Train Me

by Mia Ford

  “Christ, Sam, what the fuck were you thinking?” When Phyllis got angry her face flushed bright red and the little veins in her neck popped out. I glanced at her for a second, then quickly looked back at the paper. Yep. She was pissed.

  “This is bullshit,” I said, dropping the paper on the desk. “Nobody reads this shit.”

  “Everyone reads this shit?” she said incredulously. “Are you denying that it was you?”

  “No, I’m not denying it,” I said with a shrug. “It was actually closer to four A.M. when I left and I was wearing shoes. I lost my shirt and jacket at the party, not my shoes.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sam!” Phyllis slapped her palms on the desk. “What the fuck were you doing at that club at four in the morning?”

  “A client invited me,” I said with a shrug. “You’re always talking about how we should build relationships with our clients to increase business. That’s all I was doing.”

  She cut her eyes at me. “And was this client male or female?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Male or female?”

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I could feel a headache building behind my eyes. “Fine. Female. Belinda Carson. I’m handling her divorce.”

  “And did you fuck her?”

  Of course, I fucked her, but I didn’t want to admit it to Phyllis. I decided to fight fire with fire. I worked up my best frown and raised my voice a notch. “Phyllis, seriously, why the fuck are we talking about this?”

  She huffed at me. “Because it’s a sex club, Sam! And she’s your fucking client! And God only knows what diseases are floating around that place. It’s disgusting!”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, leaning forward on my elbows to smirk at her. “Oh, my god, Phyllis, you’ve been in Fleur D’Amour?” I gave her a sideways glance. “You are such a hypocritical slut.”

  “That’s not the point,” she said, lifting her chin to stare down her nose at me.

  “Then what is the point?” I asked, tossing the paper on the desk.

  “The point is I should never have agreed to name the firm Collins Bangham & Goode.” The firm was named after the three original partners: Sam Collins, Barry Bangham, and Phyllis Goode. We drew straws to determine the order of the names.

  “What’s the name of the firm got to do with any of this?”

  Phyllis leaned into the desk and picked up the paper and shook it at me. “You read it. They called us Collins Bangs ‘em Good. And it’s not just Page Six that will be calling us that now. That’s what the other firms will start calling us. It’s all over Twitter this morning and I’m sure Howard Stern will pick it up. Christ, Sam, this is so fucking embarrassing.”

  I had to smile at that one. “Is that really so bad? I think it’s kind of catchy. Maybe we could run a few TV ads with me standing behind you bent over with my hands on your hips like the old days. Think of the business we’d attract.”

  “It’s not funny, Sam,” she roared, falling back in the chair with her fists in the air. “You are turning this firm into a mockery, goddammit, and I won’t have it. I’ve worked too long and hard to make this firm one of the top ten in the city. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you and that fat fuck drive it in the ground.”

  “You need to relax,” I said with a sigh. “And stop calling Barry a fat fuck.”

  “He is a fat fuck,” she said quietly. I stared at her until she broke. She gave me a dismissive wave. “Fine, I’ll stop calling him that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is one. And he’s an even bigger embarrassment to the firm than you are, if that’s even possible.”

  “No, he’s not,” I said without realizing the implication of my words. “Look, Phyl, you just need to chill out. What’s got you so upset this morning?”

  “I just told you!’ She wadded the newspaper into a ball and threw it across the room. “It doesn’t matter which of you is the biggest fuckup. You’re both making us look like morons. Christ, I’m amazed we haven’t been sued for malpractice.”

  That one made me frown. Barry and I were a lot of things, but we were not incompetent. Nor would we allow our after-hours exploits to affect the work. Even shitfaced drunk or with our cocks buried in the backsides of a couple of strippers we could out-lawyer most of the assholes in the city.

  I swallowed my anger and asked, “Why would we be sued for malpractice? We win 95% of the cases we take on.”

  “Because Barry can’t stop drinking and you can’t keep your cock out of our clients!” she said. She balled her fingers into tight fists again and shook them at me, as if she was squeezing my neck. “Sam, you can have any woman you want. Why do you have to screw your clients? And every female in this firm?”

  “I would rather screw you,” I said playfully with a nostalgic smile. “But it seems those days are long past.”

  “Sam, really…”

  I softened my voice. “It’s been a while since you and I spent the night together, Phyl. Don’t you miss it?”

  She blinked at me with wariness in her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe you just need to get laid.”

  “Fuck you, Sam.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” I said, thrusting my hands at her. I gave her my best smile. “Maybe fucking me would lighten you the fuck up.”

  She started to say something, then blew out her cheeks and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. She squeezed her eyes tight and spoke quietly.

  “Sam, if things don’t change I’m out.”

  Now it was my turn to blink like a slot machine. I stumbled over my words. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  She brought her eyes up to meet mine. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. I’d never seen Phyllis cry, not in twenty years.

  She said, “I mean it. I can’t partner with you and that fat… Barry… if you guys insist on doing everything possible to destroy the reputation of this firm.”

