The Lounge Lawyer
The Lounge Lawyer

The Lounge Lawyer

The Lounge Lawyer

Full disclosure, The Lounge Lawyer was originally a short series “hundo” series I did on Medium with Crush Hundo Edition. “Hundos” are supposed to be one hundred word stories based off a daily prompt. I always end up overwriting because, as I’ve said before, I’m a verbose motherfucker.

This story was a kind of character sketch I had for another sexy mystery series (like I need another, am I right?). I’d been watching a lot of The Lincoln Lawyer with my wife after the kids went to bed when the idea struck me. The concept is a sexy female criminal defense attorney that picks up her clientele (and other playmates) at L.A. bars and lounges. Hence the title, “The Lounge Lawyer.”

There’s no plot at this point, really. Just a character sketch and some dialogue. It’s really the seed of a seed of an idea. Maybe it will turn into something later on or maybe it won’t, I don’t know. But if this concept intrigues you, and you want to hear more, then leave a comment and let me know.

Hope you enjoy!

The Lounge Lawyer

Rick’s vision wavered as he considered the double Scotch and soda on the bar in front of him. It was his fourth inside of two hours, each one going down easier than the last. His hand slid into his jacket pocket, fingering the keys he found there.

He knew he should go home, but there was nothing to go home to. Not anymore.

Fuck it.

He picked up the highball and slugged back what was left of it. When he went to put the glass down again, there was something else on the bar top.

A business card.

“I thought you might need that.”

He looked over to the woman sitting two stools down from him. He hadn’t seen her sit down, and boy was she worth seeing. He must have been drunker than he initially thought.

She was dressed to the nines in a form-fitting red dress. Her hair was a waterfall of blonde that hid one of her smoky green eyes. Her skin was the color of honey, her contralto voice the sound of cinnamon smoke. Her curvy frame seemed poured into that dress, but that was no mark against her. The contours of her body rose and fell at all the right places.

Rick prayed it wasn’t just the beer goggles talking.

Feeling like a bedraggled bum next to her but smiling anyway, he picked up the business card. It was heavy stock, cream, with a name you could feel embossed upon the front.

Candace Cain, Esquire.

Rick grinned and wagged the business card at the blonde. “Pleased to meet you, miss. Candy, is it?”

“Candace,” she corrected.

“Oh, right.” His grin dimmed only slightly. “I bet you’re sweet like candy, though.”

She held up a finger to forestall any other come-ons as the bartender made an appearance. He was a bearded lumberjack type, more Portland than L.A., but somehow he fit the bar’s old-world decor.

“Vodka martini, Mike. You know how I like it.”

He nodded and gave Rick a sidelong glance before moving down the bar to make it how she liked. The other man watched him go with a surly look, then dragged his eyes back over to Candace.

“You, uh, come here often?”

She shrugged and made a pretense of examining her carmine nails. “Since the beginning of the week, at least.”

“Oh? What happened then?”

“That was when the LAPD started setting up their drunk checkpoints a couple blocks down Sepulveda.”

He screwed up his face in confusion. “Huh?”

“That’s why I thought you might need my card.” She smiled like a shark considering its next meal. “You looked like you were considering driving home. You might need a good lawyer tonight, all things considered.”

The pieces clicked together in slow motion — like the man was thinking through molasses. “Oooooh! You’re a lawyer?”

The bartender returned with her drink. She nodded and took a long sip, closing her eyes as she savored the botanical tang. She set her drink on the bar again before responding.

“It’s on the card, if you cared to look.”

He looked at the card again, blinking in confusion.

“Esquire — does that mean lawyer?”

She gave him a pitying smile. “I do so like a man who can pick up on context clues.”

Rick bristled. “Now I get the feeling you’re making fun of me.”

“Whatever would give you that idea?” Candace Caine, Esquire asked innocently. “Don’t overcompensate, darling. I hate a man who overcompensates.” She paused thoughtfully. “Which must be why I despise most lawyers. Did you ever hear how the term ‘esquire’ came to be?”

He blinked, his booze-addled brain struggling to keep up with the ping-ponging conversation.

“Uh, no?”

“Esquire was the lowest rank of English nobility. Not really nobility at all, when you get down to it. It was invented to give all those lawyers who prosecuted the law a modicum of social standing. They felt left out of the party, you see, and the powers that be threw them a bone lest they make too many waves and do something crazy like trying to abolish the monarchy.”

She giggled. “But then that’s just what they did when left to their own devices in a colony half a world away. A new country was being made, one egalitarian and free, or so they said. So the nobility had to go — all except that pesky ‘esquire’ title, you see. Because nobody loves sounding official and smart as much as a lawyer does. So in the process, they managed to create a new nobility populated by only themselves.”

She took a sip of her martini and smiled like a shark eyeing its next meal. “And if that’s not overcompensating, I don’t know what is.”

One comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CLOSE
CLOSE