The Lawyer: A Novel

By Charlotte Lewis

Attorneys may well be the most maligned professional group on the planet. However, there are a few attorneys who actually deserve some or all of the jokes told. This is a story about one of those 'deserving' attorneys-who, for some reason, preferred to be called a lawyer. Franklin Chase had an ego aout the size of the State of Arizona. He believed himself to be the biggest, most intelligent attorney in the Town of Payson. His secretary, Margie Bloom, knew the true man. She was aware of his many and various shortcomings. Margie often said that Frank would bend the law so far she was afraid he'd break it. It was not until she was closing the office for good that she discovered he had broken the law, several times.

Franklin Chase believed also that he was 'God's gift to woman' and frequently made untoward, unwanted advances to women he found attractive. One of those women was Merijean Watson. Merijean moved to Payson when she inherited a house from her Uncle Clarence. She proved to be a worthy adversary in Frank's little games and that upset the lawyer to lengths unimagined by the normal man. This story also tells that tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493189564

Charlotte Lewis

Charlotte Lewis, a retired accountant, lives in Southeast Kansas. Charlotte graduated from University of Southern California with a major in elementary education and a minor in music. Since retirement, she has self-published several novels and has published in Reminisce Magazine, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Hackathon Short Stories, Readers Digest Online, and Mused – an online journal. There's more to learn at charlottelewisonline.com

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Copyright © 2014 by Charlotte Lewis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/31/2014

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Books by Charlotte Lewis

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Anna

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Eleanor

Bethany

The House

Eve

Sam

Mystery of the Mountain Cabin

The Lawyer

Abigail Stone Mysteries

Bump

The Letters

Lily

The Hedge

Children’s Stories

The Impetuous Journey of Harry Fisher, CAT

"That’s a nasty bunch of customers you’ve got

to dispose of this morning, Your Honor,"

said the new court stenographer.

The veteran judge barely glanced up from the

documents he was reading.

"You’re looking at the wrong bunch, my dear.

Those are the lawyers."

The Lawyer Joke Book      Sid Berhman

Excerpt from Disorder in the Court, Charles M Sevilla.

*

Payson, Arizona was a very small town when I moved there in the early 1980s. The city limits sign indicated 5,000 population, 5,200 feet elevation. Or, maybe it was the other way around. I don’t honestly remember. It’s been a lot of years since then. I’ll be sixty next year. You know, that twilight zone between AARP and Social Security. My name is Merijean Watson and, lately, I’ve been dreaming about Payson and the people and things that happened while I lived there. Especially the first few years I lived there. Some days I pretend that most of it was nothing more than a bad dream. But I know better. Perhaps if I can write it all down, I can quit dreaming about it. Some of the dreams aren’t too pleasant. And perhaps too, they won’t seem so unpleasant if I can look at things from a different point of view. I know Payson has changed a lot; perhaps if I can concentrate on the changes that may help my point of view. But I realize that either way, I need to face the realities of my early days in Payson.

Going to Payson to live was not a choice I made easily. Willingly, yes, but not easily. In fact now, all these years later as I look back on the whole thing, I can scarcely believe I agreed to it. Was I that bored? I don’t remember. But I do remember Payson—very well.

My Uncle Clarence died and left me a house in Payson… with strings attached. I had to live in the house for one full year. After a confirmed occupancy of at least 350 consecutive days, the title to the house would be mine, free and clear. If I chose not to live in the house, it would pass to his only other living relative, his son, my cousin, Randy.

Randy was not only a piss ant at that time but also a very disagreeable person. He believed his high priced education and his superior brain made him something special. Believe me. It didn’t. And he absolutely did not want the house in Payson. I think he would have paid me to stay in Payson for a year if I had hesitated in any way.

Randy could be a nice guy but you never wanted to count on it. Randy was sent away to boarding school in his pre-teens. Or maybe it was military school. Whatever it was, we didn’t spend much of our growing up years together. We wrote and sometimes Randy would call me, but we had little face-to-face time. We are both only children and there were times that seemed to be our only bond. We were very close in age and that was a good thing.

Uncle Clarence left everything to Randy except the house and that would revert to him if I forfeited or declined the offer. And it was as much an offer as a bequest. I considered it an offer and Uncle Clarence’s attorney conceded it really was. If I didn’t take the house, my share of the estate would be $25,000. That was a lot of money back then but not enough to convince me a house paid for wasn’t better.