  It was at that moment that I realized how serious she was. She was talking about walking away from a firm that billed a hundred-million-dollars in revenue last year alone. We had fifty junior partners and fifty associates all billing clients by the hour. She, Barry and I were rich beyond imagination as a result of our efforts over the last fifteen years. And more to the point, the three of us were known as three of the top lawyers in the country. Why the fuck would she want to bail on that? Then I realized the answer: because her partners acted like fucking idiots. We were an embarrassment to her and the firm, and it wasn’t fair. She was right. She had worked too long and hard to let us fuck that up. Shit. I didn’t blame her for being mad.

  “Look,” I said quietly, seriously. “I understand where you’re coming from. What if I promise to clean up my act and keep the firm’s name out of the paper?”

  “And keep your cock out of the clients and staff?”

  I sucked in a quick breath. I wasn’t counting on having to make that promise, but if it kept her from leaving the firm I would certainly try. I’d just have to find other wells to tap that were not associated with the firm.

  “Yes, I will do my absolute best to keep my cock out of the clients and staff.” I held up three fingers like a good Boy Scout. “And I’ll make Barry behave himself, at least in public.”

  She snorted at me. “Really? Do you think you have any control over that fat fuck?”

  It was a good question, and one I didn’t really have a firm answer to. When the three of us were at Harvard Law I could control Barry because he counted on me to get him drunk and get him laid. He was a chubby kid from Wisconsin who had never even seen a pussy until he met me and I hooked him up with a girl I knew would fuck anybody for twenty bucks. The problem was Barry fell in love with her and she broke his heart, which led to his first sip of whiskey, which led to other things. Now, if you cut Barry he would bleed Kentucky Bourbon.

  One of the things that made us so successful from the beginning
was that each of us specialized in a particular area of law, so we could diversify our pool of clients. I handled mostly high-priced divorces, Phyllis was a criminal defense attorney, and Barry Bangham was one of the best corporate attorneys in the business. His large corporate clients brought in half of the firm’s revenue. He was a fat fuck, but a fat fuck who made the cash registers ring.

  The trick to keeping Barry happy and productive was keeping Barry clean and sober. He’d never let his drinking affect a case, but he was often seen in public shitfaced or caught doing something he shouldn’t; like the time the police found him drunk and naked sitting on the ledge outside of his penthouse apartment. The scene of firemen and cops pulling him off the ledge had been broadcast live on the news, then went viral. Barry became a laughing stock, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Phyllis, on the other hand, was apoplectic. I was just concerned for my friend.

  The police took him in for a seventy-two-hour mental evaluation hold, but I managed to get him released into my custody the next day. I asked him if he was suicidal and he said, “No, I just wanted some fresh air.”

  “I can deal with Barry,” I said, hoping that I sounded far more convincing than I felt. She gave me a stony look. I knew exactly what she was going to say.

  “You can barely control yourself, Sam. How do you expect to control that fat fuck?”

  “Because that fat fuck is also my best friend and our partner who will do what’s right for this firm,” I said, a little irritated at her condescending tone. “We all started this firm together and we’ve all contributed to its growth over the years. Fine, Barry and I have yet to grow up and act like responsible adults, but we are great lawyers, Phyl. Regardless of what we do out of the office, we are great fucking lawyers.”

  “Yes, you are great fucking lawyers!” she said, hands in the air. “I just want you to act like it. At least in public!”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll talk to Barry. I promise. The next time you see either of our names in the paper it will be our obituaries.”

  She looked down her nose at me for a moment, her eyes narrow as she pondered her next words. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head.

  “Okay, but this is the last time we have this conversation. If you two don’t start acting like professionals, I will resign and take my clients with me.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. I leaned forward on my elbows and held out my hands. “So, we good?”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away. I got the feeling there was more to her mood than just me and Barry getting on her nerves.

  “What is it, Phyl?” I asked, concerned. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, sighing the words. Her posture eased as the anger seemed to drain from her body, but I could sense that something else was troubling her. She leaned back in the chair and stared out the wall of windows behind me. We were on the thirtieth floor with an excellent view of Central Park.

  “No, you’re not fine. Come on, Phyl. I know you better than anyone. I can tell when something’s bothering you. What’s wrong?”

  She gave me a little shrug and pretended to study her nails. She said, “The new associates start today.”

  Ah, so that was the real reason she was in such a shitty mood. My antics might have caused a little storm, but the coming of the new associates turned it into a hurricane.

  Each year the firm cherry picked and hired seven or eight of the top graduates from Harvard Law School, our alma mater, and a few other choice schools if the candidate was especially bright.

  The new associates were always full of energy and passion, willing to work ungodly hours in the hopes that one day they might become gods themselves.

  If they worked their asses off they might make junior partner in five or six years, then, if they started reeling in high-dollar clients and billing millions of dollars, we would consider them for partner.

  We had ten full-fledged partners, though Phyllis, Barry, and I would always be the primary partners with our names alone on the masthead and a higher percentage of the revenue going into our pockets.

  What bothered Phyllis, and helped to explain her mood, was that some of the associates would be attractive females chosen as much for their looks as their brains – at least the ones the male partners typically chose. And that was her problem. Young, attractive women made Phyllis feel old and unattractive, which was hardly the case. It was all in her head. Sometimes I thought she missed the younger Phyllis even more than I did, and I missed her a lot.

