In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “I’m just fine,” Detective Coleman said in a husky, contented voice. He had yet to open his eyes.

  The club owner abruptly interrupted the detective’s special massage. “Does this envelope belong to one of you?”

  Special happily dropped her cramped foot to the floor. The detective seemed dazed when his eyes finally popped open. He searched the table and realized that the club owner was holding his envelope.

  “Yeah, that’s mine,” Detective Coleman said, reaching for it. “How’d you get it?”

  “Found it on the floor.” The club owner gave Special a knowing smile and left.

  “How in the hell did it fall on the floor?” the detective asked. “It was way over here.”

  Special wondered how the man kept his job. “Sweetie, I’ll be right back.” She snatched her purse from the table. “I have to go touch up my makeup.”

  “Aw, baby girl, your makeup looks fine. Let’s get back to my special massage,” he said, grinning.

  Special opened her purse and pulled out a bottle of fluorescent pink nail polish. She reached across the table and placed it in front of the detective. “Maybe I’ll let you touch up my toenails tonight,” she teased.

  Detective Coleman stared at the nail polish and a smile stretched from ear to ear. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, breathlessly taking a sip of his drink.

  Special slid out of the booth and scurried past the ladies’ room and into a tiny office. She found the club owner sitting behind a cluttered desk watching a battered-looking portable TV. A small copy machine sat on a coffee table next to a plaid love seat.

  “Here’re the copies.” The club owner handed the papers to Special. “And this better not come back on me.”

  Special folded the six pages into quarters and stuffed them into her purse. “Thanks, C.J.,” she said, giving him a big hug. “I owe you.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Jefferson lay in bed, staring up at a ceiling he could not see in the darkened bedroom of the Residence Inn. LaKeesha was due back at work today and Jefferson was not looking forward to facing her.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was almost 5 a.m. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. When that failed, he got up and jumped into the shower. After throwing on some jeans and a T-shirt and gobbling down a bowl of Frosted Flakes, he headed over to the worksite.

  Propping his elbow on the desk and resting his chin in his hand, Jefferson gazed out the window at the approaching sunrise. He planned to act as if the whole thing had never happened when LaKeesha came in. He just hoped the girl didn’t trip. But you never knew what to expect with women.

  Stan walked into the trailer a short time later, carrying a bag of chocolate chip muffins. “You’re here early,” he said. He shuffled over to the coffeemaker and held up the empty carafe. “The first person here is supposed to make the coffee.”

  Jefferson shrugged and continued staring out into the parking lot.

  “You not still trippin’ about that mess with LaKeesha, are you?” Stan asked. “Just snap out of it.” He took a coffee filter from the cabinet. “What you did ain’t no big thang. A man deserves a little something on the side every now and then. That’s the only way I’ve been able to survive fifteen years of marriage.”

  Jefferson scratched his chin. “Man, if I wanted to be out there banging a bunch of babes, I never would’ve gotten married. That gets old after a while.”

  Stan poured two pints of bottled water into the carafe. “You ain’t even got five years under your belt yet,” he said. “Wait until you’ve been on lockdown for ten or fifteen. You’ll start seeing things my way.”

  “I doubt it,” Jefferson said.

  “All right. We’ll see.” Stan turned on the coffeemaker and walked over to his desk. “I just don’t see messing around as any big deal.” He removed a stack of invoices from an accordion folder. “If I find myself in a situation where some woman’s willing to throw me some play, I ain’t turning it down. I’m not some young stud like you. My options are few and far between.”

  Jefferson laughed.

  “And besides, my wife knows the deal. If you asked Maria if I’d ever screwed around, she’d tell you, hell yeah. In fact, I was screwing Maria when I was with my first wife.” Stan looked up wistfully. “Now, I really loved that woman. One of the sweetest, finest chocolate chicks I’d ever laid eyes on. But she didn’t understand how things worked.” He tugged his rising T-shirt back down over his stomach. “Now, Maria? I don’t think she cares what I do as long as I keep it out of her face. She’s a good old-fashioned Filipino who likes catering to her man. That’s why I married her ass.”

