Don't Be Shy 8 (Patreon)

In movies and TV, courthouses were always made so imposing. The Greco Roman statues, the pillars, the marble floors. It was all so cinematic. What director could resist?

In real life, they rarely looked better than a given public school. The floors were scuffed, the walls were particle board, the chairs were uncomfortable, and the air was thick with the smell of cleaning supplies needed to make the building even mildly livable.

The courthouse was the point of departure from society. The exiles being sent to jail rarely retained good hygiene or fully functioning digestive systems on their way to the bottom rung they were now falling off of.

Every so often, though, justice managed to climb the ladder and find someone closer to the top. They paid well to stay a part of their gilded world. And they got what they paid for often enough that they didn't refrain from troubling the law. They just paid for someone who could keep them on the ladder, no matter who threatened to shake them loose.

Lena sat in the gallery, watching the proceedings. She'd placed a pinch of herb into her mask and it flavored the air away from the blunt antiseptic harshness of a hospital waiting room. The man in the witness box was carefully composed as he gave his testimony. The ADA walked him from one answer to another. His testimony was thoughtful, but quick. Snapping out of him like a bullet fired when a trigger was pulled.

Lena's partner, James Walsh, sat waiting patiently for cross examination. The defendant Lena tried not to look at. He deserved censure in every respect except one: he had hired her.

James was a handsome man, neatly parted hair over a straight, narrow head. His distinguished Roman nose made up for his watery eyes and the beginning of a receding hairline. His chin was sharp, carefully manicured stubble hardening and dignifying his boyish face.

He was the public face of the law firm, a competent but unspectacular lawyer. Maybe as good as the ADA. But the ADA would want it more; a member of the gentry being convicted would play well in any campaign she ran. And if James wasn't lazy, he wouldn't be Lena's figurehead.

“No further questions, your honor,” the ADA said, leaving her witness's testimony hanging in the air.

“Your witness,” the judge told James.

James straightened his tie, shuffled some papers, and cast a casual glance to where Lena sat, watching unobtrusively. She canted her head.

James refocused on the judge. “Your honor, if I may request a brief recess?”

The judge nodded. “Thirty minutes be enough?”

“More than enough, thank you.”

“Court's adjourned for half an hour. Nobody start any long books.”

***

Well-rested, financially solvent, and with a roof over her head, Kara didn’t know what to do with herself. Should she start looking for a job, a second job? She didn’t know how long this thing with Lena (anal thing… at least sometimes) would last. Lena had made it sound long-term. Hell, she’d made it sound like Kara was her new, personal addiction. Kara didn’t know if she could trust that…

Of course, Lena had also made it sound like she expected Kara to be on-call at all times. That didn’t leave a lot of room for a job in the mailroom. Or getting a degree.

Bereft of any other ideas, Kara read a pamphlet she found in the nightstand instead of a Bible. Muttering about godless pagans… well, at least Lena seemed to be the fun kind of pagan instead of one that griped about the Chronicles of Narnia a lot… Kara read all the amenities that the hotel had to offer. Five-star restaurant, bar with its own microbrewery, a gym…

It’d been a while since Kara had worked out. She hadn’t had to worry about calories when she hadn’t known where her next meal was coming from, but now that Lena was going to be ordering her pancakes and sausage links, it seemed like a good time to get back on her routine. Had to keep a toned ass when she was selling her ass.

Kara giggled to herself. God, what was she doing? Was she actually cool, comfortable, with prostitution just because her john was… well, Lena was surprisingly… she was surprising in general. And she hadn’t even taken her mask off yet.

Kara tried to think of anything she knew about her beyond the fact that Lena had liked The Princess Bride well enough to quote it. Little came to mind. Not much of a basis for a relationship.

Then again, she knew Lena was rich. The pamphlet had included a menu—what this hotel charged for a shortstack was no joke.

The hotel also had something of an outlet mall underground. Nothing much, just various brand amenities—no massage parlor or people trying to sell you quadcopters. Kara imagined it was for business travelers who went straight from the airport to the hotel. They could buy a lighter or new shoes without having to make a second trip into the city. No, not weird at all that there was a hotel where you could buy panties while still technically on the premises…

These prices, at least, seemed reasonable. It’d been a while since she could afford nice clothes; Kara couldn’t claim that the stuff that’d been thrown out on the street with her eviction was worth picking up. Still, she tried to be frugal. A few sets of pants, tops, underwear, and a workout fit, plus shoes. One set of black pumps and one pair of Keds. And socks, of course.