Uncle Clarence was my father’s only brother. He always worried that I would waste away in the Valley of the Sinus, as he called Phoenix, and never do anything. How living in Payson would prevent that—I’ve never figured. After the reading of the will, I had a long talk with Uncle Clarence’s attorney. The house had been assessed at a reasonably high value. It was situated on three city lots located on a ridge overlooking old town Payson. The Winchester Saloon, Oxbow Inn, the post office, Fred Friendly’s Tires and the south entrance to town were all visible from the back deck of the house. To the west you could see the new golf course. The view was fantastic and with large decks on two sides of the house, you could sit for hours and enjoy the scenery. I never understood Randy’s dislike for the house.

If I lived there for a year, I would have title to the house and could sell it or do whatever I wanted to do with it. Randy sneered when the bequest was read. He hated Payson and he hated that house. Or at least, that’s what he said. He thought I was getting the short end of the stick, so to speak. He didn’t know about the $25,000 option. As I was working part-time for a law firm in Phoenix, leaving my job would be no great shakes. Providing, of course, I could find another part-time job in Payson. Or even a full-time job. While there would be no rent, there were still minor things like utilities and eating daily and taxes.

The attorney said I had a month to make up my mind but he’d prefer I’d decide sooner. After some intense questioning on my part, he finally admitted there was no deadline but he’d like to get the estate settled in a reasonable time. He figured it’d take only a year to clear probate court—if I accepted or declined the offer right away. Uncle Clarence had a lot of estate to clear.

I had taken a few days off for the funeral and reading of the will. To me, that meant there was no time like the present to check out things in Payson.

I drove to Payson the next morning. It was a nice town. Nothing to shout about. I drove through town twice which took maybe five minutes each way just putt-putt-putting along. The second go round, I stopped at the newspaper office to buy a paper. I sat in the car and read the classifieds. There were very few. I wasn’t trained to apply for even the few, except for an ad for a part-time position at the newspaper. I went back into the office and asked for a job application.

I could answer yes to all the questions: Do you type? Can you answer a telephone? Have you ever been a receptionist? How’s your spelling, good? All these came from the elderly lady at the front desk before she gave me the application. When I had said, yes, yes, yes, she suggested I sit down right then and fill it out. So, I did. I found out later that she was the proof reader for the paper and just filling in at the front desk. Apparently she wasn’t too keen on that responsibility.

When I returned the completed application to her, she looked it over and asked me to wait. She left the desk. I looked around and wondered what the heck was going on. There weren’t any people in the office that I could see. I looked at the paper again. It’s a weekly. No wonder there wasn’t a lot of activity. It was dated today. When would the crush for the next issue begin? Before I had a chance to mull that over a man came out, from the door the old lady had entered, his right hand extended.

I’m Jack Pearce, editor of this fine newspaper. I understand you are interested in working for me.

I stood up and shook his hand. Yes, Sir. I guess I am. I’ve just inherited a house in Payson and need to find a job so I might be able to live in it.

He scratched his head and looked very thoughtful. Clarence Watson’s house?

I nodded.

I’ll be damned. He said his niece would be moving up but I figured she’d be—well, never mind. Come into the office and let’s see if we can make a deal.

An hour later I left—employed twenty-five hours a week. Actually there were two newspapers published in that office; both weeklies. I told Mr. Pearce I would go back to Phoenix, give my week’s notice and be ready to start work the following week. He was delighted. So was I. Believe it or not, the pay was better than I was making in the big city. For the same amount of hours.

Now all I had to do was locate the house. I went back into the newspaper office and asked if they had a map of the town I could have. Of course, they did.

When I pulled into the driveway of the house, I could not believe what I saw. What a beautiful house! It was painted red, not a barn red, but red with overtones of brown. The decks enchanted me. I spent half an hour on the long, back deck just looking at the town below. There were hummingbirds buzzing around looking for food. There wasn’t much vegetation—a peach tree and an apple tree in the front yard, one on either side of the front door, both barely in leaf. That was about it as far as vegetation went. The house across the street had a hedge with bright red berries dangling. The hummers didn’t seem too interested in it. As I thought red was their trigger, something must be wrong with the berries. Maybe they’re a poison to birds or something. It was much later I found that was true.

