mischievous twist. "I sort of liked that part."
"Ditch it."
"I can't do that."
"Sure you can, Sis."
Her smile was gone now. "I won't. It's illegal."
In a sudden surge of anger, Howard ripped the offending section from the tape and tore it into tiny pieces. He never would have dared this with any other licensed court stenographer, but Lydia was his sister, and big brothers could take certain liberties with little sisters. Which was the main reason he used her. Her name had been Chambers since her wedding four years ago, so no one was the wiser.
He tossed the remains in the air and they fluttered to the floor in a confetti flurry.
Lydia's lips trembled. "I hate you! You're just like Dad!"
"Don't say that!"
"It's true! You're just a 'Daddy Shoog' with a law degree!"
"Shut up! " Howard quickly closed the door to the outer office. "I told you never to mention him around here!"
He prayed none of the secretaries had heard. One of them might get to thinking and might make the connection. She might find out that Lenny Winter, the Fifties d-j known as "Daddy Shoog," was really Leonard Weinstein, Howard's father. And then it wouldn't be long before it was all over Manhattan: Howard Weinstein was the son of that fat balding guy doing the twist and shilling his "One Mo' Once Golden Oldies" albums like Ginsu knives ( "But wait! There's more!" ) on late night tv commercials.
God! He'd never be able to maintain credibility at another deposition, let alone conduct a court case.
He had made every effort to avoid even a faint resemblance to his father: He'd grown a thick, black mustache, he took care of his hair, combing in a style his father had never used when he had a full head of it, and he kept his body trim and hard. No one would ever guess he was the son of Daddy Shoog.
Had to hand it to the old jerk, though. He was really cleaning up on those doo-wop retreads, especially since he was forgoing the inconvenience of paying royalties to the original artists.
"Too bad you inherited Dad's ethics instead of his personality. The only reason I come around is because I'm family. You've got no friends. Your wife dumped you, you've–"
" Your marriage didn't last too long either, Miss Holier Than Thou."
"True, but I'm the one who ended it, not Hal. You got dumped."
"Elise didn't dump me! I dumped her! "
And did a damn fine job of it, too. Left her without a pot to pee in. God, had he been glad to be rid of her! Three endless years of her nagging, "You're never home! I feel like a widow!" Blah-blah-blah. He'd taught her the folly of suing a lawyer for divorce.
"So what have you got, Howie? You've got your big law practice and that's it!"
"And that's plenty!" She pulled this shit on him every time they argued. Really liked to twist the knife. "I'm just thirty-two and already I'm a legend in this town! A fucking legend! "
"And what are you doing after lunch, Mr. Legend? Going down to St. Vincent's to scrape up another client?"
"Hey! My clients are shitbums. You think I don't know that? I know it. Damn , do I know it! But they've been injured and they've got a legal right to maximum recovery under the law! It's my duty–"
"Save it for the jury or the newspapers, Howie," Lydia said. Her voice sounded tired, disgusted. She picked up her steno gear and headed for the door. "You and Dad – you make me ashamed."
And then she was gone.
Howard left the files on the desk and went into his private office. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair as he gazed out at Manhattan's midtown spires. What was wrong with Lydia? Didn't she understand? The malpractice field was a gold mine. There were million-dollar clients out there who hadn't the vaguest inkling what they were worth. And if he didn't find them, somebody else would!
He'd come a long way. Started out in general practice, then sniffed the possibilities in liability law. Advertising on tv had brought him a horde of new clients, but all of them combined hadn't equaled the take
"Ditch it."
"I can't do that."
"Sure you can, Sis."
Her smile was gone now. "I won't. It's illegal."
In a sudden surge of anger, Howard ripped the offending section from the tape and tore it into tiny pieces. He never would have dared this with any other licensed court stenographer, but Lydia was his sister, and big brothers could take certain liberties with little sisters. Which was the main reason he used her. Her name had been Chambers since her wedding four years ago, so no one was the wiser.
He tossed the remains in the air and they fluttered to the floor in a confetti flurry.
Lydia's lips trembled. "I hate you! You're just like Dad!"
"Don't say that!"
"It's true! You're just a 'Daddy Shoog' with a law degree!"
"Shut up! " Howard quickly closed the door to the outer office. "I told you never to mention him around here!"
He prayed none of the secretaries had heard. One of them might get to thinking and might make the connection. She might find out that Lenny Winter, the Fifties d-j known as "Daddy Shoog," was really Leonard Weinstein, Howard's father. And then it wouldn't be long before it was all over Manhattan: Howard Weinstein was the son of that fat balding guy doing the twist and shilling his "One Mo' Once Golden Oldies" albums like Ginsu knives ( "But wait! There's more!" ) on late night tv commercials.
God! He'd never be able to maintain credibility at another deposition, let alone conduct a court case.
He had made every effort to avoid even a faint resemblance to his father: He'd grown a thick, black mustache, he took care of his hair, combing in a style his father had never used when he had a full head of it, and he kept his body trim and hard. No one would ever guess he was the son of Daddy Shoog.
Had to hand it to the old jerk, though. He was really cleaning up on those doo-wop retreads, especially since he was forgoing the inconvenience of paying royalties to the original artists.
"Too bad you inherited Dad's ethics instead of his personality. The only reason I come around is because I'm family. You've got no friends. Your wife dumped you, you've–"
" Your marriage didn't last too long either, Miss Holier Than Thou."
"True, but I'm the one who ended it, not Hal. You got dumped."
"Elise didn't dump me! I dumped her! "
And did a damn fine job of it, too. Left her without a pot to pee in. God, had he been glad to be rid of her! Three endless years of her nagging, "You're never home! I feel like a widow!" Blah-blah-blah. He'd taught her the folly of suing a lawyer for divorce.
"So what have you got, Howie? You've got your big law practice and that's it!"
"And that's plenty!" She pulled this shit on him every time they argued. Really liked to twist the knife. "I'm just thirty-two and already I'm a legend in this town! A fucking legend! "
"And what are you doing after lunch, Mr. Legend? Going down to St. Vincent's to scrape up another client?"
"Hey! My clients are shitbums. You think I don't know that? I know it. Damn , do I know it! But they've been injured and they've got a legal right to maximum recovery under the law! It's my duty–"
"Save it for the jury or the newspapers, Howie," Lydia said. Her voice sounded tired, disgusted. She picked up her steno gear and headed for the door. "You and Dad – you make me ashamed."
And then she was gone.
Howard left the files on the desk and went into his private office. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair as he gazed out at Manhattan's midtown spires. What was wrong with Lydia? Didn't she understand? The malpractice field was a gold mine. There were million-dollar clients out there who hadn't the vaguest inkling what they were worth. And if he didn't find them, somebody else would!
He'd come a long way. Started out in general practice, then sniffed the possibilities in liability law. Advertising on tv had brought him a horde of new clients, but all of them combined hadn't equaled the take
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