The bill ran to a few hundred dollars. Kara told them to charge it to Lena’s room. Thankfully, they did. I’ll just tell her to take it out of my paycheck… even if my first day isn’t over yet, surely letting her in my ass at the interview means I get a signing bonus…

Back in Lena’s rooms—it was hard to think of her space as hers—Kara showered and washed her hair. She put on her workout clothes. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was just barely able to pinch some flab between her fingers at her belly and thigh.

Too much fast food made cheap thanks to coupons and app crap. She’d have to work something out where she ate greens without losing all her paycheck to the hotel’s fuck-you-for-breathing pricing.

Kara tried to imagine herself with an armful of groceries coming through the Continental’s old-world spinning doors. Maybe a bagboy would offer to get them for her.

She made her way to the gym and wasn’t shocked to find that it looked like the commercials for the gyms she used to be able to afford to go to (and not at all like the actual gyms themselves). Fitness instructors out of an issue of Sports Illustrated… and not the one on curling. She wondered why Lena didn’t do her dating here. Maybe the mask looked sillier if, instead of being in a pantsuit, she was wearing running shorts and a sports bra.

Kara worked out and she worked out. After the weirdly good night’s rest and full breakfast and a little retail therapy, she found herself training like an Olympian. An hour passed. Then two. Then three.

Finally, thinking Lena wouldn’t have much use for a paramour with a muscle strain… although she might like helping Kara with some Ben Gay… she went back up to the room. Showered and tended to some hygiene issues. Plucked her eyebrows, snipped the odd hair growing from her ear (always the left one, why was that?), shaved her legs.

She wasn’t making herself pretty for Lena. She was making herself pretty, period. Kara was feeling nice, after surviving that work-out, and she wanted to look nice. If Lena approved of her look, fine. Lena was technically her boss. A boss should approve of her employee. It wasn’t like she was getting a boob job or anything. Just flossing. Everyone ought to floss.

Finally, she tried on some of her new clothes. A white T-shirt with THE MOVIE MAKER written on the front in black block letters. Lime-green culottes that she thought were cute. And, for a giggle, she tried on her pumps and looked at herself in the mirror.

She suddenly felt like crying.

You were on the street yesterday… you were getting rousted by cops… now look at you, look at you… you’re a girl again.

“Shut up,” she told herself. “You’re going to smear your make-up.”

She wanted to look this nice for Lena when she got home.

***

Lena was more grateful than ever for the herb now that she was in the men's restroom. The government at least paid for it to be cleaned each day. It ended up as clean as anything the government did.

James washed up at the sink, running an electric razor lightly over his jaw. “I don't see how we're getting out of this one. Damning testimony and the jury loved him.”

Lena shook her head. “They loved the picture the ADA painted for them. That testimony was sculpted within an inch of its life. She was practically running lines with him.”

“We're lawyers. That's what we do. Never ask a question you don't know the answer to, remember?”

“It's more than that. She was afraid of him saying one word she hadn't spell checked for him. I want you to go over every inch of his testimony. Don't go in order. Hit him backwards, forward, and upside down. He'll say something he isn't supposed to.”

“The judge won't like that,” James reminded her.

“Let him. The jury decides the verdict, not him.” Lena took her notepad from her jacket pocket. “Here. His whole eyewitness statement, jumbled up. I want you to hit him with where he started the night, where he ended the night, every last thing he saw.”

“You got it, boss.“

Lena's phone trilled.

“Don't call me boss. I'm not the boss,” she said as she got it out.

It was Violadé. Lena allowed herself to scowl, even knowing James would notice it. He'd known her too long.

“Everything okay?”

“The forces of law and order never rest… unfortunately for us. Are you ready?”

James splashed his face with a last handful of water before reaching for the paper towels. “I always am when I know you're making the game plan.”

“Go win our case.”

Lena stepped out of the men's room and right into the ladies, answering her phone.

It wasn't Violadé, just his assistant. Small favors.

He had another naughty boy in the ranks. A torpedo, Richie, who'd wrapped his car around a telephone pole. It didn't look good that the prostitute riding shotgun would ever walk again. And the bag of coke in the cupholder was an absolute lost cause.

“I'll be at the scene of the accident. Maybe I can nip this in the bud. Cops always have thin wallets.”

“We're past that now. He's already in the system. Talk to the whore. If she says the powder is hers…”

“They'll still test Richie's blood.”

“You can get that thrown out, right?”

Lena's hard breathing began to shake her mask. She wanted to scream that Richie would be lucky to only be convicted for driving under the influence, he'd been an animal since he turned thirteen.

But she couldn't. She had enough money to buy anything but that.

“I'll work on a motion. Right to medical privacy. Call Judge Phelps and tell him to expect it.”

“Good. Violade will be pleased.”

“He always is,” Lena said, careful to keep the spite out of her voice.

If she couldn't keep it off her face, she always had the mask.