The key ring for the house had a garage key, front door and back door keys and a tag with the address on it. I entered through the front door although it appeared to me that the walkways to the street and driveway looked seldom used. The walkway leading to the back deck, the one I had just been on, appeared to be used more often. The house was a bit stuffy so I left the front door open. There was a full screen door so I wouldn’t be allowing insects into the house.

There were two huge picture windows on the west end of the house—living and dining room. I opened the back door and left it open. It had a screened window but no full screen door as in the front. The door led directly to the deck where I had just been.

I went through the house counting rooms as I went. A large living room. A dining room and a smaller room, maybe it was just a sitting room, were off the kitchen at opposite ends. A free standing fireplace was in corner of the small room. First doorway in the hallway led to a small bedroom, second door was a bath which also had a door to the first bedroom; the next door opened into a slighter larger bedroom and at the end of the hall was the door to the master bedroom. Apparently the garage had been an afterthought as there were windows in the bedroom that looked into the garage. I could see a washer and dryer below the windows. There was a nice sized full bath off the master bedroom. I could envision my furniture in this house. It wouldn’t fill the house but what I had would look really nice here. A built-in electric range and oven and a color matched refrigerator were in the kitchen. They were all a pale yellow. Hallelujah, no avocado green. I was so sure everything would be that awful green.

Maybe Uncle Clarence knew something I had yet to discover. But I was beginning to believe I would like living here. While standing on the deck, a hummingbird buzzed me. He zipped past my ear and around my head. Evidently he was used to finding food on this deck. I went back into the kitchen and opened all the cupboards. Why I thought I’d find a hummingbird feeder, I don’t know, but I knew I would. In fact, there were several feeders of various types. There was sugar and food coloring too. Unfortunately, there was no water. What the heck. There was a jar on that same shelf and I decided this was one way to meet my neighbors. There was a house directly across the street.

No one answered the front door and I went around to the back. Maybe they have a deck they sit on. They do, but no one was there. However, there was an outside faucet. I filled the jar with water and returned to the house. The water was warm and it took only a few minutes to concoct a full feeder of hummingbird nectar. It probably would have been better if it had been cooked but there’s no electricity either. I don’t think I’m going to be able to borrow that as easily as the water. I shook the jar until every grain of sugar was dissolved, filled the feeder, and hung it on one of the many hooks lining the outer beams of the deck. Less than 60 seconds later there was a hummingbird dipping his beak into the nectar. And within another two minutes there were another three birds.

That made me realize it was long past lunch time and I was hungry. I didn’t want to wait another hour and a half before I got home to Phoenix to eat. And I should find out about utilities and such before I leave Payson. It’d be pretty stupid to move here next week and have no power or water. As I came into town I saw a cafe on the right side of the highway. I thought I could locate it again. I’ll start with feeding myself and go from there.

I went down a steep, narrow, curvy, road that ran north and south to the west of the house. It came to a dead end at Main Street. Actually, I discovered it jogged to the south after running a block eastward along Main Street. The cafe was before Main on the highway so I was sure I could locate it. As I drove along Main Street I noticed several shops, the post office and a very small library.

Main Street teed into the highway and I saw the Knotty Pine Cafe sign before I saw the building. The small parking area was almost vacant and the cafe was nearly empty when I entered. An older waitress showed me a booth and handed me a menu. She looked like she wanted to ask questions but I didn’t give her the opportunity. I ordered a ham sandwich and a side of coleslaw. She recited a list of drinks and I stopped her at iced tea. I had brought the paper in with me and read while I was waiting for lunch. Very interesting. Lots of things going on for such a small town. Even a couple yard sales.

There was an ad for the power company. One question answered without having to ask. The ad gave the address.

The sandwich was very good. I enjoy fresh bread and this was fresh. The waitress refilled my tea glass twice. About an hour later, I felt fully refueled and ready to find the power company. I left a decent tip, thanked the waitress kindly at the register and got back into the car. According to the map, the power company was only two blocks away, straight up the highway.

After leaving a $65 deposit, I was assured the power would be on no later than Friday morning of the next week. I thanked them and asked where to find the water company.