's not too informal, but I rather enjoy informality."

"Only if you call me 'Marcus'!" I said with a nervous smile.

"All right, Marcus, it's a deal! That's a nice name, by the way. Is it a family name?"

"No. My parents told me that I was named for Marcus Garvey. Apparently, he died just a few months before I was born."

"Marcus Garvey? I'm not sure I know who that is... or was."

"He was a black, Jamaican political leader and businessman in the 20s and 30s although he was as famous or infamous in the United States as he was anywhere else. He started what became known as 'the Pan-African movement.' He was considered pretty radical at the time because he was trying to get American blacks to return to their roots in Africa as a way to sort of undo or reverse slavery."

She winced when she heard the word. "That was a sorry time in this nation's history. I think that even though it's been over a hundred years since it ended, we're still dealing with its effects."

I didn't say anything. It seemed like Ruth was pretty sympathetic to Civil Rights causes, but even if that was true, I didn't want to say anything overtly political that might make her feel uncomfortable. When I didn't say anything, she continued.

"To be honest, Marcus, I just want to sign the contract and be done with it. I'm not trying to be rude, but I've already told you that I trust you, and I would rather talk about you than this contract anyway." She reached for a pen that I had laid out on the table next to the contracts. "Please just show me where to sign."

I found the signatory pages of both copies of the contract, and Ruth signed and dated them each. I folded one of the copies into thirds and placed it in an envelope for her and handed it to her. She put it in her purse. Then, I turned back to her, "Why do you want to talk about me, Ruth? To be honest with you, my life is not very interesting."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Marcus. I've never met someone like you. I think you're far more interesting than just about anybody I know." I guessed that "someone like you" meant a black person, and I was just slightly annoyed by the way that she had put it, but she was smiling at me so kindly that I didn't stay annoyed for long. In my experiences, pretty women are hard to stay mad at.

"Okay, so what do you want to know? I'm an open book." She smiled really gratefully.

"Well, how did you become an attorney? Is that something that you always wanted to be, or was there something or someone that led you to practice law?"

"It's a little bit complicated, but I was in college when I got drafted into the Army and ended up going to Vietnam." For the second time in three days, she reacted with instinctive empathy, covering her mouth with her hand, this time, to suggest the horrible nature of my fate.

"That must have been awful," she said with real fear in her eyes.

"Well, it wasn't a picnic, but I survived, which is more than I can say for a lot of people, so.... Anyway, I saw what the war did, especially to the poorest people in that country, and then I realized that by this country's standards, I myself was one of those people. I guess I decided that if I could find a job where I made enough money to dig myself out of the hole that I was born into, while I also helped other people to dig themselves out of their own holes, that was a match made in heaven, and I guess, law seemed like it was a way to accomplish both. I do a fair amount of pro bono work just to keep myself honest, and I've done very well for myself, so I have nothing to complain about, but I also found out that law is not as altruistic a vocation as one might think."

She nodded her head in understanding, and then she asked me, "Where did you grow up, Marcus?"

"Roxbury."

"Really! So you really did grow up in a tough place." I just stared back at her. What she'd said didn't really require a response. She paused, before asking two more questions, "How could you possibly have managed to pay for college? Wasn't it expensive?"

"Well, before I got drafted, I paid for my classes by picking up garbage. That was hard, because I had to work full-time at the same time that I was trying to take classes. I didn't have a choice; that was the only way I could afford to do it. I also didn't have a choice except to study like crazy, since I really wasn't prepared for college. Having gone to Roxbury High School and all, I was behind everyone else. Roxbury was not the finest school in Massachusetts, by the way, but ill-preparedness was more my fault as it was anybody else's -- I spent more time on football and baseball fields and basketball courts than I did in the classroom." I picked up the other contract that she had signed, and placed in a manila folder that had already been labeled "DeStephano, Ruth."

Then, I continued. "Since I could only afford to pay tuition if I worked at the same time, it took me over six years to finish three years of college. And that's when the Army found me. But, I'm happy to say that some good came out of my time in the military. When I got out, I was eligible for the G.I. Bill, and that paid for the final year at Northeastern, and then all of law school at Boston U. I am one of the very few people in America, Ruth -- with the possible exception of the very rich -- that graduated college and law school without accruing a mountain of debt. All in all, I'm just really, really lucky."

"Sounds to me like you made your own luck."

"Maybe, but when the bullets are flying all around your head, and the shells are exploding at your feet, skill and effort doesn't really count. At that point, it's all pure luck." She winced again in terror. "Besides, I was fortunate enough to have parents who cared about me and wanted me to get out of the ghetto. That's more luck than almost anyone else that I knew growing up."

"Marcus, how can you say that your life is 'not very interesting'? That is one incredible story, especially when I compare it to my own life!"

"I'm sure there are plenty of interesting things that you've seen and done," I said.

She shook her head. "No, since I was married to my husband, about the most interesting thing that I've ever done is to pick out what color the new divan should be. Mine has been a rather pathetic, lackluster, and conformist life, Marcus." I nodded my understanding, but didn't say anything.

We both stood up, and moved a few feet away from the table, as it became apparent that the time had come to draw our meeting to a close. "Well thank you, Ruth. I've enjoyed talking to you, and thank you for coming in. I am finishing up a case tomorrow, and then I will get started drawing up the contract, and when I have that completed, I will contact business agencies and try to find the best one to sell your stores. I want you to know that my job is to help you to maximize your profit from the sale of those businesses, but I want to be honest with you, Ruth. Even though I think I will represent you well, I've not really done this kind of thing before -- that is, helping a client to sell a fairly sizable business. I just want you to know that. You seem so sure that I am the right person to help you, and I just want you to be sure that I am what I represent myself to be."

"I think you represent yourself very well, Marcus, and I think you will represent me just as well." She smiled and then started to take a few steps toward the door, and I was following a few steps behind her, but then she stopped suddenly and turned around to face me. "Marcus, can I ask you something?" she said looking up at me.