  Jefferson walked over to the coffeemaker. “Man, sometimes I wonder what planet you live on.”

  “Dude, I’m just a realist,” Stan said. “And I’ll tell you this, if I was running thangs, I could lower the divorce rate just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Jefferson poured coffee into two cups. “I know I’m going to regret this,” he said, “but go ahead. Let me hear it.”

  “There should be a federal law that a married man should be able to get a piece on the side at least once every three months. That’ll basically wipe out divorce.”

  Jefferson laughed. “And what about married women?” he asked, handing Stan a cup of coffee. “Would the same law apply to them?”

  “Hell nah,” Stan said. “Women don’t even like sex that much after they hit forty-five or fifty. If God had meant for married women to screw around, he would’ve given ’em a penis. I wouldn’t put up with a woman who messed around on me. It just ain’t right.”

  “So if you found out Maria had some dude on the side, you’d leave?”

  “Leave? Hell, no. I ain’t going nowhere. I paid for that house. But I’d pack up her stuff and set it out on the curb. I need to know I can trust my woman. And, for me, keeping her legs closed is the ultimate demonstration of trust.”

  Jefferson took a sip of coffee and stared at his partner in bewilderment. “Man, please make sure you keep your crazy ass views to yourself when my wife’s around.”

  “Like I said, my woman understands me. What I do on the side don’t have nothing to do with her. Even if she had a body like LaKeesha’s, I’d still be out there.”

  “Sure you would, Stan.” Jefferson took a seat at his desk. “I think all the women you brag about having is only in your head.”

  “I’ll have you know I was quite a catch in my day,” Stan said. “I didn’t always have this gut.” Stan looked down and grabbed a handful of his stomach. “So don’t be underestimating my skills with the women. I never told you, but remember that project we had last summer over in Carson?”

  Jefferson nodded.

  “Remember Linda, the short chick with the big ass who sat at the reception desk? I hit that several times.”

  “Man, you’re lying. Why in the hell would she want you?”

  “’Cuz I’m a very charming dude.” Stan grinned. “And ’cuz I paid her rent for six months.”

  Both men laughed heartily.

  “You’re crazy,” Jefferson said. “I don’t know about Filipino women, but my wife’s black and she’s a lawyer. And she ain’t having it.”

  “Hey, man, that was your mistake.” Stan pulled a muffin from the bag on his desk and took a big bite. “Ain’t no way I’d ever hook up with a lawyer. You could bring in the finest lady lawyer you could find and stand her butt naked right here in front of me and I wouldn’t touch her. I swear if that chick who represented my first wife in our divorce walked in here right now, I’d strangle the bitch.”

  “You can’t take out your hatred of her on all lawyers,” Jefferson said.

  “Oh, yes I can,” Stan insisted. “That woman was the demon seed. I think she hates men so much, she’d work for free if she had to. You would’ve thought I’d cheated on her ass.”

  “Well, Vernetta’s nothing like that,” Jefferson said.

  “She’s not a spitef
ul person.”

  “Hah,” Stan said. “You let her ass find out about you and tenderonie, and you’ll see the fangs come out. All women lawyers have ’em. The black ones have an extra set.”

  “I don’t plan on Vernetta ever finding out,” Jefferson said, though he wasn’t completely sure he could keep that from happening. He turned back to the window, his face still plagued with worry.

  Stan got up for another cup of coffee. “Just take my advice and forget about what went down between you and LaKeesha,” he said. “’Cuz there ain’t nothing you can do about it now.”

  Jefferson certainly could not argue with that. They finished their coffee, then headed outside.

  CHAPTER 34

  Shortly after eleven, Jefferson saw LaKeesha’s car parked in the lot and rushed over to the trailer, hoping to talk to her alone. But when he opened the trailer door and their eyes met, he realized he did not know where to begin.