  “Ah, so the fresh meat comes today and you’re feeling a little bit like day-old hamburger,” I said, giving her a playful look. “Is that what’s really bothering you, Miss Goode?”

  She bit her bottom lip and stared past me again, her eyes watching the clouds roll by in the blue sky. “I never thought I’d get old, Sam,” she said quietly. “I always thought that I would be young and attractive and desirable forever. Then I look in the mirror every morning and wonder where that girl went.”

  “Christ, Phyl, you’re not old,” I said, reaching across the desk to take her hand. “You’re a beautiful, vibrant woman. I would take you over some young twenty-something in a heartbeat. You know that. Right? I have had trouble keeping my hands off you since the night we met. Fuck, say the word and I’ll push everything off this desk and hammer it to you right this second.”

  “It’s nice of you to say,” she said, brushing a knuckle under her nose. “I just don’t feel young and attractive these days.”

  “Well, you should. Because you are.”

  She gazed into my eyes and for the first time in a long while I saw her hard, outer shell beginning to crack. The old Phyllis was trying to break through, like a newborn bird pecking its way from within its shell.

  Her eyes softened. Her voice went low. The air between us filled with heat and electricity. She softly asked, “Do you still think I’m attractive, Sam?”

  I could feel my cock getting stiff in my pants as the old Phyllis emerged. I licked my lips and forced myself to breathe. “I think you are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. You know that.”

  She gave me a smile, then lifted her ass off the chair and tugged up the hem of her pencil skirt to show me that she was not wearing panties. She spread her legs wide. My mouth watered as my eyes drifted to the familiar patch of red curls that grew above her amazing cunt. Her pussy lips glistened with her juices. She rolled the tip of her finger over her clit and moaned.

  “You still want to fuck me, Sam?”

  “All the fucking time.”

  She gave me a dreamy look and slowly trailed her tongue across her top lip.

  She said, “Lock the door and prove it.”

  I did not hesitate to obey.

  Abbie Walsh

  I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror the previous tenant had screwed into the wall behind the closet door and felt a familiar sense of panic starting to bubble in my stomach.

  I knew the half bowl of Ramen noodles I’d had for dinner the night before would soon be bubbling back up. I always puked my guts out when I was nervous, which was why I barely ate anything last night and nothing at all this morning. I was gonna hurl, no doubt about it, because I couldn’t remember ever being more nervous than I was at that moment.

  “You look great, Abs,” Tiffany said, sitting cross-legged on my bed as she stuffed her mouth with Frosted Flakes and a sliced banana. She was still in her panties and bra, her dark skin in sharp contrast to the white undies, seemingly unworried that she had to be dressed and out the door in less than an hour. Tiff had been my best friend forever, my roommate in college, and now my roommate again in The Big Apple. And as of today, she was my fellow associate at the prestigious New York law firm of Collins Bangham & Goode.

  I slipped my feet into a pair of sensible black shoes with low heels and turned from side to side, grimacing at my reflection. I had chosen a pair of dark gray slacks and matching jacket with a black top underneath for my first day as at CBG. My
long, red hair was pulled back into a tight bun and I’d kept the makeup modest. If I’d had a pair of thick glasses, I’d look like a librarian. Or some macho TV cop’s lesbian sidekick.

  “Are you sure this doesn’t make me look… I don’t know…frumpy?” I asked, turning my back to the mirror and glancing over my shoulder to check out my ass in the mirror, which looked okay I guess. “I mean, I feel… frumpy.”

  “So, wear the jacket without the shirt,” Tiff said, grinning as she chewed. “Put on a pushup bra and show off those great tits of yours, girl. Trust me, the male partners will fucking love it. No better way to make junior partner at Collin Bangs ‘em Good than on your back.”

  I blinked at her. “I’m sorry, what did you call it?”

  Tiff grinned and wiggled her eyebrows playfully. Collins Bangs ‘em Good,” she said, giggling. “It’s the firm’s new nickname.”

  I turned away from the mirror and leaned against the dresser with my hand over my stomach. My stomach gurgled and churned beneath my hand. This volcano was about to blow.

  I asked, “Why is it called that?”

  Tiff brought the bowl to her lips and tilted it to drink the milk left from the cereal. She smacked her lips and smiled. “Well, the founding partners’ names are Sam Collins, Barry Bangham, and Phyllis Goode. And Mr. Collins, who is a total hunk, by the way, has a hard time keeping his reportedly-large cock in his pants and his name out of the papers. He was seen coming out of a sex club over the weekend and the Page Six reporter came up with ‘Collins Bangs ‘em Good’. It’s all over social media this morning. Classic, huh?”

  “That’s awful,” I said with a frown. “Jesus, Tiff, what have I gotten myself into?”

  She rolled off the bed and put a hand on my arm. “Relax, Abs,” she said with a wink. “That’s one benefit of having a bestie who graduated a year ahead of you. I’ve been at CBG for a year now. I know which partners to avoid and which partners to cozy up to. You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead.”