Pin-Up Fireman. Vonnie Davis

those she had ready for their court dates.

      Her square office, with a small window, was claustrophobic. What she needed to do this weekend was rearrange the mismatched furniture, find a better way to store her files and add some plants. She glanced at the metal strips holding up the ceiling tile. If she got the right kind of hooks, she could add hanging plants without using any of her small floor space. How could her clients have any faith in her when they walked into this pitiful looking postage stamp?

      Then there were her parents, who were chomping at the bit to fly south from Maryland to see her. They’d been aghast at her office on their first visit, but she’d told a small fib that she’d been working out of this tiny space until an office opened up. Her mother nearly turned herself inside out with outrage—her daughter deserved better. Yeah, well, the newest lawyer got the leftovers.

      She glanced around her space. It was wall to wall, mismatched odds and ends. If her parents came down again, they’d insist on coming by to see her office. How could she face them with any pride when they saw she was still in the same spot, with zero career progression? Her dad would storm to one of the bosses’ office and demand to know why. For a classic car mechanic, her dad had a lot of nerve.

      Co-worker Elizabeth Stone popped her head in Graci-Ella’s open door. “Hey, are you playing in the basketball game at the Y tomorrow? Lots of cute guys usually show. Of course you’ll have to let them make a basket now and then, so you don’t wound their male egos.”

      “Ugh! I get so tired of the fragile male ego.” Graci-Ella forked her fingers through her long hair and chuckled. “No, I have a breakfast meeting with a client and then I’m thinking of coming in here to better organize this miniscule office the firm so kindly gave me. I feel like I’m working out of an old closet. Gives me the willies sometimes.”

      Elizabeth looked around. “Come to think of it, paper, ink cartridges and toner used to be stored in here.” Both women laughed. “I need a favor. A huge favor.” Elizabeth extended three files.

      “Beware of lawyers bearing files. What are they?” Why was she even asking? Obviously it was more work for her. Her gaze shifted to her two “in” piles and sighed.

      “Cases I’m representing that I can’t handle right now. Baker assigned me the Middleton case this morning and it’s the most important one I’ve ever had. I need to do a top notch job in negotiating a huge payout. It could mean a big jump forward in my career.”

      Ignoring the pang of jealousy, Graci-Ella congratulated her friend on the coup. “Look, hon, anytime one of the senior partners hands you something this important, it’s a colossal compliment. Take it and run with it. So, you want me to take over some of your cases?” Maybe she’d get some recognition for this extra effort.

      Elizabeth leaned against the doorjamb. “Yes, Patrick’s taking over four. I gave three to Joe, but I figured you were the only one strong enough to handle these.” She shook the thick folders at her.

      “Beware of sneaky lawyers bearing cases and compliments.” Graci-Ella laughed and extended her hand. Elizabeth had been the first lawyer to make her feel welcome at the firm. How could Graci-Ella forget her co-worker’s kindness by refusing to help her?

      “Warning,” Elizabeth said before passing her the files. The one client is a whiny bitch. Name’s Chantel Calloway—a custody hearing. Woman needs a reality check and a bottle of Ritalin. I declare, she’ll be bitching one minute about how her ex ignored her and turned cold. Then suddenly ask you if you like the color of her fingernail polish. Don’t let her air-headed façade fool you, though. She’ll be bossing you around in no time. The woman’s obviously used to getting her way.

      Graci-Ella leafed through them. “The custody case shouldn’t be so bad.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “Don’t worry. I don’t take shit from anyone. When’s the court date?” She found the page she was looking for. “November third. Looks like you’ve gotten most of the work done. Background check on the ex-husband completed?”

      “Yeah, he seems clean to me. Still, I can understand a mother wanting custody of her kid. The second case is what should be a simple land dispute. We’ve got two senior citizens who want to argue over a foot of property, fifty feet long. Martha O’Shaye, the party we represent, and Nancy Beech, can’t be in the same room without World War Three breaking out. Martha claims the foot of land is hers and she wants to widen her driveway by twelve inches. Nancy wants to plant flower beds in that strip. I call it the case of the divas.” Linda shook her head. “One old woman claims the other’s dog craps on her yard in revenge, as if the damn dog would know the difference.”

      Graci-Ella glared at the lawyer whose short, blonde hair was frizzier than usual. The humidity must be high today. “Oh, you’re going to owe me big time for this one. A whinny bitch and elderly divas?”

      “Hold on. It gets better. The third is a DUI and disorderly, second offense.”

      “Am I supposed to thank you for these cases?” Graci-Ella fought back a grin and lost. “Don’t expect me to buy you any coffee today…or tomorrow.” She glanced at the third file. What’s the deal with this one?”

      Elizabeth folded her arms. “Paul Steinway is a horny bastard who chases any woman who breathes. The man even had the gall to proposition me. I fried his ears, but good. He has an alcohol problem and can’t say a sentence without two cuss words in it. Has temper issues—big time. Drove his truck into a convenience store when he found out they no longer handled his favorite brand of snuff.” She tipped her head toward the folder. “Thus the offense. A real class act. And he expects us to perform miracles so he doesn’t lose his job.” She glanced at her cell. “Look, gotta go. If you need me, I’ll be in the legal library. Thanks a lot.” She whizzed out of the doorway and, like last month’s paycheck, was gone.

      Graci-Ella attached a court date label onto the edge of each file and placed them in chronological order to the stacks of files she needed to work on. She swiveled her chair to her computer and continued typing on the brief for a car theft ring she represented. Why did she always get the guilty jerks? She’d much rather represent some good people and see justice shine on their side.

      To please her parents, Graci-Ella entered the legal profession, just as Eli had planned, when she’d sooner have gone into photography. All the years of law school, internship and cramming for the bar exams just to satisfy her folks, while they enjoyed their dreams of her future—especially after they’d lost Eli. Thank God her parents didn’t know she often had to represent the armpit of society.

      Anytime she called home, the first words out of her dad’s mouth were, “Did you make junior partner yet?” From his jovial tone, she figured he was kidding—at least she hoped. He didn’t seem to understand she had several years of hard work ahead of her before she made that feat, no matter how many times she explained it to him. “Had you stayed here in Maryland, you’d have a junior partnership already.”

      Of course when she was courted by the senior partners to join the firm, no one told her she’d get the worst cases until she proved herself. And just how was she to do that from a former closet? Her mother’s words came back to disturb her. “Bloom wherever you’re planted. Just make sure the soil is rich.” Graci-Ella growled deep in her throat. Achieve, triumph, surpass, I’ve had those words shoved down my throat since Eli was broadsided by another car. I am his substitute, which I understand because I miss him as much as my parents do.

      Eli was the oldest and the brightest. He was also her hero. Without a word of complaint, he put up with her following him around, even to the community basketball courts. He taught her all he knew. So did his buddies. She held the old photo of the two of them under the basket over their garage door. Eli held the basketball in one hand and his other arm around her shoulders. His smile illuminated the picture while she stared up at him—her best bud.

      Too bad she couldn’t have played basketball forever. The wooden court was where she felt at home throughout her high school and college years—running, dribbling, shoving, shooting. That was her first love. She glanced around her storage room turned legal