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Authors: William G. Tapply
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dollars?”
“One-sixty-five.”
“Really, Ben…”
“Dammit, Brady. This was a family decision.”
“Sure. Democratic vote.”
“Yes.”
“Well, listen to your attorney for a minute, then, will you? If this place is in her name, and unless there’s something funny about the documentation, then it belongs to her, and no lawyer is going to convince a judge otherwise. Even if you got that particular judge appointed, Ben.”
“That’s not how I play the game, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I should tell you something. I spoke with Ms. Kriegel at your little get-together. I recommended a lawyer to her. A friend of mine. A very competent attorney. He will not blow this case.”
“Meriam is certain that Stu put the condo in the girl’s name for tax reasons.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You better just forget the whole thing.”
“I’ll have to talk to Meriam.”
“Something to think about here, Ben. Are you prepared to face a palimony suit?”
“You wouldn’t allow that.”
“I wouldn’t like it. If this gets to court, I might not be able to prevent it.”
Ben chuckled. “It might be worth it, just to watch Meriam squirm. In any case, you’re our lawyer, and I expect you to give us your best advice on this.”
I told him I thought I already had, and he said to think about it some more, and I told him he better come up with something for me, and he said he’d talk to Meriam about it, and we hung up.
Later that morning Julie buzzed me. “Who is it, dear?” I said into the intercom.
“Don’t call me ‘dear.’ It sounds patronizing.” Her voice hissed.
“Well, bless me, I’m sorry, my good woman.”
“That’s not much better.”
“Julie?”
“Yes?”
“Who’s on the phone, huh?”
“It’s Zerk.”
“Well, good. Put him on.”
“Certainly, sir.” Julie was touchy about some things that generally seemed to elude me.
I hesitated for a moment before I jabbed the button that would connect me with the man on the other end of the line. “Zerk” was Xerxes Garrett, a young attorney with an office on Mass Ave in North Cambridge. During the year that Julie took her maternity leave to have her daughter, Zerk clerked for me and I tutored him for his law boards. When Julie came back to work, I tried to persuade Zerk to stay on as my partner, but he made it clear that he didn’t want to specialize in protecting the legal interests of my wealthy clientele.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he had said, his handsome black face solemn, as if he were afraid he’d hurt my feelings, “but helping rich white dudes get richer just ain’t my idea of a career.”
So he set about to establish the kind of practice he could live with—bringing suit against absentee landlords when the heat went off in Mattapan apartment buildings in January, watchdogging personnel moves in the Boston schools and Cambridge Fire Department, facilitating welfare and food stamp distribution, and testifying before the state legislature on bills that might affect the status of minorities in the Commonwealth.
He helped to coordinate the Jesse Jackson campaign in Massachusetts. He coached a team in the Boston summer basketball league. He negotiated a contract with the Patriots for a big offensive tackle out of Grambling. His career was shaping up.
Now and then I referred a client to him. “Don’t try to work out your honkie guilt on me,” he’d say. “White man’s burden, all that shit. I’m scrapin’ by.”
“I’m just looking for a good attorney,” I’d tell him. And I meant it. He was tough and smart, he knew the law, and he had a sharply honed sense of justice.
I spoke into the telephone. “Hey, Zerk. How you doing?”
Zerk’s laugh was a loud, high-pitched cackle. In bars and restaurants, Zerk’s laugh created instant, awed silence. Rock-and-roll bands stopped playing in mid-bar if Zerk laughed in the building where they were performing. This
“One-sixty-five.”
“Really, Ben…”
“Dammit, Brady. This was a family decision.”
“Sure. Democratic vote.”
“Yes.”
“Well, listen to your attorney for a minute, then, will you? If this place is in her name, and unless there’s something funny about the documentation, then it belongs to her, and no lawyer is going to convince a judge otherwise. Even if you got that particular judge appointed, Ben.”
“That’s not how I play the game, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I should tell you something. I spoke with Ms. Kriegel at your little get-together. I recommended a lawyer to her. A friend of mine. A very competent attorney. He will not blow this case.”
“Meriam is certain that Stu put the condo in the girl’s name for tax reasons.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You better just forget the whole thing.”
“I’ll have to talk to Meriam.”
“Something to think about here, Ben. Are you prepared to face a palimony suit?”
“You wouldn’t allow that.”
“I wouldn’t like it. If this gets to court, I might not be able to prevent it.”
Ben chuckled. “It might be worth it, just to watch Meriam squirm. In any case, you’re our lawyer, and I expect you to give us your best advice on this.”
I told him I thought I already had, and he said to think about it some more, and I told him he better come up with something for me, and he said he’d talk to Meriam about it, and we hung up.
Later that morning Julie buzzed me. “Who is it, dear?” I said into the intercom.
“Don’t call me ‘dear.’ It sounds patronizing.” Her voice hissed.
“Well, bless me, I’m sorry, my good woman.”
“That’s not much better.”
“Julie?”
“Yes?”
“Who’s on the phone, huh?”
“It’s Zerk.”
“Well, good. Put him on.”
“Certainly, sir.” Julie was touchy about some things that generally seemed to elude me.
I hesitated for a moment before I jabbed the button that would connect me with the man on the other end of the line. “Zerk” was Xerxes Garrett, a young attorney with an office on Mass Ave in North Cambridge. During the year that Julie took her maternity leave to have her daughter, Zerk clerked for me and I tutored him for his law boards. When Julie came back to work, I tried to persuade Zerk to stay on as my partner, but he made it clear that he didn’t want to specialize in protecting the legal interests of my wealthy clientele.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he had said, his handsome black face solemn, as if he were afraid he’d hurt my feelings, “but helping rich white dudes get richer just ain’t my idea of a career.”
So he set about to establish the kind of practice he could live with—bringing suit against absentee landlords when the heat went off in Mattapan apartment buildings in January, watchdogging personnel moves in the Boston schools and Cambridge Fire Department, facilitating welfare and food stamp distribution, and testifying before the state legislature on bills that might affect the status of minorities in the Commonwealth.
He helped to coordinate the Jesse Jackson campaign in Massachusetts. He coached a team in the Boston summer basketball league. He negotiated a contract with the Patriots for a big offensive tackle out of Grambling. His career was shaping up.
Now and then I referred a client to him. “Don’t try to work out your honkie guilt on me,” he’d say. “White man’s burden, all that shit. I’m scrapin’ by.”
“I’m just looking for a good attorney,” I’d tell him. And I meant it. He was tough and smart, he knew the law, and he had a sharply honed sense of justice.
I spoke into the telephone. “Hey, Zerk. How you doing?”
Zerk’s laugh was a loud, high-pitched cackle. In bars and restaurants, Zerk’s laugh created instant, awed silence. Rock-and-roll bands stopped playing in mid-bar if Zerk laughed in the building where they were performing. This
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