Dinner at Sam’s: Manhood

Posted 2 April, 2017 by DLWhite in Snips&Shorts, WIPs, Writers Write 0 Comments

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“Gibson Charles Kincaid!”

Mother was screeching at the top of her lungs and racing down the hallway. That meant she’d seen the preliminary petition to file Vanessa’s divorce. I knew she’d be angry. I wasn’t expecting dramatics, but in hindsight, I should have.

I turned halfway so I could watch her light complexion turn purple. “I’m on my way out to see a client. Can you yell at me later?”

“Don’t get smart with me, boy. I told you, explicitly, that Vanessa Jackson would not be a client at this firm.  You went right behind my back and offered representation.”

“Because she needed help.  And not your kind of help.”

“And the fee you’re charging her won’t cover the pens you use. What about this business do you not understand, young man?”

“I get it, Mother. I’m just not doing it the way you want me to do it.”

“Well that’s for damn sure. I want you to dissolve your contract with Ms. Jackson. Today. The fee is simply not substantial enough and there’s nothing we can do for—”

“Mother. Stop and listen to yourself. Seriously. We are attorneys at a family law firm. We can file her damn divorce is what we can do for her. It’s what I’m going to do for her.” I moved to step around her, leaving her sputtering in the hallway.

“Don’t let your manhood dictate the clients you choose, Gib!”

I stopped and turned, my mouth hanging open. 

Her lips parted in a sardonic smile that I recognized. It was the smile she wore when she’d caught opposing counsel or client in some kind of lie or misdeed. She loved other people’s mistakes.

“Mmmhmmm. Don’t think I didn’t see you watching her tail sashay out of here, all smiles and hair and please take my case, cheap ass lawyer. Maybe you’re hoping she’ll give you a little something to offset the fee—”


“Oh come on, Gib! You don’t see it? It’s Melanie all over again. She might be enticed by that low fee, that nice suit, that head of hair you got from your daddy, but what she really wants is what’s sitting in your back pocket, son. Your wallet.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, heading back down the hall. “You’re not going to talk me out of representing her. If you don’t want her to be a Kincaid client, release me.  I’m used to working out of a coffee shop. I’ll take her case with me.”

Knowing she’d never take me up on it, I kept walking right out of the suite.


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