  “Morning,” LaKeesha said, only briefly looking up from the stack of invoices in front of her. Jefferson missed her customary Hey, boss man greeting.

  “Morning,” Jefferson replied. He walked over to a table at the rear of the trailer and spread out a blueprint. He stared down at it, but the lines all blurred together.

  “Is everything cool with us?” Jefferson asked, briefly looking over his shoulder at LaKeesha.

  She had on a clingy, cream-colored dress with black ankle boots. The dress accentuated every curve of her body. Jefferson turned back to the blueprint so he wouldn’t get distracted.

  “Everything’s just fine,” she snapped, but her curt tone said otherwise.

  “I just want you to understand that what happened the other night can’t ever happen again.”

  “You already told me that,” LaKeesha growled. “I heard you the first time.”

  He looked over in her direction, taken aback by her attitude. He had said what he needed to say. Any other communication between them would be strictly work-related. “Did the Anderson Lighting bill get paid?” he asked.

  Instead of answering him, LaKeesha strode over to Jefferson’s desk, snatched a folder from a side drawer, then walked over and slapped it down on the blueprint.

  Why was she acting like such a little bitch? He was just trying to make things right between them. He opened the folder and saw the word paid stamped across the top of an invoice in bold red letters.

  “Where do you want me to order lunch from?” LaKeesha asked, her tone now distantly professional.

  Jefferson felt his anger mounting. “I think you and me should go get some lunch,” he said. “We need to have a little talk.”

  LaKeesha shrugged.

  Jefferson glanced at his watch. “Let’s try the Thai Palace up the street. If we leave now, we can get there before it’s packed with the lunch crowd.”

  “I don’t like Thai food,” LaKeesha said sourly.

  Jefferson’s lips tightened. “Well, I do.”

  “So you’re ordering me to go to lunch with you?”

  “Yeah,” Jefferson fired back. “I am.”

  LaKeesha grabbed her purse from the desk just as Stan walked in. “Hey, Stan, I’ll get to that letter you wanted me to type when I come back,” LaKeesha said. “Jefferson is making me go to lunch with him.”

  Stan gave Jefferson a confused look. “Man, you really think you should be—”

  Jefferson held up his hand. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

  Jefferson and LaKeesha walked the half block to the Thai Palace in silence. Once inside, they were shown to a large booth near the back of the restaurant and given menus.

  “What would you like?” Jefferson asked, after he had finished perusing the menu.

  “I already told you, I don’t like this stuff. I don’t even know what it is.”

  “I’m sure there’s something here you’ll like,” Jefferson said. “You like chicken?”

  “Yeah.” LaKeesha pursed her lips and refused to look at him.

  “You like shrimp?”

  She huffed. “I like all meat.”

  He was about to tell her that shrimp wasn’t meat but decided to let it go. “What vegetables do you like?”

  “Broccoli and green beans.”

  When the waitress returned, Jefferson ordered curry chicken, shrimp fried rice, barbecued chicken, broccoli in oyster sauce and green beans in Thai chili paste.

  “You trying to feed an army or what?” LaKeesha asked as the waitress walked away. Her voice still had a surly undertone to it.

  “The portions aren’t that big,” Jefferson said.

  “Anyway, we can take whatever’s left back for Stan.”

  LaKeesha started fidgeting with her napkin. Jefferson could see the girl’s nipples through her dress. He took a sip of water and looked away.

  “LaKeesha, I wanted to have lunch with you so that—”

  “I know, I know.” She raised her hand, palm out, fingers splayed in an exaggerated sister-girl pose. “What we did was wrong. You’re a married man. I’m too young. Yada, yada, yada.”

  Even though she was really pissing him off, Jefferson felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl. He apparently wasn’t the first older man she had set her sights on.

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he continued.

  “First, I want you to know how much we appreciate the way you help us stay so organized.”

  LaKeesha shrugged and turned her head.

  “You’re the best assistant we’ve ever had. And I mean that.”

