“You have to go to law school to be a secretary in a law office?”
“No. I flunked out of law school, and Reggie gave me a job. It’s fun, most of the time.”
“Where’d you meet Reggie?”
“It’s a long story. We were friends in law school. We’ve been friends for a long time. She’ll probably tell you about it when you meet Momma Love.”
“Momma who?”
“Momma Love. She hasn’t told you about Momma Love?”
“No.”
“Momma Love is Reggie’s mother. They live together, and she loves to cook for the kids Reggie represents. She fixes inside-out ravioli and spinach lasagna and all sorts of delicious Italian food. Everyone loves it.”
After two days of doughnuts and green Jell-O, the mention of thick, cheesy dishes cooked at someone’s home was terribly inviting. “When do you think I might meet Momma Love?”
“I don’t know. Reggie takes most of her clients home, especially the younger ones.”
“Does she have any kids?”
“Two, but they’re grown and live away.”
“Where does Momma Love live?”
“In midtown, not far from here. It’s an old house she’s owned for years. In fact, it’s the house Reggie grew up in.”
The phone rang. Clint took the message and returned to his typewriter. Mark watched intently.
“How’d you learn to type so fast?”
The typing stopped, and he slowly turned and looked at Mark. He smiled, and said, “In high school. I had this teacher who was like a drill sergeant. We hated her, but she made us learn. Can you type?”
“A little. I’ve had three years of computer at school.”
Clint pointed to his Apple next to the typewriter. “We’ve got all sorts of computers around here.”
Mark glanced at it, but was not impressed. Everybody had computers. “So how’d you get to be a secretary?”
“It wasn’t planned. When Reggie finished law school, she didn’t want to work for anybody, so she opened this office. It was about four years ago. She needed a secretary, and I volunteered. Have you seen a male secretary before?”
“No. Didn’t know men could be secretaries. How’s the money?”
Clint chuckled at this. “It’s okay. If Reggie has a good month, then I have a good month. We’re sort of like partners.”
“Does she make a lot of money?”
“Not really. She doesn’t want a lot of money. A few years ago she was married to a doctor, and they had a big house and lots of money. Everything went to hell, and she blames the money for most of it. She’ll probably tell you about it. She’s very honest about her life.”
“She’s a lawyer and she doesn’t want money?”
“Unusual, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of lawyer shows on television, and all they do is talk about money. Sex and money.”
The phone rang. It was a judge, and Clint got real nice and chatted with him for five minutes. He hung up and returned to his typing. As he reached full speed, Mark asked, “Who’s that woman in there?”
Clint stopped, stared at the keys, and slowly turned around. His chair squeaked. He forced a quick smile. “In there with Reggie?”
“Yeah.”
“Norma Thrash.”
“What’s her problem?”
“She’s got a bunch of them, really. She’s in the middle of a nasty divorce. Husband’s a real jerk.”
Mark was curious about how much Clint knew. “Does he beat her up?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered slowly.
“Do they have kids and all?”
“Two. I really can’t say much about it. It’s confidential, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But you probably know everything, don’t you? I mean, after all, you type it up.”
“I know most of what goes on. Sure. But Reggie doesn’t tell me everything. For example, I have no idea what you’ve told her. I assume it’s pretty serious, but she’ll keep it to herself. I’ve read the newspaper. I’ve seen the FBI and Mr. Foltrigg, but I don’t know the details.”
This was exactly what Mark wanted to hear. “Do you know Robert Hackstraw? They call him Hack.”
“He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He represented my mother in her divorce a couple of years ago. A real moron.”
“You weren’t impressed with her lawyer?”
“I hated Hack. He treated us like dirt. We’d go to his office and wait for two hours. Then he’d talk to us for ten minutes, and tell us he was in a big hurry, had to get to court because he was so important. I tried to convince Mom to get another lawyer, but she was too stressed out.”
“Did it go to trial?”
“Yeah. My ex-father thought he should get one kid, didn’t really care which one but he preferred Ricky ’cause he knew I hated him, so he hired a lawyer, and for two days my mother and my father trashed each other in court. They tried to prove each other was unfit. Hack was a complete fool in the courtroom, but my ex-father’s lawyer was even worse. The judge hated both lawyers, and said he wasn’t about to separate me and Ricky. I asked him if I could testify. He thought about it during lunch on the second day, and decided he wanted to hear what I had to say. I had asked Hack the same question, and he said something smart, like I was too young and dumb to testify.”
“But you testified.”
“Yeah, for three hours.”
“How’d it go?”
“I was pretty good, really. I just told about the beatings, the bruises, the stitches. I told him how much I hated my father. The judge almost cried.”
“And it worked?”
“Yeah. My father wanted some visitation rights, and I spent a lot of time explaining to the judge that I had no desire to ever see the man again once the trial was over. And, that Ricky was terrified of him. So the judge not only cut off all visitation, but also told my father to stay away from us.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“No. But I will one day. When I grow up, we’ll catch him somewhere, me and Ricky, and we’ll beat the living hell out of him. Bruise for bruise. Stitch for stitch. We talk about it all the time.”
Clint was no longer bored with this little conversation. He listened to every word. The kid was so casual about his plans for beating his father. “You might go to jail.”
“He didn’t go to jail when he beat us. He didn’t go to jail when he stripped my mother naked and threw her in the street with blood all over her. That’s when I hit him with the baseball bat.”
“You what?”
“He was drinking one night at home, and we could tell he was about to get out of hand. We could always tell. Then he left to buy more beer. I ran down the street and borrowed an aluminum T-ball bat from Michael Moss. I hid it under my bed, and I remember praying for a good car wreck so he wouldn’t come home. But he did. Mom was in their bedroom, hoping he would just pass out, which he did all the time. Ricky and I stayed in our room, waiting for the explosion.”
The phone rang again, and Clint quickly took the message and returned to the story.
“About an hour later there was all this yelling and cussing. The trailer was shaking. We locked the door. Ricky was under the bed, crying. Then Mom started yelling for me. I was seven years old, and Mom wanted me to rescue her. He was just beating the hell out of her, throwing her around, kicking her, ripping her shirt off, calling her a whore and a slut. I didn’t even know what those words meant. I walked to the kitchen. I guess I was too scared to move. He saw me and threw a beer can at me. She tried to run outside, but he caught her and tore her pants off. God, he was hitting her so hard. Then he ripped off her underwear. Her lip was busted and there was blood everywhere. He threw her outside, completely naked, and dragged her into the street where, of course, the neighbors were watching. Then he laughed at her, and left her lying there. It was horrible.”