Reckless Disregard Read Free Page B

I—”
    “Call me Parker.” I’ve told her this before.
    “Yeah, sorry. P . . . Parker.” Her voice is tremulous, her shoulders slumped, her eyes downcast. Her anxiety clashes with her brassy appearance. In her mid- to late-twenties, she’s small and voluptuous, with long black hair, creamy skin, dark brown eyes, and a long Greek nose. She’s heavily made up, with ivory foundation, black eyeliner, and eyebrows plucked so thin that they look like tattoos. Maybe they are tattoos. She’s dressed in a form-fitting white sweater and a black pleated skirt too short for an office full of staid lawyers and judges. The four-inch platform heels make her five-four. And then there’s her perfume—drugstore-chain quality, licorice and vanilla and musk, over-applied.
    “I’m wondering if you have any work you need me to do,” she says, shrugging and not bothering to lower her shoulders.
    “You know how slow I’ve been.”
    Instead of leaving, she leans back against the wall and shuts her eyes, like a child after a scolding. Her body seems to accordion into itself. I wait for her to leave, but she just stands there.
    “Is everything OK?” I ask.
    “No, sir, Mr. Stern. I need this job, and since I was hired I’ve only been working part time. They said I’d be working for four people, mostly you, but you’re not busy and Judge Mitchell still keeps using Lucy as his assistant and Ms. Ross has been out on maternity leave, so it’s only Judge Croninger, and she doesn’t have enough work to keep me busy full time, so I think they’re going to lay me off if I don’t have more to do. I’m on probation still.”
    I’m to blame. If I brought in even half the mediations I should, I could keep her busy. I’ve been sitting in my office, waiting for the work to come to me rather than going out into the legal community and aggressively marketing. Yet, here I am, about to conduct research on a potential lawsuit. Nothing in my deal with JADS prevents me from taking on a case as a lawyer, but the company expects me to make mediation my first priority. My laziness and disinterest shouldn’t affect Brenda Sica.
    “Are you working on anything at all?” she asks.
    “I have a possible matter as a lawyer, but it’s not a JADS thing.”
    “I can help you out.”
    “I don’t think it’s fair to you or JADS to—”
    “It’s OK with me. At least I’ll look busy.” She puts her hands together, prayer style. A passive form of advocacy but an effective one. I can easily reimburse JADS for a few hours of her salary. I’m not here for the money anyway—I have other sources of income.
    “How are you at Internet research?” I ask, though I don’t expect much because JADS gives the new hires only three hours training on LexisNexis and Westlaw.
    “Whatever you need, Mr. Stern.”
    “Just don’t tell anyone what you’re working on. I’ll make it right with JADS.”
    She nods and crosses her heart like a child swearing an oath.
    I tell her about Bishop’s potential lawsuit against Poniard and describe the research I need. She keeps nodding her head and brushing away the same strand of hair that falls into her face every third nod. When I finish, I ask if she has questions. She shakes her head and leaves. I suspect that she hasn’t understood half of what I said.
    I spend the next forty-five minutes reading a biography of Edward Bennett Williams, the famous DC trial lawyer who once owned the Washington Redskins. Williams said, “I will defend anyone as long as the client gives me total control of the case and pays up front.” This Poniard character has offered to pay me up front; taking total control of the case will be the hard part.
    There’s a slight rustling in the doorway, fabric against skin. I start and then look up to see Brenda slouching against the doorjamb, arms folded, papers dangling from one hand. She has a look of repose, almost ennui, as if she’s been watching me for a long time.
    “What is it?” I ask,