Beautiful Illusion updated chapter 41&42 on pg 16

Sitting in the back of the Escalade, I willed Daniel not to be a chatty driver. I couldn't deal with that right now. I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry. Daniel will no doubt report it if I cry, so keep calm. Then I thought ha, Daniel won't report anything. Ryan won't ask, because he won't care. Daniel has probably seen it all anyhow.
Thankfully, Daniel was the stoic sort, not even trying to make small talk.
Once inside my apartment, I let loose a torrent of tears. I had no idea why I was crying. I barely knew the guy. Except that I actually had known him my entire life. That is, I had known the idea of him all my life - the seemingly perfect guy. Dare I say - Prince Charming? So, I was upset, because I assumed that I wouldn't be seeing him anymore.
I decided to take a walk to my mailbox, which was centrally located in the middle of the apartment complex. I hated getting my mail, but I needed to take a walk and get some fresh air. Stepping out onto my stoop, I looked at the sky, which was now threatening rain. I sighed, knowing that I didn't have an umbrella - all my umbrellas ended up getting left somewhere, so I usually just got drenched like a puppy. I hurriedly made my way to the clubhouse, where the mailbox was, hoping that I wouldn't get caught in a torrential downpour. A loud crack of thunder, followed by a lightning that lit up the sky, told me that I didn't have much time.
I got to the mailbox, and opened it.
"Oh, for the love of god. Not again!" I said, as I peered inside and saw only a little yellow note. The note informed me that my box had gotten too full, so everything would be waiting for me at the post office. This had happened way too many times - I had an awful habit of not checking my mailbox for weeks at a time. Nothing ever came in the mail that was important, I reasoned. But it was still a pain in the ass to have to make the special trip to the time-sucking vortex known as the post office, and wait in line while the one or two postmasters take an eternity with each and every one of the fifty customers. I briefly considered just never getting the mail, but decided that was unwise. You never know - the one time you decide to completely blow off the mail is the one time that you will miss something really important.
And, of course, the threatening sky chose to dump on me at just that moment. It wasn't just any rain, but it was a cloudburst. The wind whipped up to about 70 MPH, and, all at once, I was completely saturated. I trudged home, not even hurrying to get out of the downpour.
It was like that all that week. Dragging myself to work, trying not to snap at clients, barking at opposing counsel, writing ever nastier letters to them.
"Your client better get her ass off that couch and stop sponging off my client," read one letter.
"Tell your client to get off the crack and bong hits and take care of the kid, or we are going to get a modification agreement faster than you than you can read this" read another.
I was on an "ass" kick, in that I was loving that word. I wanted to use it is some fashion in every letter I wrote. I refrained myself when writing my motions to the judge, however. But even these motions were more aggressive than usual, although not quite as blunt as the letters to opposing counsel.
And one client, in particular, sent me into Defcon 1. He showed up to plead for a DWI, and, when he arrived at the courthouse, the smell of alcohol on his breath nearly knocked me over. It was fresh alcohol, too, because it actually smelled like vodka, as opposed to smelling slightly sweet, which is what vodka smells like on a person's breath after a period of time.
"What the f**k?" I asked him. The alcohol was not only strong on his breath, but his eyes were bloodshot. He looked a mess.
"What?" he asked.
"Oh, no you didn't. I know that you didn't booze it up before seeing the judge about your DWI charge."
"I'm going to jail," he slurred. "I wanted to have one last hurrah with my friends."
"What did I say that made you think you were going to jail today? I told you that you're gonna get probation." I was apoplectic. "Well, probably not now. That judge will take one look at you and one smell of you, and throw you in the clink for sure. And that would serve you goddamned right." I shook my head. "You aren't paying me enough for this bullshit. You couldn't pay me enough for this bullshit."
Then I looked around. The guy was there by himself. "Where's your ride?" I demanded.
"Uh, I couldn't find a ride."
"Then where's your bus pass?"
He looked at the floor and said nothing.
I was stunned. "Oh.my.god. You drove drunk to the courthouse to answer your drunk driving charge?"
He hung his head and continued to say nothing.
"Well, f**k this noise. I'm withdrawing from your case."
"What? You can't do that!"
"Oh, can't I? Where's the rest of the money you promised me?"
"I'll send it to you when I get paid."
"Bullshit. I'm withdrawing."
When the judge called my client's name, about an hour and a half into the docket, I stood up before him.
"I request a move to withdraw your honor."
"Why is that, counselor?"
"Rule one violation, your honor." Every attorney knows the rule number one for clients - always pay your attorney. bas***d paid me $250, owed me another $1,000, then drove drunk to the courthouse. You can't make this shit up. Nobody would ever believe me if I told them.
"Motion granted." Turning to my client, he said "Now, young man, your new court date is August 20th. You must have new counsel by then. Do you understand?"
My client nodded mutely.
"Oh, and another thing. If you show up in my courtroom drunk again, I'll have your case transferred to the state for prosecution. That'd mean that you wouldn't be facing probation or possible jail time, but prison time. The big house. Do you understand?"
My client nodded.
"I didn't hear your reply."
"Yes, your honor."
Turning to me, the judge asked, sotto voce, "counselor, did your client drive here?"
"He did, your honor."
The judge motioned to the bailiff. "Take this man, and put him in custody. He apparently drove drunk to get here." The bailiff grabbed my client by the arm and led him away. He didn't protest.
The judge shook his head. "Now, I've seen everything."
That client was not the only one to piss me off that week. He was just the worst. I found myself wanting to strangle at least 6 people for various reasons.
"You were cooking meth while your kid was in the house. Take this offer or leave it," I said to a criminal client who was, amazingly, being offered probation, yet didn't want the offer. "Or should I say, take this offer or I'm gonna withdraw because you aren't listening to me, your counsel."
"Oh, good lord, you want sole custody of your child because your ex-husband was late taking her to band practice? Seriously?" I asked another, rolling my eyes.
By the end of the week, I realized that I was cracking up. I could usually handle the idiot clients, but that week, I just couldn't. It was because of what happened with Ryan. What is wrong with you, Iris? You.barely.knew.the.guy.
The weekend was finally approaching. I dreaded it and looked forward to it at the same time. While I no longer had to refrain myself from chewing out various clients with their various excuses and whining, which was good, I also had nothing to look forward to that weekend but my DVR.
Which was bad.
My fault. My friends were calling all that week, wanting to see how I was, wanting to get together. I didn't answer any of the phone calls though.
I'll call them when I am feeling better.