  LaKeesha tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. When Jefferson smiled back at her, she cut her eyes at him.

  Jefferson paused to take another sip of water. He could not believe how nervous he felt. She’s just a kid.

  “And you were also nice enough to pick me up at the airport. Those hot toddies and that Sudafed worked because I’m feeling much better. So I want to thank you for that, too.”

  LaKeesha puckered her lips. “Aren’t you going to thank me for that blow job, too?”

  Jefferson felt heat warm the tips of his ears. He wanted to reach across the table, grab the girl by the shoulders and shake her. He had gotten himself into this situation and he would get himself out of it. He had to. If Vernetta found out what had gone down, she would not accept any of his excuses—the whiskey, his clogged sinuses, LaKeesha’s forwardness—as mitigating factors. For Vernetta, infidelity, in any form, warranted the ultimate punishment. But he did not deserve to lose his wife over a five-minute blow job. And he was not about to let that happen.

  “Have you always been such a tease?” Jefferson asked.

  “Pretty much.” LaKeesha smiled.

  “Well, you really don’t have to be. When the right man comes along, you won’t have to throw yourself at him.”

  She tilted her head. “What if you’re the right man?”

  “I’m not.” Jefferson did not try to hide his irritation.

  “And for the record, I want to apologize about everything. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

  “But you did,” LaKeesha said brazenly. “And you enjoyed it. I could tell by the way you were moaning and rubbing my head. I bet your wife never sucked your dick that good.”

  Jefferson bit his lip and drew in a deep breath. This dangerous little girl in a grown woman’s body had set a trap for him and he had walked right into it. He was itching to fire her ass, but he couldn’t be sure that LaKeesha wouldn’t do something vicious, like call up his wife. He needed some time to figure out exactly how to play her.

  The waitress walked up carrying the first two dishes, the fried rice and the barbecue chicken.

  Jefferson pressed his palms flat against the table. “I changed my mind,” he said to the waitress. “We’re taking our food to go.”

  CHAPTER 35

  I stood at the podium facing Judge Lawrence Fetterman and tried hard to concentrate. “There are no material facts in dispute here, Your Honor. My client deserves summary judgment as a matter of law.”


  I had a pounding headache, which hurt more every time I opened my mouth to speak. That would be the last time I overdosed on piña coladas the night before an oral argument.

  The judge leaned over to allow his law clerk to whisper something into his ear. I continued, although I knew it was a total waste of time. Fetterman was one of those judges who made up his mind based on the briefs. The oration of Shakespeare could not convince him otherwise.

  “The plaintiff has no evidence that her gender had anything to do with her manager’s decision not to promote her,” I continued. I glanced down at my notes on the podium and tried to ignore the plaintiff’s attorney, seated to my right, nosily ruffling papers. “I respectfully request that the court grant the defendant’s motion in its entirety.”

  When I finished, I took a seat to the left of the podium. The judge raised his eyes over the rim of his bifocals and peered at my opponent. “Mr. Grant, the undisputed facts here demonstrate that your client was not the victim of sex discrimination. Do you have any evidence to the contrary?”

  Donald Grant, a scrawny white man with a bad dye job, nervously stepped up to the podium. “Your Honor, my client deserves an opportunity to make her case before a jury and I think that—”

  “That wasn’t what I asked you, counselor. Ms. Henderson has demonstrated that your client had some serious performance problems. And over the last three years, her manager promoted two women who held the same position as your client. I just don’t see any discrimination here, Mr. Grant? Do you have any evidence of pretext?”

  “Well, not exactly, but—”

  “Then my decision’s simple,” the judge declared, picking up his gavel. “Summary judgment granted. Defendant is awarded costs.”

  Grant looked stunned. “Your Honor, I—”

  “I’ve ruled. Save it for your appeal, counselor.”

  I happily scooped up my papers from the defense table. Despite the Micronics debacle, at least my other cases were going well. As I headed out of the courtroom, I spotted a sight that caused my air of accomplishment to go stale.